The doctor looked at Michael sternly. "But enough about the bucket. I'm afraid you have some serious gastrointestinal problems."
Michael gulped nervously.
"It's your digestive system. It's... missing."
Michael hung his head shamefully.
"We know some young boys like to take out their digestive systems and use them for well... other things," the doctor confided with some slyness.
Michael blushed a hideously red blush.
"Fortunately, we also know that you are actually a dolphin, and that your teeth are capable of producing a thick, velvety paste."
Michael now held his face in his hands, and vice-versa.
"We intend to treat this problem as we treat all medical problems, with kitty therapy."
Michael's smile was thick and syruppy.
The doctor held up a kitty. "Meow," said the doctor, in his regular voice. "The slithering loaf is near."
Michael offered nothing but a disinterested glare. Even the kitty seemed a little disappointed.
"Meow, I'm a REAL kitty," the doctor said (as his lifeless body swung back and forth from the light fixture), this time in a proper, high-pitched kitty voice.
Michael swallowed the kitty voraciously, pausing only to witness the great salmon's fall from grace.
The doctor repeated the process with several dozen more kitties and then grabbed Michael by the collar and said, "Got a digestive system now, boy?"
Michael held aloft the seventh char-broiler of Yanto and cringed, nursing the doctor's unborn baby all the while.
The doctor limped, "Yonder broiler, is tomato-stricken, oh fluff walled renter-sack."
Michael performed the dance of the ninja puppet with a new intensity, flailing both bottles in two locust-filled sockets of pure lust!
"Both wombat and tea biscuit will be needed on THIS quest," crowed a nearby lozenge stampede, with a but a subtle touch of pine.
Even as the crowd dispersed, the resounding particles wept with utter malignancy, as those with rope got taller and those with pins-and-pork grew new, more glorious ankles.
"I await your spike," the doctor had just finished yelping.
Michael had just flown. Why not?
"Your stamina is that of a shelving unit," the doctor had quite recently commented.
"Michael rips his head, but there are no spices."
Quoth the doctor: "I speak water, but swim without any decency."
Michael waits, allowing his body one final moment of pica. His body thanks the nectar which spilled across the template, allowing the reckless puss a chance to roast in poverty.
Soon the doctor will mention, "Snakes, live, we, wrap, food."
After that, Michael will eat the doctor, and the doctor will return the compliment.
The story is expected to end shortly afterwards.
You may go about your business.
Farewell.