Cherokee Dr Ass ((better)) Review

“YOWCH! My gallbladder, you son of a—” a Dr. Ass patient would reply.

“You’re not sick,” Dr. Ass said.

And for God’s sake, turn around before you hear him say: cherokee dr ass

Dr. Ass listened. Then he walked around behind Crutcher’s chair.

“She’s not sick,” he said finally. “YOWCH

“Bend over. This is for your own good.”

“Where does it hurt?” a normal doctor would ask. “YOWCH! My gallbladder

Cross didn’t yelp. He didn’t confess. He shattered —like a mirror falling off a wall. Shards of black suit and bone-white fragments clattered to the floor. And from the pile rose a thin, reedy voice: “I’m… the curse.”