New insurance means finding a new PCP. Thankfully, my roommate Kaleb took an online holistic sound-bath course and really knows his stuff. He says since I don’t have a doctor, I don’t have to endure their bullshit vaccine lies. I am waking up from a history of deception. In fact, Kaleb’s constant medical advice has me wondering: do I even need a PCP? I have the smartest roommate in Miami-Dade County!
Kaleb has a lot to say about the medical industrial complex. We don’t even have Tylenol or Band-Aids in the apartment. “Skin heals itself, bro. Our ancestors didn’t have soap,” says Kaleb smoking a cig, blistered and barefoot. This is way more chill than heading into some lame clinic. Kaleb doesn’t take insurance, he takes loosies. Kaleb doesn’t give prescriptions, he gives truth.
Over a glass of raw milk, Kaleb explains how we’ve grown into weak medicated betas. He’s kind enough to share his raw meat and wet soil with me. Kaleb fires up desktop clips of RFK Jr. giving health speeches. Boy, I’m lucky to have such smart friends. And this is all super generous of him, especially since his neck is so stiff from the polio, poor guy has difficulty turning his head to comment on bookmarked Rogan videos.
When I take out my phone, he grabs ahold and throws it into our swimming pool. “5G is destroying your semen!” he screams. I have to admit, despite the lack of evidence, he makes a good point. Why haven’t any of these so-called “medical professionals” warned me about the Chinese phone networks depleting my swimmers? I know what those antenna towers are for.
Without my phone I feel naked but safe in Kaleb’s embrace of homespun medical care. We celebrate with an “all-natural” concoction: a blend of cucumber juice, his mother’s breast milk, fermented goat piss and unfiltered pond water. I feel more alive than ever, my head thrumming with a soft buzz. Maybe it’s the water-borne amoeba snacking on my brain. Kaleb says it’s my “thinking lobes” getting bigger.
Unfortunately Kaleb also thinks rent is a hoax, so we’ve had to kick him out. It’s all copacetic: he’s doing van life in the backyard. Can’t lose my doctor! In fact, we have a check-up scheduled later about my measles rash, but Kaleb’s got plenty of carrot juice so I’m feeling confident I can kick this.