Name’s Romanovsky.
Dr. Boris Sedgewick Finklemeyer Codfishpiece Romanovsky IV, to be exact.
And for 35 years I was Count Dracula’s urologist.
My father was his urologist for 73 years before that, and his father for 68
years before that, and his father’s father for another 57 years before that.
Before my great grandfather I don’t know who his urologist was. I don’t even
know if they had urologists back then.
Now that Van Helsing and his crew have finally put the old boy out of his misery I guess I can finally tell my story.
And a queer story it is indeed.
You would not believe all the odd diseases a vampire’s urologist has to be ready to deal with.
My forefathers and I tried to keep him healthy as best we could, but the guy kept changing into so many different animals all the time that it made our jobs damn near impossible.
Looking thorugh the clinical records I see that over the course of our family
practice we had each treated him for such sundry conditions as Consumption,
Congestive Fever, Whooping Cough, Kennel Cough, Rabies, Scabies, Measles, Mumps,
Mange, Parvo, Piles, Hepatitis, Gingivitis, Grippe, Gangrene, Gout, Dropsy,
Diphtheria, Distemper, Lyme Disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Anemia, Smallpox,
Scrumpox, Cowpox, Monkeypox, French Pox, Common Colds, Cholera, Ehrlichiosis,
Blastomycosis, Aspergillosis, Histoplasmosis, Halitosis, Heartworm, Ringworm,
Tapeworm, Winter Fever, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, and White Nose Syndrome.
But the one singular malady the randy old goat kept coming down with again
and again was Gonorrhea-which my forefathers and I had always presumed was the
reason that he would continually insist upon seeing a urologist as opposed to
just finding himself a good primary care general
practitioner.
It generally happened every few years or so, and I am guessing that in the
course of his extraordinary lifetime he must have had The Clap over 150 times
(give or take a couple dozen).
My father and grandfathers and I had all warned him many times again and again
about the perils of promiscuousness, but he never would pay any of us any heed.
And after we had cured him he would just turn into a bat and go flapping right
out the window, always skipping out on his damn bill. After all-what were we
going to do about it? Like most people we wanted to stay alive you know.
And then invariably in two or three years’ time he’d come waddling back
into the clinic, clutching his undead ding dong in his hand, all moaning and
groaning and screaming, "VY DOES IT HURT VEN I PEE!!???"
and begging for us to help him out just this one more time and promising he
would finally pay us back all the centuries worth of money he owed us.
And of course just as soon as we had cured him out the window he would fly again, laughing maniacally and mocking us in that annoyingly squeaky little rodent voice of his.
At least he did keep his promise not to turn any of our patients into vampires,
which of course had the singular effect of making us the most popular urologists
in all of Transylvania.
I’m really gonna miss that nut.
© 2019 Randy Bone
