Me: Hey doc, I gotta tell ya, every time I catch a ride to the office with somebody from work and we pass through a darkened passageway, I experience these strange shooting pains in my wrist. Whaddaya think it is???
My primary care physician: Well son, it sounds like you’re suffering from a minor case of carpool tunnel syndrome!
Me: Well, that explains the wrists, but can you tell me why my heart began palpitating wildly the last time I broke a rule in the name of love?
My PCP: I’d have to run some tests to be sure, but I believe you’ve just described a cardiac inFRACtion!
Me: Oh no! Could that also be why I sometimes yell at people in German for no apparent reason?
My PCP: Unfortunately, no, as that’s almost certainly a symptom of the Teutonic plague!
Me: Goodness, I hope that’s not contagious! I don’t suppose you’ve got a diagnosis for my insatiable love of potatoes and yams?
My PCP: Certainly I do. You’ve just described the classic signs of tuber–culosis!
Me: Out of the kettle and into the deep fryer! But none of this explains my deep-seeded fear of looking up things in the backs of books.
My PCP: Perhaps not, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find out you also had appendix–itis!
Me: Yowza doc, when you’re hot, you’re hot! Speaking of which, I’m burning up over here! Why do I get feverish every time U2 comes on the air?
My PCP: Come now, what else would you expect after contracting Bono–nucleosis!
Me: Hi-oh! I don’t suppose that has anything to do with why my voice goes up an octave when I talk about baking bread?
My PCP: I would guess that’s attributable your unfortunate yeast inFLECtion!
Me: That’s just vagi-silly! Besides, I’m really more worried about my intrinsic reluctance to believe in the existence of the open sore in my stomach lining.
My PCP: You mean your skeptic ulcer!?
Me: Ba-ZING! You’re a salty one, doc. And speaking of salty, can you tell me why it is that every time I eat peanuts, cashews, or some other miscellaneous nut-based product, I tend to order people around as if I were some sort of tyrannical dictator?
My PCP: Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a simple case of Planter’s fascist-itis!
Me: Kracka-mazow! [under my breath] Hey doc, are we getting a little too obscure here?
My PCP: Maybe. Let’s see how they react to the permanently pre-pubescent male with subacute sclerosing Peter Pan-encephalitis and go from there.