Quack!

I can see right through it, the righteous indignation, the fatherly “you’ll come around eventually” attitude. The AMA is just a quack Mafia, an organization whose sole intention is to see to it that the family (of licensed physicians) are the only ones who get to wrap their fingers around America’s pocket book and squeeze. Only chemical drugs manufactured in a laboratory somewhere can possibly heal you, or so they say, this band of snake oil salesmen who got together and decided they could pedal their wares as God sent and bully the other guys out of town.
Did I say guys? I should say gals, because really, it’s your grandmother with her peppermint tea and tablespoon of apple cider vinegar they want to tar and feather. They tell you very clearly that there are two men who can give you what you need to take to make you well: the pharmacist and the physician. We must consider that in the moment that this association was being formed, women were meant to be kept sort of like pets, and they might wander out into the yard and start eating some grass, and your job, as the man of the house, is to take her firmly in hand, lead her inside and tell her that she shouldn’t be doing what she has always done to cure a bad case of hairballs. What she really needs is a visit to good old Dr. D who will gladly prescribe her some Gen R X, fully patented and approved by the FDA and AMA and the United States Postal Service.
There is no way to stay well without exposing one’s self to a little radiation now and then. If your belly hurts then you need an x-ray. Perhaps you swallowed a puzzle piece you silly monkey, and we will need to perform a surgery to remove it. What? Forget about letting nature run its course and waiting to see if the thing passes, only gypsies can do that with diamonds. Good wholesome Americans submit to anesthesia and the blade. That’s right, just a little bit of the rubber rats dream gas and a scalpel and you will be right as rain. Unless you get a secondary infection from your hospital stay, or we accidentally sew you up with a pair of clamps still in place. Then when Dr. D comes around and says,
“And how is our patient today?”
You will say, not so good Doc and they will whisk you away, to do what? You guessed it! Take another x-ray! The Doctor will inspect the results and chuckle,
“I see what the problem is here. That’s my wedding ring in there, and this over here is Nurse Betty’s used tampon. We’ll need to operate again immediately, of course, before my wife notices the ring is missing.”
And they’ll do you up like a Christmas goose again, carving away. Afterwards they’ll hand you some ice chips in a disposable cup.
“It’s Styrofoam, you’ll love it! A modern marvel. You can eat the cup when you’re finished with the ice, it’s been approved for human consumption by the FDA.”
“Thank you Nurse Betty, I feel refreshed after that, but I seem to have filled my bed pan, can you take it away? Hello? Nurse Betty? Is anyone there? Hello?”