His name was Dr. Doctor, PhD.
And it still is.
But he’s been working—tightening bolts, screwing, driving screws, securing nuts, assembling, and pouring his sweat and genius into his labor: creating.
The laboratory was a spectacle to behold, one for the ages. The fiery blue arcs of extreme temperature flickered. His black be-goggled eyes hid behind shields, safe from seeing the consequence of his doings.
Another burst of oxyacetylene flame and another breath of God, puffed through the pneumatic drill, and—crash!
The door swung open behind him, and Buttler lurched inside, dispelling Dr. Doctor’s mad rhythm and hell-bent determination.
“Haven’t I told you enough times?” Doctor asked. “Never barge in here while I’m working! You…
“Dimwit?” Buttler, who dearly loved and tentatively sought his master’s approval, aided.
“Pre—cisely!” Doctor agreed. “Nitwit!”
Buttler lurched closer.
Doctor jotted data onto a clipboard.
Buttler lurched closer, all but breathing down his master’s neck.
“What are you working on, Master Dr. Doctor?”
“Oh, my simpleminded buffoon of a heavyset waste of weight, I’ve told you more times than I can count that this project is top secret, and equally equivocal to the aforesaid quantity of times that are astronomically uncountable is the astronomically uncountable plethora of times I’ve told you that I’m in the throes of fabricating a “Bio-Aversive-Frequency-Flux-Inhibitor-Lever,” which endows me with an inapprehensive conscience in so doing, because your chronic retardation leaves you prone to memory lapses; therefore, to confide in you once more is to confide in a deaf dead man, severed of tongue, and equipped with his own rectum as a cranial protection apparatus!” Doctor finished, panting.
Buttler’s eyes rolled upward to check the databank in his brain, and he drooled a little, for only a moment.
He came back.
“Top Secret Doomsday Device!” Buttler Exclaimed. “I remember, now.”
“I never said Doomsday Device!” Doctor Exclaimed. “It’s a bio-aversive-frequency-flux-inhibitor-lever!”
“Well, what does it do, then?” Buttler asked, eying the web of insulated electric eels slithering out of the walls toward their source, a hip-high lever dead center of the room, neither position of which the doctor had labeled.
“It’s complicatedly simplistic,” he explained. “When switched to the position at which you now see it, it does nothing. But when you throw the switch to the opposite side, the device sends a network of electromagnetic impulses via the copious lengths of wire, which subsequently trigger the onset excitement and quickness of what I, years prior, had discovered and dubbed the hidden “bio-aversive-frequency” inherent in all things, which shall then maliciously override the homeostatic disposition of the biosphere on which all biological nuances, including both you and I, depend on for sustenance and preservation, for an indefinitely infinite span of temporal reality.”
“… Said the blind man!”
“When can we finally test it?”
“NEVER!” Doctor shouted. “You ignoramus, have you the vaguest, foggiest conception in that mound of mush and mutton you cart atop your surly torso as to what the dire consequence of pulling the lever is?”
“I haven’t,” Buttler agreed. “But what hurts my head even more is why you would invent something that you can’t even use?”
Dr. Doctor, PhD mused in silence for a moment, and then replied:
For the people who do not understand the humor...
(Pretentious people...when they explain something...neither they or the person with question have any idea what is being explained)
This week’s challenge, then, is to write about distraction. Is it a coworker’s cleavage? A “private” conversation you’re not supposed to hear? Kids playing “terrorize your sibling”? It can be humorous or serious, factual or fiction, prose or poetry. Be certain to tag with FWE and include “FWE-Distraction” in your title. Please try to post by 1/11/13.
Write a sketch featuring a self-important character who uses fractured, jargony, wordy English, and capture that in the dialogue.1/27/13