I Say, I Say, I DO Declare!

If I have to hear one more person say that they've self-diagnosed themselves with some droopy, emo-moody disorder, I'm going to have to self-diagnose you as a lousy piece of trash and prescribe you a bullet in the fucking brain.

"Hold it, hold it. Will my insurance cover this?"

You're not even smart enough to know that weed I sold you was just pencil shavings and poison ivy, suddenly you're the medical consultant from the set of Diagnosis Murder?

"The real medical mystery is how this show ran for 8 years."

And of course you never, EVER self-diagnose ailments that aren't stress or depression related. Ailments that don't require drugs like xoloft, xanax, valium, aderall, etc. Or as I call them: Ian's FuntimeHappyJuiceNoBadFeelings Tonique.

My Actual Likeness

I've never once heard someone walking around telling people they self-diagnosed themselves with anal warts and elephantitis.

"WebMD says it's probably just the flue, but...I have my doubts."

It's the attention-seeking, pitty party diseases that you want to enlighten people you've contracted. Sure. Boohoo, you're feeling sad this week.
You want to prove to me that you truly are a self-diagnosed bipolar manic depressive? Let's go have an awesome time at an amusement park and just when we're laughing it up on the top of a roller coaster you jump off it.

"Either of you two have some vicodin?"

Only then will I have them put " , MD" at the end of your name on the tombstone.