Where did you receive your medical training?

Let me begin by saying that medical school is a grueling, almost unbearable experience. Pre-med students are expected to work nearly round-the-clock hours for no pay, memorize hundreds of pages of detailed information about anatomy and medicines, and essentially erase any sense of self-worth along the way. Of the nearly 10,000 Freshmen admitted to pre-med programs nationwide, fewer than 1200 go on to graduate. And it is for precisely those reasons that I chose to NOT attend medical school. Instead, I am a self-taught surgeon - in much the same way that an Amish lad is home-schooled. (I've heard that C. Everett Koop, the former Surgeon General, might have chosen a similar path for his professional training.)

Naturally, teaching myself the intricacies of medicine took longer than going through the traditional 9-year medical school - nearly a year longer. But the experience was so much richer. For instance, if I chose to stop part of the way through a cadaver sectioning to snack on a yeast cake, I could do so unencumbered by an instructor. I was also free to laugh at any ugly cadavers that were presented to me. In short, I was free to eat yeast cakes and laugh at ugly cadavers as I saw fit. And that made all the difference. Oh, I might not know every detail about a colon or some obscure nerve or muscle group, but who does? The main thing is I'm happy and reasonably competent.

What inspired you to pursue a medical career?

As a child, I often played with a Mr. Potato Head toy that I received one year for Christmas. I was intrigued by the curious manner in which Mr. Potato Headís components connected. It seemed odd to me then (and still does) that the toyís head lacked nerve and tissue connections believed by most specialists to be absolutely essential to life. And why did relocating Mr. Potato Headís nose to another region of the skull have little or no impact on sinus activity? These were baffling issues during my formative years. The answers, of course, lay not in the customer service department of the Milton-Bradley Corporation, but rather in the pages of medical books that would soon line the shelves of my bedroom.

Some people (the FDA) claim that your treatments are "nothing but the absurd invention of a madman who has dreamed up his doctor status in order to prey upon the sick and gullible". Any response to this?

To these claims I offer this response: Unless Iím treating a Michael Jordon or a Dennis Rodman or another of their spoiled stars, I see no reason why a sports sanctioning body such as the FDA should be concerned about my abilities as a doctor.

How do you get your hair so large?

Large, full hair can be a blessing or a curse. Like Samson from the Old-Testament and Tito from the Jackson Five, I regard my bristly bun as a badge of honor. When it brushes the arch of a doorway, I am reminded of my many trips through library doors in search of medical answers; when it looms over a crowd in a public place, I am reminded of the B movie horror classics of my youth; and when it shelters others from rain and pestilence, I am reminded of my own sheltered upbringing. Its general fluffiness can be attributed to fear - absolute and utter fear of total failure as a medical professional. It is precisely that fear that keeps all doctors going.

Is it true your assistant, Nurse Boar, lives in your hair? Is this so she can save on commute time?

Nurse Boar has been a treasured companion throughout my career as a medical specialist. She shares a small area of my hair, as she has for some time. This is not to be misconstrued; Nurse Boar has her life, as I have my own. And while her commute time has decreased somewhat, her choice to live in my hair is simply a convenient arrangement that works well for all involved.

Are you any relation to Merlin Olson, the FTD florist?

According to an exhaustive genealogical study just completed, Mr. Olson and I share a common ancestor - ironically, a doctor from mid-1700s Iceland. Dr. Merrsuvius Aaaron Presleeyerk, MD was a self-taught Reykjavik practitioner during the Andrressenviyek dynasty. He is credited with having invented the cotton swab, and in doing so, rendering obsolete the barbaric practice of easing minor blood loss by pounding the patient with blunt wooden poles.