Bizarroville

Dr. Cunningman

Deep inside the offices of St. Peter's hospital, Dr. Cunningman sat at his desk, filing paper work for the weekend. He did not look happy about it. He stopped writing about Mrs. Jones' delivery for a moment and reclined in his chair. He grumbled with disapproval upon looking around his office. Throughout the years it had grown smaller, less frequented and further away from the hospital's entrance. He felt as if it said: "You had your time, old man; make room for the next big thing." No, the years had not been kind, he thought as he rubbed his wrinkled face with his hands.

He had never been extremely successful. Pre-natal care was needed, that's for sure, but he wasn't the doctor couples first sought out. No, that had always been Dr. Smashing. HIS office was s big and as frequented as it had been twenty long years ago; Dr. Cunningman would perhaps say that it had grown bigger and even more crowded. It was probably due to Dr.Smashing's flashing public career. He'd written several books on the most boring and overused subject in prenatal care – breathing during labor. Dr. Cunningman had also written several books, but on a less recurred topic: dilation. Never mind the way those books had substantially improved clinic procedure, they had done absolutely nothing to aid his career.

To loosen up, he pressed a button on the far left corner of his desk and a picture of Dr. Smashing in a handsome pose came down on the other side of his office. It was pestered with holes. Dr. Cunningman took darts from a small box and proceeded to throw them at the picture with great skill. For a while he fantasised having the real Dr. Smashing in front of him, and hitting him where it would hurt the most. He soon ran out of darts, however, and he watched miserably as the lower half of the picture fluttered down to the floor. The picture was now it recognisable. Damn it. He'd have to go print another one. Yes, every misfortune in his life was caused by Truman W. Smashing PhD.

His gloomy soul begged him for a drink, but he'd stopped stocking his cabinet with brandy a while back. He stood up to gather his things and go for a drink, but groaned and say back down once he saw that he still had paperwork to finish. He'd better get it done quickly, if he was to take his youngest fishing this weekend.

***

Truman W. Smashing and Joseph M. Cunningman as med-school students were inseparable. Their friendship bloomed once they realised that they both wanted to work with unborn babies. After that, every class, every workshop, every project was fulfilled or taken in couple. They were teased several times as to the nature of their relationship, yet nothing could tear them apart.

That is, until Lora Jane Dawson came into view. Miss Dawson was unlike any woman they'd ever met. They were both working at Bartholomew's Hospital when they met her in ER. Despite the needle that poked out of one of her cheeks, which were sagging due to unorthodoxly applied anaesthesia, Lora Jane was remarkably beautiful. Joseph met her first.

"Hello... Lora," he said after checking her chart. "Hmm, I'd really like to know. Who the hell stabs herself with a needle filled with anaesthesia?" He chuckled. "I'm just messing with you. I'm Dr. Cunningman, but you can call me Joseph." He said with a dashing smile; he'd always been good with the ladies. "Now, let me have a look." He said as he gently turned her face for a better look. "Hmm, so you're a dentist, I see."

"Hww dhu wou nouh?" She asked.

"How do I know? Well, let's see. You have a syringe that was filled with anaesthesia poking out of your cheeks, and since I haven't seen you around that rules out nurse. Who transfers a nurse to a different hospital in an emergency? Now tell me, does that hurt?" He said as he gently nudged the needle.

"Uuuuuuhh!! Uh-huh, uh-huh, uuuuuuhhhhhh!" She exclaimed.

Dr. Cunningman looked pondering my at her. "Well, that's not good. It means it's gone all the way into your jawbone. But what really gave it away, however, was that cute little tooth embroidered on your uniform." he smiled as she nodded, feeling like she'd made a fool of herself in front of this nice doctor. "Don't worry about the syringe, I'll get it out, yet I'd feel a bit more comfortable if you didn't have to be awake for it. What do you think?"