Note: Originally posted on "Idiot Fondue"...
My slutty but hard-working secretary just handed me my mail, and we have this question to peruse:
Can a hangover result in death?
And Dr. Brian responds:
What an odd question. Of course it can, this happens all the time with rock stars, bored rich kids, and bitter Republicans. Especially after mid-term elections.
So you clearly have much deeper issues, and think that you are cleverly hiding your real delusions behind this innocuous query. Amateur. Surely you must be aware of my powers. I can easily and competently diagnose anyone in a 5-mile radius without even breaking a sweat. You have offended me with this childish act. I will now rip you to shreds.
First, there are the grains of sand that irritatingly fell out of the envelope when I opened your letter. You reside near a beach, or at least perform your postal activities near a beach, same thing. There are two types of people who frequent beaches: weak people with no direction in their lives, and strong people who thrive on giving direction to those weak people.
The weak go to the beach in the hopes of finding a tiny bit of fulfillment in their miserable lives, even though they are doomed and they subconsciously know it. At first, everything is pretty and the sun is nice. But soon they see all the more-beautiful people around them, hopes fade, and their thoughts turn to the ocean. The powerful ocean where perhaps they could fling themselves to a salty death.
But because the weak ARE weak, of course they don't do it. In their minds, they race to the water a hundred times, leaping over crabs and empty beer bottles in a stunning ballet of impending demise, finally catching the attention of the beautiful people as they gurgle and sink. Instead, the weak people give up their dreams and drag their sun-burnt bodies back home, and iron their clothes for another soul-crushing day in their part-time job at Sunglass Hut.
The strong people go to the beach because they mistakenly assume that God created the beach in honor of their glory. The strong don't simply walk onto the beach, they ARRIVE, wearing designer thong-wear and stomping around like Godzilla attacking the city, shooing away the weak people from the prime real estate. They carry harpoon guns to shoot any idiot servant that does not immediately provide them with requested beverages or snacky things.
And as you would expect, the strong people are there to torment the weak people. This is how life works in any environment, but especially in natural settings involving water. They laugh at the attire and hairstyles of the weak. ("I think you might have sailed right past the look you were going for, Chlamidya.") They are terrible to the children of the weak. ("Mommy drinks because you're ugly.") And they do their best to get the weak to follow through with the suicidal thoughts. ("Do you see that island over there? Cuba? I bet you can make it!")
You, dear patient, are obviously one of the strong. This is clear from the sand that poured out of your envelope, as I can see that you have personally autographed each grain. Do you have to purchase an extra airline ticket for your ego when you travel?
Now, let's move on to the stamp on your envelope. On the back of said stamp, we have the driest saliva I have ever seen. Are you SO anal that you cannot even produce adequate body fluids for postage? Do you even HAVE bowel movements, or do you just pay someone to take care of that for you?
And the stamp itself? I was unaware that you could actually purchase stamps trimmed in 24-karat gold. Amazing. Or did you just apply the gold-leaf yourself? Most likely. I'm sure you've never been satisfied with anything produced by anyone else, and you always have to embellish and upgrade. Who knows what you've done with that vagina of yours. Is it wi-fi capable now?
Yes, I know you are a woman. This is not a sexist statement, although I am sure you will attempt to take it that way, and you are already alerting your fleet of lawyers. No, it is based on the fact that you indicated your return address as "Ultimate Diva Supreme, 123 Goddess Way, Nirvana, FL." So you're either a woman or a drag queen. Oh wait, with the available surgical procedures these days, is it possible that you-
Well, drat. There's the bell, time for my next patient.
Could you possibly return for another session? Have your people get with my people. (I know you have people, anyone with your level of maintenance has GOT to have people.) My pulse is pounding at the thought of further dissection. I'm all aquiver...