“Dear Alexander Hambone,” the white lab coat-wearing doctor spoke at him squarely and strangely. “Due to the problems and complications of our last experiment, this time you take with you—this! A distress signal. Take it with you on your journey into REM sleep. Note how the distress signal fits comfortably and discretely into your hand—”
“Ouch!” said Hambone. “It shocked me. Now my hand’s stuck to it… I can’t let go of it—help!”
“Comfortably,” the doctor hypnotically said: “Comfortably.”
“Wait,” said Hambone. “Why did you call me, Dear Alexander, like—like you were writing a letter?”
“Because Maine—you see—is mainly a manly state of mind…”
“Oh, I see… because Maine is mainly… ahhh—hey! Am I already asleep!?”
“I shall record it in the logbook—”
“NO! Don’t start that business again. Just give me my assignment.”
“Mr. Hambone, the situation is simple: My team of scientists have long been searching for a way to make the public radio system more sexual. We think that will make young toddlers enjoy it more—the youth! We figure toddlers like their radio really, really,really sexual because it’s more exciting. It’s more hip. Swag! Swag! Make’s ‘em feel all grown-up and sh#&, like mommy and daddy.”
“Can you please awaken me? I no longer wish any part of this.”
“It’s too late for that, Hambone. Your signature is clearly written all over this consent form.”
“It’s a pumpkin.”
* throws pumpkin over shoulder * “I don’t wish to argue the precise dream semantics of indenture law, Hambone. I know you need the money. And! Look at this now. Look at this now. I’ve been working on this for weeks. A penny saved… A penny saved… is a penny – ah-chew! s n o t! * produces slimy disk from nose * Snot! You see? You see, Hambone? Snot!”
“You’re crazy.” Hambone depressed the distress signal.
It turned into a robin and flew away.
“Just as advertized. The flying-bird, distress signal flies off somewhere to do something very necessary and perhaps logical. A triumph of aerospace systems!”
“Great.”
“Now, do I have your undivided gerspention?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Yes or no, Hambone.”
“Yes. You have my undivided ger-gerspention. God, I need a real job.”
* whispering into shirt-sleeve * “Subject is becoming moooo-li-flew-ous.”
“Today, doctor.”
“It’s really simple, really. Radio 1.0 wasn’t sexual enough for the kids. It wasn’t sexual enough for when you’re driving them to school at six in the morning or when you’re going for groceries on a Sunday afternoon. We needed something more. Something quicker. Something that hit harder and hit our subjects more squarely and definitively in the lowest of the lowest of chakras. We needed a Radio 2.0. A sex radio, Hambone! A SEX RADIO, YOU FOOL! DON’T YOU SEE!?”
“So you want me to listen to it and tell you what I think?”
“No, silly,” * waves hand over the birthday cake on the table before them * “You must eat the Sex Radio. Tell us how it tastes. Eat of this Sex Radio.”
“A grey-frosting, birthday cake made in the shape of boobies? With radio knobs as nipples? You guys really need to get out of the office. Just going to the park. Just getting some fresh air or talking to a girl or something is really all it would take—”
“EAT! Eat every last crumb! You must.”
“Now look. I certainly didn’t sign up for this survey/experiment to eat some sex-radio birthday cake. First off, I don’t know what you guys put inside the thing. Is it gluten free? Huh? What if it’s too sexy? Did you even think of that? What if you made the cake too sexy?”
“But you are already eating it, Mr. Hambone. The grey frosting appears all over your lips as evidence of your crimes. And now, everyone is tittering—hear as they titter? Hear them?—knowing you’ve had more than your fair share—you sloppy, sloppy, dirty-fingered, cake-eating, nibbling, gibbering, slibbering beast, you love it.”
“Damn! I hate it when you do that to me. It, it is delicious though—wait! I, I… something’s wrong. * shaking | sweating | eyes darting * End the experiment. End the experiment. I have to use the restroom quick, mister doctor-guy.”
* speaking into shirtsleeve * “The subject’s body appears to reject the sex radio. Perhaps not yet sexy enough. Swag!”
“Wake me!”
“Swag!”
“Wake me! I can’t do what I think I’m about to do with all those people watching the experiment with me lying on that table back in the real world. I have to get this out of me. Now!”
“The subject’s mood grows more mooooooo-li-flew-ous as the sex radio threatens to exit him in both spheres of reality. And, now, the test administrator will sample just the tiniest crumb. Just the tiniest crumb. The tiniest crumb. Because his curiosity, his curiosity, his curiosity, his curiosity…”
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RandomThis is weird, unclassifiable stuff. Much of it centers around technical satire. There's some dream fiction in here also and a variety of experiments with the fictional writing structure and theme.
