Dr. Dume ~ The Doctor is In

One of the Green men arrived at my door today. They like the swamp. If they didn't, there'd be more of them.

"I work on Global Warming," he said, through an ego so huge it nearly tipped the whole castle on its side.

"Really?" I was impressed. "That's quite ambitious. I have trouble keeping the castle above zero in winter. How do you plan to warm the whole world?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "It sounds expensive."

"No, no, you don't understand." He laughed without moving his beard. It had to be seen to be believed but trust me, that thing was fixed in time and space. His head moved up and down over it but the beard never even twitched. "I don't want the world to get warmer. I want to stop it getting warmer."

I considered this. "Well, why don't you leave it alone then? That has the advantage of being effortless and is also the cheapest option, and that's always good."

His head (but not his beard) vibrated. "Don't you know the ice caps are melting?"

There was a long pause while I tried to make sense of this abrupt change of subject. Eventually I ventured an opinion. "Well, you know, if you make headgear out of ice, that sort of thing is only to be expected. Really, it's not a good business plan. Have you considered cotton? Or wool?"

There was another long pause while the hole in his beard gaped at me. His eyes grew so wide I would hardly need a scalpel to get them out. That'll come in handy later, I thought.

"You really don't get it, do you?" he said.

"No," I said. "I'm married." He was switching subjects faster than a group of dowager aunts on unlimited free sherry. "Why not come inside and discuss it in my laboratory? It's not very warm but I gather you prefer it that way."

He moved forward and I admit I was a little surprised to see his beard move with him. I had begun to consider it a mere hallucination.

"Is this place insulated?" He looked at the walls with far more self-importance than could realistically be contained in such a small frame.

"No," I said, "although it has been frequently insulted. Will that do?"

He drew a breath. "I have a lot of work to do here, I can see that."

He didn't have to do very much work as it turned out. Unless he considered screaming as a form of work. Well, I suppose it does take some effort to reach the volumes he managed, although he seemed to find it easy. He did do a lot of it, but not for very long.

Green curry tonight. Senga excelled herself, it was almost edible.

Posted by Dr. Dume at 01:17 AM | Permalink

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I don't smoke. Never saw the need. If I want to risk my life, all I need do is go for a walk when the sun goes down (okay, I'll be honest - when the clouds change from light grey to dark grey) or do what I've done. Get married and allow the child to be brought to term. The timing on that one is pretty good. Sprog with No Name is due in late October, so the Dume tradition will continue.

The Professor visited yesterday. He's been absent for some time but then he's never been one to worry about that. I think, when people are out of his sight, he forgets they exist at all. Anyway, apparently he gave up smoking but then started again. I wasn't at all surprised by that. He's done the same thing many, many times.

This time it's different. He has a battery-powered pretend cigar and he claims it's very good. I did note the absence of tobacco stench when he smoked it and was surprised to find the ashtray still empty when he left. It doesn't burn at all.

He even let me have a go. No, he wasn't forcing tobacco addiction on me. He had an insert that makes a smoke-like stuff but which has no nicotine in it. It doesn't produce real smoke either. I could have a lot of fun with that.

 I can also have a lot of fun with the whole idea of addiction. It is, after all, a remarkably effective way of controlling a population. The thinking hat is about to get a serious workout.

And of course, the end of this month will see another Alienskin issue and I need a new and different idea for an article.

Inhaling your own control drug, voluntarily, might be a good angle to work with.

Posted by Dr. Dume at 02:56 AM | Permalink

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Senga made a bizarre request today.

"I want a dishwasher," she said.

I considered this for a while and gave what I thought was the only reasonable response. "A what?"

She wants a machine that washes dishes. I had no idea such a thing existed nor could I fathom what anyone would want with one. Don't people lick their plates clean any more? Besides, splashing swamp water over the plates I eat from sounds like a most unhygienic practice to me.

The decider was the means of powering such a device. It not only costs money to buy, it costs money to run too.

So we won't be getting one. There's no need anyway. We never have leftovers on our plates.

Posted by Dr. Dume at 02:47 AM | Permalink

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I'm a fan of B movies. Those low-budget horror tales with a cast of unknowns. Usually they are pretty badly done but sometimes you find something interesting.

'The Devil's Chair' is one such. The acting is pretty good although the old doctor overplays to Vincent Price proportions at times. There is a demon, there is a psychotic killer, there is a book of crazed lore, there is fantasy and there is a vision of the workings of a madman's mind. Oh, there's quite a bit of blood too.

It can be confusing. The plot twists come thick and fast towards the end and I can't describe them without ruining the film.

Worth a look. It certainly gave me ideas.

Posted by Dr. Dume at 01:37 AM | Permalink

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Sometimes living in the swamp is good. Sometimes it's very, very good. It keeps me away from mad people.

The villagers were having a parade the other day. Since I'd hardly visited the village in recent months, it could not have been in my honour so I strolled across the swamp to see what it was about. It was about politics. Well, politics is of no interest to me since I found out that the Prime Monster wasn't really a brown gorgon after all, just someone with a similar name. Still, I'd gone all that way so I called in at the Throat and Razor for a pint (they say they have to call it a half-litre now for no good reason I could find). They had Hamish McCirrhosis's Bellyblaster on tap so I ordered one.

The talk was all of something called the 'Scottish parliament' which is apparently run by a salmon. A more talented fish it is hard to imagine, I thought, despite wondering why we needed another parliament when we have a perfectly dysfunctional one already, in some place called London somewhere.

Well, it seems this shoal of politicians have let loose a dangerous lunatic and nobody's pleased. Other than the Brown Gorgon and his cabinet (though why any sort of action should affect the feelings of furniture, and why anyone should care, I never did work out). They are very pleased because it lets them look for oil in the desert.

Hey, don't ask me. I was just eavesdropping.

So the parliament of mad people has cajoled a parliament run by a fish into releasing someone nobody wanted released in order to allow some other bunch of loonies to rummage about in sand looking for oil. That pretty much sums up what I heard.

Sometimes people tell me my stories are too far-fetched and far too unrealistic. That they have no relationship with real life.

I can see why now. I'm using far too much logic and common sense in those tales.

Real life makes no sense at all.

Posted by Dr. Dume at 01:49 AM | Permalink

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There's a photo doing the rounds at the moment that is claimed to be of a face in a glacier.

Don't you believe it. That's a photo Senga took when defrosting one of the freezers in the lab.

I really should clean those out more often.

Posted by Dr. Dume at 12:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

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