“It’s all between the ears,” the physician said.
Vilmos gave him a funny look.
“I did not just invent my headaches . I am not insane!”
“I didn’t say you were,” the physician replied. “Here, take three of these before going to bed tonight.”
The physician handed over the prescription to the dumbfounded Vilmos, who by now was seriously contemplating a second opinion. Still, that night he popped three pills, just as the doctor had ordered, and soon found himself in the land of Nod.
As the clock struck twelve the physician entered the house. Vilmos was still soundly sleeping. As planned. The physician didn’t bother to drag his victim to a table. He would operate on him right here in the bedroom with some crude cranial instruments from his medicine bag.
He cut off the top of Vilmos’ head and scooped out the brain. The physician, an habitual gambler, had long suspected that Vilmos suffered from a rare affliction called Midas disease, which turns some bones of your body into gold.
And indeed, as he gazed into Vilmos’ empty skull, the yellow glow of bony 24 carat nuggets enlightened the physician’s face.
They were right where he had expected to find them.
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