Home > Funny Stories by Dick Oakes > Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dr. Yothers peeled off the gauze bandages. I let out a muffled cry. Then the air hit my legs and I let out another.

“Chrissakes, I’ve tried everything, Doc. Gone near to broke with these creams and lotions from the god damn pharmacies.”

He poked the weeping sores with a tongue depressor. He leaned back in his little swivel chair and thought about it. Then, he leaned too far and fell flat on his ass. The chair went scuttling off into some dark corner of the filthy office. Who knew what the hell to make of it?

“Mr. Oakes, the pharmacies– they deal in mere parent medicines. They are the snake charmers of the modern era.” He giggled strangely.

“You mean patent medicines, Doc?”

“No matter.”

He was a squat shithouse of a man in a worn white lab coat. There were bleach discolorations all over the damn thing. But he moved nimbly.

He tore an entire drawer straight out of the battered desk. It was full of pills.

“The mind is set at ease Mr. Oates on the fate of humanity when one contemplates the great work of the pharmaceutical companies of Lankville.” He giggled again strangely. “Just think of the selfless research that went into the creation of all these marvelous concoctions.” He ran his hand over the pills. I stared down at the myriad of colors. Many weren’t even in bottles. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

“You got anything in there that’ll clear this up, Doc?”

“Oh, there MUST be,” he said. But he continued to hold the drawer in his lap, staring mindlessly out of the long-uncleaned picture window. You could see the tops of the skyscrapers far in the distance.

I picked up a bottle. Some long senseless brand name. The expiration date was November of 1998. I read the patient name– Herm Mount-Vince.

“Oh, he died,” Yothers said. “There used to be a file on him but I believe it was swept away. We have these foreign people that come in and clean up.”

I looked around. There were ancient sauce spots on the linoleum floor. There was an area in the corner where it looked like a cat had thrown up.

“Yeah, when the hell was that, Doc? November of 1998?”

He giggled.

“Anyway, Mr. Oakes. These are what they call “antibiotics”. I prefer another term but that’s another story. I would try these for two weeks. The sores will clear up and you will find that you have clear, rubbery skin again. It will be good for you. And for me.”

He handed over the bottle. There was no label at all on this one. The pills were green.

“Do you have twenty dollars?” he asked suddenly.

It had been awhile since I looked in my wallet. I decided to bluff.

“I’ll pay you next time, Doc. Let’s see if this horse medicine works first.”

“Fair enough.” He giggled. “I wonder what became of my little swivel chair. Do you remember?”

I stared at him a moment. “Over there, Doc. Remember? You fell clean off it.”

“Of course.” He smiled mildly. “What an affair this has been.” He giggled again.

I got the hell out of there.

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