Dr. Dre Is Also Not A Real Doctor

by Val Bodurtha and Daniel Stillman

Dr. Dre—Mr. Romelle Young—Andre—For three decades now, I’ve been hearing about you, a bright, inspirational doctor straight out of Compton, California. When I researched you at my local library, I was initially elated to discover your first work The Chronic. I perused your “joint” recommendations and assumed it to be a study of chronic arthritis. I was, of course, disappointed. I don’t know what a “Lyrical Gangbang” is but I doubt it will help my joint pain. 

It turns out you’re not a medical doctor at all. You’re a record producer and rapper of hip hop records! You’re simply not qualified to dispense medical guidance. For example, you recommend smoking weed “every day” but can’t even provide a prescription. Well, excuse me, but it’s the Hippocratic Oath, not the Hippity-Hop Oath, Mr. Young. 

Do you have any idea on what a doctor does? A wise man once said no man should call himself “Dr.” until he has delivered a child. He went on to add that women, no matter how many babies they deliver, should never be called “Dr.” because that’s something they do anyway on their own and so it isn’t much of an accomplishment. 

How many babies have you delivered, Andre? You should be facilitating the miracle of life instead of fooling around with “Snoop Doggy Dog” (who I realized is not in fact the cartoon dog) and “Eminem” (also, not the chocolate candy)! So don’t you dare call yourself a doctor when the only thing you deliver is “sick beats.” Also, why are your headphones so expensive?

What medical school did you attend? Hard Knocks University? If you did even get in there, where’s your diploma? It’s time to hit the books, Dre. At least, I was relieved to discover, you have a Master’s Degree. I’m not quite sure in which field of medicine a “Master of Mixology” specializes, but it sounds somewhat promising. 

Back in my day, degrees used to mean something. The honorific of “M.D.” was not bestowed lightly. First, you had to identify the four humors (including both biles!), then you had to answer trivia about Roman architecture but speaking only in Ancient Greek. Lastly, a leeching demonstration performed in front of a group of men who had gone through the same rigorous and airtight vetting process. Only then would you be qualified to practice medicine. 

Of course, this particular issue points towards a larger, deeply perplexing problem: Some of the people who call themselves “Dr.” are not in fact medical professionals. Some are professors, some are researchers, and some are super villains with vague scientific backgrounds. Are any of these fraudsters legitimate? Do you, “Dr.” Dre, even own a lab coat? Does Dr. Doom take insurance? Can Doctor Who properly diagnose hysteria? Does Dr. Pepper help with hemorrhoids?

Enough of the madness. As you yourself say, you’re representing gangstas all over the world, still hitting them corners on the lo-lo’s, girl. What would those gangstas think if they knew you were a fraud? How would that make them feel? 

It’s up to you to lead the way. Forthwith, drop the honorific, Mr. Dre. 

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