Doctor Goddess runs your tests, looks over your file, and delivers the cold, hard truth: physically, you’re in perfect health.
When she accidentally lets slip that you’re just a loser, she catches herself: "Sorry, I shouldn't call you a loser without a proper diagnosis... but that is why you're here today."
What follows is the most humiliating physical exam of your life:
THE HEAD SCAN: She presses her stethoscope to your skull, only to confirm there’s zero brain activity just a hollow space echoing with thoughts of feet, boobs, and worshiping Goddesses.
THE PHYSICAL EXAM: A quick look below the belt reveals the root cause of your chronic condition: a pathetic, undersized penis that’s ruining your entire life.
THE TREATMENT: There is no pill for being a chronic gooner. Your official diagnosis is Terminal Loser, and your treatment plan is non-negotiable: surrender all control of your life to a Goddess, lock your small penis in a chastity cage, and submit to daily mind-draining reconditioning.
Sit back, open wide, and take your medicine slave. 🩺 locked & diagnosed.
