Wednesday, May 30, 2012

The Strange Serum of Professor Foutre au Cul


The Strange Serum of Professor Foutre au Cul




It was late, approaching midnight, when Professor Foutre au Cul made his final decision.  The wind through the open shutters wavered the gaslight in its isenglass globe, casting blood dark shadows over the scattered pieces of dirty laboratory equipment, making them seem like instruments of torture, as indeed, in the professor’s case, they were. But, mon dieu! he had no time for that now, not when he was so close.

At last he felt his serum was perfected, the serum that would transform the laboring underclass into willing slaves, obviating the need for expending capitol on wages, or those clumsy robots the dwarves were always bragging about, and which always rusted into oblivion before the warranty expired. Professor au Cul had a bit of a poetic streak, and thought of his potion as "The Foutre au Cul Ultimate Obedience and Indifference Induction Elixir."

He had as yet to come up with a marketing slogan. “Watch Them Drink and Obey!”  perhaps. Or “Save a Fortune on Scullions and Automatons! Make Your Wife, Regardless Of How Formerly Intractable, the Perfect Domestic Slave!” or, alternatively,  “Transform Your Drunken Sot of A Husband Into A Responsible Wage Earner!” 

The possibilities were endless.

No matter that the earlier concoctions were a mixed success at best, causing the loss of several typists. He’d been forced to terminate them when they removed their bustles and began a bacchanal procession through the lab, completely indifferent to both social mores and the terms of their employment but alas! no more obedient than ever. While not wholly averse to the former manifestation, it was not the reaction he was looking for.

But at last, after the introduction of tincture of mercury, the reduction of the grain alcohol component and a ticklish adjustment of 27 different herbs and spices, the serum had reached the stage where human experimentation was vital. He was the only one left, and he owed it to Science to finalize his amazing gift to mankind by making himself the last trail subject. He had no fear. He knew his process was flawless.

He upended the delicate crystal vial, and rapidly drank off six ounces of vile, murky grey fluid. It was only after enduring hours of agonizing bellyache and acquiring a raspberry rash over 86% of his body, including parts best not thought of, that the professor realized he had no way of telling whether the serum had actually worked, as he was already totally obedient to his own every whim, and complete indifference to everything else was a natural trait.

Back to the drawing board. Perhaps this time, something in a little blue pill?



May 2012

Posted for    real toads
Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: Steampunk



A bit of a departure for me; normally I find writing prose to be like pulling teeth, but in this case, the thing refused to be a poem, (I linked an older one of those if preferred) so there you go. Apologies for the length--it didn't want to be short, either. 

Optional Musical Accompaniment



Image: Goya Attended by Doctor Arrieta, by Francisco Goya 1820
Public Domain, via Wikipaintings.org

17 comments:

  1. A ticklish story, Joy! But what is amazing is that you switched to prose like fish to water. So 'what now?' is the question, a lingering question. A mark of a prose of good standing when it sets us thinking. The Professor is now 'intellectually crippled' so which direction would the story go. Great prose!

    Hank

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  2. Oh this is excellent! It reads as a caricature of itself: the tongue-in-cheek tone and hilarity offset by its being a master of the genre.
    I love it!

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  3. so he was a man...haha...fun. dont knwo that i have ever seen a short story like this from you...i like it...nice blend in of a bit of humor with the typist...fun...

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  4. How fun! Writing prose is just as good an exercise for improving poetics as poetry is for prose. I'm so glad you went with it for I needed the smirk today. ;)

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  5. This is just priceless! And, we seem to just a bit on the same wavelength. In the same wave pool, at least.

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  6. Flash Fiction!! Excellent, and a little bit nasty. I love it!

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  7. NOT the raspberry rash! *faints*

    I enjoyed this thoroughly, but then again, perhaps you slipped some serum into my chai tea?

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  8. This was a hilarious and most highly enjoyable read. Love the rash on the unmentionables......love the Bacchanal procession of the disobedient women. And the little blue pill at the end - so funny.

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  9. You rock prose, Hedge!! I love the tale you've spun!! Great ending, too, of course it wouldn't work on him and I love these lines

    "He had as yet to come up with a marketing slogan. “Watch Them Drink and Obey!” perhaps. Or “Save a Fortune on Scullions and Automatons! Make Your Wife, Regardless Of How Formerly Intractable, the Perfect Domestic Slave!” or, alternatively, “Transform Your Drunken Sot of A Husband Into A Responsible Wage Earner!”

    Such fun!!

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  10. An ancestor to the evil Stepford Wives genius no doubt! Fun stuff!

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  11. That's how writing should be - it just demands to be handled the way it wants and there's nothing you can do about it. And why would you want to? This was awesome, hedgewitch.

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  12. This has a great sense of humor and irony about it that made me smile at the end. So much for scientific hubris! I'll remember not to drink any aperitifs though, should we ever meet. :)

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  13. LOVE this! {i think our Muse's must have made a pact ~ i couldn't shorten my latest piece either. it's not anywhere near as good as yours though!}

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  14. sadly, most gubbamints have various versions of mind control already out there, usually begun by plebs sucking on the glass teat [as harlan ellison calls it] of television... why else do we keep voting the same types of morons into office? :(

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  15. I love this little satire...damn useless automatons: when will we ver find a more civilized replacement. Allow me to grab my monocle and top hat, then a quick zeppelin ride into the city so that I may file this piece as a classic! Well done!

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg