Boiling It Down: Modern Medicine

When I watch the morning news on cable television, I see advertisements for cures for allergies, back pain, sneezing, athlete's foot, tiredness, smoking, and many more maladies, real or imagined. All of these ads tell me to see my doctor, who can write a prescription enabling me to buy the stuff that is being advertised. If I don't feel terrific, I am told, there is some product somewhere that promises me I will feel better, but I must first see my doctor in order to spend my money. In the face of this commercial onslaught, I have chosen to believe in alternative medicines. My alternative attending physicians are witch doctors.

I visit a unique practice known as "Shamans R Us". Their offices are on the sixteenth floor of an office building on the upper West Side. I walk in whenever I wish, because the chief executive of the clinic is a psychic. With her abilities, she knows in advance when I am coming so there is no need to make an appointment. As a matter of fact, she knows all of today's patients' names, phone numbers, e-mails, ailments and bank balances before they enter. This makes doing business with her very easy. She answered all of my questions before I asked them. In addition to solving my physical needs, she also tells me where the stock market is heading: this alleviates my need for health insurance.

After the psychic told me about my future, I sought the healer, Mandrake, regarding a proper diet. I have been eating natural foods for many years. Mandrake suggested that I should start to eat supernatural foods. There are three kinds of foods: natural, unnatural, and supernatural. I could sit down and enjoy a slice of wheat bread, or a slice of Wonder Bread, or a slice of the bread of the Gods. The supernatural bread would lead to renewed religious fervor, emotional satisfaction, and no calories.

My next stop at the clinic was to see The Wizard. The Wizard played professional basketball in Washington, D.C. He was the office curiosity because he stood seven feet tall and he had three arms, which helped him lead the league in rebounding. While I was in his office, he was dribbling, which made a mess on his floor. When I made mention of his wet floor, he gave me a technical foul. He sent me to the bench on the fourth floor. After a thirty minute time-out, the psychic appeared. She apologized for the Wizard's behavior, and sent me home with a quart of the milk of human kindness.

I later returned to "Shamans R Us", and began a regimen of metaphysical therapy. It was taught by a yogi named Berra, who caught all of the philosophical nuances. He knew how to sacrifice. I gave him my pitch about alternative medicine. He singled me out for my adroitness. He said I was not out in left field. Pleased by his response, I ran home, where I made some pancakes by stirring the batter up. I played it safe.