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The remarkable green color of my stool sample was really nothing to laugh about, seeing as it betrayed my earlier claims of perfectly good health. Except that Dr. Preminger, who had just received the sample, laughed heartily in my face, the activity of which created an unsettling schism between jowl and…neck? Couldn’t tell. Except that he wasn't really laughing insomuch as reacting, as he apparently often did (as I would later discover), in accordance with the affliction he had suffered from since birth, which happened to be a rare offshoot of Tourette's Syndrome that compels the afflicted to guffaw at inopportune moments without warning. Except for the fact that I had deliberately turned the laughing gas on in the room when the good doctor wasn't present, in ignorance at the time of his rare disease, in an effort to create a justification of sorts for the bludgeoning I was about to administer – in other words, a doctor making a mockery of my stool was no friend of mine, and I could hear him laughing in the hallway as he approached. Except that when he arrived, the doctor, taking a liking to the sample, began to smear my authorized excrement on the nearest wall in an effort (so I thought) to compare/contrast its color with the brown wallpaper, which the nurse, whom I found to be quite winning despite her advanced age, had described earlier to me as a “near-perfect representation of the most healthy of stool colors,” and which in turn caused me to start laughing, in part from the laughing gas, which had suddenly started to take an effect on my constitution (despite the fact that I had digested a supposed antidote, its effectiveness sworn to me by good buddy Ricky Ricky in the pharmacy, just minutes before), and in part from plain old doctor irrationality. And when I'm laughing, I'm not really in the mood to attack. Also, I melodramatically released some more stool, unauthorized, down the interior of my seersucker trousers, which I would hazard to proffer a few moments later to clear the air, so to speak.