Warning: apologies ahead
Though this isn’t fair to any poor soul who might be reading this bl-g with any kind of vigor, I’m afraid I only have filler for this week, and I can also make no promises for next Anti-Simian Saturday. Things may or may not be afoot. For this I apologize.
Excerpts from Witch Doctor and the Evening Beehive
“The way I see it, you’ve got three options: spend the night in the swamp and risk losing your favorite organs, sleep in the Doctor’s cabin and hope you don’t wake up with any extra organs, or make a mad dash for the Beeway”
“I don’t know what that last one is so I’ll take it.”
—–
Lyle’s family never suspected foul play, they figured that the court’s ruling was proof enough of his innocence, but it certainly made them uneasy when he would burst into tears at the sight of a small plastic bear filled with honey. Perhaps it was an unshakable sense of guilt or a commitment to honor his wife’s memory that sent him on his mission to The Gambia.
—–
Though his private practice was booming, the doctor was becoming frustrated with the relentless questions regarding his background and the validity of his degrees. He soon began concocting plans to crush any feelings of curiosity within a three block radius of his offices.
—–
“No, no, I assure you, all of my pet scorpions have been rendered completely harmless,” he lied.
—–
“Waiter, this guava is entirely unripe.”
“Fuck you.”
—–
“Look, Mae, I know how maddening this must be for you.”
“No, I don’t think you do. How could you possibly empathize with my situation? For Christ’s sake, you’re an astronaut. You’ve never even touched a whale.”
“I don’t need to touch one to know how it feels, Mae!”
—–
The streets were still. Pedestrians were curled up on the sidewalk in fetal positions, soiling themselves. Motorists had shut their eyes and slammed their brakes. Dogs roamed the streets, howling and refusing to sniff one another.
“Oh, bother,” said the doctor.
—–
Lyle’s arms flailed as he blindly ran through the night, yelling mostly gibberish but repeating the phrase “No nose is good nose” numerous times.
—–
The Mayor cackled maniacally in his underground lair (what his detractors called a “coffin”). The battery of his portable DVD player was almost dead, but he figured he could probably fit in another half of an episode of Full House. Of course, his oxygen supply would be depleted sooner.
—–
“Looks like I’m coming home,” the doctor said into the phone. “No, that was fine. No, none of that. Well, I tried to fix a few things that, well, didn’t need fixing. I know, I know, it’s a personality flaw, thank you mother.”
—–
The old man sneered at his reflection in the lake. Dammit, he thought, if I can’t have me, no one can. He dove in, weighted down by stones, and dug into the soft bed, determined never to meet the cloud that waited for him above the surface.
—–
“Mary, would you like to get an ice cream some time?”
But it was too late, the venom had already deprived her of her motor functions and, soon, consciousness. The boy cursed himself for his consistently poor timing in these matters, and he also suspected that his father was joking about the “irresistible romance of the apiary.”
—–
“Who moved my stuff? I asked you not to move this.”
“Six months you were gone. You can be so unreasonable.”
The doctor grumbled. “Did you unlock this cage? This cage was supposed to stay locked.”
—–
He awoke sprawled on a hillside, a trail of ants crossing over his right arm. He heard faint buzzing sounds in the distance, and his panic grew.
