"...cures"

( Here's a re-post of a story from last Spring,...well I thought it was funny.)

Having dreams, and flash backs of my recent surgical fun. So I'm lying there, and there's this guy in a faded "Guns 'n Roses t-shirt, and an old chefs hat with his arms up to the elbows fishing around in my guts.
With his free hand he's chugging down from a jug of "Wild Turkey". He notices I'm awake, and sez, "...How ya doing there sport?" Before I can answer he gives me a swig of whiskey saying, Here ya go...cures all that ails ya!"

A few shots spill into my open guts to which the "Chef" sez "...don't worry 'bout that it'll help clean shit out in there. The anesthesiologists whom I hadn't noticed till then falls over.

"...There he goes again" sez my chef.

"Our pal here likes to take his work home if ya gets my drift."

The surgical theatre looks like a "Clean Room" at NASA. This concerns me. I'm wondering if they has plans for some sort of covert "Old sick Black guys in space program".
Again before I can ask some guy in an ancient Ming outfit comes in banging a gong. This with some other fella playing Jimmy Hendriks riffs on guitar.

Hey ya can't make this shit up folks.

Anyhow over the crackling speaker there's something about how it's "Opium Break". That, and the whole crowd of doctors students, and tourists that was hanging around all spilt through a four foot high door off to the side there.

My Chef calls back saying the procedure would "keep" till they all stumbled back.

I felt reassured, and passed out from the pain.

(...did I mention that hot-dog stand that was there?)