Reading Time: 3 minutesI’m in pain and that could be a wonderful start to the next story, Doctor and Ralph. The Doctor wanted to write about a realistic scenario and thought that Ralph’s life might be just that. Ralph’s latest outburst may be just the thing. He’s an ageing man that thinks he’ll survive without applying any care. Ralph was wrong of course.
He applies some cream to his bits but that’s the sum of his good health regimen. That and taking the drugs prescribed for him. He eats anything, drinks like a person who drink a lot and the extent of his exercise is in a minus situation. He exists by a fluke of nature that the Doctor fails to comprehend. The Doctor tries to educate this lump of bad living but it does not seem to work.
The best he can do is to prescribe a range of drugs that keep this blancmange man alive. The drugs work of course but they add nothing in the positive ledger they just kept the negative side from falling further. Doctor and Ralph had an understanding.
The slow sloth-like fat man
He wasn’t concerned, he felt shit anyhow and could not think of a good reason why he should attempt the things the Doctor suggested. The good Doctor was nice but only an avenue to the drugs old “Mr Chublet” required. Without that conduit to medical research, the good Doctor was an unnecessary sidebar to life.
Ralph knew that people sniggered behind his substantial behind. They made exaggerated groans and moans as they feigned attempts to get by him in the supermarket. He took up the entire row. Not the health food or vegetable rows of course. Interestingly the rows that were normally occupied by thin active healthy people were almost twice the width of the rows targeted for huge arsed folk like Ralph.
Forget those who literally gave up and used mobility scooters, the store often had to close the rows when they decided to appear and restock their substantial stock. The supermarket was not a place for genuine political correctness, it was a frenzy of supply and denial.
The Doctor and Ralph
The Doctor wondered how he’d get this story off the ground. Ralph could be a muse to use a term, but it would be catastrophic if he was identified as the character in the story. The story would flounder about the edges of correctness and miss entirely any decency the Medical profession required. Amir would be in some serious trouble and in some ways so would Ralph.
If authorities actually assessed poor “ Mr Chublet” they’d probably hospitalise him immediately and that would sure put a dampener on Ralph’s so-called lifestyle.
Ralph knew nothing about writing
So being a source or muse was new to him as he barely read anything himself. Maybe the TV guide, the prescription dates and some dubious websites that although mainly offering videos had some writing in the titles and categories. Ralph did not have any real companionship, his was more a digital one. The Doctor, whose name was Amir digitised him during his last visit but he didn’t enjoy that personal interference. He contracted everything he possibly could and remembered letting out a little scream during this probing for answers. There were none, except for the funny stain in his undies that revealed itself when he undressed that afternoon.
Ralph grew decidedly uneasy about the next Doctor appointment. He only wanted drugs. He did not want any more questions about his sex life, his shopping habits, his diet or his mental state. Ralph actually had none of these. No sex life, no shopping habits, no diet as such and no mental health. He was a random responsive knee-jerk kind of a guy. He did have a number of mental health issues but neither of them healthy. He managed to get heaps of food inside his smudgingly beach ball frame by a number of low impact ways.
Regular shopping
Ralph was a regular shopper, he was a king of ring and deliver. He’d had drama at the local supermarket and decided not to return. He did have a neighbour that would do some shopping for him and if that required a top up he’d use the online delivery system. He even had the “hasty to leave” delivery folks put it away for him, he paid handsomely for this even though he wasn’t.
Amir knew all about Ralph’s life as he’d chatted to him at length, trying to find a way in. A way to appeal to the inner man and achieve a beneficial change in habits. Well, that was before the digital prostate exam. Ralph didn’t talk at all after that. Amir was terribly anxious about writing the story of Ralph and sought solace in the very attractive nurse he’d hired for that reason. He would provide support and facilitate the fleeting supportive opportunity a male can provide.
As far as Ralph’s balls hurting, that would need to be a discussion between the Doctor and Ralph after all. If Amir could find a way back into Ralph’s life. The prescriptions were due soon.
An increasingly grumpy old fart posting rants, observations and trying to write somewhat twisted short stories for adults. All rights reserved unless otherwise credited © Alan Crawford - 2024
