Alright, now, like the most people,
I'm not a big fan of going to the doctor.
Now, maybe I'm just a hypochondriac,
but every time I step into a doctor's office,
I just assume the worst.
"Well, we got your test results back, looks like you've got butthole cancer."
"Butthole cancer?! Oh no, not that!"
"Yep, afraid so.
So in the meantime we're gonna shove this 30-pound camera up your rectum,
and we're gonna take a look around."
Now, of course, that's never been the case,
but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen.
So I just avoid the doctor altogether.
That is until one day my dad gave me a call and he was like,
"Hey, asshole, you know skin cancer runs in our family, right?
You need to go get yourself checked out
make sure you don't have melanoma or some shit."
So naturally, I do what I always do,
I don't make the fucking appointment and just hope for the best.
But my wife, on the other hand, is much more responsible.
And she makes the appointment for me.
So there I am in the reception area for this dermatologist.
"Uh, hi, I'm here to see if I'm dying or not."
"Uh, okay, well, before we tell you that,
you need to fill out all this paperwork."
So now I'm sitting there, filling up my paperwork,
feeling like an idiot, trying to explain why I'm here in the first place.
Not to mention I had no idea how the hell is spelled melanoma.
For whatever reason I thought there was like an h in there somewhere.
Like it was mala-h-noma.
I mean, I tried to Google it, but even Google was like,
"Uh, did you mean mahogany?
What the hell are you trying to spell, that shit looks like Portuguese?"
So finally they call me into doctor's office.
And I'm sitting there, looking at all the stupid posters on the wall.
But then I look over the desk next to me,
I realize that there's a fucking bottle of lube on top of it.
"What the hell does a dermatologist need a bottle of lube for?
Boy, I really don't want to fucking find out, I can tell you that."
So here comes the doctor, strolling in all nonchalant.
"Hey, how's it going? What brings you in today?"
"Uh, my dad said I need to see
if I have melanoma or some shit."
- Uhm, hello? - Huh, what?
"I'm checking your fucking face
to see if there's any moles that might be cancerous.
Why don't you go ahead and take your shirt off for me?"
So per the doctor's request I take my shirt off,
so he can ogle me.
And at this point the atmosphere in the room
has taken a very unfortunate sexual turn.
I'm half-naked, there's a fucking bottle of lube on the desk,
things are not looking too good.
"Uh, you're not gonna make me take my fucking pants off, are you?"
"No you pervert, what's the matter with you?!
Hey, how long have you had this mole here on your back?"
"Uh, what are you talking about?"
"Here, give me your phone, I'll take a picture of it."
So I hand him my phone,
that's when I realize I still got the fucking mahogany search page up,
now I really look like an idiot.
"Boy, you were way fucking off. You put an h in there?
What are you, speaking fucking Portuguese?"
(Clicks the shutter)
"There you see that?
I mean it's probably nothing, but we should probably have that mole removed."
"Uh, okay.
So do we have to do, like, surgery?"
"What, surgery?
No, we're not doing a fucking caesarean section, what's the matter with you?
I just numb the area and I cut it out."
"Oh my God, you cut it out? Does that hurt?"
"No you idiot, I just told you, I numb the area.
Look, like I said, it's probably nothing.
There is a lot of overanalysis in this field of mine."
"Uh, you mean like being a doctor?"
"Oh yeah, it's a bunch of bullshit.
Like for example, my doctor said he found spots on my lungs on my last CT scan.
"Woah, wait a minute, doctors have doctors? What the hell?"
So I told Billy, "You can go to hell!
There's no spots on my lungs, you're full of shit.
And that was 10 years ago, so what does that say?"
"Uh, that you were right?"
"You're goddamn right I was."
So now there I am, no shirt on,
hunched over a fucking bench,
getting sliced open by the doctor.
And he's trying to make the moment a little less awkward
with casual conversation.
"So what do you do for a living?"
"Uh, I make cartoons for the internet."
"Cartoons, huh? Like Walt Disney?"
"Uh yeah, except shittier and well, less anti-Semitic, I guess."
"Oh well, I don't know anything about internet cartoons."
"Oh well, you probably should, considering you're about to be in one."
- What? - Nothing, nothing.
"Uh, are we gonna start anytime soon?"
"What are you talking about, I'm done already!
Now put your goddamn shirt back on, you pervert.
What the hell is the matter with you?"
So we walk back out to the reception area to get checked out.
"All right, we're gonna send a skin sample to the lab and get it analyzed.
If it's bad news, we'll give you a call.
And if it's good news, well, we don't really give a shit.
So we're not gonna call you at all, bye-bye."
(Whistling)
And that was the end of my appointment.
So now I'm just sitting around the house these days,
in limbo, not knowing what to think.
And with my hypochondriac ass I know it's just a matter of time
before I get that phone call.
"Hey, it's me, your doctor. Bad news, you got butthole cancer.
You need to come down here, so I can shove a camera up your ass."
"A camera up my ass?
Oh god damn it, that's what the lube was for!"
https://brewstew.com
https://patreon.com/brewstew
https://twitter.com/brewstewfilms https://www.instagram.com/brewstew_films
https://www.facebook.com/brewstewcom