In the name of investigative journalism (and because we had nothing better to do on a Tuesday), we set out to answer one of life’s most pressing questions: can a trip to Myrtle Beach extend your lifespan to a glorious 100 years? Armed with a microphone, a questionable sense of professionalism, and zero appointments, we stormed into a local doctor’s office to demand answers.
The scene was set: a quiet, sterile exam room where a doctor was mid-sentence, calmly explaining something about cholesterol to a bewildered patient. That’s when we burst in, microphone in hand, shouting, “DOCTOR! IS IT TRUE THAT A VACATION TO MYRTLE BEACH CAN MAKE YOU LIVE TO A HUNDRED?”
The doctor froze, stethoscope dangling mid-air, as if we’d just asked him to explain quantum physics in interpretive dance. The patient, meanwhile, clutched their paper gown like it was a shield against our sheer audacity.
“Excuse me?” the doctor finally managed, blinking at us like we were a fever dream.
We weren’t about to let his hesitation deter us. “Don’t play coy, Doc,” we said, leaning in like we were interrogating a mob boss. “Are you, or are you not, hiding the truth about the life-extending benefits of Myrtle Beach vacations? Is Big Pharma paying you to keep this under wraps?”
At this point, the doctor’s expression shifted from confusion to something resembling mild panic. “I’m in the middle of an exam,” he said, gesturing toward the poor patient, who looked like they were reconsidering every life choice that had led them to this moment.
But we weren’t done. “The people deserve to know!” we declared, waving the microphone dramatically. “Is it the ocean air? The mini golf? The healing properties of a boardwalk corn dog? TELL US!”
That’s when the doctor calmly reached for his phone and dialed 911. “Yes, hello,” he said, his voice remarkably steady for someone being accused of a pharmaceutical conspiracy. “There’s… an incident in my office.”
Minutes later, the police arrived, looking every bit as unimpressed as you’d expect. “What seems to be the problem?” one officer asked, eyeing us like we were the human equivalent of a traffic cone in the middle of the highway.
“We’ll tell you what the problem is,” we said, turning the microphone on them. “Are YOU part of the conspiracy? Are the police in on this Myrtle Beach cover-up?”
The officer sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that says, I don’t get paid enough for this. “Sir” he said (which felt unnecessarily formal), “you can’t just barge into a doctor’s office and start yelling about corn dogs.”
In the end, we didn’t get the answer we were looking for. The doctor refused to comment (probably because he was busy filing a restraining order), and the police escorted us out before we could conduct a full investigation. But one thing is clear: Myrtle Beach remains shrouded in mystery. Is it the fountain of youth? We may never know.
What we do know is that if you’re looking for reliable Myrtle Beach advice, you’re better off tuning into Retro Myrtle Beach Guy. Unlike us, he won’t get you escorted out of a medical facility. Probably.
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