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.