DR. KARL MANZ. This is Dr. Karl, helloooo!

JOSHUA GREEN ALLEN. Doc, it’s Josh.

KM. (silence)

JGA. Josh Allen, doc.

KM. I know who it is. How’d you get this number.

JGA. Your receptionist cut a deal with me. Said she’d give me your emergency number if I never called her or … hang on, I’ve got the contract here. Let’s see. “Never contact her or any of her family members again, nor come within a 100-foot radius of her apartment building or the place she does sexy yoga, nor send her greeting cards of a … a lasciv … lascivi…”

KM. Lascivious.

JGA.“Nor posters featuring his actual-size nude body,” blah blah, mostly just boilerplate.

KM. This must be a considerable emergency then, Mr. Allen.

JGA. I just need my test results, Dr. Karl. The wife is putting an embargo on all, you know, in-and-out activities until we get that paperwork.

KM. I do have the results, but I felt they could wait until our scheduled appointment next week, and not at, what, one-thirty in the morning? During a very spirited night out with my energetic intern here?

JGA. Doc, I am very sorry to interrupt whatever homo-activity you’ve got going on—believe me. We can make this super-quick.

KM. Fine. Do you have any facial tissue handy? And perhaps some whiskey or Midori?

JGA. I’ve got all three right here in the bathroom, duh.

KM. Well, there’s news. I won’t say if it’s good or bad. I will say there is good or bad news, and you can decide for yourself which it is.

JGA. Give it to me straight. Right in my face.

KM. You got syphilis, son. A lot of it.

JGA. What!

KM. What we in the profession call a sick amount.

JGA. But I thought only chimney sweeps got syphilis!

KM. Wake up, you sad bitch!

JGA. OK. OK. Maintain. I’ve had worse. What can I expect?

KM. Nightmarishly swollen glands. Horrific rashes. Mucus-spewing lesions like something out of Lovecraft. Blindness. Going batshit crazy.

JGA. Great, that’s just what I need in my life right now. Wonderful.

KM. There may be a cure. But the side effects could be even more terrible than the disease itself.

JGA. I’m listening.

KM. Did you ever watch … The Bionic Woman?

JGA. Aw yeah!

KM. Can you be in my office first thing tomorrow morning? We need to fit you for a robo-phallus. It’s an outpatient procedure, no big whoop.

JGA. Oh my goodness! I think I just died and went to a heaven where nonstop boning is smiled upon!

KM. Uh oh, wait a sec, I was looking at the chart upside-down. Turns out you just have crabs. An encore performance, it seems.

JGA. Shucks. Doc, you cold.

KM. You still have the shampoo from last month?

JGA. I think it’s in my desk at work, yeah.

KM. Then I’ll just go ahead and hang up and we can speak again during your next outbreak.

JGA. Doc, if you weren’t the cheapest guy who took my insurance, I’d probably take my penis elsewhere.

KM. Fortunately, it seems that Fate has brought me and your penis together forever. Good night, old friend.

JGA. Night-night. Take it easy on the intern.

KM. I’ll do no such thing.

—click—