The Truth Will Out

And it's rarely pleasant.
Every five years or so, Munch has a serious health scare. I don't pay too much attention - usually, I'm not his go-to guy, and I hear about it after, but this time...
I'm a bad friend. He asked me to look at something - I said ok, but as soon as his hands went to his zipper, I said "Hell NO." Our health plan is bad, but we have one, and I don't care HOW bad it is, there's still people that get PAID to see that. Anyway, it's not like I'm an expert - I'm only an expert on ONE, and I'm keeping it that way!
"I know you hate doctors, but I don't care. Go see one...or put it in yogurt and take your chances, and if it falls off, I don't want to hear it."
He whined and mewed, and we went to see Rodgers, and she said she wasn't anywhere near drunk enough and made him an appointment for Monday, so we'll see what we see. I agreed to go sit in the waiting room with him, but if anyone thinks I'm that kind of partner - not that there's anything wrong with that - he owes me big.