You’d never recognise the little devil. Brilliantly disguised as an intelligent, tall, athletic, sandy-haired, fresh-faced, 35-year-old woman! She calls herself my GP, but the more I see her, the more I realise she is actually the devil in disguise
Dr Death takes great delight in wrapping a black band around my upper arm each time I make a friendly visit to her and then she increases the pressure rapidly until my face reddens. Smiling, she releases the grip slowly once my fingers turn blue. Can you believe she even forces me to pay highly for this privilege?
Occasionally, she has also taken great satisfaction in inserting various vulgar apparatus into unmentionable places on my body to ensure I’m not concealing any stowaways looking for a free consult.
Obviously frustrated at being unable to justify some terrifying, torturous, treatment due to my apparent reasonable condition, she has cast her devilish spells over my personal life outside of the surgery, in an attempt to make my life hell.
Over a relatively short period of time, this smiling assassin has:
If I adhere to this above torturous program for the rest of my days, she promises it will result ‘unblemished’ rights to enter heaven. When I eventually swipe my access card on those pearly gates it will be display: Non-smoker, Moderate Drinker, Stress Free Lifestyler, Safe Sex Convert, Weight Management Freak and Regular Exerciser.
As a result, Dr Death, aka the ‘Devil’ has abolished all my comforts of life and I am seriously starting to question — is it really worth going through hell on earth just to get to heaven?!