âJesus Christ,â I said.
âWhat? Whatâs wrong?! I promise you, whatever it is, we can fix it!â He cried out, cowering.
âNo, you misunderstand. Thatâs my doctor. Doctor Jesus. Check the chart,â I was feeling unsure about how long I could continue to keep the Expediter in motion, and I find that most of my appointments usually end soon after the motivating presence of a knob-sack does.
âAh, yes. I see. Right here on the prescription pad: Signed by 'Doctor Jesus Christ (The Best Doctor).â Did you, ahâ¦ did you write this yourself?â
"No, dude. Look. It says right here: prayer. The treatment for cardiomyopathy is prayer."
âOf course,â I replied, trying to see how close I could swing the sack to his face without hitting him. Not very close, it turned out. I nicked him a little, but he seemed to feel a bit better after spitting out that tooth. âYou think Iâd trust just anybody to put crap into my body? This s**t is a temple. Ask your wife. She worships here every night.â
I held out my unoccupied hand for a high five, but I didnât trust the way he went in for it, so I hit him with the Expediter again instead.
âOh god, please. Please stop. Justâ¦ just tell me what happened.â
âWell, I saw a commercial telling me to ask my doctor if Celexa was right for me, so I mugged a doctor and
him to tell me âit was right for me.' But this doesnât do s**t!" I cried, heartbreakingly sober. "In the commercials some guy was staring through a window all bored, then he took the stuff, and next thing you know he was seeing horses run down the beach and some lady jerking it in a field of flowers."
"I figured it was a heavy-grade hallucinogen. But the only things Iâve seen so far are real. You know, boring crap like restraining orders and terrified doctors,â my arm was starting to dip; I would have to speed this up.
âWell, yes, itâs just for depression and anxiety. It doesnât have any uhâ¦ narcotic effects. However, I feel pressed to inform you that you shouldnât simply stop taking it, as it can have some serious side effects like nausea, suicidal urges and Paraesthesia, or what we call âelectric shocks.ââ
I brought my knob-sack to a sudden halt. The momentum change threw me off balance and I slammed into the doorjamb. As the blood streamed down my face, I couldn't help but laugh hysterically at my own slapstick. That seemed to unnerve him for some reason.
âWhat?! No s**t? I quit this stuff and I get electric powers? Like a wizard?!â