Well, it was time for the quarterly visit to the land of the sickos.
So with a yo ho ho and a fiddle dee dee off went to hospital, yours truly Cheapo.
And found out that his regular cardiologist has run away…….story of Cheapo’s life, sooner or later everybody run’s away from Cheapo.
And so began Cheapo’s bugging of the receptionists to give him another doctor: “Hoy, get me a doctor, get me a doctor”
However, whoever they called up seemed to be mysteriously either out or away or busy. Finally after what seemed like an eternity they found a dude who was stuck in the ICU/ICCU.
So off Cheapo went to the 4th floor and met the doctor, who took one look at the Cheapo and shouted “lose weight you fat bastard”.
Cheapo was like, How
And doctor was like, Exercise
And Cheapo was like, Meh, can’t do it alone.
And so the doctor was like, Then you are doomed, doomed I tell you doomed.
He told Cheapo to undergo a plethora of tests. A dispirited Cheapo trudged back down to get tested.
After paying what seemed like the GDP of a small nation, they allowed the Cheapo to proceed to room 1 where a vampire took a bigass syringe and plunged it straight into Cheapo’s veins and drew a few gallons of blood.
Then they kicked him out of the laboratory.
So the Cheapo went exploring. He was loitering around the hospital flicking food off patients’ bedsides when a nurse came and gently and firmly took him into a room, ordered him to take off his shoes and shirt, and to lie down on a bed.
Then she brought out a tube of lubricant gel.
Kinky people, these doctors!
Suffice to say that the Cheapo was excited. Finally, some action, he thought.
This is Cheapo, good things don’t happen to Cheapo.
Just when he was about to rise with anticipation, a dude who looked like a cross between Martin Keown and Harambe the Gorilla came in and took the tube and squirted about a litre of gel on Chepo’s chest.
Cheapo, utterly bewildered and feeling like the Arsenal defence against Didier Drogba, was wondering what the hell was going on when this dude got out a joystick and started navigating all over the Cheapo’s chest.
Apparently, they were taking a picture of the Cheapo’s heart or something.
Why anyone would want to take a picture of the Cheapo’s heart is flabbergasting………
Silly people these doctors!
Anyway, once they finished taking pictures of his heart, they dragged him to another room and this time poured a litre of gel on his tummy. A highly indignant Cheapo was shouting at them to stop messing around with his tummy. They ordered the Cheapo to “shut the foock up fatso” and told the Cheapo that they are going to do some Renal Artillery Doffler.
Cheapo got scared – artillery activities around the tummy are never a good idea.
The Cheapo was about to protest vehemently and quote the Rights of Man when they explained to the Cheapo that it’s not Artillery but Arterial. They told the Cheapo that they would take pictures of the Cheapo’s kidneys and renal arteries.
Spooky people, these doctors!
Anyway, then the nurse left and brought on reinforcements in the form of a lady doctor. She also came armed with a joystick, but she took one look at the Cheapo’s exposed tummy and ran away shouting for her mummy.
So now it was the turn of a really senior doctor. He came with a joystick and immediately ordered the Cheapo to hold his breath and started to poke and prod his tummy. Apparently the apparatus couldn’t see anything because of the presence of an immense quantity of fat. So the doctor rolled up his sleeves and decided to really have a go.
It was borderline assault with a battery.
Creepy people these doctors.
Anyway, armed with the plethora of test reports, Cheapo went in search of the doctor. He found the doctor hiding in the ICU/ICCU.
With a weary sigh and incessant grumblings, the doctor looked at the reports and declared that the Cheapo’s heart, or more specifically his ventricle, is shrinking faster than a frightened tortoise in an eagle colony.
That’s right people, Cheapo’s on a Highway to Kaboom of Doom.
Now here’s the irony.
Cheapo is a bonafide racist (50 mts, 100 mts, 200 mts, 400 mtrs, 800 mts……he hates all those races)
But he is now on a race of his own.
That too a menage a troiseque race.
His brain wants to commit suicide.
His heart wants to kaboom of doom.
His spine and nerve wants to get paralyzed.
Huh, this is like Hunger Games, Cheapo style.