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So boy was "dying" one night (read: had a cold and a hangover), and demanded that I take him here. They were very efficient--sent him to the room, "examined him" (took a strep culture and felt his lymph nodes), then gave him some Codone and sent him on his way. All in all, I'm glad he got better (read: drugged up enough to stop whining). The best part of the evening, however? Our doctor's name was Dr. Crap. Keeping a straight face while trying to explain his symptoms was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Wait, this would have been the perfect place to imitate the Mastercard commercial and say priceless. But that joke's overdone. So I'll leave it how it is.
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