He sits in the examination room and runs a hand over his clean shaven head, and slaps it down over his skull, using it like a drum for a few moments before he drags the hand down over his face, dragging his eyelids down, revealing the red flesh behind his eyes and then over his nose and into his mouth, where he begins to nervously chew on his fingernails as the doctor walks back into the room and sits down in front of him. His nerves shoot into overdrive as they purge themselves from his body and out through his military styled boots, which start nervously tapping on the ground, causing the chains that hang from his skin tight jeans to rattle and he shuffles in his seat locking eyes with the doctor as he pulls on his red suspenders.
“So, tell me you got good news for me, because I’m really starting to get on edge with all the bullshit, needles and scans and swabs and shit, feel like I back in the big house?”
“I really wish I did, but it’s worse than we first thought.”
“How can it be worse than it is?” he says as he shifts aggressively in his chair. “Fuck, it’s all easy for you to say this bullocks about shit being worse, but my whole lifestyle has had to change. I mean, I can’t even go out and enjoy a fucking drink without worrying my liver is going to explode, so why don’t you just get it over with. Tell me how bad it fucking is.”
“Please Mister Berksi, don’t take your aggression out on me, I’m trying to help you, if you’re not satisfied I can refer you to another one of my colleagues?”
“Pull you fucking cock out of my mouth and just tell me!”
“We’ve found abnormalities in the scar tissue and things are not moving along the way we want them to.”
“Well what the fuck does that mean, you told me this shit would subside if I laid off the booze, and I haven’t had a fucking drink in eighteen weeks and my skin is still bright fucking yellow, and I still feel like shit most of the time, and I look like I’m pregnant, what the fuck are you going to do about it?”
“Surgery is going to be the best option, it means a lot of rest, the partying will have to stop completely, and when I say completely, I mean everything. Whatever substances you are taking as a way to counter the no drinking has to stop, it all prolongs your livers ability to repair itself, complete and utter abstinence is the only sure fire cure at this stage.”
“Well, you might as well just slit my bloody wrists then, sure I’ll stay away from the drink, if I have to, but I can’t go to a show and not do something, besides my new girl, she’s into all that shit, I’m not going to go all government on her and say she can’t do it just because you said so.”
“Mister Berksi, you have to understand, if you continue living the excessive lifestyle, you will, and I say will not might, develop liver hepatitis, and if that happens there may not be much more we can do for you, right now you’ve got the chance to act and turn the tide, don’t ignore that chance.”
Bob shuffles in his seat, “Look doc, my whole life has been about excess, punk music and just having a good fucking time, if I can’t do any of that then I don’t know who the fuck I am. So you can stick your rules and stick your softy fucking approach, if I’m gonna bite it then I’m going to bite it my way,” he says as he gets to his feet.
“Mister Berksi, Bob, long term goals remember, what we talked about, once we get all this under control you can have the odd drink or two, nothing like you have in the past, but you can still enjoy life, that’s the main thing. Don’t be ignorant and make a rash decision that there will be no coming back from.”
“Nah, fuck you doc,” he says as he lays a boot into the doctor, knocking him to the ground. “I’m going out Bob style, I ain’t one to walk no pansy fucking line!”
This story was an interpretation of the song Bob by NOFX.