Realizing, naturally, that snitches are subject to violent retribution in more “real” (therefore terrifying) parts of the city, I wanted to cozy up to the sentiment. I wanted to cozy up to the sentiment whilst “offsite,” if you will. Unofficially deemed “The Party Doctor” by some, I enjoy infiltrating hospitals and impersonating actual doctors. Wait, that’s trivializing my worth. I bring laughter. I wear scrubs printed with palm trees. I sneak cigarettes to the patients, and sometimes partake myself. I carry a medical bag stuffed with goodies for the ailing. In my bag right now are moderately worn paperback copies of M*A*S*H Goes to Maine, M*A*S*H Goes to London, and M*A*S*H Goes to Miami, VHS copies of Disorderlies, Young Doctors in Love, Stitches, and an eBay-won bootleg tape containing every episode of afterM*A*S*H. You know Eddie Albert’s character in Stitches, the stodgy Dean Bradley? I have to deal with that type every single day. Hospital administrator or mouthy upstart, they all feel the same…like someone following me around with a sharp stick. The other day, I tried to perform surgery with a pair of BBQ tongs. I have no idea how the guy turned out. By the time the “real” surgeon was notified, I was swiftly descending a stairwell with one foot stuck in a mop bucket. My assistant, Nurse Gazongous, was outside behind the wheel of my idling 1995 Chrysler Lebaron Turbo Hardtop. My mantra is “Malpractice Made Perfect,” with “Inverted Nipples: WHAT’S THE POINT, MOTHER NATURE?!?!?!? NOT A FAN OF YOUR GENRE!!!!!” coming in a close second. Ah…I simply wanted to present some introductory info. The matter at hand, the gnawing dilemma of The Snitch, that’s what’s really bothering me. Temporarily. The Party Doctor deals.
See, there was this young, diligent, over-achieving ass-casserole (doctor) that decided it healthy to sweat me hard at the last hospital (name withheld). Slick (real name unknown) kept getting in my face with hollow threats. “I know what you’re up to!!! You can’t get away with this!!!! I’m going to bring you down!!” he’d snivel. Soon after this encounter, the young professional was made eligible for the Severed Brake Line Research Grant, thus transferring him to the bottom of a frozen lake. The Party Doctor deals. I must run, literally, I’m in an alley, hiding in a dumpster, and it’s hell on my perm. One downside: I am accepting applications for a new assistant. The once-faithful Nurse Gazongous could no longer handle the pressure. No Skank Williams Jr.’s, please.