A short play…
Robin Thicke sits in his doctor’s office, looking disheveled and very, very ill. His doctor enters.
Doctor: Hey there, Robin. Sorry to see you back here after just seeing you yesterday. How’re you feeling?
Thicke: Hey doc, not so hot, as it turns out. I feel really weak, and the nurse said I lost a lot of weight.
Doctor: Hmm, interesting. Here, follow my finger. (moves finger back and forth in front of Thicke’s face) Any trouble seeing this?
Thicke: Uh, no, I don’t think so.
Doctor: No? You don’t see any… blurred lines?
Thicke: (looks at the doctor with a face that’s heard that joke too many times) Proud of yourself for that one?
Doctor: Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Seriously, though, I wanted to go over your test results from yesterday, because we might have a cause for concern here. When would you say you first began feeling ill?
Thicke: Oh, I guess since Sunday night.
Doctor: After your performance at the VMAs?
Thicke: That’s right.
Doctor: (ominously) That’s what I was afraid of… (pulls out tongue depressor) Robin, would you mind putting your tongue out for me, please?
(Thicke lolls his tongue oddly far out towards the side of his face)
Doctor: No, just put your tongue out toward your chin, like a normal adult would.
(Thicke shrugs, his tongue still cocked to the side)
Doctor: That’s okay, son, you can put it back in. Robin, there’s no easy way to say this, but you may have contracted a very serious, very new disease. Some of my colleagues in the area have given it such names as “ChlamydiAIDS” or “Heparrhea,” but I’ve been calling it “MileyCyphilis.” Robin, I’m afraid that when Miley Cyrus “twerked” on you while you were performing together at the VMAs, she passed this disease on to you. She’s basically the monkey from Outbreak.
Thicke: (confused) What…? But I don’t understand… How could this actually happen?
Doctor: We’re not sure, exactly. But we’ve noticed that it’s been spreading rapidly over the last few months, and it reached epidemic levels on Sunday night. There have been… other victims.
(Doctor opens door to show a waiting room full of very sick-looking giant teddy bears, girls with oddly large asses, and Jimmy Fallon. He closes the door and turns back to Thicke.)
Thicke: This is crazy. What are the symptoms? What more’s going to happen to me?
Doctor: Well, we’re still researching, but so far a lot of our patients have exhibited uncontrollable crotch grabbing, the aforementioned desire to constantly stick their tongues out to the side for no reason whatsoever, an affinity for trendy club drugs, and a strong desire to lash out at their fathers in completely stupid ways. And then there’s this… (turns away from Thicke to point to a strange X-ray on the wall) If you’ll look at this X-ray we took of you yesterday, you’ll notice that your butt has morphed into something resembling a depressed chicken breast that’s been left out of the fridge for too long. Now… (turns back to see that Thicke has used medical scissors to mangle his head into a horrible hairdo) My god, man, what have you done?!
Thicke: (crying) I don’t know!! I don’t know why I did it!!
Doctor: Oh god, you look like a cancer-ridden poodle!!
Thicke: Oh my god, what’s wrong with me?!
Doctor: (hugs Thicke) There, there now… Shhh… It’ll be okay. We’re going to get you cleaned up and you’ll get through this. We’re going to get you back to dressing like a grown-up and respecting yourself in no time, you’ll see. Maybe this will all turn out to be okay. Maybe these are just… growing pains.
(Thicke stares angrily at doctor)
Doctor: You know, because your dad was on that show…? With Kirk Cameron…?
(Thicke continues to stare angrily)
Doctor: That’ll be $5,000.