A patient conversation that became quite hospitable.
|You’ve had your tour of our sanatorium. You and your chronic sick jokes need more care than can be provided. Please leave.
That’s quite the doctored up ill humored diagnosis, sir. I’ve been more patient already than I can stand. I will nurse myself along in short order. Just let me give you one last shot before I leave.
I do the prescribing here and you are being a pill I can’t swallow. Everyone you met here feels more puny than before you came. Out. Out. Don’t try to put a bandaid on what you’ve done.
I see I’ll have to take steps I hadn’t planned on with you being a sore loser. I refuse to foot the bill. The symptoms are clear. I came in here tongue in cheek, got thrown into an isolation room for a laughable offense which lay curing itself for two weeks before I was let out.
And let out not soon enough. You’ve infected our staff with your puny ways. There is only one place for you. We’re transferring you to the funny farm, you joker where you can be the life of the party trading puny remarks. I bet you’ll be quite the card. Now gamble along with you.
So long. Not bad, doctor. When the chips were down, you made quite the recovery in a puny sort of way. You’ve stopped white coating things so much. I’m glad we had this last conversation. You came up with the winning hand. Here’s to your health.