Your doctor is a Pez dispenser of druggie goodness

But, your doctor, like any high-on-his-horse educated prick, thinks he knows better than you.

But I want to tell you a dirty little secret: your doctor doesn't really care even a tenth as much as he acts like he does. If you badger him, he eventually will give up, and his internal monologue will become something like, "Fuck this... I'll medicate this fucker into a coma and then he can be the goddamned EMT's problem when he passes out armed and half-naked in his attic covered in whiskey, pills and paint."

That's right. Your doctor is a pushover. Spineless. Unmanly, really.

If you push him, he isn't going to push back. OK, maybe once, but he's just checking to see if you're serious.

But, the fact is you want drugs more than he wants to not give them to you. That means you win, because you care more about dulling the pain of life than he does about facing your family down in a malpractice suit.

Besides, when your estate comes after him for malpractice, he already has a giant folder full of proof that you were nothing but a bug-eating loon thanks to that time he had to treat you for that skin rash you got from laying in your own feces.

The hard part is going to be keeping your doctor from getting uppity and trying to prescribe you anti-psychotics. Fuck that! You pay him. He gives you the drugs you tell him to give you.

And if that doesn't help, tell him you're taking your business elsewhere. Like that Filipino quack down the street who was recerntly indicted for selling Oxycontin to an undercover police officer.

How is your doctor going to pay for his next yacht if he doesn't get that cold cash from the state for treating you?

He'll cave. They always do.