Snake Oil

I like to think that I am a prophet of justice. You know, an Old Testament kind of thing. But unless someone else anoints me, I am not officially a prophet, just a voice crying in the wilderness.

My "First Rule of True Justice" is a clarion call against the prevailing attitude, which is "If It Didn't Happen To Me, It Doesn't Happen." Trust me, as the government coalesces more power, invades more of our privacy, over-regulates us and tells us what to do from Cradle-to-Grave, it WILL happen to you. It happened to me. Government over-reach destroyed my relationship with my ex-wife, my family, my finances, my career, and my reputation. They DON'T CARE! They JUST DON'T CARE!

The following is an excerpt from my book, "Mythomania: A Psychodrama" and is the introduction in more than one way to their planned destruction of my life. "Mythomania" is available as a Kindle eBook on Amazon, at LuLu.com, and Smashwords, and as a free download at your public library. Enjoy and Learn!

Chapter 1
Snake Oil

It is a three hour drive from West Bend to Black River Falls, Wisconsin. My passion is working in medically underserved areas so the length of the drive meant little to me compared to the satisfaction of serving. Fifteen minutes before 8 o’clock that warm Spring morning, I pulled the Grand Am into the parking lot, turned off the engine, grabbed my duffel bag, and headed into the hospital.

I walked into the ER and announced my presence to the nurses and the doc I was replacing. He said that there weren’t any patients so I went to the call room to change. The call room at Black River Memorial Hospital is adjacent to the doctor’s lounge. I dressed in my scrubs, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down on a couch in the lounge to drink it. At 8:30 am the E.R. nurse called and said that I had a patient with a fever who was ready for me. I went to the Emergency Department, evaluated the patient, and ordered a Complete Blood Count, or “CBC,” to be drawn. During the exam, an overhead page announced that there was someone in the doctor’s lounge who wanted to see me. When I was done with my examination and after I wrote the order for the CBC, I headed there, curious about my visitor.

I opened the door to the doctor’s lounge and there were two men in black suits waiting for me. One was skinny and quiet. The other was nerdy-looking, with a smarmy expression on his face. He was of medium build and looked like a snake ready to strike. He also did most of the talking.

“Doctor Mangold?” he asked. “I am. Can I help you?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Smarmy Nerd, pulling out a flashy police-like badge. “l’m special agent Brandon Bielke with the Criminal Division of the lnternal Revenue Service. l want to talk to you.”

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