MLB warns of stiff penalty as gas station sex pill problem spirals (New York Post)

I always go to my local gas station for medical problems. Who can afford a doctor nowadays? Besides, the one cashier I really like, a blond girl in her early twenties, seems to think I'm attractive in an older uncle sort of way, so there's that.
The other day I tripped over a brick on my patio and scrapped my knee pretty bad -- bloodied up a perfectly good pair of cream colored Adjust-A-Band linen slacks. I couldn't get the bleeding to stop with the little band aids I had in the medicine chest, so I limped down to the gas station and my friendly little blond cashier looked around and finally found me a white dish towel and a bottle of rubbing alcohol for just $6.29 total. She helped me wrap the towel around my wounded knee, and then sold me a Hershey bar to help comfort me. She oughta be a nurse.
And that's not all. Last year I went in to the doctor about a painful lump on my neck. He said it might be my thyroid or it might be cancer, but whatever it was he'd have to run some tests and do a biopsy which would cost me a couple thousand dollars. Well, I knew I wasn't going to be able to pay that kind of money -- so I fobbed him off with some excuse or other and went down to my friendly neighborhood gas station, where I explained things to my blond cashier friend. She was sad because her boyfriend was in jail again for DUI, but she bravely put aside her personal sorrows to listen to me. She suggested a pill on the counter that was actually for sexual dysfunction, but she said it might do something for the swelling on my throat and why not take a chance what could it hurt?
So I bought a half dozen for twenty-five dollars and took one each day for six days. And by golly I started to feel much better, although the lump didn't exactly go away -- it just hardened and turned black. So I grew a beard to hide it. 
And today, a year later, I'm still feeling pretty good. Although my urine is . . . well, no need to go into that. You see, the blond girl at the gas station says all I gotta do is eat lots of  a certain kind of yogurt they stock and then hit the tanning salon every week. That will cure anything, she assures me. 
And best of all is that I've learned to eat mostly Slim Jims and Beer Nuts, just like she does . . .