I've listened to surgeons go, "Well, fuck, I have to go tell Mr. J that it's sarcoma. That's going to SUCK." I'd wager it takes a lot more courage to have to be the one to tell bad news to some poor bastard who came to you worried and scared than it does to look at a haughty, mouth-breathing, deliberate obeast and say, "Scale says you're fat, fatty," while placing mental bets on which hilarious way THAT conversation will fly.