Thursday, December 18, 2008

Story Time

"The mercury destroys their brainy stuffs, and makes them drool more! There is no cure for it, and these, so-called, "Doctors"- who actually went to school for 12 years past the 12 years I had to suck and fuck my way through- FORCE our children to ingest MERCURY!" Sloth's face was red from exertion and she stood, panting, surveying her audience. Heads were nodding accent.

"Autism is a plague, brought on by 'science', 'reason', and a general inability to accept a death rate of greater than 50% for anyone over thirty! These vaccines have got to go! I have lived with autism for six years, and as a mother," she adopted the teary-eyed look that had always worked on daddy, "it was the most horrible thing ever! To know my son was a squishy headed half-tard with no prospects for ever not mooching off what I've sucked and fucked my way to- I picked my nose on TV, for Zombie Jebus's sake- was unbearable! But.. But, I am one of the lucky ones." The tears dried up, she smiled awkwardly. "My son was a slightly-sickly-blueish-green Child. He, as a member of the next evolution of mankind, has healed himself of- what modern medical practitioners might misdiagnose as- 'autism'." There are cheers, and Sloth's heart swells. No one ever cheered that hard when for her when she wasn't showing boobies, she thought. This is way better than double penetration, she added.

"Even though my child is not autistic, and I'm not a doctor, or a scientist, and I obviously don't understand simple aspects of evolutionary biologists... Even though more than 15 major studies, throughout the world, run under verifiably reasonable, sound, and trusted experimental modalities totally discount what I say... I know what caused the not-autism my not-human son once sorta had: VACCINES!" There are angry cheers and jeers from the crowd.

"She's right, she's right, she's right," adds Sloth's boyfriend Monkey, as he stares contemplatively into his hand full of feces. "Sex now?" Monkey stage whispers, and the crowd cheers even louder; his gaze barely drifts from the odiferous contents of his hands to the pronounced swell of Sloth's bussom.

There is a loud, momentary, squeal across the speaker system, then the tried and true swooshing of someone blowing into a microphone. "Test, Check. Oh, okay! Uhm. Hello." says Owl. Owl has been told that putting the crowd at ease, making them comfortable, will win them over to his side. 'Hello' was his ace in the hole, and as the crowd hasn't started rioting, or shouting at him to do anatomically impossible things, it seems to have worked. Check and mate, he tells himself, I got this. "I am Doctor Owl, a neuro-surgeon at Princeton Plainsburrow Teaching Hospital." Owl's chest swells with pride, and he sees heads nodding in approval. "What Sloth said is false for any number of reasons, one:" and as that's where the majority of the audience stopped listening, I won't bother you with repeating Owl's diatribe of facts, reality, and- that stubbornly repeatable, verifiable, and objective- truth. Instead, this being an accurate recitation of events, we'll pick back up where most of the audience did. "Therefore, Sloth has no proof of what she's saying because there is no proof. She's wrong, anyone who does the research knows she's wrong, and she's endangering the lives of everyone by perpetrating these lies onto the unsuspecting masses! Autism is not linked, and has never been reliably linked, to vaccines. Thank you." Some jeered, some cheered, most were still transfixed by Sloth and Monkey's obvious sluttiness.

Many in the audience, for whatever reason, believed if they were pushed far enough, either one or both of Sloth and Monkey would gladly flop onto their back and encourage a type of train that only much older, scarier, and often Japanese, boys think about as fun. Some in the audience secretly hoped Owl was of a similar bent. Of course, there were about six or seven- of the hundreds in attendance- who actually cared what was being said, too.

"You're a shill for Big Pharma," accused Monkey, the words mimicing the metabolic process he was simultaneously using to refill his hand. "We're actors, and we've talked to psychics, and our Chiropractic friends agree." The crowd cheered. Owl responded with a list of highly regarded, peer reviewed, scientific medical journals that published equally reliable studies discounting any claims that autism was linked with, as Owl put it, "chemicals that haven't even been in US vaccines for years!"

"Shill!" Sloth chanted, and Monkey echoed. "Shill!" The crowd chanted, too.

Owl shook his head, and waited. He flashed a shiny mirror at the crowd. The short attention spans of the chanters were instantly focused on the mirror, and on Owl. The chant was forgotten. "There is no link. There is no evidence that even suggests a link, other than those people who say there is such evidence. Everytime they're asked to produce evidence they cannot. Anytime they've suggested some 'likely candidate' as the culprit, it's been thuroughly tested and shown to be harmless- as far as autism is concerned. Each time their favored vaccination component is debunked, they invent a new one out of whole cloth! That is not science, that's, at best, guessing; and more akin to witch hunting."

"He supports witchcraft! You heard him, he's a satanist!"

"Actually, though my personal beliefs shouldn't matter, I don't believe in any gods, devils, demons, or ghosts."

"EVEN WORSE! He's an ATHEIST!" The crowd gasps. "Let's hit him until he believes in our professed mythologies!" The crowd cheers. Owl swallows, and eyes the exit. The crowd, still jeering and cheering stand up. Owl knows his time is short.

"Do the research for yourself, don't trust what others tell you, look it up. Go to.." but someone cuts the microphone before he can finish. The crowd is starting toward the stage. It's now or never, Owl thinks, and tosses the mirror. As it flies, the various lights cause the mirror to glint and shine, casting brilliant rays at random. The distraction is complete. As one the crowd, Sloth, and Monkey, stare transfixed as the mirror arcs up and crashes down, shattering. When it breaks, they immediately return to Owl; but he is gone, disappeared.

"See," says Sloth. "He's a sorcerer. Who would you rather believe? A devil worshipping atheist sorcerer doctor, or these?" She flashes two of her teats at the admiring crowd. The crowd cheers.

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