How to be a medical expert


Some of my imaginary friends have been asking me if I have had medical training. My incisive advice for the doldrums, warts, and CPS (coach potato syndrome) astounds them. They shake their heads in disbelief when I casually mention that I have self-diagnosed any number of serious medical conditions (coronary toenail disease, flatulence of the brain, and astigmatic kidney syndrome) and spontaneously healed without the aid of so-called medically trained personnel.



Now I know exactly what you are thinking: How can such a simple person gain that degree of knowledge and ability? First, I would appreciate it if you would just go ahead and ask me out loud. If we’re going to have any kind of healthy relationship, you can’t expect me to keep reading your mind. My therapist said that’s one of the problems we need to work on.


Second, I pride myself on being a simple person (my mother, may she rest in peace, recognized my lack of pretentious thinking early in my life and often called me simple-minded). So you can understand why I believe anyone can attain my level of medical knowledge and insight.


Third, to reach my level of expertise, you must have Internet access, an inordinate amount of time and imagination, as well as an ability to ignore information that fails to pass the test of aligning with what you already know to be true. This is what we call “fact-checking.”


Fourth, you must have restraint. Most people do not know how to use search engines correctly.  To illustrate, let’s say you type in “health benefits of chocolate.” A list of articles appears, and the majority of the titles declare that chocolate is healthy. Some will mention that it is good for your heart. Others will link it to weight loss. Yes, weight loss. Really. If you don’t believe me, look it up. But let me say this, your need to look it up says a lot about our relationship, doesn’t it?


Fourth and three-quarters, we haven’t finished with restraint. Most people lack it. They click on the articles about chocolate and then read them. Don’t do it my friend. Accept what the headline or title says. Nine out of ten articles are what I like to call “motorboat articles.” They rev up the article by stating that chocolate is good for you and then go but, but, but, but, but all the way home. Trust me, all those facts will only confuse you.


Fifth, as is my wont, I am developing a revolutionary new medical degree for those who have the necessary qualifications (see the third point). I call it the Medical Advanced Degree (MAD).


Sixth, it won’t cost you a thing. I, on the other hand, will spend a lot of time and money on development, advertisements, and shipping. But that won’t matter to you, will it? I am still grieving over your lack of interest in that other scheme. But don’t worry about me and my little bank account. We’ll manage somehow.


Seventh, I know exactly what you are thinking right now, and I wish you would stop it. Reading your mind and listening to my imaginary friends all day is driving me mad.


Eighth, I recently rediscovered the secret formula of H.H.H., the greatest discovery of the age, or what I call “The Greatest Re-discovery of the Age.”  Once I find time in my busy schedule, I plan to make it available on this website. Not that you would buy it because no matter how hard I try, it’s just never good enough for you, is it? But that’s okay because I am totally over it. Really. You may, however, be interested to know that my advertising agency (see picture above) can be found here.

The diagnosis


When you look in the mirror, do you look more circular than before? Have your hips begun to explore the horizon, one heading east and the other west? Do all of your new best friends have names like imrtru and lovesickcarrots? Do you understand what imrtru stands for? Have you started eating all of your meals with your imaginary friends in front of a computer screen? Have you experienced dropped eye syndrome: you find it difficult to raise your eyes from the screen to focus on live human beings? Do you sometimes discover that your spouse is gone and you have no idea where because you weren’t listening to a word he or she said because you were commenting on someone’s blog? Do you know the names of all your blog friends’ pets, but regularly forget the names of your spouse and children? Are you increasingly upset with people because they breathe and it breaks your concentration while you are reading online? If they chew food near you when you are trying to read, do you feel the urge to throw things at them?


If you answered yes to these questions, you need help. Probably more than I can give you. You have the classic symptoms of sittentuberlocus. (See below for an explanation of this word.) In layman’s terms, you are a couch potato. However, your case is more serious; your sickness is coupled with bloggitis: a serious inflammation of the brain. People with this disease often begin to grow large potato-like lumps on their bodies, called fat. Their vocal cords atrophy due to lack of use. Their hearing becomes increasingly sensitive and they startle at the sound of human voices. Bouts of chortling and sniggering are common, triggered by words and images on their computer screens. If the disease is left unattended, these people are usually left unattended because their caretakers can no longer communicate with them. The final prognosis is brain freeze, known as “death by blogging.”


What can be done? Frankly, not much.


However, I have developed a revolutionary new treatment that I am offering you free of charge! It is so new and revolutionary that I haven’t even fully developed it. So, you will need to come back tomorrow to find out more. But I can promise you this: my treatment will in no way cure you, change your life, help you make friends, succeed in business, or get published. In fact, I am so confident of that claim that I am offering a money-back guarantee!


See you tomorrow.


(*See above for the word: Few people have taken the time to research the etymology of this word. Sitten is Low German for “sit,” tuber is Latin for “hump or swelling,” and locus has two possible sources. Some say it comes from the Latin and means “location.” However, others, like myself, who have spent more than 30 minutes researching the word, believe it comes from the Spanish word loco, which is a nice way to say “crazy.” So it could either be translated as “the place a potato sits” or “crazy sitting potato.” Please note that although we call people with this disease “couch potatoes,” not all of them are found on couches. Some sit in recliners that rock.)


Photo found here.