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He had a lot of deranged stuff on his mind — I can’t wait to get his cortex into one of our jars; the thought videos will be something else
Back at the Cortical Institute in the South-East, Dr Garrett FitzGerald recounts the team’s latest brain experiments aimed at ‘curing’ heterosexuality.
I was awoken by a very serious silence the other day. There was clearly something afoot but not ahead down in my garage. Usually, morning is the noisiest time of day in the Cortical Institute. Nocturia has seen to it that our researchers are up with the dawn chorus and raring to go at the day’s work in my converted garage. I employ only retired colleagues — who else would strictly adhere to the Institute’s motto, ‘Live as if this is your last day’? How right it was for some of our late brethren, Darwin be good to them.
The surviving colleagues sat around the central table, enclosed by the walls of cortical ‘jars’. The only sounds came from the purring of the feeding-bathing machines. The thought/word consponder, display units and scanners were all switched off. One of our scientists, wearing his trademark pink waistcoat, sat at a distance from the others and appeared to be in a near-catatonic sulk. My first thought was that we may have had a visit from the storm troopers of HIQA.
Deputy ‘Head’
My deputy ‘head’, a title most humorously devised, beckoned that I should come outside. A most impressive colleague who was said to have survived the Lusitania, she came straight to the point in the latest scientific jargon. “The lads aren’t puttin’ up wit it from that f*c*er Dwyer!” she said sweetly. Dwyer had read to them the blueprint for his proposed study, ‘Stereotactic microablation in sexual preference disorders’. I enquired gently as to the nature of the objections, like was she a member of Iona or a closet archbishop or whatever.
“Twas alright until he read the materials and methods bit. You didn’t have to be a genius to spot that he wants to cure heterosexuality. Couldn’t he just go on with his shite work to do with emptying the prisons with his laser beam? I never liked him or any of his breed, but he was on to something there. But he was after this all along. By the way, he was the worst dermatologist in history and ‘tis well known that he and all belongin’ to him are intellectual pygmies.”
I am a most tolerant boss with an inspired sense of destiny and eternal possibilities. They (and I) refer to me as ‘The Special One’. I felt obliged to ameliorate my deputy’s angor animi with lofty sentiment about our role as the chosen ones, the brave and the faithful, future history’s giants, and any amount of similar bull. I threw in a JFK for good measure at the finish — some people ask why, but we ask why not. I didn’t believe a word of it but it got the job done. Two Jägerbombs later and she was game to let the matter go.
Comical Ali
She agreed to talk the rest of the lads into it. I had promised her that I would have a word with comical Ali himself. I let him get a whole lot of very deranged stuff off his mind first (instant internal monologue: can’t wait to get his cortex into one of our jars; the thought videos will be something else when the time comes, maybe we can do it at a future office Christmas party, mightn’t be too long either — I’ve seen his carotids) then went to work on him.
He was slow to come round from his position of getting carried away with the excitement of the recent referendum. But, sure as shooting, against my famous soothing palliative molly-cuddling all-encompassing goose-down duvet plawmaus, he hadn’t a prayer. In fact, he was of the opinion that all bets were off. But there I was, beatific now, with the consolatory hand in firm extension. He cried like a babby until I was almost ready to throw up my hurried breakfast of blaas and red lead.
Our agreement settled the matter. By 11am, all our machines were at full throttle and all our rapidly and visibly decaying colleagues were giving the best of their ultimate or penultimate days. It would not go out from the Cortical Institute that we had classified heterosexuality as a new sexual disorder. Yet we would be suspicious of those who were anxious to engage in too-frequent manifestations of the orientation. Ali would confine his stereo-taxis to many cortices that had a history of male-female interactive overuse, and some fewer in the self-service constituency. Ablations would be geared towards attenuation rather than total cure.
Most days are great in the Institute. Today was rough at first, but exemplary management expertise carried the day once again. Only last week, a glowing tribute with effusive (almost lickspittle) gratitude from the governor of one of our major prisons. Of the first 100 subjects in Ali’s criminal ablations, all were immeasurably improved. Thirty-nine were planning to take holy orders on their release dates.
It is gratifying to be inspired. When one combines vision with know-how, the sky’s the limit.