choose your own adventure

You are seated in the office of Dr. Levine, smoking an unfiltered Camel cigarette. There is no one but you in the office and you take a moment to orient yourself, walking about, studying the doctor's various diplomas and commendations. He is a very well-educated man, you think, eyeing his doctorate degree from the University of Cantoon. You don't remember where Cantoon is, but you're pretty sure it is off the coast of Iowa. You regret never having gone to college, but you also regret never having finished kindergarten.

School was always a hassle, what, with your father being an adventurer-hero as he was. He was always taking you on "diplomatic missions" to kill various heads of state. While the other kids were learning their ABCs, you were learning to field-strip an M16, which, in retrospect, has helped you more than a college degree would in your current career as a hired killer. But you can't help but pine for those lost days of youth.

"Hello Agent Phosphorous," Dr. Levine says as he enters his office. You are startled and quickly put down the rack of lamb you found in the bottom drawer of his desk.

"Dr. Levine I presume?" you say suavely.

"Yes," the doctor answers. "Hope you weren't lost. They still haven't changed the name on the door."

Before he shuts it you notice the plaque on the door that reads: Dr. Pinkerstein, M.D. You are confused. You could've sworn it read: Dr. Hardy, D.D.S. when you first entered. No matter, you've found your man.

"Now then Agent Phosphorous," the doctor says, "let's get down to brass tacks."

"Have you lost them?"

"Quite the contrary," he says and turns his back to you.

You notice several brass tacks embedded in his ass. He hands you a pair of pliers and you go to work. In a matter of seconds, you have removed the doctor's tacks and put them in your pocket for safe keeping. The doctor sits at his desk and you pull up a small end-table to sit on. You have forgotten about the chair you were seated in earlier. When the doctor points it out to you, you say "thank you" and begin to wrestle it.

"It has been brought to my attention," the doctor proceeds, "that you've been suffering from some minor gastrointestinal pains."

"No, the pains are in my stomach," you say.

"What kinds of foods have you been eating lately?"

"Well, I've been on a very strict diet," you say. "I'm trying to avoid foods with the letter E in them."

The doctor ponders this for two minutes. He doesn't say anything but quietly hums the refrain to "Yes, We Have No Bananas". After this short musical interlude, he tells you to remove your pants. You tell him that you've already been to the dentist and have no time for his shenanigans.

"Alright Agent Phosphorous," the doctor tells you. "Since you seem to be healthy otherwise, I'm going to prescribe this rather useless and unpleasant-tasting placebo. I'm only going to recommend a month's worth, but if your stomach problems persist, please call my nurse and ask her to recite 'The Gettysburg Address' backwards."

Dr. Levine scribbles the prescription on a McDonald's napkin and hands it to you.

If you take the prescription and leave, turn to page 6
If you ask for a second opinion, turn to page 32
If you decide he needs to die, turn to page 4