It's a cattle prod. It hurts slightly less than a branding iron.

I don't have many cohesive (or, for that matter, coherent) philosophies of life yet. One of the ones I do strongly adhere to, however, is: Medicine with a capital "M" is scary and evil. Before you speak against me, gather round and listen to the sad tale of The Boy and the Dermatologist.

Now, this boy had a mole on his waist. This mole wasn't dangerous, but it was in a position where chafing made it very uncomfortable. The boy, wishing to be free of this discomfort, went to a dermatologist.

This dermatologist was called Dr. Callus (name changed to protect the stupid) (but did you catch the pun in the pseudonym?) (didja? didja?). Dr. Callus took the boy's mole away. However, the doctor told the boy that he also had a big, mean-looking mole on his back. The boy's back, not the doctor's.

And so, a few weeks later, the boy came back to the doctor. This mole was so mean, that the doctor was going to need to cut it out and put in stitches to hold the boy together. The boy was scared, but the doctor assured him it wouldn't hurt. To help, the doctor gave the boy a whole bunch of anaesthetics, and told him to lie flat for fifteen minutes.

Then the doctor came back in and started removing the mole. The boy mentioned that the knife the doctor was using still hurt rather a lot. The doctor said sorry. The boy asked for another couple bottles of painkillers, or at least an unconsciousness-inducing blow to the head. The doctor said sorry again, but didn't do anything. Well, the doctor's next cut nearly sent the boy straight into blackness, but that wasn't really the doctor's intention.

Interminable hours later, the doctor finished. He commented to his nurses that there was rather a lot more blood than usual. The boy's mother asked the doctor if maybe he should have noticed this and the pain as indications that he, the doctor, was incompetent? The doctor disagreed, but as a way of making it up to the boy, he (the doctor) gave the boy's mother extra bandages..

Half an hour later, the boy finally managed to unclench his jaw.

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Die doctors die die die. I hate them all.

BTW, extra credit to anyone who recognizes the source of the quote in this post's title.