And then my head exploded

If I were a rich man, da da da da da da da da DAAAAAAA.

I’ve had that song stuck in my head all day.  And I only know that one line.  I’m pretty close to shooting myself just to make it stop.

On a happier note, I’ve recently diagnosed myself with epilepsy.  How?  Easy, with the help of WebMD, otherwise known as, The Bane of My Therapist’s Existence.  Here’s the thing, I have just a touch of hypochondria.  I’m just a tad preoccupied with my health.  For example, I do not touch door handles with my bare hands, as I am convinced that I will contract AIDS if I do.  I also wash my hands about 1500 times a day.  And I carry hand sanitizer with me everywhere, and use it after I touch basically anything.  Oh, and the Lysol.  I carry a travel sized bottle of Lysol for disinfecting on the go.

Now, if I do happen to get sick, I immediately run to the computer to consult my trusty friend, The Internet.  A headache?  Brain tumor.  Weird hand pain?  Hypocalcemia.  Excessive blinking?  Epilepsy.  Mild cold symptoms?  Black plague.

If WebMD were really smart is would come back with the following possible conditions for all of these symptoms.

webmd

But, alas, WebMD is not smart.  It is the devil.  It whispers in my ear, “No, Jill, you’re not crazy.  You’re just dying.  From a rare disease.  That’s what your symptoms tell me, and I am the all knowing Internet.  Now take your top off.” That last part might be Jesus.  Either way, WebMD reinforces my crazy hypochondriacal thinking and I end up at my doctor’s office.  And then my doctor sends me to my therapist.

This afternoon, when I diagnosed myself with epilepsy, I was thinking about this usual chain of events and I had an epiphany.  WebMD was created by the Democrats to get me to go to my doctor more, have more unnecessary tests, drive up health care costs, so they could pass healthcare reform and make America a socialist country!  All of this to achieve their ultimate goal:  killing my grandmother via a government death panel.

I’m onto you, Democrats.  But here’s what you don’t know.  Your plan is moot.  My grandmother is already dead.

grandma

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323 comments to And then my head exploded

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