Me: I accept the fact that he has ended at least a dozen wars…
Other guy: A dozen? That’s more than I remember.
Me: If you count the ones he doesn’t usually mention, like the Crimean War, the Franco-Austrian War, and the War of Roses. But what I was getting at was that I should also get some credit, if not for ending the current situation, for at least postponing another round of fighting. And that took some planning.
Other guy: This I gotta hear.
This is important. We just got a message from Dr. Rubin’s office. He wants you to come in either this Thurs. or Sun. Like any good card-carrying hypochondriac, I immediately went into full panic mode. Any time a doctor tells you to come in to see him A.S.A.P, something must be wrong, and I spent the next few days, often lying awake in my bed at 3AM, imagining the worst, because that’s what good hypochondriacs do whenever they get the chance. (It’s cancer. You have only six months to live…) We would find out the truth on Thursday when we would see the good doctor, but until then, in the immortal words of Alfred E. Neuman, What me worry? Damn right, I will.
