XCI. The Island of Doctor Curious
Zark Throbmyer looked down at his tie. He was wearing his salmon-colored tie – the one he wore when said he wanted to “swim upstream”. It always puzzled me why he chose to wear a tie, and only a tie, when we were in the steam room. Zark reminded me that the steam room was the new hot spot for business development so he needed to look his best. I reminded him not to do toe-touches.
We showered, avoiding the eyes of feverish old men shooting come-hither glares our way. Freshly dressed, Power Cs in hand, we walked back to my house. In between paint-huffing sessions, we received a call from Dr. Ake – a local mad scientist who spent his summers following the carnival from small town to small town. He mentioned that a distant relative of his, Dr. Curious, was in town and was touting his new “transportation” pills. These pills, as Dr. Curious had explained them, were the revolutionary “next step” in travel. Apparently, after ingesting, you are supposed to click your heels three times think real hard about where you want to go. Then, you are magically whisked away to any number of exotic locations – Tahiti, Hawaii, Atlantic City.
Needless to say, I had always wanted – but never been able to afford – to see Myrtle Beach at sunset…when the descending apricot sun shoots rays of golden warmth on fair maidens dressed in vomit-stained jean shorts and sporting Poison tattoos. Intoxicating.
Zark and I donned our neon spandex and rollerbladed over to Dr. Ake’s office stopping intermittently to show off our radical skills to gawking onlookers. When we got there, loud disturbing noises were reporting from the inner office. The kind of noises you expect to hear at demented petting zoo. Hysterical laughter followed by mewing sheep….It smelled of wet cement and mildewed towels. Zark mentioned that he had forgotten to wipe again.
Dr. Ake led us into the inner chamber where we had our first encountered with this Curious fellow. We gathered around his hammock as he strapped on winged anti-gravity boots that he felt made him "invisible." We stood awkwardly in front of the large Mapplethorpe as Curious danced around us, drawing close to an ear here and there and whispering, "Where am I now?" and giggling.
After strapping him down, we got down to business. We took the pills. They were gravelly and tasted like tang. I closed my eyes and clicked my heals three times and wish, wish, wished for Myrtle Beach. I opened my eyes and I was still in the office. It was then that Curious mentioned that it usually takes a few hours for the transportation for occur. For this, I tickled him until his hysterical laughter slowly faded and he convulsed into dreamy death.
Goodbye funny pill man.
Three hours went by and I still did not find myself in Myrtle Beach. Defeated, I went to work. I was 5 hours late and needed to come up with a good excuse. I leaned over to the guy in the cube next to me.
“Do I look sick?” I asked
“Well, not ill if that’s what you’re asking?”
I cackled frantically and reminded him of my ninja skills.
I got up and skulked over to my boss’s office, trying my best to feign illness. He was hunched over, looking intently at a stack of Necrophiliacs Anonymous magazines on his desk. “Mr. Bodine…I’m sorry I’m late. I’m really not feeling well. I just can’t seem to keep anything down.” I let some shit trickle down my leg to show him that I meant business. I call it trickle-down-fecal-nomics. I’m a big Reagan fan.
He jerked his head up, blood vessels spurting from his eyes.
“WHO YOU CALLIN’ A PSYCHO!” he demanded.
“Ahh…no one…” stammering.
“Who the hell are you? Do you have my money?”
“What money?...no…I’m Clubber. I…”
“Get outta here you goddamn freeloading cocksucker!” screeching.
He chased me out of the office with a large staple gun he kept taped under his desk in case things ever “got real”.
After a long metro-ride, I made it home in time to watch the Hey Dude re-runs on Nick at Nite. Melanie is such a fox. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was drunk and stumbling down a boardwalk. Half-dressed 200lb women were hanging out of store windows yelling that they would do “anything” for a dollar. Old men sporting mullets and wearing tank tops stood smoking Pall Malls and drinking forties. In the distance, I heard the faint strumming of a Poison Power Ballad. The sun was setting. I looked up and saw a sign that read: “Welcome to Myrtle Beach: Where Class meets Sophistication”.
I had made it. I looked at the descending sun and thought, for the slightest moment I could hear that hysterical laughter. And I knew that somewhere, Curious was looking over me.
We showered, avoiding the eyes of feverish old men shooting come-hither glares our way. Freshly dressed, Power Cs in hand, we walked back to my house. In between paint-huffing sessions, we received a call from Dr. Ake – a local mad scientist who spent his summers following the carnival from small town to small town. He mentioned that a distant relative of his, Dr. Curious, was in town and was touting his new “transportation” pills. These pills, as Dr. Curious had explained them, were the revolutionary “next step” in travel. Apparently, after ingesting, you are supposed to click your heels three times think real hard about where you want to go. Then, you are magically whisked away to any number of exotic locations – Tahiti, Hawaii, Atlantic City.
Needless to say, I had always wanted – but never been able to afford – to see Myrtle Beach at sunset…when the descending apricot sun shoots rays of golden warmth on fair maidens dressed in vomit-stained jean shorts and sporting Poison tattoos. Intoxicating.
Zark and I donned our neon spandex and rollerbladed over to Dr. Ake’s office stopping intermittently to show off our radical skills to gawking onlookers. When we got there, loud disturbing noises were reporting from the inner office. The kind of noises you expect to hear at demented petting zoo. Hysterical laughter followed by mewing sheep….It smelled of wet cement and mildewed towels. Zark mentioned that he had forgotten to wipe again.
Dr. Ake led us into the inner chamber where we had our first encountered with this Curious fellow. We gathered around his hammock as he strapped on winged anti-gravity boots that he felt made him "invisible." We stood awkwardly in front of the large Mapplethorpe as Curious danced around us, drawing close to an ear here and there and whispering, "Where am I now?" and giggling.
After strapping him down, we got down to business. We took the pills. They were gravelly and tasted like tang. I closed my eyes and clicked my heals three times and wish, wish, wished for Myrtle Beach. I opened my eyes and I was still in the office. It was then that Curious mentioned that it usually takes a few hours for the transportation for occur. For this, I tickled him until his hysterical laughter slowly faded and he convulsed into dreamy death.
Goodbye funny pill man.
Three hours went by and I still did not find myself in Myrtle Beach. Defeated, I went to work. I was 5 hours late and needed to come up with a good excuse. I leaned over to the guy in the cube next to me.
“Do I look sick?” I asked
“Well, not ill if that’s what you’re asking?”
I cackled frantically and reminded him of my ninja skills.
I got up and skulked over to my boss’s office, trying my best to feign illness. He was hunched over, looking intently at a stack of Necrophiliacs Anonymous magazines on his desk. “Mr. Bodine…I’m sorry I’m late. I’m really not feeling well. I just can’t seem to keep anything down.” I let some shit trickle down my leg to show him that I meant business. I call it trickle-down-fecal-nomics. I’m a big Reagan fan.
He jerked his head up, blood vessels spurting from his eyes.
“WHO YOU CALLIN’ A PSYCHO!” he demanded.
“Ahh…no one…” stammering.
“Who the hell are you? Do you have my money?”
“What money?...no…I’m Clubber. I…”
“Get outta here you goddamn freeloading cocksucker!” screeching.
He chased me out of the office with a large staple gun he kept taped under his desk in case things ever “got real”.
After a long metro-ride, I made it home in time to watch the Hey Dude re-runs on Nick at Nite. Melanie is such a fox. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was drunk and stumbling down a boardwalk. Half-dressed 200lb women were hanging out of store windows yelling that they would do “anything” for a dollar. Old men sporting mullets and wearing tank tops stood smoking Pall Malls and drinking forties. In the distance, I heard the faint strumming of a Poison Power Ballad. The sun was setting. I looked up and saw a sign that read: “Welcome to Myrtle Beach: Where Class meets Sophistication”.
I had made it. I looked at the descending sun and thought, for the slightest moment I could hear that hysterical laughter. And I knew that somewhere, Curious was looking over me.
posted by Clubber Lang at 5:21 PM
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