More Fun with Slavery

My dearest and most fremulous of readers, as you are aware, I am, like honest Abe Lincoln and Taylor from Planet of the Apes, morally opposed to human slavery. That said, having access to a slave of my own has proven hugely satisfying. Readers, I fear that whatever cosy morality you cling to, all would be abandoned if your power too surpassed that of the common stock.

Dr.Fell, now idiotic through my forcing him to swallow countless Bhujeum pills, is a delightful slave. Whatsoever my whim, he satisfies it. On Wednesday night, purely for sport, I bade him rhythmically beat his forehead with a chicken thigh during the entirety of The Apprentice. When Sir Alan Sugar announced that he would be firing Simon, I bade Fell comfort me by submerging both of his elbows in a pot of scalding broth and chant, "Sir Alan Sugarpuff" until he passed out. The sight of this warmed the cockles of my heart.

At present, I have sent Dr.Fell to buy me a fish and chip tea. A slave is a great resource for avoiding such tiresome jobs, but I have a rather better and more ingenious plan in mind for Fell.

An eventually-aborted attempt to sketch Dr. Fell as though he looked like Gok Wan (TV fashionista)

Toying with my slave

Today I have enjoyed forcing my idiot slave to do my every bidding. This afternoon I bade him entertain me by playing the theme tune to Casualty upon a xylophone. This he can do tolerably well. I have illustrated his performance, choosing to depict Dr. Fell as an obese naked man.

The Plan for Revenge is Undertaken

My curious readers, I am satisfied to report that my plan to gain revenge 'pon (upon) Dr. Fell has fallen out well. He has remained in my Dundee home since Monday and here he must be content to stay for I have no intention of ever releasing him.


Dr. Fell irked me from the off by eschewing my doorbell, choosing instead to chap repeatedly at my front door to boorishly alert me to his presence so that I might allow him to gain ingress to my home. With my heartbeat audible and perspiration prickling my brow, I went to pick up my copy of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa and prepared to open wide the door and promptly bludgeon the unwitting Fell. This huge and weighty 18th-century tome is dense enough to render anyone unconscious. Unfortunately, but understandably given my nervousness and concomittent confusion, I picked up a copy of Clarissa Dickson Wright: Spilling the Beans which is a different affair entirely, being a much slimmer volume of lightweight and fluffy prose. I won this in a church raffle some years previously, and, disasterously I now realised, had failed to commit it to the flames. It was as I opened the door and invited Fell in that I realised my folly and laid the autobiography down - to attempt to strike a (medical) doctor's head with such a floppy book would be foolish.





"Good to see you Horton," said Dr. Fell, before glancing at the copy of Clarissa Dickson Wright: Spilling the Beans and adding, "I see by your choice of reading material that the Bhujeum pills are still working. Most encouraging!"


"Hey Dr. Fell," I said, adopting a moronic mode of speech so that Fell would not realise that I was now free of the influence of his idiot pills, "Fancy a drink? I got Sunny Delight or Red Bull or pretty much any brand of isotonic sports drinks you like! I can't get enough of them!"


"Fabulous - the pills are working better than ever I could have hoped!" said Fell, smiling to himself in an infuriatingly smug manner. "I will take a 'Sunny Delight' if you please."


"Need any munchies? I got cheese-strings!" I said.


"This is just perfect. The pills are clearly a triumph. No thank you, Horton, I won't take any snacks," he said.


Readers, it was as I was preparing Dr. Fell's beverage that I arrived at a change of plan. Murder, I realised, was too final and would not serve as a satisfying punishment. My revised idea was far superior. As I had no Sunny Delight, I was attempting to create a convincing makeshift version (normal fresh orange juice with three pounds of sugar dissolved in it). The addition of superfluous ingredients to an otherwise pleasant drink gave me cause to pause. What if I was to add something else, unknown to Fell, to his drink? I toyed with adding bleach or horse tranquilizers or all manner of revolting possibilites, but hit upon an ingenious scheme. Bhujeum pills! I would grind up Bhujeum pills and watch, secretly delighted, as Fell consumed this concoction and succumbed to the terrible effects.


So that is precisely what I did. And I am pleased to report that it succeeded spectacularly. Dr. Fell is now an idiot of quite impressive stupidity. "Hoist by his own petrel", as they say. I have kept him well dosed on the nefarious pills for the last few days so that he is essentially my slave, helpless without me. I fully confess that it has amused me greatly to command Fell to debase and humiliate himself for my own amusement. As I compose this entry, I have forced him to improve the weft of the lounge carpet using only his shins. He does this with nary a complaint.


I have further plans in mind for my dimwitted slave, which I will tell you of tomorrow.

Tomorrow's righteous atrocities

My dearest and most fragrant of readers, I have once again been considering the various ways and means by which I will gain revenge against Dr. Fell when he visits my home tomorrow.

When he enters my home I must quickly render him unconscious so that I can better prepare him for his treatment. Readers, do not be shocked by the premeditated nature of my actions: I am surely justified because of his initial cruelty to me. "A nigh for a nigh" as people inexplicably seem to say in situations like this.

I have devised one technique for knocking him out but worry that it may be too fanciful. I have provided a sketch of my methodology below. Dr. Fell is imagined as being played by the late Sir Harry Secombe.

Musing on Tortures Galore

I have spent all my waking hours today relishing convoluted fantasies of exacting gruesome revenge 'pon (upon) Dr. Fell who so cruelly rent the soul from out my body and left me a cretin.

In my mind's eye, I have visualised the various facial expressions that Dr. Fell will surely pull when I brutalize him. This activity has amused me enormously and has fully encouraged me to see my plan through to the end.

Here is a sketch of my favourite expression that I imagined Dr. Fell hypothetically adopting. I feel this expression (alarmed flabbergastment) would arise from me holding several heated teaspoons against his calves.

Although Dr. Fell is in reality a svelte and angular man, I have here depicted him as being portrayed by the late actor John Candy (heavily disguised) because I believe this lends the image a much-needed comical air.

A Plan for Revenge is Hatched

My dearest and most obstreperous of readers, my plan to exact revenge on Dr. Fell has been hatched. I feel it must needs be severe because he tinkered with my soul, which is a serious offence.

My scheme involves all manner of grisly activities but ultimately ends in his death at my hands. Doubtless you are shocked and outraged because you do not think me capable of such a heinous act. I am morally good as you know, but I believe my cause is a righteous one. I think I will be able to go through with it.

Being subject to unspeakable tortures during my time as an inmate of Dundee's Home for the Irretrievably Demented, I have become hardened. Murder is no longer a great taboo.

Below is a sketch of an instrument I have designed with which I will torture Dr. Fell. It should be obvious what its function is.

A Plan for Revenge is Mulled Over

My readerly and most writerly of readers, you may now like to gaily and daily release small ejaculations of joy for I am returned to my prelapsarian state! Forgive the reckless use of an exclamation mark but I feel it is warranted given the situation.

Since I was hoodwinked by the nefarious Dr. Fell into partaking of certain jelloids which he called "Bhujeum pills", I have been rendered arrantly moronic. You need only look at the previous few entries on my electronic diary to observe that this is the case. Why anyone would think their readership would find pleasure in considering an obese Yankee teenager flailing his arms about as if in combat is now beyond me. For making you endure such idiocy, I apologise, but only on the edge of hearing because none of the affair was really my fault.

I see now that Fell's "Bhujeum pills", although they undoubtedly succeeded in making my troubles softly and suddenly vanish away, performed the twin action of forcing all my wits to softly and suddenly vanish away also. Luckily, this stupidity ultimately led to me missplacing the pills, which in turn led to me missing my daily dosage, which in turn led to me recovering my wits. If you will indulge me, I will describe what my brief foray into the world of asininity was like.

I confess that it was wonderous and I can begin to appreciate why fatuousness is so popular: the most inane things at once become things to marvel over. I spent three consecutive afternoons joining internet message boards under assumed names and posting false weblinks to a Rick Astley video on Youtube, finding this the most deliciously hilarious thing imaginable. I watched entire catalogues of Internet Flash cartoons. For hours at a time I played internet games that answered such questions as "What Diff'rent Strokes character are you?" (Mrs Garrett), "What mid-Victorian philanthropist are you?" (W.E. Hickson) and "What curd are you?" (lemon). I bought (and shamelessly consumed) Pop Tarts. I watched multiple episodes of Booze Britain 2: Binge Nation. I even began writing Blog Fiction.

Readers, I enjoyed every minute of it. However, I realise now that I had no capacity for abstract thought. Since coming to my senses, I have returned to my habitual misery and gloom but have regained free will and intelligence. At times, I have felt like recommencing the dosage of Bhujeum Pills but have so far withstood the temptation. The dilemma is this: a happy imbecile or a miserable genius?

For now, I have chosen to remain a miserable genius. This will help me to concoct a ferocious revenge on Dr. Fell who so cruelly toyed with my wits - nay, my very soul. Fell is to visit me on Monday, ostensibly for a "check-up". He will find me far less maliable than he expects...

Yes, I am glad once more to be a genius, with all my faculties returned to me. Readers, when Fell enters my Dundee home, you will begin to truly appreciate exactly what devilish wonders this marvellous mind of mine, rich in thought and imbued with fierce and keen intelligence, is capable of...

Must go now - Flog It! is coming on the telly.