Narrator:Over the millennia, doctors have struggled with a lie. You know the one... "This won't hurt much," or "A little prick." Patients eventually lost their patience ("Yeah, I'll show you a little prick, Doc!") which led quite naturally to rapid technological innovation...
Ch'vorthq:So, how much is this going to hurt?
Doctor:Well it measured about three-point-seven on the ouchdammitometer...
Ch'vorthq:Three-point-seven huertz? For a little needle like that? It seems sigh.
Doctor:This isn't a shot. It's an auto-burrowing implant. And it registered three-point-seven kill-o-huertz.
Doctor:Hold still.
Ch'vorthq:The anticipation is always the worst part.
SFX:shhhTHUNK!
Ch'vorthq:AIEEEEE!
SFX:Burrow, burrow
Ch'vorthq:Get it off! Pull it out!
SFX:Burrow, <Crunch> Spurt
Ch'vorthq:It's hit bone! I'm bleeding!
SFX:Twang <Sizzle>
Narrator:In order to maintain a PG rating, this picture has been removed, and the artist's shirt has been sent out for cleaning...
Doctor:What was that you were saying about anticipation?
Ch'vorthq:Do I get a lollypop, or at least a nice sticker for this?
Doctor:Now, you should be able to defuse your metabolic bomb just by thinking about fuses.
Ch'vorthq:Wow. I can see my lymph system...
Ch'vorthq:Through the haze of pain, mind you.
Doctor:Right, right. Just defuse yourself. We are all anxious to have you not explode.
Ch'vorthq:Done.
Doctor:Oh, good.
Ch'vorthq:Wow. I can feel my circulatory system purging the oxidizers.
Doctor:Very good. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, Ambassador?
Ch'vorthq:Oh, yes please. Do you do prosthetics? I seem to be missing an arm, lately.
Doctor:Oh, that. We used it as a tissue sample. I'll just graft it back on. Assuming I can find it. Where did I put it?
Narrator:Meanwhile, in the last place anyone is likely to look...
