The Battle of the White-Coated Gentlemen...
It pays to get a 2nd opinion.
Especially if Gentleman #1 is a rabid Trumper, (the idiot box is always on in his office, sometimes with the chatter up, sometimes with it muted), I mean, he quickly changed the subject when I brought up Idiot Furher's idiot idea of "buying Greenland," he started telling me a string of AOC dumb blond jokes, I mean, shite, how fucking transparent, AOC is not blond, AOC is not dumb, she is smart as hell, quite brilliant, totally on the ball, pretty damn progressive, that certainly was a "tell."
White-Coated Gentleman #1: "I hate to be the bearer of bad news. You are fucked. Rotting from the inside. There is nothing I can do. Except hand you over to the man with the guillotine. Don't worry. He will cut and extract and sever and, well, you will never be the same, you will be on a long, expensive road to try to get back to health. In the meantime, lots of nasty procedures, lots of money expended, lots of pain, heartache, shit, I mean, you really are fucked. Good luck."
I think White-Coated Gent #1 secretly loved the idea that I was on the road to perdition. I could tell he was lying to me, I've known this gentleman for many years, I think he has always hated me, I think he has always harbored a secret, guarded contempt for me, I just knew he hated my airy-fairy, liberal ways, but this time he let the mask drop, and I could see the hate, the deep contempt. His white-coat and professional demeanor could not hide it. He wanted to be rid of me, shuffling me off to the executioner, he had no problem letting this progressive Democrat burn.
So, instead, I scrambled to find a second opinion. By pure, random, luck I came across Gent #2.
White-Coated Gentelman #2: "Let's have a look. Hah, no worries. I can just do a little bit of tweaking, clean things up a bit, you will be good as new. No, even better, I can fix you up, shite, you will be better than ever. No cutting, no severing, no extracting. This should take about 30 mins, you will be good as new."
Gentleman #2 lives in a pink house with a mysteriously quiet and gentle greyhound, plays acoustic guitar between patient visits, has a Fortune-Telling 8-Ball in the waiting room ("Try again later), and has a painting of dancing, naked, cherub angels on the ceiling above the big chair. That is a "tell" too. I have found my one true White-Coated Gentleman. All is well with the world!
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