[ WP ] Doctor Pepper must help a Coke addict overcome his affliction .

The door to the tiny consultation room slammed open, and a man with a mustache barged in. Sweat beaded at the edges of his mustache, his breathing was heavy, and Peters noticed the sleeves of his lab coat ended half-way down his forearm. 
 
 `` Good evening, Mister... uhm,'' his massive eyebrows pinched together as he looked down at his clipboard. He flipped the clipboard over, and his eyebrows traveled back up his forehead, `` Ah, here it is. Good evening, *Mr. Peters. *'' 
 
 Peters, a slender young man, was sitting on the consulting table with his arms wrapped around his body. 
 
 `` You're not Doctor Angleberry.'' 
 
 `` Good. Your eyes seem to be working,'' the man used his too-short sleeves to wipe sweat from his brow, and scribbled something on his clipboard with something that looked oddly like a straw, `` You can call me Doctor, uhm, how about Doctor P.'' 
 
 Wax paper crinkled as Peters shifted on the table. 
 
 `` What happened to-'' 
 
 `` Now, Mr. Peters,'' Doctor P's deep voice boomed over Peter's timid one, `` It appears you've been experiencing unusual symptoms lately. Migraines. Vomiting.'' 
 
 Doctor P put a large boot next to Peters, smearing mud on the consulting table. 
 
 `` Tell me, Mr. Peters,'' he leaned in, stroking his mustache, `` Have you ever heard of a product called, *'Coca Cola'*?'' He carefully enunciated the words as if they were from some esoteric medical textbook. 
 
 `` Of course. I drink it almost everyday.'' 
 
 Doctor P gasped. His boot slid off the table, and slapped down on the ground. 
 
 `` Every day?'' 
 
 `` Well, some days I drink Sprite-'' 
 
 A sound gurgled up from Doctor P's throat, and he made a face like he was gagging on his own tongue. He put a hand to his stomach, closed his eyes, and swallowed with great effort. 
 
 `` Is that... is that bad?'' Peters asked, his eyes wide. 
 
 `` Is that *bad*?'' Doctor P echoed. He threw his hands up in the air, `` Is that *bad, * he asks! For vanilla's sake! We're going to have to perform a whole series of flavor tests- sorry, *tests. * Just regular people tests on you. Take off your shirt.'' 
 
 Peters gave him one last look before pulling his t-shirt over his head. In the cold air, goosebumps raised on his arms and chest. 
 
 Doctor P reached into his too-short lab coat, and, with a very grim and very serious expression, pulled out a pink and yellow plastic stethoscope. Not even bothering to put the nubs into his ears, he set about rubbing the plastic bell up and down Peters' stomach. 
 
 Peters was too stunned to react. 
 
 `` Yes, yes,'' Doctor P muttered to himself, `` Just as I thought. What you have here, young fellow,'' with an open palm, he slapped Peters on the stomach. 
 
 Peters yelped, and clutched at his stomach, `` What is wrong with you?'' 
 
 `` Oh, stop being a baby and listen up. What you have here is evidence of a typical Coca Cola addiction. If you keep this up, in forty or fifty years, your teeth will fall out, your energy levels will drop, and your hair will turn *grey*.'' Doctor P leaned in until his nose was almost touching Peters, `` *Grey*. Do you hear me?'' 
 
 Peters looked up at him with watery eyes, and nodded. 
 
 `` Good! Now,'' Doctor P turned his back to Peters, `` Fortunately, I have the only cure.'' 
 
 When he whipped back around, he had somehow materialized a tall glass filled with a dark, caramel-colored liquid. There was a thin layer of creamy froth bubbling away at the top. Doctor P stared at Peters through the glass, stroking the glass as if it was some kind of precious gem. 
 
 `` Is n't it beautiful?'' 
 
 `` Is that... Are you...?'' 
 
 `` Doctor Pepper!'' 
 
 `` And that... that's supposed to cure me?'' 
 
 `` Absolutely,'' a self-satisfied smile spread on his face. 
 
 `` What about Mr. Pibb? I'm more of a Mr. Pibb-'' 
 
 In a flurry of movement, a fist reached out, laid Peters flat on the table, and Doctor P's hand wrapped around Peters' neck. He still held the beverage in his other hand, and not a drop had been spilled. 
 
 `` Do n't you *ever* invoke *his* name in my presence again,,'' Doctor P snarled, `` Do you hear me?'' 
 
 Peters gasped, and tried to nod. 
 
 `` Good. Now, drink! Taste the flavors and be cured!'' he pushed the glass into Peters hands, and lifted it to his mouth, trying to force open Peters lips with his free hand, `` Drink it up!'' 
 
 `` Garrgagargle!'' Peter said, as foam poured down his chin and splattered on his bare chest. 
 
 `` Can you handle the taste?'' laughter bounced his mustache up and down, `` Is n't it smooth, Mr. Peters?'' 
 
 The door slammed open and three men burst into the room. One of the men had scratches all over his face, and pointed at Doctor P. 
 
 `` That's him! He stole my lab coat! Get him!'' 
 
 *** 
 
 *Stressful day? Read more stupid shit at /r/PSHoffman and feel better about the absurdity of existence. *
