We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, I’d like to present you with our new off-topic offseason feature…

THIS WEEK IN FUCK YOU.

Every week or so, we’ll be taking our lack-of-football-related depression out on any number of deserving targets: people, things, abstract ideas, group dinners, etc. It’s just the kind of cathartic invective we excel at. This week, DOCTORS.

I have a bad back. This requires me to sometimes visit an orthopedic surgeon. I see the same orthopedic surgeon every time. I make an appointment, show up at his office and, WITHOUT FAIL, wait for at least 45 minutes to see him. Minimum. Sometimes, the nurse will call me out of the waiting room, which makes me think I’m about to see the doctor. But I’m not. I’m simply led to some empty room, ordered to sit there with no fucking pants on, and forced to wait even longer, this time all alone. With no good magazines anywhere in sight. Just three four-year old copies of National Geographic. They usually slap a magnetic number on the door of my room, as if I’m some kind of deli order. Every time I hear footsteps outside the door, I think to myself, “This is it. The guy is finally here.” Only it’s not him, and I wait for even longer.

During that wait, my blood will begin to fucking boil. I will fume, imagining all the ways I’ll tell off that fucking piece of shit doctor when he walks in the door. But I never do. Because I’ve waited so fucking long, it’s too much of a pain in the ass to make an issue of it. Also, I’m usually in agony, and I need drugs straight away. So instead of punching that fuck in fucking face, I’ll accept the doctor’s half-assed apology, let him write me a prescription for muscle relaxants or some shit like that, and then leave.

This is exactly how doctors want it. They make you wait forever. That way, you’ll be so eager to get the fuck out of there that you won’t take up too much of their precious time talking about whatever the fuck is wrong with you. And you’ll be so grateful that they gave you drugs that you’ll forget about the whole waiting bullshit. And to that I say… FUCK YOU.

Fuck you, doctors. Fuck you fucking sideways. If I make a reservation at a fucking restaurant for a certain time, and they make me wait an extra 45 minutes, I have a right to be pissed. I don’t know when doctors collectively decided it was okay to be late TO EVERY GODDAMN APPOINTMENT THEY SCHEDULE. I made an appointment with a doctor for 9AM once. When I got to his office, he hadn’t even arrived yet. HEY FUCKHEADS, DO YOU REALLY THINK YOUR TIME IS SOMEHOW MORE VALUABLE THAN MINE? I make an appointment with you at a certain time because that is time I want to see you. This is not California, where plans mean NOTHING. This is not fucking Space Mountain. I have shit to do.

Oh, you have a backed up list of patients to get to? Well, here’s a little idea for you, fucknugget: BOOK LESS APPOINTMENTS. That way, the 75-year-old man sitting in the waiting room won’t void his bowels in front of everyone in the process of waiting for you. But oh no, we can’t book less appointments! That would mean less money for you! And your job is so hard! Lemme re-enact your job for you.

/walk in
/scribble shit on a pad
/leave
/tell nurse to draw blood and collect piss

Real fucking strenuous, you cockgoblins. I hope your fucking insurance premiums eat up 95% of your goddamn revenue. I hope you fall ill with some form of terminal cancer, and then have to spend your remaining days sitting in the office of your oncologist, forced to wait for hours on end like a goddamn piece of meat, treated as if your some kind of inconvenience as opposed to an actual human being. I hope you’re stuck in some lonely office with your ass hanging out, doubled over in agony while YOUR doctor sits five doors down playing Minesweeper. You FUCKS.

Just because you spent eight years doing your residency or whatever the fuck it was doesn’t mean you now occupy some kind of Presidential territory where it’s some kind of privilege on my part to get an audience with your sorry ass. You fucks charge hundreds of dollars per appointment. You should be on your hand and fucking knees that I choose you as a provider of care. And you can’t even show up on time? DIE. DIE OF SOMETHING YOU CAN’T DIAGNOSE.

If you were occasionally late to your appointments, I would understand. Happens to the best of us. But you aren’t. You are ALWAYS late, and you’ve structured it specifically so that I have no choice but to sit there and take it like an idiot. I swear to God, if I didn’t need the Percocets, I would stuff a McDonald’s straw in your goddamn dickhole.

I fucking hate doctors.