Why I'm not a doctor

As a young man growing up down the street from Hubert’s Foot Perfume Palace, I was known for my expert, though unlicensed and often uneducated and inventive, medical care on my friends. Whenever my friends and I would suffer injuries from our headbutting competitions, fall from trees, or get the butt squirts, they would defer to my quick thinking to make things right.

I think my crowning moment, and the moment that convinced me to become a doctor, came when Hank-Jim-Frank-Theobold (his dad wanted to name him after his uncles, but couldn’t choose just one) was unexpectedly bitten on the nose by a deer. Not wanting my good friend to loose his nose, and growing tired of his yelling, I reopened the nasal passages with sticks, applied pressure with moss and a rock, and suppressed his cries with my sock, which was still on my left foot. Then, because I once learned that people breathe, I tried to perform a traceodomy with my thumb, which caused the sticks to shoot out, thus healing him.

From this pivotal moment, I faced many hardships. First, I dropped out of school in 5^th grade. This may surprise you, but doctor schools prefer people that finished high school.  I took the admissions tests anyway, with the knowledge that I would get everything right. To my dismay, there were relatively few questions of how to treat shattered toes, poison ivy rashes, or lazy eyes, and many more on what ‘x’ is in some dumb math questions and what the definitions were to big words. Needless to say, I only placed in the 98^th percentile.

Unfortunately, Johns Hopkins (more like ‘Nons Accept-kins’) didn’t think that the trivia quiz on a Denny’s menu a valid placement test. So there was another road block. I decided to show up on the first day anyway, which I later learned wasn’t March 17^th. After sitting in on a couple of classes, I was kindly asked to leave by the security guards (note: replace “to leave” with “kicked in the jaw” and “kindly” with “repeatedly”).  As it turns out, you have to pay a lot of money to go to school there and they don’t take kindly to people that don’t wear shirts and play bagpipes.

Without these roadblocks, I would have definitely graduated with high honors and would have made an amazing doctor. Maybe I don’t have a “degree,”  but I will still be the guy everybody calls when they get their armpit hair stuck in the lawnmower.