OF DOCTORS AND STRIKES

Those government hospital doctors. You will do well to get the hell out of their ways. They strike like King Cobra. Those strikes are lethal

The one they call Doc pretends to listen to your sorry-ass whining. Then scrawl or doodle on a prescription form, hand it to the hangers-on Nurse, who hands it to the pharmacist, who takes one glance it and start filling up syringes with venom-like-looking liquid:

I use to think those injections were urine mixed with brine, since a nurse squirted the thing one day and large drops landed smack on my face and open mouth, before she injected the vile juice into my asrse, numbing my fever-weakened Body and dousing the ardour of my willing Spirit. If God hadn’t warned the Devil to never touch my Soul, she may have gotten to it too.

If you have little flesh on your bum, like I do, they jab you in the arm, or in chest or in the head. If you get any sicker than you were, they make excuse saying “we treat, only God heals”.

If they really hate your gut or when the mood gets a hold of them, they put you under the knife, if you struggle, complaining you only have malaria, they put you out. You try to resurface, they put you out of your misery for good. If you’re lucky you go to heaven otherwise you become cadaver.

You don’t sue them, cos there are always no witnesses. You never find them when you really need them to answer. They’re always on strike.

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