“So tell me, El Presidente…,” said Donald Hiram, now Public Relations Specialist of the Island of Birubegja, “With a beach made entirely of sweetener, what is the amount of Diabetes here on the island?”
“Oh, no one eats the stuff, because hermit crabs mate and poo in it…golly, Donald, how far in school did you get? Didn’t you ever learn of the Poop Chain? It’s much like the food chain, only smellier and tastes worse. But I digress. Look, if you have questions about our people’s health issues, we’re heading to the hospital right now so you can bask in our perfect treatment record”
Hiram looked at El Presidente and appeared to be confused, a look he was well on his way of mastering since taking this job. “Perfect treatment record? What do you mean?”
“Why our health treatment rate, of course. In all my years of being El Presidente, there has been no recorded deaths on our island. How’s that for impressive, huh? Surely you can use that in your synopsis of the island to make tourist feel safe to come here, right?”
“Wait, wait…what do you mean no deaths? You mean to tell me that in all your time here there hasn’t been a single fatality? No one dying in their sleep? No deaths from dogs driving cars?”
“Nope, not a single one. But I can’t really explain it correctly, so you’ll have to ask ‘ol Doc Gorman, who used to be a Canadian Guitar player before coming here to be our doctor. I think he has a license, but I’m not sure. I don’t like to pry, you know. But here, we’re at the docks now. Reach in the back and get two pairs of water wings. I’ll take the A-Team pair and you can take the Hello Kitty pair. Safety first, and we have a short boat ride to get to the hospital.”
Hiram started to protest and question why he was the one who had to wear the pink water wings with the annoyingly cute kitten on it, but just accepted his fate and put on the pink monstrosities as they both got out of the car and stepped over to a rickety boat with an undersized motor attached to it.
The hospital, or so it was called, was little more than a multilevel floating platform that looked almost exactly like an oil rig except for the total lack of looking anything like an oil rig. While Hiram was trying to get a better view as the tiny boat slowly approached the dock of the hospital, he felt somewhat worried as he could not help but notice a large number of sharks the kept circling the hospital.
At the dock, waiting for them to tie up the boat, was a man standing about 5’0 tall and, in Hiram’s estimation, 800 pounds, but he may have been exaggerating. He was eating a gyro and smoking a cigarette. ‘El Presidente, I am honored by your decision to visit us. Welcome, welcome,’ exclaimed Doc Gorman, who almost got his hands confused and nearly smoked the gyro and ate the cigarette. Luckily, he recovered from his mistake and no one noticed except for everyone present.
Stepping from the boat, El Presidente simply nodded and motioned towards Hiram. “My dear doctor,” he began, “This is Donald Hiram, new Public Relations type guy thingy. He wanted to ask you some questions, so please answer with complete truth, unless is inconvenient.”
Looking quickly to El Presidente and then back to Gorman, Hiram began. “Doctor, I have been told there have been no deaths on the island…how is that possible?”
Nodding, the good doctor began to explain. “Yes, yes, it’s true. There has never been a single recorded death on the island of Birubegja…ever. And I’ll tell you how this was accomplished…” Doctor Gorman then looked up and pointed at you, the reader… “After the break!”
“Uh, Doc? You okay? Who are you talking to?” asked Hiram.
“Oh, pay it no mind, Donald,” said El Presidente. “Doc Gorman has a tendency to prescribe himself and consume entirely too many Flintstones Vitamins. He’ll be okay. But he’s going to be staring up and pointing to no one in particular for about two minutes and two seconds. We’ll just wait.”
(Continued in Part 6)
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