An Open Letter From Johnny Americana To the National Institute of Health

Note from the Blog Custodian: Since “paddytheduke,” the normal blog contributor, is away on some type of mission of mercy for Mitch and Murray, he has given his full blessing for the ensuing post. Mr. Johnny Americana, an eager old friend of “paddytheduke’s,” has requested the use of this platform to demand the money he is owed from the National Institute of Health for participating in their nine-day flu study, as seen in this news segment (http://www.cbsnews.com/news/volunteers-infected-with-flu-for-3000-in-govt-research-program/) In short, Mr. Americana would like to collect his $3,000 volunteer fee for donating his time and his health in order to be clinically infected with the flu virus for quarantined observation. Mr. Americana, while pure of purpose and honorable of motive has always had the somewhat debilitating deficiency of being obsessed with too-good-to-be-true opportunities while paying no real attention to context. We fear further, that he is not alone, that it may be a common problem, somewhat generational. Mr. Americana’s letter is posted as a courtesy and we wish him the best of luck. Take it away, Mr. Americana.

An Open Letter To the Double-Crossing Bastards at the National Institute of Health.  Dear Dr. Anthony Fauci, or as I like to call you, Dr. Cheat-and-Swindle:

I am angry. Very angry. Outraged, even. Sick with rage, righteous fury and some type of warty pustules on my lower buttocks. Let me state my case formally. It has been several weeks, and still, and yet, I have not been paid for sacrificing my very valuable time and putting my precious health on the line so you and your quack medical team, with your crude and poorly constructed “laboratory” experiment, could sicken me with reckless infections for your morbid interest. First thing is first. When I was approached to be one of the paid participants in your government study to test the body’s response to the influenza virus, I said “Come on in, wee beasties, the water is fine. I’ve got white blood cells, macrophages, T-cells for your tiny asses.” Furthermore, my body is toned and waxed. Girls at the gym stop and watch me push weight around like it owes me money. I am a picture of health! What is some little piece of protein going to do to me? I eat protein for breakfast. Really I do, actually. Be it egg whites or  microscopic viral replicants, protein is protein.  In addition, I was promised $3,000, a sum which I had planned to use to start my video portfolio for an important audition in an upcoming reality television series called Who Wants To Marry A Transvestite? My money has yet to arrive, my video portfolio is missing an important montage, and don’t think I won’t sue if my one opportunity for superstardom passes right by me.

To make matters worse, I was promised that the illness wouldn’t last for more than nine days, but here it is three weeks later and I am fevered, delirious, nauseous, and dripping like a faucet. (A leaky faucet, Dr. Wiseass.) I am still very sore. It has been a humiliating experience through and through. You call yourselves doctors? You dare claim to be part of that noble profession that seeks to free humanity from the specter of disease? When I get through with you you’ll wish you flunked all your pre-med courses and went to beauty school.

When I arrived for the preliminary assessment after agreeing, at that truck stop, to participate in your little study, I immediately began to suspect that something was wrong. I was charged a $400 processing fee (refundable, apparently) from a fellow in a dirty white coat who introduced himself as Dr. Lou Brissity, and then I was made to fill out a rather comprehensive questionnaire that I felt was highly inappropriate and intrusive. For instance what was the point of asking if I had any bondage experience? Or do I like to be choked? Or was I sexually turned on by humiliation? What does any of that have to do with how my body reacts to the flu?

Dr. Brissity, after telling me I was lucky enough to be chosen as a paid participant, introduced me to his assistant Nurse Lana (I don’t think that was her real name, by the way. She giggled and said it was an anagram, whatever that is. I figured her name was probably Anna or Graham. By the way a leather nurse’s outfit and fishnets? Very unprofessional.) Where was I? Oh yes, Dr. Brissity had me meet him and Nurse Lana down at that Motor Inn near the airport, the one they found all those dead hookers behind. I thought we would be dealing with a hospital environment with a sterile quarantine. Instead, this place was dirty. Real dirty. Not only was the room not sterile, there were dirty towels all over the place, the distinct smell of excrement and one guy in there that was dressed like a sheik who said he didn’t speak any english, but now that I think about it he told me he didn’t speak english in perfect english.

Dr. Brissity prescribed some anesthetic that smelled a lot like tequila and made me a little loopy, before assuring me I was ready for the influenza dosage. But, he said, in order to avoid injury to myself, it was standard procedure to tie me up and gag me with a horse’s bit and bridle. During all this, mind you, Dr. Brissity never washed his hands or wore gloves. I mean really, what type of institute are you guys running? I’ve never seen so much body hair and cheap costume jewelry on anybody, much less a doctor.

To get right down to it, and this is the worst part, I never imagined a person could be infected with the flu in quite that way. It seemed all too primitive and savage, really. Nurse Lana turned rather aggressive, whipping me with a razor strop and calling me such names.  I don’t care how good of a nurse you are, there is no need to tell me to shut up and that I deserve punishment. I’m just trying to help, after all. When I complained with loud braying noises through my gag Dr. Brissity just kept saying, “Hey, who’s the doctor here?” but I still don’t see how wearing that bit in my mouth and being flogged like a mule helped the flu virus move through my body. Come to think of it I’m not even sure I was given the flu. The flu has never caused me this much itching. One would think that trained medical professionals from the National Institute of Health would be courteous, reassuring, methodical? Let me tell you, Dr. Fauci, I was berated and beaten over the course of several days. I thought there would be monitors for my vitals, oxygen levels, breathing and such, but that scumbag doctor only had one machine, like something a road crew would use to break through concrete, and all the while threatening to bury me with the others if I didn’t shut up and obey him, my master? Since when do you guys get off being called “masters” just because you went to medical school? Maybe they should offer a class in humility?

I will be expecting payment immediately. If I don’t hear from you, Dr. Brissity or Nurse Lana within twenty-four hours I will have to march down to the Allergy and Infectious Diseases department of your depraved institute with a news crew, the kind that stalk parking lots with bulbous microphones and make a lot of bad noise for you and your government frauds. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m a reasonable man but you can’t just approach someone at a rest area, offer to pay them for research and then just jerk them around.

Yours Itchingly,

Johnny Americana.

P.S. If any of those photographs are published I demand a percentage.

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