Peckerfoot

Mr. V. is a sometimes churlish long term patient . When I first saw him he had a sloppy dripping ulceration on his ankle. I treated it with a genetically engineered graft which had been generated from fetal foreskin. It healed beautifully and Mr. V christened it his "peckerfoot".
Mr. V taught auto body at a vocational school on the south side, and called his students "those little bastards". He has a beard as long as santy clause but the style is more in keeping with a middle eastern mullah, his temperament being closer to the later.

He likes NASCAR and says a car isn't a real car unless, upon start-up, it sounds like your grandmother gargling peanut butter.
He was extremely compliant during his course of treatment, meaning that he probably would have healed just fine (if a bit more slowly) without the help from the pecker. He follows up a couple times a year and I am always happy to see him; initially he scared me, particularly when he was in the office roaring about having the "fucking little penis stuck on his leg".

I have grown fond of him as he has mellowed after quitting those little bastards. He comes from far in the sticks to visit and bitches endlessly about having to come to the city, but he keeps coming. still has private insurance too! gotta love that.
He is always menacing in the waiting room, scares the shit out of my assistant when he asks her to help remove his compression stockings (which he calls his "goddamn leg condoms). Then he launches into the discussion of his peckerfoot getting close to puberty, and what then?!? is it gunna wake him up at night hahaha!! then he asks me why the hell I'm wearin' those stupid high heels when my "wheels" aren't even showing and what is the point of that?
For recreation he makes loud cars louder, and in the summertime he drives around his property in a golf cart with his wife & a six pack. Life is good, peckerfoot and all.