Your What Hurts !?!

Your What Hurts!?!

         The first thing Dr. Hobbs noticed as he looked through the door’s window was the orange pen. The pen, formerly straight and of a uniform pumpkiny orange color, was now somewhat deformed and was starting to turn white at the area being chewed. After a moment of looking and thinking, Hobbs entered room 238.
         “So, what’s up Doc?” said Mr. Howard Condrose, through a mouthful of pen. After realizing with whom he was speaking, he hastily dropped the pen.
         “Well Mr. Condrose, I’m not exactly sure. You say that your toe hurts.” A bit of sarcasm, mixed with pity, managed to bleed through his manicured, doctors voice.
         Responding with “Uh, yeah, the inside of my right, big toe. It started to hurt at the beginning of last week”, Mr. Condrose thought he had detected some of the emotion in Hobbs’ voice, but then dismissed the thought.
         “Well, Howard, I’ve made an observation. I can safely say that there is nothing wrong with your toe, but you may have other, larger issues. What I’ve observed, Howie, is that, not only are you missing your right big toe, but every toe on your right foot as well as two on the left.”
         With possibly the most dumbfounded look ever produced by a human face, Howard said “My good man, what on earth are you talking about?!?”
         “Excuse me?” said Hobbs, slightly confused.
         “I said ‘my good man, what on earth are you talking about?!?’ If possible, Condrose had managed to put a bit of sarcasm in to his voice, while being as confused as he could ever remember.
         “Yes sir, I heard what you said. I only said excuse me because I was a bit confused by your quandary.” His voice was dry; dry enough to make the Sahara look like Seattle.
         “My what?”
         “Your quandary.”
         “What is a quandary?”
         “A question, sir.”
         “Yes?”
         “What?”
         “You said that you had a question.”
         “I what? No sir, I did not say that I…never mind, back to the point. You do realize that you are missing seven toes, don’t you sir?”
         “Dr. Hobbs, I have no idea what you are talking about. Furthermore, I take offense at you implying that I only have three toes. If such a thing were true, then not only would I be a freak, I would seem to have other, more serious issues.”
         “My point exactly sir, although I meant no offense. I implied nothing in my assessment, sir. You are missing seven toes, which leaves you only three and you probably have mental problems.”
         “And why, pre tell, should I listen to your opinion as to the state of my mental health?”
         “Because, Howard, I am a fully licensed doctor with years of experience.”
         “Dr. Hobbs, you have been making notes on an imaginary pad of paper with an imaginary pen for the last fifteen minutes.”
         “My good man, what on earth are you talking about?”
         “I already said that. Pick your own statement of shocked disbelief and indignation.”
         ‘Um…well…How about this; What the bloody hell are you talking about?!?!”
         “I simply stated that you have been using an imaginary pen and paper for the last quarter of an hour.”
         “Frankly, Sloth Boy, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
         “Sloth Boy, Sloth Boy. You complain that I’ve got mental problems while your running around making nonsensical statements such as that! HA!”
         “Nonsensical statements, huh. That made perfect sense considering you only have three toes.”
         “First, I don’t have three toes. Second, even if I did have only three toes, which I most certainly do not, how is that relevant?”
         “Haven’t you heard of the three-toed sloth? It’s a bug-eyed, rather mangy looking jungle animal with only three toes.”
         How dare you refer to me as a mangy creature of the jungle. I, sir, am more offended now than ever I was before. I will have your job.”
         “HA! And what will you do when you have it?”
         “What?!”
         “What will you do? Act like a doctor? See patients? Make diagnoses and prognoses? Play golf?”
         “All I meant was that I would see that you are fired.”
         “Oh, then you should have said as much.”
         “You are an ass!”
         “If I am an ass, then you are a dick.”
         “Dr. Hobbs, I will see that you swing from the gallows!”
         “No, Howard, you will not.”
         “And why not?”
         “Because, dick, you will already be dead.”
         With that, the good doctor took out a gun and shot poor Mr. Condrose twice. The first shot took off his remaining three toes; the second took off his head.