Have yourselves a story.
I call this...the Island of Dr. Feelgood. It's a take-off on that CHARMING little sci-fi movie, Island of Dr. Moreau. Wheee!
John Flansburgh took a sip of his earl grey tea and set his cup back down on the inviting "You don’t have to be crazy to live here, but it helps!" coaster. His attention turned to the elderly man across from him giving a speech, then to the three other dinner guests at the table. Seated next to him was his friend and colleague, John Linnell. A few seats down from them sat two young women who were desperately trying to look enthused.
"Gentlemen and ladies, I’ve gathered you here to help serve in a great purpose," the old man said. "Mankind has degenerated, if you’ll all recall, into vicious killing machines. If you’re not murdering one another, you’re PLANNING to. If you’re not PLANNING to, then you’re thinking of planning to and rearranging your killing schedules just in case, and so on."
Linnell sighed quietly and started jamming olives onto his fingertips.
"Well, good sirs and madames, I have been working for seventeen years to try and right this terrible probl-Mr. Linnell, is there something funny you’d like to share with us?"
John Linnell stopped snickering, hid his olive-hands behind his back and whistled innocently. Flansburgh stuck his face in his tea cup to keep from giggling. The other guests stared at the two expectantly. "I…um, it’s finger-cancer," Linnell offered lamely.
"Terribly sorry. As I was saying, I have been performing Betterment Experiments for the past seventeen years with the intentions of eradicating man’s need for bloodlust," the man continued. "I have been achieving this by taking certain genes from humans and…screwing around with them until something neat happens." He sat up suddenly. "Jerry? Jerry, come over here."
The guests’ jaws dropped as a bizzare three-headed merman-creature sporting a long, frizzy beard shared by all heads flopped into the dining room. It gasped, sputtered and flipped around on the floor weakly.
"This is Jerry. He was created by splicing the genes of ZZ Top with a salmon. Notice his total lack of ferocious behavior."
One of the two ladies spoke. "That’s because he’s suffocating…"
The other woman stood up. "Dr. Feelgood, I went on this trip because I thought your concerns for society were legitimate…Okay, they ARE legitimate, but your solution is so…NOT legitamate! You can’t sincerely believe that creating hideous creatures is going to remedy the situation. Well, I’m pulling out as of right now. And…" she pointed at Jerry, "and throw some water on that thing before it dies and stinks up the house."
Dr. Feelgood responded in a devillish grin. "Phyllis, my dear…I’m afraid as of five minutes ago, your option to ‘pull out’ was yanked from below your feet, as were everyone else’s. For you see, I’ve spiked your food tonight with animal genes and tranquillizers."
Flansburgh spit his tea out. "I thought I tasted a puppy, but shrugged it off as a dirty cup!" Linnell hastily popped off every finger-olive and swore to himself that he didn’t have kitty smell all over his hands.
Dr. Feelgood cackled sadistically and patted Phyllis on the shoulder. "I do hope you enjoy life as a common house rat. And YOU, Tilly…" he turned to the other girl. "Here’s wishing you a better life as Busta Rhymes." With that, the man left the room, leaving the guests in shock.
"So, um…yeah, got, like, some soda or water or something?" Jerry said, flopping an arm around apathetically. The other guests shook their heads and collapsed onto the floor as the tranquillizers kicked in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Morning sputtered and broke over the land like a Fiat engine. John Linnell woke with a start to a terrible itch behind his ear. He reflexively scratched away at it with his leg, and got up off the floor. "God, those tranquillizers were strong," he thought to himself. "I feel really woozy. Hey, I could go for some chicken." He walked around the dining room, marvelling at his sudden ability to move without any trace of coffee in his veins. "Hey, Flans?" he called. "You up?" He brushed his hair behind his ear. "That’s funny," he thought, "I don’t recall having sideburns, a beard and rather bushy CHEEK-HAIR…"
"Urgh, yes…" came a voice from the corner of the room. Linnell followed it to find Flans curled up into a ball. He looked up, unravelled himself, and wagged his tail cheerfully.
"Man, Flans, I have the weirdest feeling right now," said Linnell. "It’s almost as if I-wait a minute." Linnell stopped in his tracks and read the last paragraph. "’Wagged his tail?’" He looked down at Flans again. Then he read the paragraph a second time. Sure enough, Flans was wagging a big, puffy tail.
"Okay, seriously. Quit looking at my ass, Mr. Stareypants."
"Flans," Linnell searched his brain for a non-shocking way to announce Flan’s tail. "Uh, you ever get the feeling that certain body parts aren’t so…vestigal anymore?"
Flansburgh looked down and gasped. "Oh my god… the earl-grey tea…the dog smell-John, the color in my vision’s getting less saturated!" Flans grabbed at his tail and teared up. "…I think I’m a puppy." He looked up to his friend for reassurance and saw nobody. "Uh, John?"
"REEEEAAAAARGGH!" screeched Linnell as he bounded across the room. Phyllis, who had up until then been gnawing on the wall, perked up and squealed in fright. He grabbed her and started batting her around like a toy. She clamped down on his arm with her two now comically-oversized teeth and he yowled in pain. At that very moment, Dr. Feelgood calmly strode in. He held a squirtbottle up to Linnell’s face and spritzed him a few times.
"That’s a BAD John. That’s a very BAD John. Phyllis is not for eating," The doctor scolded. "Well, my dears, I see you’ve discovered the little presents I put under your proverbial tree.
"TREE?!" Flans thumped his tail against the floorboards.
Linnell held his injured arm and scowled at Phyllis. "What kind of inhuman monster ARE you, Feelgood? I’ll be lucky if this bite doesn’t give me the PLAGUE."
"Are you calling me diseased, kittyman?" Phyllis scowled back. "Howbout I call a nice Chinese resteraunt and order your cousin?"
"Howbout I take that disgusting, naked tail of yours and stick it right up your-"
Dr. Feelgood shoved a handful of dried catnip in Linnell’s face. His eyes glazed over and he sprawled out on the floor, batting the air playfully. Phyllis snickered and proceeded to groom herself.
"Now, where’s that Tilly girl?" Dr. Feelgood looked around. "Tilly? Oh, Tilly, child…"
There came an exasperated sigh from the bathroom, followed by a long string of inapropriate language. The door opened, and out walked Tilly. She was attempting to brush through her hair, which had become a mass of tightly-braided dreadlocks. "Fo’ fuckin’ NIZZLE, y’all," she huffed.
"There, now, my experiment is already a success. Don’t you all feel so much less homicidal?" Dr. Feelgood asked. His guests glared at him.
"I think I have the munchies…" Linnell said.
Part 2 may come eventually!
John Flansburgh took a sip of his earl grey tea and set his cup back down on the inviting "You don’t have to be crazy to live here, but it helps!" coaster. His attention turned to the elderly man across from him giving a speech, then to the three other dinner guests at the table. Seated next to him was his friend and colleague, John Linnell. A few seats down from them sat two young women who were desperately trying to look enthused.
"Gentlemen and ladies, I’ve gathered you here to help serve in a great purpose," the old man said. "Mankind has degenerated, if you’ll all recall, into vicious killing machines. If you’re not murdering one another, you’re PLANNING to. If you’re not PLANNING to, then you’re thinking of planning to and rearranging your killing schedules just in case, and so on."
Linnell sighed quietly and started jamming olives onto his fingertips.
"Well, good sirs and madames, I have been working for seventeen years to try and right this terrible probl-Mr. Linnell, is there something funny you’d like to share with us?"
John Linnell stopped snickering, hid his olive-hands behind his back and whistled innocently. Flansburgh stuck his face in his tea cup to keep from giggling. The other guests stared at the two expectantly. "I…um, it’s finger-cancer," Linnell offered lamely.
"Terribly sorry. As I was saying, I have been performing Betterment Experiments for the past seventeen years with the intentions of eradicating man’s need for bloodlust," the man continued. "I have been achieving this by taking certain genes from humans and…screwing around with them until something neat happens." He sat up suddenly. "Jerry? Jerry, come over here."
The guests’ jaws dropped as a bizzare three-headed merman-creature sporting a long, frizzy beard shared by all heads flopped into the dining room. It gasped, sputtered and flipped around on the floor weakly.
"This is Jerry. He was created by splicing the genes of ZZ Top with a salmon. Notice his total lack of ferocious behavior."
One of the two ladies spoke. "That’s because he’s suffocating…"
The other woman stood up. "Dr. Feelgood, I went on this trip because I thought your concerns for society were legitimate…Okay, they ARE legitimate, but your solution is so…NOT legitamate! You can’t sincerely believe that creating hideous creatures is going to remedy the situation. Well, I’m pulling out as of right now. And…" she pointed at Jerry, "and throw some water on that thing before it dies and stinks up the house."
Dr. Feelgood responded in a devillish grin. "Phyllis, my dear…I’m afraid as of five minutes ago, your option to ‘pull out’ was yanked from below your feet, as were everyone else’s. For you see, I’ve spiked your food tonight with animal genes and tranquillizers."
Flansburgh spit his tea out. "I thought I tasted a puppy, but shrugged it off as a dirty cup!" Linnell hastily popped off every finger-olive and swore to himself that he didn’t have kitty smell all over his hands.
Dr. Feelgood cackled sadistically and patted Phyllis on the shoulder. "I do hope you enjoy life as a common house rat. And YOU, Tilly…" he turned to the other girl. "Here’s wishing you a better life as Busta Rhymes." With that, the man left the room, leaving the guests in shock.
"So, um…yeah, got, like, some soda or water or something?" Jerry said, flopping an arm around apathetically. The other guests shook their heads and collapsed onto the floor as the tranquillizers kicked in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Morning sputtered and broke over the land like a Fiat engine. John Linnell woke with a start to a terrible itch behind his ear. He reflexively scratched away at it with his leg, and got up off the floor. "God, those tranquillizers were strong," he thought to himself. "I feel really woozy. Hey, I could go for some chicken." He walked around the dining room, marvelling at his sudden ability to move without any trace of coffee in his veins. "Hey, Flans?" he called. "You up?" He brushed his hair behind his ear. "That’s funny," he thought, "I don’t recall having sideburns, a beard and rather bushy CHEEK-HAIR…"
"Urgh, yes…" came a voice from the corner of the room. Linnell followed it to find Flans curled up into a ball. He looked up, unravelled himself, and wagged his tail cheerfully.
"Man, Flans, I have the weirdest feeling right now," said Linnell. "It’s almost as if I-wait a minute." Linnell stopped in his tracks and read the last paragraph. "’Wagged his tail?’" He looked down at Flans again. Then he read the paragraph a second time. Sure enough, Flans was wagging a big, puffy tail.
"Okay, seriously. Quit looking at my ass, Mr. Stareypants."
"Flans," Linnell searched his brain for a non-shocking way to announce Flan’s tail. "Uh, you ever get the feeling that certain body parts aren’t so…vestigal anymore?"
Flansburgh looked down and gasped. "Oh my god… the earl-grey tea…the dog smell-John, the color in my vision’s getting less saturated!" Flans grabbed at his tail and teared up. "…I think I’m a puppy." He looked up to his friend for reassurance and saw nobody. "Uh, John?"
"REEEEAAAAARGGH!" screeched Linnell as he bounded across the room. Phyllis, who had up until then been gnawing on the wall, perked up and squealed in fright. He grabbed her and started batting her around like a toy. She clamped down on his arm with her two now comically-oversized teeth and he yowled in pain. At that very moment, Dr. Feelgood calmly strode in. He held a squirtbottle up to Linnell’s face and spritzed him a few times.
"That’s a BAD John. That’s a very BAD John. Phyllis is not for eating," The doctor scolded. "Well, my dears, I see you’ve discovered the little presents I put under your proverbial tree.
"TREE?!" Flans thumped his tail against the floorboards.
Linnell held his injured arm and scowled at Phyllis. "What kind of inhuman monster ARE you, Feelgood? I’ll be lucky if this bite doesn’t give me the PLAGUE."
"Are you calling me diseased, kittyman?" Phyllis scowled back. "Howbout I call a nice Chinese resteraunt and order your cousin?"
"Howbout I take that disgusting, naked tail of yours and stick it right up your-"
Dr. Feelgood shoved a handful of dried catnip in Linnell’s face. His eyes glazed over and he sprawled out on the floor, batting the air playfully. Phyllis snickered and proceeded to groom herself.
"Now, where’s that Tilly girl?" Dr. Feelgood looked around. "Tilly? Oh, Tilly, child…"
There came an exasperated sigh from the bathroom, followed by a long string of inapropriate language. The door opened, and out walked Tilly. She was attempting to brush through her hair, which had become a mass of tightly-braided dreadlocks. "Fo’ fuckin’ NIZZLE, y’all," she huffed.
"There, now, my experiment is already a success. Don’t you all feel so much less homicidal?" Dr. Feelgood asked. His guests glared at him.
"I think I have the munchies…" Linnell said.
Part 2 may come eventually!