I looked into the scratched up old mirror in the shoddy hospital bathroom. The tumors seemed to appear larger than normal and it appears the cancer has spread to my lower body. Even though the odds were against me, I was going to live through this. My green body appeared normal besides the awkward bulges of extra tissue. Today’s Chemo is going to be better than the last, I thought.
My name is Jimmy Johnson, though some people call me BJ, which I don’t understand. There’s not even a B in my name! I was a cancer-infected-optimist kind of Caterpie.
I began to crawl down from the mirror because of my fucking awesome Caterpie suction cups. Halfway down the strength gave out in my body, I fell a whopping 5ft (to a fucking Caterpie that’s like falling 20 feet). When I collided with the ground I lost consciousness.
“The dumbass just won’t die,” one doctor said to another. “He is a piece of shit and in conditions nothing else could survive in.”
I was constantly put down because I wasn’t some fucking Arceus or some shit like that. They also made fun of my tumors, which wasn’t funny, but they got a kick out of it.
“He won’t make it past Christmas, I personally guarantee it. If he does make it past then I will fucking kill him,” the other doctor replied, “ He couldn’t be more of a fag and is always saying that he is going to make it. It is annoying as hell. Don’t you agree Phil?”
Dr. Phillip Grant was my head doctor, yet for some reason he hates my guts. He diagnosed me with a new form of cancer he called pussyassfagqueer cancer. Apparently it’s a cancer of the whole body, but I’m not a doctor so I don’t know.
Today was my last scheduled chemo so I was excited. I had had at least twenty chemotherapy sessions before, which should have killed me. Once we had five sessions in one day! Well anyways I was determined that this would be the one that would cure me of my cancer.
“Hello Dr. Grant,” I happily said to the doctor, “Are you ready for this chemo?”
“Shut up, queer,” he spoke in a serious tone, “Don’t talk to me. I’m busy.”
I smiled. Sure the insult hurt, but I figured they were just joking around with me. I sat in my bed for a couple of minutes until the doctors decided that it is time for me get my chemo.
They started to wheel me into the room where most chemos happen and suddenly the bed sped up. Then just as fast as it sped up it stopped. I flew out of the bed flying down the hallway and hit a wall going what seemed a million miles-an-hour. The whole floor burst out in laughter and my face was bleeding. This was probably abuse of the patients, but I accepted it as a way of life. Besides this was the only clinic within miles of the forest in which I lived that had chemo available to fucking Pokemon.
Whilst they laughed I shimmied back to the bed and wiped the blood off my face with the bed sheets. The cuts stung, but I bore through the pain.
The laughter finally died down and they continued to wheel me into the room in which my final chemo would take place.
This shit cray! I thought to myself This is the final frontier for you cancer cells! I laughed out loud.
“Shut up,” Dr. Grant struck me with the hand in which has his wedding band on, “I have a fucking headache. Lets get this over with.” He cracked his knuckles and stroked his head. He was in obvious pain.
“Tits McGee! I’m so happy!” I chimed as the huge ass radiation device, thing went over me.
Dr. Grant activated the switch and I felt the radiation enter my small, fragile body. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong. It felt like my skin was starting to bubble.
“My head is killing me. Lets just radiate this fag and get it over with,” I said as I activated the machine that emits radiation. I could tell something was wrong at the start of the process, but I didn’t care. That damn Caterpie needed to die anyways. Its skin started to bubble and my head hurt even worse.
Suddenly the small gay Pokemon exploded and its internal organs went everywhere. The other doctor and I nearly shat ourselves laughing. Then the worst pain I ever felt started to happen. I screamed in pain.
The forensic scientist examined Dr. Grant’s exploded skull and discovered in the autopsy that he had a disease called doucheishitis (pronounced douche-is-eye-tis) which made his very susceptible to radiation poisoning.
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