Dear Doctor,
I realize I haven’t seen you in over a year, and that is why you initially declined the request to refill my Xanax prescription.
But when I scheduled a complete physical the other day for early November, your assistant led me to believe that you would call in our normal ‘agreement.’
When I picked up the pills last night, I was shocked. Instead of the normal thirty 1MG pills, you gave me ten .25 MG.
That’s like taking a broke gambler to a casino, and handing them a nickel.
Not cool.
I get it. You want to check my height and weight for the 1,000th time. And I know I’m about to lose my prostate check cherry.
But I thought our relationship was more than that. If you remember, you’re the one that put me on that Celexa shit. My former girlfriend still won’t talk to me after she spent countless nights waiting for me to finish.
I surrender. You are the doctor, and I am the patient. I look forward to seeing you next month. I promise not to eat eight hours prior to my appointment. I mean, I don’t want to skew the blood test results.
I will also make sure my butt hole is clean for your inaugural rubber glove trip up my dirt shoot.
I only hope I can make it until then.
Respectfully,
Benny
P.S. I still need those pee pills, too.
You think I’m cute, a little bit shy
Momma, I ain’t that kind of guy