Pesk-u, in all timelines, and dimensions!

The man walks into the little girls' room. The single solitary little girl captive thereⁱ is sleeping deeply, ensconced in a cocoon of her own devising, a complicated creation of blanket and internal obsessive compulsion.

He stands a moment, observing. She's on her side, breathing evenly. Well... that won't last long now, will it!

He lowers his face, so it's just in front of her face. Her eyes are moving under closed eyelids. She must be dreaming. He blows, slightly. He can see the electric charges, the minute, tinyest of tiny sparks coursing through her face, knotting themselves in her hindbrain, running amplified to the limbs and viscera. Adrenals smoldering, she jerks and

"Whaaaa!"
"Ahahah, relax baby"
"Whoa haa! What the"
"It's ok, it's ok, it's me."
"Holy shit, what! Why! Who does someting like that to a person!"
"Hahahaha. I figured your life's boring and you could use a little jolt."
"What ?! No!"
"Did you get scared ?"
"Yes I got scared. I'm petrified", holding her chest, containing ye little racing heart or ye butterfliesfull thymus or whatever she's containing in there. "Look, my eyes, they're huge!"
"They're actually closed."
"You know, I was dreaming just as you did that. I was dreaming that we were sitting at a desk..."
"What, tuup-du-duupⁱⁱ, drawer desk, like the frog ?"
"No, a normal desk. And you were showing me a program, or we were trying to figure out this cool place or something like this, and..."
"Boo!"
"You know ? You're like... in all timelines and dimensions."
"Transcend time, and space!"
"Heh."
"Well, so go back to sleep, I just wanted to fuck with you a little, there's nothing else."
"Oh, thank you."

She goes to pee, and he goes to... similarily excrete. Tu-doo.

Oh, I nearly forgot -- yesterday a dentist's girlyⁱⁱⁱ finally got my name right, for once :

Needless to say I'm not taking most of that, not being either an underage prostitute in a Central Asian brothel, nor one of the morons concerned about the latest bout of hysteria^iv. I understand it's in the poorest of tastes to overrule a surgeon's prescription like that, but holy god it's not painful at all, I don't need to be sedated for lack of absolutely anything going on in my life to the point chemically induced altered states are not merely interesting, but outright phenomenal (or how they'd say, "amazing!"). So Ima take the antibiotic seeing how with oral shit you never know, there's all that food (not to mention little girl tuna etc) getting in there, and four days of the cancer meds^v and call it good.

1. "She could leave at any time", of course, of course. Leave and go where ? Or, to reuse Alicia Silverstone's everquestion to the universal great guy with a great sense of humour, "how dumb is there ?" [↩]
2. Yes, many harem-internal key words and terms of art have a little soundtrack or other such special effects attached. Often it's a small trumpeting. [↩]
3. Their relationship is ambiguous to me. She's pretty, where he's shockingly competent (you know that thing fewer and fewer people do as the lights dim, whereby they do the task, check it, move on, do the next task, check it, move on, they're done in a third of the time all the other morons dithering about and ambling circularily, unable to attain closure or mentally handle finality take ?) ; she held his aspirator and blinked stripper-grade fake eyelashes ; she wore very cute, deep red surgical theatre robes, but had never heard of Jeremy Irons, let alone that apoteotic scene in the operating room. So I'm guessing she must've been his... I don't know, really. They came together in his car, so I'll wager fiance, what can I say. [↩]
4. Yet think of this if you will, you can't find Dexamethasone (which is what she means by "Dexametaxna" or whatever the hell she blockprinted in there -- fancy that wonder, DOCTORS BLOCKPRINTING NOW, like Neznayka predicted exactly!) for love or money, I have plenty rotting away in my fridge. How's that "equality" and "people's rights" etcetera bullshit working out for you yet ? [↩]
5. Seriously, if this world doesn't have an overmedication problem I don't know what the fuck does, even reduced tenfold as I have the list is probably too heavy by a factor of who even knows, more than two in any case. This is the great fruit bore by that poisonous tree of systematically oppressing manhood now fashionable : not only is it a matter of, braindead good, active bad at rest as in general. It's also a matter of "tell the court, Mr. Doctor, what have you done to prevent outcome X". And Mr. Doctor can't very well say nothing, because the women ubiquitous in the audience know full well, viscerally understand they're both wrong and evil and please won't a hero rise up every time he's needed. He has to do something, he can't explain to the idle, pointless idiots spuriously befouling the place that the cure ain't worth the trouble, he must show a positive "having done something". Just like they do, at their place of "work". So he loads up a list of half a pound of assorted poppers, such that "nobody could accuse him" should any of ten trillion possible but unlikely circumstances come to pass. The reason medicine sucks so bad these days is squarely that women have a voice -- I don't mean the practitioners, they're almost always fine, for schooling taking too long and being too demanding to allow much of the usual scar tissue through, they usually prefer law or (if particularly braindead, business), I mean everyone else. Same reason education sucks so bad today, same reason everything else sucks today. You follow ?

   Well then shut the fuck up and do the right thing, what the fuck already. [↩]