Suffering for pangs of great intensity, I recently visited my doctor. While sifting through some magazines in the waiting room (some of which date back to 1987), my mind began drafting a raunchy scene for my edgy new TV series. My precocious doctor would be played by a hot young actress, who would give me an unorthodox full body search. Rampant noises would be heard by incredulous (‘incr’ + AutoCorrect) patients in the waiting room. I would assure her that I felt much better afterwards, before awkwardly asking if I had to pay.
It wasn’t like that of course. I’m afraid to announce, readers, that I have a serious medical condition. While it isn’t life-threatening, it will periodically cause me great anxiety. The mild attacks will render me fervent and unable to control my tear ducts. The symptoms have been caused by a condition that separates my white blood cells from my red ones. Feeling the loss, my red blood cells tried to turn white, but only made it as far as orange. To make matters worse, about a third of my blood cells have gone crazy and developed copper-based haemoglobin. As a result of the oxidised copper, the third stream has a green complexion. So, I bleed the Irish tricolour. Apparently it’s called patriotism, and I’ll be damned if they try to cure me! Éireann abú!
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