Doctor Comic - Part 3

Source: Buttersafe

I finally took the MCAT last Friday. The amount of coffee I drank pumped me up so high till I crashed down and slept like a dead log hours later into the night. I've come to the conclusion that the amount of stress you got after the test is inversely proportional to the amount of time you spent studying. Last summer when I took the test, which I failed of course, I didn't have the smallest piece of anxiety or fear or any negative feeling. Now that I spent months preparing, I've been haunted with so much fear regarding my scores, which I will share with you below.

The highest maximum score anyone can get from this test is 45T, with the letter is for the writing samples' score. To be hopefully accepted, you need to have a 27; to be competitive, you need at least a 10 for each of the three sections other than the writings. So here comes the possibilities.

1. I fail it again. My family disowns me so I have to go sell peanuts at the stadium where people watch American football. Don't get me wrong, selling peanuts competitively is an art and if you don't meet your quota, you are fired. As I run toward a waving customer on the horizon, a smiling shady old man smacks my butt, which makes me trip on his cane, spill all of my nuts, break my spine, and get paralyzed from the neck down. "You drop your nuts, little boy," he says. The end of my life.

2. I fail it again. My family disowns me not immediately yet just in time for me to gain enough training for pole-dancing. I get a part time job at the biggest club in Washington DC after giving a gross blowjob to the club manager who suffers from chronic bad breath. Things start to get better when I meet a potential sugar-daddy who promises to pay for my education again after I perform a lethal move on the pole. As I spin my moneymaker and twist it up and down the pole, the herpes blister I got from blowing the club manager starts to itch uncontrollably. Preventing myself from scratching, I lose control of the pole, fall ass first on the sticky dance floor, break my spine, and get paralyzed from the neck down. "Your grasp ain't tight enough," he says. The end of my life.

3. I fail it again. Not disowning me, my family sends me to a reparative camp for the rehabilitation of deviated men in Uganda instead. While trying to escape in the style of Leonardo DiCaprio in Shutter Island, I get busted by the Head Douche in Charge of  the facility. After making me do his nails and laundry, he decides that the best way for me to obtain Absolution is to learn by heart in one hour the whole audio Book of Leviticus as narrated by the sweet loving voice of Marcus Bachmann. When I start to yell, he shoves a big raw organic hormone-free cucumber in my mouth to gag me up. The force is so great that it knocks me off the chair, sends me head first on the dirt floor, cracks my spine, and paralyzes me from the neck down. "At least, it's vegan," he says. The end of my life.

Well, truth is: the likelihood that the proposed tragedy will happen is as solid as the chance that I break my spine. The waiting period to get the score is unnerving and upsetting. The post-MCAT psychosis is as severe as the pre-MCAT mental breakdown. I make weird bargain to myself. "What if I exchange an inch of my penis length for a one point increase on the overall score? How about two for one? Oh... then there's nothing left to use... uh what? Ugh..." I need to stop whining, calm my nuts down, and get laid. Maybe not so soon. Just wish me luck, plenty of luck.

Love, peace, and success.