Frightening things

Here’s a little nightmare scenario I dreamed up today.

You have a cat.

It is a warm summer day — no, beyond warm. Baking. Sweltering. So hot that if you piss outdoors, the only thing to hit the ground is a lazy streamer of foul, ammonia-smelling vapor.

Your cat is thus indoors; and having found no other escape from the heat (the freezer being, in toto, occupied by your groaning bulk), has slunked to the toilet, and, with a tired meow, positioned itself inside the toilet-bowl, intuiting the smell a much lesser evil than the bliss of lukewarm water and shadow.

Then you, in your freezer, suddenly need to go and piss, and because of the thing mentioned above you indeed are not going to go outside. Thus you go to your toilet, and sit down.

You do not notice the cat below.

And what does the cat do?

Well, suddenly its world goes dark. The circle of light above is eclipsed by some vast, flabby monstrosity that emits a foul liquid belch, and waves what seems, in the twilight, like a finger in its direction.

And then the finger spits.

Thus the cat goes berserk: half a second after this it is not the only yowling thing.

Half an hour later you are on the desk of the closest vet, having the claws of your neurotically twitching feline disengaged from your bottom.

Half an hour after that you are in the office of your human-doctor; and despite your protests she assures you that there are all sorts — she does not judge — no, this is not even the first time she has stitched up the results of this particular sexual perversion — and she does not judge.

No sirree.

* * *

To get the taste of that off your mouth, here’s a fun fact: A distant relative of Napoleon was a psychoanalyst.

So —

“Doctor, doctor, I need your help. I am Napoleon, the Emperor of the French, yet no-one believes me!”

“Is… is that you, great-great-uncle?”

* * *

One more thing — fits the silly-buggers and too-cruel-to-be-true theme of this post:

There are even more people in need of evisceration in the corporate world than previously thought. This time in Elsevier the publisher and Merck the medicine-monger:

The Scientist has reported that, yes, it’s true, Merck cooked up a phony, but real sounding, peer reviewed journal and published favorably looking data for its products in them. Merck paid Elsevier to publish such a tome, which neither appears in MEDLINE or has a website, according to The Scientist.

Though this particular villainy could never happen in my chosen field, mathematics, it still makes me boil with rage. Advertising is one thing, a necessary evil, but perverting peer-reviewed journals, in all their imperfection (see: Elsevier) maybe our best current instruments for disseminating our best approximations of truth… the people responsible for this need to be sold as test animals to the cosmetics industry!

Edit: For more, go here or here; both have more on the matter. If I was a Frenchman, I would be muttering “Merck-de!” all day.

So, a cat in genitals and a prime example of hooks and crooks: Masks of Eris, ruining your day since 2007.

2 Responses to “Frightening things”

  1. mitch Says:

    This happens in math too:

  2. masksoferis Says:


    I don’t even know whether to be more disturbed by an academic infomercial or by a masturbatory numerologist.

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