Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Question, if you were to hear the disembodied voice of your great grandmother giving you
instructions of how to build a time-machine whenever you threw corn-dogs in the microwave, how
many eggs, which you had previously kept in one basket, escaped to their utter shock and
surprise to find that when they threw themselves at the ground their guts splattered across the
concrete? What's the formula for liquid hand soap? Previously I hadn't given much water to the
notion one crazy question was related to the other. At least until ten this morning.
First my psychiatrist. It would be best if you reclined in some way during this part, relaxation is a
good visualization tool, at least that's what Dr. Duke said. He was young; I remember that much,
like seventeen. He seemed to become younger every time I saw him. During a breakthrough on
our last session I realized he was like forty-eight inches high, and he looked as if he was in the
forth grade. I recall thinking about a certain bad science fiction serial that had lasted for way too
long in England, and subsequently around the world, where this screw-loose guy in a blue pillbox
floats around the galaxy helping people and getting younger all the time. I considered the
possibility, however ridiculous, the writers of bad television had hold of some information that the
rest of us didn't. Not only that, but that they conveyed their data to the general population by
means of mind numbing science fiction was astounding. Later I abandoned that idea when I saw
Dr. Duke in the park carted around by a young motherly woman. He looked about two, yet he
needed a shave. I chalked it up to him wanting lay in as many dirty pillows as possible.
Anyway, I lay on his plush leather psychiatrist sofa, and he questioned me on the corndog
incident, which is what it will be called from this point on.
Dr. Duke. "Welcome (pauses and looks at paper) Emilio" It always did inspire confidence in me
when my own Doctor couldn't remember my name. Time Passes. "and times up."
"How about some advice today Doc. Duke."
"Ah yes, advice, funny thing isn't it." He leaned far back in his thousand dollar chair, in his
thousand dollar suit, and placed a ten cent cigar between his lips. I became extremely
uncomfortable as I stood there waiting for this man-child's advice. I found myself staring at the
obscene sight his mouth made as he tongued his cheap tobacco roll. I felt pulled and sucked
inexorably into this pornographic vision, this fleshy horror. The entire room faded into a gray haze
around Dukes mouth. His teeth were ten feet tall, ringed by giant red lips that pulsed like a heart
beat. His tongue at least fifteen feet long left stringy saliva lines stretched around the walls, as it
sought after it's dirty prize. "You should listen to the voice. See what becomes of what it told you
to build."
"Yea, doc" I turned and saw a small door very far away, I ran to it and through it and slammed it's
heavy frame behind me. I heard glass breaking and imagined it was the sound of Dukes diploma's
falling from his walls as his office was consumed by the mouthpiece that had become his body.
Yea, low and behold I found myself in the lobby.
"Cash or check today, honey?" The receptionist chewed gum and filed her nails, never actually
looking up at me.
"Charge it." I proceeded to run down 600 stairs because the good doctor's elevator was broken.
Emerging into sunlight felt like a miracle God had preformed just for me that day. Later I
considered following Doc Dukes advice. Which I did. You may sit upright now.
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