The Meigsiverse buzzed with its usual chaotic energy as I, Captain Busbar, embarked on my routine visit to The Good Faith Clinic. The whole ordeal felt like a mere formality, for my immortality, a result of my fantastical copper busbar superpowers, had rendered me impervious to any storm of ailments. Yet, in the spirit of diligence, I strode in, my confidence oozing from every copper pore.
I approached the receptionist’s desk, and after signing in, I took my seat. The clock ticked away agonizingly slowly, testing the very limits of my legendary patience. Finally, after a grueling wait of 7 minutes, they called me back.
The clinic was a place of familiarity for me, and Nurse Practitioner English, a local healer and hero in her own right, stalwart guardian of health for the Meigsiverse and beyond, had attended to my copper-clad needs for years. The lineage of her predecessors had served me before she even took her first breath. A true daughter of Meigs County.
“Hello, Captain Busbar,” English greeted me warmly, her coppern eyes reflecting her warm and soothing smile. “Time for your checkup.”
With a nod, I agreed, moving forward with the examination. I stepped onto the scale, its copper wires conducting data that would reveal my copper symphony of grounding and conductivity. She told me my weight, and ever the curious one, I asked her how much I would weigh if I was made of something other than copper. A nervous chuckle followed as she led me into a private room to withdraw what could be considered my blood.
The collection of my “blood” was another curiosity; it remained a mystery, even to me. It was nothing like any blood in any creature on earth. This peculiar task was performed by a semi-attractive nurse who conducted her duties with grace. As I felt the thick, diamond-tipped needle enter my arm, my entire body seared with pain. This made me wonder what my life would be like if I wasn’t a busbar copper entity. I had often thought about what it might be like to mate with a human. This female was checking off a lot of boxes. As she pulled the needle out, I felt immense shame and wondered if I should ask her if I had been bad. But I quickly dismissed these feelings after closely watching her leave the room and took a few burst mode pictures on her way out and down the hallway on my cellular pocket phone.
As the examination delved deeper, a perplexed furrow crept upon English’s brow. She scrutinized the test results with intense concentration, her storm-fueled intellect dissecting the data before her.
“Captain Busbar,” she began cautiously, “your copper patina levels… they’re not what we expected.”
I couldn’t believe my superconducting ears. “Abnormal? But I’m Captain Busbar, a pinnacle of perfection and greatness! How can this be?”
Undeterred, English continued her analysis, employing advanced spectrometers that hummed with technical precision. The room itself seemed to buzz with storm-charged tension, as I eagerly awaited her verdict.
“Captain Busbar,” she declared, her voice tinged with genuine concern, “your copper quality has regressed from grade A to grade B. Such a phenomenon is unprecedented for an entity of your conductivity.”
The shock coursed through me as if I had touched a live wire. “But how is that possible? My diet embodies copper grounding solutions and adheres to strict industry standards! It primarily consists of soda for hydration and an assortment of fast food and snacks for sustenance!”
English sighed, her coppern eyes revealing a deep well of worry. “It appears, Captain Busbar, that you have developed a condition I can only describe as type 2 copperbetes.”
My whole copper-clad world seemed to unravel. “Type 2 copperbetes? Is it serious? Is there a cure?”
With a somber shake of her head, English delivered the grim prognosis. “I’m afraid not, Captain Busbar. Your silver plated pancreas can no longer produce patina correctly. Your copper sugar levels are beyond repair. Drastic dietary changes are imperative for the preservation of your copper well-being. Your very molecular structure depends on some major life changes!”
English then went on to explain in painstaking detail the effects of abnormal patina levels on me. She spoke of reduced conductivity, slower healing, limb loss, and an insatiable thirst that could not be quenched. As she talked about slower healing, limb loss, and abnormal amounts of thirst, I couldn’t help but think of getting a refreshing Slushpuppy from the gas station across from the Kangaroo. I thought, “I’m gonna make it a suicide!” Then I chuckled rather loudly. Before I knew it, I had been escorted out and handed some papers I tossed into the trash. Looks like another successful checkup!
Leaving The Good Faith Clinic that day, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my superhero days were irrevocably altered. As I gazed upon the tempestuous Meigsiverse, I couldn’t help but ponder the irony that my unwavering commitment to grounding solutions had inadvertently led me to this startling revelation.
But no sooner had this truth settled than I, Captain Busbar, made a vow – a solemn promise to find a cure that wouldn’t require me to alter my dietary choices. I chuckled, brimming with pride at my resolve, for I was determined to conquer this copper conundrum and emerge victorious once more. After all, I am Captain Busbar, and I had faced storms far greater than this. “Let’s go get that Slushpuppy!”