Is Life Worth Living?

"Geoffrey?"

"Yes?"

"Pour us a snifter and chuck us the baccy will you? It's gone ten."

"OK. Wait till I get off the bog first."

"JUST HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!!!" interrupted a familiar voice. None other than the Ghastly Dr. Wilson. Covered in seaweed and stinking of sewage as usual. (why is this? I cannot be arsed explaining, but it's All There in previous posts....) Sticking his head in the window without so much as would you mind or a by your leave.

"Oh for -"

"What the Kentucky Fried Chicken are YOU doing here o Ghastly one? Lovely to see you and all that," lied Geoffrey, as he carefully replaced the lav seat and forced a smile.

"I'm here to save you two utter wastes of space from yourselves. Don't have that drink. Put that baccy down. Pop the kettle on and make some hot water instead. Don't have that bacon and egg sandwich. Rather, have a plate of cracked bulgar wheat with a splash of miso, raw garlic and a steamed macadamia nut. If you stick with that regime through the week you can treat yourselves to some Barleycup and an organic sultana each on weekends. Maybe a carob bar. Mind and go for all these cancer tests as well. And don't forget your five a day. Or your compulsory forty five minutes of aerobic exercise."

"Will we live to a ripe old age then Doctor - if we do all that you say?"

"Well you'll avoid the sanctions."

"Sanctions?"

"If you don't adhere to current medical thinking, we'll shoot you. Simple as. You've no right to be alive and taking up space on the planet if you can't take a few simple steps to protect your own health."

"What about pleasure? Cutting loose? Letting go occasionally?"

"Some might take issue but personally I see nothing wrong with having a prune instead of a sultana at Christmas. Surely you can't complain about that! Look at me! I'm a picture of health. Okay, I'm bald, I've got a bad leg, a paunch, piles, hammer toes, gout, halitosis, gingivitis, and chronic flatulence but otherwise I'm the best specimen you're likely to see round here."

"But you're only 27."

"And your point is?"

Geoffrey and I exchanged glances, then nodded.

"Do you have the gun on you now? for doing the shooting part."

"Oh no! a-hahaha! I have other people to do that - nurses, for example. They get £28 a head plus an hour's annual leave. No - I'm a doctor - my role is to cure, never to kill."


No gun, eh? We were safe enough. It was time to unleash the Wheechie Net.

"Press the lever please Geoffrey."

WHEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCCCHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Suddenly the Ghastly Wilson was bundled into a sturdy net and wheeched or "drawn" upwards and sidie-ways by hi-powered rope attachments towards the handy catapult which we have installed beside the house for just such eventualities.

"PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEyoinnnnnnnnGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!" catapult twangs.

"SPLAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" The Ghastly Wilson is launched bay-wards, where the ever-hungry, snapping jaws of the orca await.

"Nom nom nom.................."

"Heh heh heh. Bye bye Wilson! What were you saying about cracked bulgar wheat?"

Treble brandies all round.