Publish and be Damned! (Part II)

A preamble about Giles Muhame followed by a revolting little story.

Salutations from your favourite pantomime villain, Edwin B. Though some may hiss and boo at my little theatre of the absurd, I like to think I’m performing the satire equivalent to ‘fluffing’. Those receiving the rough edge of my tongue can expect their hackles raised and their dander up - almost to the point off boiling over. And although my champing at the bit may not procure a satisfying outcome, it certainly helps me to get my head around things…

I would like to return to another species of villain, although his particular theatre of operation happens to be farce. Giles Muhame (see posting 'Publish and be Damned', 20 January 2011) represents a most fascinating and grotesque muse for me and worthy of some further gentle disdain.

Recently, I chanced upon a term employed in psychoanalysis that may well have some bearing on Mr. Muhame and his holy war against the LGBT community in Uganda:

‘Projection’ is a psychological defense mechanism whereby one ‘projects’ one’s own undesirable thoughts, motivations, desires, and feelings onto someone else. Emotions or excitations which the ego tries to ward off are ‘spat out’ and then felt as being outside the ego and perceived in another person’. Sigmund Freud.

So could it be that Giles is projecting his inner ‘demons’ onto the external world? Mischievous conjecture on my part, yes, but wouldn’t it be intriguingly dysfunctional if this man was actually a self-repressed ‘Kinsey Scale 3’?

With that in mind, I leave you with a short story of questionable denouement. Looming large is a character who (and I say this for legal reasons) bears no relation whatsoever to Giles Muhame. He’s called ‘Alikuraira’. This is a traditional Ugandan name for those poor fellows who are a little slow on the uptake (although not in all aspects of the uptake - as you will discover).

The tale also alludes to the policies of PEPFAR*, a US Government aid agency, and its dubious sexual health policies (under the Bush administration) in Uganda and beyond.

Happy reading!

Edwin

* Please see previous posting (16 March 2011).



THE BUBOES

Characters

Parts 1 & 3:

MILES ALIKURAIRA: Long-suffering patient, senior editor of the Daily Doublespeak and fundamentalist ‘Christian’.
DOCTOR AUBREY BENTHAM: Senior physician at Kampala University Hospital.

Part 2 ('The Buboes'):

RICHARD (DICKIE) CHANCROID: Debonair host at the Buboes’ dwelling.
SUE PHYLLIS: New arrival to the Buboes’ abode.
KHAMID IYAH: Radicalised follower of the ‘Great Abscess’ with a volatile persona.
JENNY TALWORT: Dour, but homely resident at the Buboes’ place.
PEREGRINE (PERRY) STALSIS; The Buboes’ antisocial neighbour.

(PLUS A MOTLEY CAST OF MICROSCOPIC EXTRAS)

* * *

Part 1 - Knocking the spots off.

‘Right, well now, good….there we are. If you’d just like to sit yourself down Mr Alikuraira, I’d like to establish a few details before we begin the examination.

‘Of course doctor.’ Miles Alikuraira said, lowering himself slowly but surely onto the seat then wincing as he finally achieved touchdown.

‘So what seems to be the problem here, eh?’ Doctor Bentham inquired amiably.

‘Ah! It is some disturbances in my body doctor. They are paining me.’ Miles gazed about the room, deeply perturbed by a conspicuous lack of religious iconography.

The doctor peered quizzically at his patient over half-rim spectacles. ‘Abdominal pain, I see. Could you be a little more specific as to the whereabouts of your discomfort?’

‘It is hard to talk about it,’ Miles frowned, ‘I believe that God has come down to test me.’

‘Well, yes, a possibly I suppose…’ the doctor pondered absently. ‘But let’s just initiate a few medical tests before God has his wicked way with you, shall we?’

The witticism fell flat.

‘Okay,’ Miles mumbled sullenly.

‘Believe me, I’m not here to judge you Miles - if I might call you ‘Miles’? I simply seek the best possible outcome for the greater number of patients.’

Miles Alikuraira gazed pensively at the floor. ‘It is my anus doctor. It is worrying too much.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the doctor said earnestly before scribbling down a brief note, ‘…and so what about the old fella’, hmm?’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Your penis, Miles…any itching or painful sensation around there?’ The doctor prompted.

‘Ah, it is hot…too hot! I think it has caught a fever,’ Miles complained sourly.

‘Alright,’ Doctor Bentham noted, ‘anything else?’

‘And some pains around my buttock.’ Miles murmured, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Also I can no longer pump my wife. Blighted, my root is withered, I yield no fruit.’

‘Hmm, erectile dysfunction, I see.’ The doctor commented thoughtfully. ‘So how long have you had the burning sensation?’

Miles regarded the doctor indignantly. ‘Who me? No, it is God who come to test you doctor. Oh yes, behold, with a great plague will the Lord smite thy people!’

‘Well, that may or may not be the case Mr. Alikuraira,’ the doctor remarked with a peeved expression, ‘but the only thing being tested presently is my patience. I’ve got a lot of people to see today so I do need to get to the bottom of the matter [cough] - as it were. Most of these things are entirely curable - provided, of course, I can rely on a patient’s cooperation.’

‘I see. Well, it started…perhaps…maybe a year or a year and a half ago…?’

‘Gosh, that long?’ The doctor inquired somewhat anxiously.

‘But I touched a door handle!’ Miles blurted. ‘It was used by a known lesbian. And ye keep yourselves from the accursed thing.’

‘Ah. Well…erm…I hardly think that has any bearing on the inflammation, Miles. What I would like to ascertain, however, is if you’ve partaken of any anal sex of late?’

Miles baulked. ‘Listen to me! You are only a physician but I…I am a God-fearing Christian. I will never, ever, ever go to debase myself with acts of abomination!’ he spat contemptuously.

‘I see.’ The doctor jotted down a brief note before returning an impassive gaze. ‘But just to clarify Mr. Alikuraira, I’m merely attempting to ascertain if you’ve been penetrated in your back passage within the last few months? Please, do try to be candid with me.’

‘Excuse me? You are asking me if I have cast myself into the fiery pit of damnation?’

‘Um…frankly no,’ Doctor Bentham sighed, ‘I’m rather asking you if you’ve seen any bum-action recently?’

Miles glowered wide-eyed across the desk. ‘You have the temerity to even suggest that terrible thing! Ah! Onto your knees doctor!’ he thundered, ‘you had better get down on your knees and pray to Almighty God for His forgiveness!’

‘Mr Alikuraira, please!’ The physician chided, ‘you really must endeavour to control these outbursts and comport yourself. I’m simply trying to gain a clearer picture of your sexual history and guage the risk of exposure to harmful pathogens. I can assure you, it’s perfectly standard procedure.’

‘Now listen to me doctor. I have never lain with another man. As it say in Leviticus, 18:22; Thou shalt not lie with a man, as with woman for it is abomination!’ Miles bellowed. ‘And lo, ye shall be smote asunder and cast into that flaming pit of brimstones and chilli peppers!’

The doctor blinked incredulously, then closed his eyes momentarily in an attempt to regain his composure. Sharply, he returned his attentions to his patient. ‘Mr Alikuraira, might I remind you that you’re in a hospital,’ he rebuked. ‘If you continue to behave in this agitated fashion I’ll be obliged to ask you to leave!’

Miles cowed somewhat. ‘Okay. I see doctor,’ he muttered, smarting as he shifted position. ‘But I think you should not be suggesting-’

‘Be quiet!’ The doctor snapped.

Miles grunted sulkily to himself.

‘Good. Now, just one last question; I need to know if you’re a sex-worker Miles? Y’know, a toilet-trader – if I might coin the vernacular?’

‘Hah! Of course not!’ Ah! You are not a godly man doctor – not at all! I will recommend to my people that they should never appoint you! Look, you do not even have a bible on your desk! Are you a homosexual, doctor? Tell me! Yes, I think maybe…you must be one of them!’

‘Now you listen here Miles,’ the doctor growled, ‘I can assure you that your loyal patronage is the least of my concerns. I restore people’s health! That’s what I do!’ And for your information, (not that it’s any of your concern) I’m happily married with two wonderful children. In all my thirty three years of practice, I-’

‘I do not believe you! It was you the white people who bring the gay disease to Africa. We used to be without sin until you people brought the evil-’

Doctor Bentham thumped his fist on the desk. ‘Will-you-be-quiet!’ he flared, glaring at his charge. ‘If you’d allow me to get a word in edgeways before launching into another diatribe, we might finally make some progress!’

Miles pouted, gazing disconsolately at the floor.

The doctor returned to his notes. ‘Now where were we? Ah yes, so you’re not a sex-worker. Good. So if you could-’

‘You should note down that I am chief editor of the Daily Doublespeak…in Kampala.’ Miles instructed the physician.

‘Hmm, yes, I’m familiar with it,’ Doctor Bentham frowned before picking up his pen: ‘…edits a parish newsletter for religious extremists,’ he scribbled hastily. ‘Alright, well, if you’d be good enough to get on to the couch and drop your trousers we’ll hopefully see what we’re up against.’

Miles eyed him suspiciously. ‘Yes, well, you should just make sure you don’t try any funny business on me, okay?’ He looked askance as the doctor got up and donned a pair of rubber gloves. It was some minutes before he finally managed to position himself on the examination couch and lower his undergarments. Shortly, he let fly a long, gurgling fart followed by a succession of bubbling staccato trumps. ‘Hmm…pardon me,’ he apologised grudgingly.

The doctor sniffed at the air disdainfully, grimacing. ‘Yes, well…I was about to advise you to relax but that’s clearly unnecessary. Anyway, I’ll just have a quick peek up there and take a couple of swabs.’ He proceeded over to his patient and delicately prised Miles’s buttocks apart.

‘What are you attempting to do to me doctor?’ Miles squealed. ‘Listen to me, I will never, ever allow another man to place his finger into my asshole. Putting a thing into the bottom is abomination!’

‘Miles please,’ the doctor sighed, ‘as I’ve already explained, I’m here to help you alright? Believe me, you’re only making things more difficult for yourself. I can assure you I’m a qualified doctor and consultant proctologist. So I do know what I’m doing when it comes to dealing with anal sphincters…’

Miles quietly seethed with the notion that he’d received a most grievous insult.

‘Good grief, that’s quite an inflamation,’ the doctor remarked, regarding a peppering of lime green pustules nestling within his patient’s buttocks. ‘Tell me, have you had a check up within the last ten years?’

‘Um…yes,’ Miles confessed, ‘I attended a Catholic hospice. They give me the test.’

‘Alright, yes, well…and…?’ The doctor said, anxiously twirling his forefinger midair.

Miles scowled over his shoulder at the physician. ‘And what…?’ He demanded.

‘For heaven’s sake man, the tests…’ Doctor Bentham exclaimed, ‘…what was the nature of the tests you underwent? I mean, are you deliberately trying to obfuscate the facts?’

‘Ah, I see. Well, they tested to see if I was a Christian…and also if I read the Bible.’

No, Mr Alikuraira, no,’ Dr Bentham gasped, ‘what I’m attempting to establish is whether you were screened for Chlamydia, penile warts, jock-itch, etcetera…?’

Miles’s pallor deepened, ‘No doctor, certainly not! I am not a Sodomite! They asked me if I was infected with masturbation. Then they test me for hairy palms. Also they see if I require exorcism. Afterwards they prescribe five hail Marys and a garter-spike.’

‘That’s really not what I’m trying to determine,’ the doctor said, rolling his eyes heavenward. ‘So you’re saying you’ve not been screened for anything whatsoever…?’

‘But then I was saved,’ Miles continued regardless, ‘when I go to the Abiding Ministry of Truth*. The pastor told me that I will visit the Promised Land where there is no disease or suffering. And also there are no gays, lesbians or Democrats with pinko-liberal-commie-Muslimist-tendencies. The pastor then placed his healing hands upon my buttock and I was cured by a miracle of the Lord.’

‘Erm, I’m sorry, but you call this…this…chain of pustular eruptions a miracle…?’ Doctor Bentham queried, motioning at his patient’s hindquarters.

‘Yes doctor. Hallelujah!’ Miles elucidated with a lackluster smile.

The physician exhaled a long, exasperated wail in a desperate attempt to curb a highly unprofessional urge to perform an epidural on his patient’s thick cranium. In all his long years of practice, he’d never had his professional judgment so called into question. Over those illustrious years, he’d prided himself on his ability to establish a deep rapport with patients. Trust, afterall, represented the very foundation of medicine. With that in mind, he mustered his dwindling reserves of goodwill. ‘Erm, ‘miracles’ aside Miles, I feel it would be prudent to administer an anesthetic prior to any further examination. And although I may not be of the messianic calibre, I can certainly numb the pain.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Miles retorted furiously. ‘I demand to know what is ‘anus-thetic?’

‘Well, it’s a simple injection…nothing untoward about it. It alleviates discomfort,’ the doctor assured him. ‘You’ll only feel a slight prick in the bottom, that’s all.’

‘No! You will not violate my anus!’ Miles roared.

The physician bit his tongue – by now questioning his ambiguous choice of terminology. However as he primed his hypodermic and turned to his patient he was confronted by yet another horrifying vista. Miles had assumed a spread-eagled position; his back against the wall and arms akimbo.

The medic shook his head in bewilderment.

Miles licked his lips. ‘I am now ready for my medicine doctor,’ he demurred, ‘mmm...just what the doctor ordered...’

After a good deal of coaxing and some careful repositioning, the doctor finally managed to administer the analgesic and commence a more probing examination. ‘Gosh, it’s a bit of a mess up here Miles. Now are you quite sure you’ve not put anything into your rectal cavity of late?’

‘I do not engage in bum-banditry doctor,’ Miles protested, ‘I only allow the spirit of the Lord to enter me.’

‘Well, I’m afraid, Mr Alikuraira, medical evidence would suggest otherwise. In fact it suggests you’ve been taking more than just holy communion during your genuflections.

* * *

Part 2 - The Buboes.

Meanwhile, on the underside of Miles’s penis, there was a different kind of commotion going on…

‘Ah, here cometh the new arrival. Guys, this is Sue…Sue Phyllis, yeah?’ Dickie Chancroid announced with an ingratiating smile.

‘Er yes. Hi everyone…pleased to meet you all.’ Sue giggled nervously glancing about the rather spartan dwelling.

‘Welcome to our humble abode. We’ve all been bursting to meet you, haven’t we folks? Anyway, I’m Dickie and these are the other hangers-on. Over there’s Khamid Iyah.’

Khamid grunted morosely.

‘Don’t mind him,’ Dickie apologised quietly, ‘he’s just a little churlish after being discharged from his previous place of employment.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Sue smiled sympathetically. ‘Well best of luck Khamid…y’know, with finding a new vocation and all that.’

‘Between me and you,’ Dickie intimated, ‘I think he flares up a bit too readily…a little testy, y’know? He’s also got this terrible habit of blowing up tubes. Actually, I think he misses his old pal Abuboe Hamza.’

‘Ah, I see.’ The newcomer whispered conspiratorially.

‘Anyway, last but not least, allow me to introduce Jenny Talwort.’

‘Oh hi Jenny,’ Sue smiled.

‘Humph,’ her counterpart responded.

‘Don’t worry,’ Dickie explained, ‘she’s a bit of a pain but she grows on you after a while. Anyway, welcome from all of us. I only hope all this isn’t too daunting?’

‘Thanks Dickie. No I’m fine. Anyway, my previous accommodation became a bit of a sore point. That’s really been rammed home in coming here. I guess certain things take a while to sink in?’

‘Guess so. Anyway, let’s put on some music,’ Dickie enthused. ‘Fancy a bit of Anglebutt Humpadick…or we’ve recently picked up some Urethra Rankquim…?’

‘I’m quite into Urethra myself,’ Sue admitted.

‘Great,’ Dickie concurred, ‘and it certainly makes a change from the usual Handel’s Water Music playing in the background. Can I offer you a sherry perhaps – we have Cockburns…?’

‘Lovely…thanks.’ Sue said graciously.

‘There’s a selection of cheeses too - veined mostly. You might be partial to a spot of Stilton perhaps? We’re also anticipating a consignment of Molluscum contagiosum, but you might not favour seafood?’

‘Another time maybe,’ Sue grinned nervously. ‘Besides, I must confess I’m a bit of a carnivore. Put a sausage in front of me and I just can’t stop gnawing at it.’

‘Fair enough. I’m quite stuck on wieners myself y’know?’ Dickie smiled warmly. It’s nice to have a nibble with a good novel. I’m currently pouring over The Scarlet Pimplesmell, y’know?’

‘Sounds interesting,’ Sue chirped up. ‘So what brings you here Dickie?’

‘Ah, well there’s a leading question I must say! I’m quite an ‘Ernest Hemmingway’ on the quiet you know? I’ve visited many different parts. I was originally stationed at Vatican City but I jumped ship many, many years ago with a castrati choir - but that’s all ancient history now. Anyway, then I was picked up by a Jesuit missionary in Kenya then found my way around a number of tiny outposts. More recently, I was kindly taken in by Pastor here in Uganda. Then I eventually found my way down here about three years ago.’

‘Wow, that’s quite a pedigree.’ Sue Phyllis enthused. ‘So you hail from quite a Roman Catholic background then?’

‘Oh, very much so - largely because His Holiness forbids the abuse of underage rubber. Besides, they’ve had a bit of a run on rubber stocks since the numerous clerical child abuse scandals,’ Dickie explained. ‘Y’know, a need for extra erasers...? (Albeit for those covert records that haven’t yet gone down the pan.)’

‘Ah yes…where would we ‘buboes’ be without him, eh?’ Sue remarked.

‘Yep,’ Dickie Chancroid concurred raising his glass ‘Come on everyone, here’s to the Pope. Long may he continue to prohibit prophylactics, stifle sexual heath information and perpetuate guilt. After all, ignorance and hypocrisy certainly make our lives easier…’

‘Cheers,’ came the resounding tribute.

‘Yeah well, I’ve always preferred to stay put rather than spreading myself around too much.’ Jenny Talwort commented dourly. ‘I mean, what’s wrong with putting down a few roots…building a place you can call your own?’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ Dickie responded. ‘Oh, but I guess some of us never lose that wanderlust. I mean, many of my ancestors were frontiersmen don’t you know?’

‘Mine too,’ Sue said, ‘I mean my ancestors spread like the clappers across Europe…and South America’

‘Well I like to stay put until I have accomplished a great deed in the name of Abscess,’ Khamid Iyah dissented. ‘I demonstrate my mental servitude by causing testicular inflammations. I think it’s a swell idea.’

‘Hmm…faith, religion, dogma…It’s all good but who actually knows the purpose of being?’ Dickie pondered, ‘I mean, ultimately, does any one of our great endeavours make a vas deferens…?’

Sue opted to steer the conversation from philosophy. ‘So are there any pitfalls with this place? Health and safety stuff, y’know?’

‘Sure there are,’ Jenny piped up. ‘There’s quite a groundswell sometimes. Our host has a bit of a penchant for shoving us into dark smelly tunnels. Yep, we’ve certainly been up the proverbial creek a few times.’

‘Really? Gosh that sounds horrendous,’ Sue said with concern, turning to Dickie.

‘True,’ Dickie commented, ‘but it’s not that bad. You just have to hang on in there. Normally only lasts a couple of minutes - tops.’

‘You can also get trapped in a fold of skin whenever the wife’s around – shrinkage you see?’ Jenny explained. ‘Mind you, it tends to expand when in proximity to goats.’

‘That’s rather worrying,’ Sue remarked.

‘Listen, I know this place has its drawbacks but at least it’s not a total shit hole,’ Khamid chipped in, ‘unlike our neighbour’s place…and the guy’s a real asshole! Always dumping his shit around the neighbourhood…’

‘So who is this contrary individual?’ Sue asked.

‘Oh, his name’s Peregrine or Perry for short – Perry Stalsis,’ Dickie elaborated, ‘and he deserves an ASSBO.’

‘Does he’s live nearby?’

‘Yeah, over there on the horizon…between those two hillocks…see it…a valley…?’

Sue squinted, following Dickie’s line of vision. ‘Hmm, just about I think.’

‘Well, if you look carefully you’ll notice a large crack at the bottom. Then you just head on down and bingo. Yeah, that’s Perry’s place. Real nasty.’

‘I can’t say I particularly like the sound of it,’ Sue squirmed.

‘I don’t blame you,’ Dickie remarked. ‘And y’know he’s even been known to take in the occasional guest or two...’

‘Good grief,’ Sue remarked, ‘does he take precautions?’

‘Never.’ Dickie sighed, ‘but then he’s always making those kinds of rash decisions.’

Sue became pensive. ‘So what do you think of our host then, Dickie?’

Dickie turned to Sue fondly, uncertain now if she deserved the man-eating reputation she’d acquired. Was it the way she’d said his name or the sense of recognition that now blazed in her eyes? How could he feel so at ease with this stranger? It was as if they’d been soul mates in another lifetime far removed from their present incarnation. ‘I think he’s an excellent host for us, Sue,’ he said reassuringly, ‘he denounces condoms, he’s riddled with self-denial and he mistrusts medicine and science. Anyway who cares what stygian depths his mind plumbs? Alright, so he behaves monstrously towards his fellow human beings but does it really matter one iota? Right now, I can’t imagine a better place to spend a lifetime together.’

Sue gazed into Dickie's eyes, sensing that an unfathomable gulf had been bridged. She felt rather queer and yet assured that, whatever happened, Dickie would be there for her. She drew herself towards him. ‘Do you truly mean that Dickie…I mean about a lifetime together? How could it possibly work? Y'know, the intertwining of lives…being as they are, so fleeting…?’

Dickie moved to her; causing Sue to gasp in his powerful manly embrace. ‘We’ll make it work, goddamit. Okay, so what if this place is a stinking quagmire…the asshole end of the universe - we’ve still got each other. This was meant to be, hon’. Hell, let’s start a family…make some buboes together.’

‘Oh Dickie, I don’t know what to say. This is all so terribly…sudden. Is this really a place to start a family?’

‘Listen princess, we’re stuck here ok? Let’s just make the best of a bad lot, huh? It could be worse. I mean we could have been stuck in that shithole next door…or worse, we might have been out there persuading hoteliers to accept Gideon bibles. I mean, who knows what lays beyond all this existential anguish but at least we got each other.’

‘You say the most romantic things,’ Sue murmured in a swoon, ‘but, don’t you ever wonder about where we are, what we’re doing here and our place in the greater scheme of things? I mean, aren’t we really just evanescent blobs of protoplasm or is there something more to this life?’

Dickie pressed his lips to hers, sensing her willingness to acquiesce with his manful passions. ‘Nobody knows the nature of existence sweetheart,’ he said, pressing her to his breast, ‘or what belies this venereal veneer. We’re just part of some divine comedy we call life…this istigkeit…this broken syntax of a temporal stream of consciousness.’

‘Oh, I do love it when you talk to me anthropologically, Dickie,’ Sue sighed wistfully.

‘Y’know there’s even folks out there who believe it’s okay to inflict savagery on their fellow species provided they toady up to a metaphysical being; a god or some such contrivance. Well, I’ll tell you what I think. I think the real meaning to this churning maelstrom of beingness is-’

Suddenly, a gigantic swab swooped in on the pair from nowhere and unceremoniously smeared them onto a Petri dish.

* * *

Part 3 - A dishonourable discharge.

‘Miles, I must insist that you get off my desk this instant!’ Doctor Bentham shouted, staring incredulously at his seminaked patient. ‘If not then I’m calling security! Do you hear me?’

‘Ah! You were trying to recruit me.’ Miles bellowed from on high. ‘You have trespassed against me!’

‘Now listen here, I was checking for polyps!’ The doctor yelled back. ‘But, I’ll tell you something, alright - forget polyps, I mean, you’ve got a whole bloody barrier reef up there, yeah? And furthermore-’

‘Shut up!’ Miles continued to gesticulate furiously whilst conducting a parallel conversation with the ceiling. ‘And as it say in Acts 9:5 of the Bible; Who art thou, Lord? And the Lord sayeth, ‘I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks…’'

‘Mr-’

‘Ah yes, I too must resist those pricks, O Lord! I will fight those carnal temptations in your name. Amen!’ Miles informed the ceiling while flaying his limbs around like a traffic cop having a seizure.

‘I would strongly urge you to seek psychiatric help!’ Doctor Bentham yelled over the continuing histrionics. ‘Psychoanalysis, you know...? Because in my humble estimations, you’re having a psychotic episode!’

‘… giving themselves over to fornication, and going after strange flesh, are set forth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire…’

‘Mr Alikuraira, you’re unwell, I-’

‘You’re wife will turn into a pillar of salt, your children will transform into black pepper and their descendants will all become a variety of food seasonings…’ Miles burbled on.

The physician took the opportunity to inform security then rounded on the raving lunatic who’d commandeered his desk. ‘Aside from your evident mental impairment, allow me to elucidate upon matters physiological…’ he bawled over the cocophony.

By now the patient appeared to be frothing at the mouth, blinkered to reason and lost in rapture.

‘You’re a menace to society, Mr. Alikuraira, a walking bio-hazard. Your anus is inhabited by more species of invertebrates than a Tea Party convention. I’m seriously concerned that if you bend over in a populated area you’ll unleash a biblical-style pestilence even the Egyptians haven’t countenanced. As for the discharge…good God man, how could you fail to notice? I mean, Christ, you could start your own bloody Guacamole factory. Even on a macroscopic level your anus looks like The Somme, circa 1916. In all my years of medical practice I’ve never witnessed anything quite so…so compromised!’

Miles turned on his heel. ‘How dare you doctor! You think that I will take it lying down?’

‘Why not? I would venture that’s what brought you here in the first place. And as for the state of your knob (or rather nub) it looks like it’s been involved in a pitched-battle with a cheese grater. In fact, the thing would hardly withstand unfavourable comparison with a rotten acorn!'

Miles glowered maniacally, bunched up a fist and clambered down from the desk. All of a sudden the door burst open and two security guards wrestled him to the floor. He was bundled, kicking and screaming, towards the exit.

‘Now get out. Go on, clear off!’ Doctor Bentham bawled after him. ‘And you can bloody well take these things with you too!’ He promptly lobbed a pair of soiled underpants after his fleeing patient.

Miles instinctively ducked.

The poorly aimed briefs squelched as they hit a wall chart and stuck fast.

© Edwin Black, 2011


* A play on words regarding 'Abiding Truth Ministries' (see posting Published and be Damned Part I, 20 January 2011). Also an allusion to Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell.