[Clipart 017] Oh, Here’s the Problem

[Clipart 017] Oh, Here’s the Problem


“Hey doc, I’ve been having a bit of a sore throat lately,” Herschel said with a raspy voice. “Could you take a look in there and see what the matter is?”

“Eh, fine I guess.” Doc Hudson rolled up his sleeve and walked over to Herschel. “Alright, open up.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing gloves? Also shouldn’t you have washed your hands?”

“Oh, well, if you’re the doctor then I guess you don’t need me.” Doc Hudson walked over to the door and put his hand on the entirely sterile and sanitary knob.

“Wait! Doc, I didn’t mean nothing by that. It’s just that I got my cousin’s wedding to go to next week and I don’t want to get any sicker before then, ya know?”

Doc Hudson wiped his hand on his shirt. “Well, your heartfelt plea won me over. Just remember, I didn’t go to medical school for 12 we-er, I mean years to be told how to doctor things. I know how to doctor, it says so right here on my diploma.” Doc pointed over to his diploma. It was from Westdorstingham University of Medicine and faded white streaks running across it. “Now, lets try this again.”

Herschel’s mouth was slightly ajar.


Herschel began to show some teeth.


Herschel opened wider. His jaw began to strain.

“Jesus Christ, Herschel! This is a two man job. I can’t give you my expert prognosis if you aren’t contributing in this relationship.”

Herschel’s jaw muscles were stretched out like rubber bands.

“Finally.” Doc Hudson grabbed a flashlight with his right hand. He shined it into Herschel’s mouth and stared into the abyss. “Ah, yeah, there’s your problem.” Doc grabbed Herschel’s tongue and started playing with it, kneading it and running it between the fingers of his left hand. “Hmmmm. Yes.”

Doc put the tongue down and reached into Herschel’s throat. “You might feel a slight tickle,” Doc tried to say over Herschel’s violent coughing. His hand slid deeper and deeper into Herschel’s esophagus until lips were wrapped tightly around his elbow. “Yup, definitely something weird in here. Let me just-”

Herschel grabbed at his chest and started flailing wildly on the bed. “Hold still, guy!” He bit down on Doc Hudson’s elbow, but Doc was too focused on saving this man’s life. He fought through the pain. Herschel grabbed on to Doc’s left arm and tried to pull it free.

“Plughgghshgh! Imbgbginghyiuh!” Herschel said, his speech understandably obstructed by the arm crammed down his throat.

“Shhhhhh, you’ll be able to talk in a second once I-” Doc put his foot on Herschel’s chest and pushed. Doc flew across the room and slammed into the wall behind him. Herschel lay motionless, slumped over on the floor in a pool of blood. Doc Hudson got up and wiped his head with the back of his left hand, smearing it with blood. “Whooo boy, that was a tricky one. I haven’t done one of those procedures since grad school.”

Doc Hudson stepped over Herschel and placed the pulsating, bloody mass of flesh into the trashcan.

“Ya see, Herschel?” Doc Hudson said with a wag of his finger. “That was a cancer. I told you to cut out the trans fats and only drink one glass of wine a night. But look who didn’t listen! Well, you learned your lesson. Oh, and I’ll have the nurse write you a prescription for some antibiotics to get rid of that cold you’ve got. Tell your cousin I said mozel tov!”

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