I got a bit of a chest infection during the week, hawking up big green oysters, you know? So I said I’d better go and see the Doc.
Doc, I have this bit of a chest infection.
Right, Bock. Let’s have a listen.
So he poked around with his stethoscope and he said
Sorry Bock. It’s bad news. You have lung cancer.
Then he said,
Nah. Only joking. Here, take a few of these several times a day for a while and it’ll go away.
Right, Doc, I said. Thanks.
Bock, he said, as I was leaving.
Bock, I notice you’re becoming a bit of a fat bastard.
What, Doc? I replied in surprise.
You’re becoming somewhat rotund. I’ve noticed it ever since you packed in the smokes.
Surely not, Doc, I protested.
Oh yes, Bock, he insisted.
But fuck it Doc, I do all the right things. I get plenty of exercise.
Like what, Bock?
Well, I listen to a lot of loud music. And . . . and I drive very fast with the windows open!
What about your eating habits?
Oh Jesus, Doc, I watch what I eat. The most nachos I’d have would be two bags at a time. And no more than four pots of cheese sauce (with jalapenos). Six doughnuts, and I’d be full. No more than two dinners any evening, plus of course, a pound of sausages cooked in dripping for my breakfast, served with melted butter and fried potatoes.
Hmmm, he said, fixing me with his glittering eye. What about drink?
Oh, Doc, I know I go out every night, but I’d always leave it at the eight pints. And of course, the bottle of wine when I get home. Or two.
Doc studied me for a long time. Are you being serious here?
Yes, Doc, I am.
Well, Bock, all I can say is that I’m baffled. You’re doing everything right.