A few weeks ago, as a result of this incident, I recommended that Ziggy seek out a new source of medical care. Unfortunately, Ziggy searched via pawn shop ads, so it seems that he's in the same boat. But every cloud has a silver lining: This "doctor" hasn't been to medical school, so he doesn't know that patients who ask questions can be punished through misdiagnosis:
"What are all of those strange jars doing in the corner? And why are you handing me a blank waiver? Why the enormous collection of bear traps and matted pelts decomposing in the janitor's closet? And why was your receptionist selling cigarettes in the lobby? Why, why, why, why, WHY?!"
"You have Tourette's. You'll need a lobotomy. I'll get the saw."
Remember, if it quacks like a duck then it's a quack like this doc, if you catch my drift*. But the discovery that Ziggy's physician may be more "special" than "specialist" seems to have gotten Ziggy in full-on strangle deathgrip mode - look at his right hand clench involuntarily. You can't see Ziggy's eyelids but they're twitching like hummingbird wings.
* I honestly won't blame you if you don't.
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