Que sera, sera

“What will I be? Will I be pretty, will I be rich?” The disheveled man asked eagerly.
Young Dr. Hanlan replied, “I don’t know, but with a nose like that I wouldn’t bet on pretty. I said that you will be an amputee.”
With a sad look the man said, “That’s markedly less pleasant than what I was picturing.”
“Here’s what my sweetheart said,” began Dr. Hanlan, “when I see you, I see the future, and it frightens me.”
“You should tell her the future’s not ours to see,” came the man’s surprisingly sage answer. “But what’s that got to do with me?”
“Nothing at all, I was just hoping you could help me make sense of it.”
“Doesn’t sound good for you.”
“Good be worse; I could have gangrene.”
“You’ve a good point there, but now, I have children of my own…” the dirty, smelly man began.
“Should we contact them?” the doctor asked eagerly.
“No, that’s not what I was saying.”
“Oh, just rubbing it in? Who told you I was impotent?!”
“That nurse over there. Um, how do you suppose this will affect my srugery?”
“Que sera, sera.”

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