As I go about my daily business organising internal jewel theft, people smuggling and instigating coups in the smaller African states, I often day-dream about diabetes. Like most readers of the soaraway Shoot Up my thoughts usually turn to what it would be like to build a giant diabetes killer death-robot that would unquestioningly do my bidding.
Just image it – its cold, metallic struts and pistons towering above you, dripping oil and hissing steam from its joints, the iron grip of its vicious pincers, the monotone robotic voice booming out its willingness to obey your every diabetes-related command.
I’m not entirely sure why the death-robot can only do diabetes-related stuff, but for the purposes of this article that’s the way it will be.
Anyway, you have to admit it would be great, no?
An ignorant comment about type one (or indeed type two) being caused by eating too many sweets? A simple command to Diabete-o-Tron and the perpetrator’s head would be neatly, but bloodily, snipped off. Full-fat coke served up instead of diet? Again, a whisper from you and a moment later the barman’s still-twitching body would be impaled on the nearest rusty railings. Fan-bloody-tastic!
When you start to think about it – and, blimey, have I been thinking about it – the possibilities are endless. An unsympathetic Doctor in his surgery telling you off for having too low an A1C? Revenge could quickly and efficiently be exacted by a discrete press of your remote control. Imagine the Doctor’s look of horror as the roof of the surgery is ripped off – tiles, dust and debris flying everywhere in a hellish cacophony of destruction?
As doctors are sometimes useful, you could choose to spare him a hideous fate but you can be certain he’s going to treat you with a touch more dignity at future appointments. Especially as he’ll be able to see Diabete-o-Tron looming in the car park outside, glowering menacingly through the window.
When one applies ones mind, there’s no diabetes-related problem that can’t be solved through mindless, bloody violence. Pump funding? Check. Withdrawal of vital DSN services? Check. The stupid policy at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary where they now do eye screening on different days from the pump clinic? Big fat check.
So, dearest readers, given access to a merciless killer death-robot with no qualms or morals, what would you do? Answers below s’il vous plaît!