Times New Keeferton Keef shows no signs of lethality or psychosis

4Sep/150

ON FOXES AND ANESTHESIOLOGISTS

This conversation discusses the fable of The Anesthesiologist and the King of Foxes, which is one of my Horrible Little Fables series; if you haven't read it, you probably should before you read this. My conversation partner is Bill, who thoughtfully created the illustration for that fable.

Here we go.

Bill: The real moral of this story, I think, is that you should just shoot all animals with broken limbs.
Keef: ahahahaha! Sounds good to me.
Keef: OH FUCK IS THAT A TALKING FOX (blam!)
Bill: Let's write an updated script for Guess Who's Coming To Dinner about a talking fox.
Keef: ahahahha!
Keef: IS BESTIALITY EVEN LEGAL IN WISCONSIN, DEBRA?
Keef: I'M SORRY HONEY I JUST CAN'T CONDONE THIS
Bill: Since you've been researching foxes, I'll leave it up to you to come up with an appropriate racial slur for them.
Keef: I WON'T HAVE MY DAUGHTER SHACKING UP WITH A GODDAMN VULPER
Bill: I like the sound of that!
Keef: IT WAS BAD ENOUGH WHEN YOU STARTED WEARING THAT FALSE TAIL TO HIGH SCHOOL HONEY
Keef: REMEMBER HOW THE BOYS ALL CALLED YOU HULPER?
Keef: I HATE TO SAY IT BUT THEY HAD A POINT
Keef: SEPARATE BUT UNEQUAL, THAT'S WHAT I'VE ALWAYS SAID
Bill: oh god, she's a furry too?
Keef: haha! Mostly, it's a way to slip in the gross degraded version of the slur. "Human vulper," see.
Bill: DON'T LET THE DOGGY DOOR CATCH YOUR ASS ON THE WAY OUT
Keef: ahaha! YES!
Keef: HONEY COME GET YOUR BOYFRIEND'S SHIT OFF THE LAWN
Bill: BEFORE HE EATS IT
Keef: heehee
Keef: I HOPE YOU DON'T EXPECT ME TO SET A PLACE AT THE TABLE FOR THAT THING
Keef: OKAY HONEY I PUT RED'S PENNE ALLA VODKA IN A BOWL ON THE FLOOR I HOPE THAT'S OKAY
Bill: haha
Keef: WELL NO DEBRA I DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW THEY'RE STRICT CARNIVORES! FUCK ME FOR NOT KNOWING THAT! GODDAMMIT!
Bill: Was there any violence in Guess Who's Coming To Dinner? Because FOX HUNT!
Keef: ahahahaha man, you're getting dark. I guess we'll need to get Bobcat Goldthwait to direct.
Keef: He gets our voicemail and is like "Goddamnit. You make one movie where someone bangs an animal from the Canidae genus..."
Bill: haha. I wonder where the Animal Rights people will land on it?
Keef: That all depends on whether or not the family learns to love and accept the fox by the end of the movie.
Keef: If it ends with a fox hunt, I'd suspect they wouldn't be fans.
Bill: I figure we can turn the fox hunt scene into a homage to Predator.
Keef: Is the fox the Predator, or that weird faux-Indian fellow?
Bill: I think the Fox is Jesse Ventura. We'll establish that he's a Sexual Tyrannosaurus early on.
Bill: That actually just means you have itty bitty arms and a monster dong.

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2Sep/150

THE ANESTHESIOLOGIST AND THE KING OF FOXES

Once upon a time, back in the days when a sense of entitlement had value, a baby boy was born. Because his parents were of a certain class, and were a certain color, and had a certain amount of money, the world was wide open to this boy, and he did not need to work very hard or become very smart in order to attain his goals.

After high school, the boy decided that he wanted to become a doctor, so he went to college, where he performed acceptably, and to medical school, where he was in the bottom ten percent of his class, but graduated. And because he attendeds one of the few medical schools with a Department of Anesthesiology, he became an anesthetic specialist; and because of his name, his class, and his face, he became the Head of Anesthesiology at a large hospital on the West coast.

At that hospital, he was a bad anesthesiologist. This was back in the days when the science was still new: patients were given ether and sodium pentothal; good anesthesiologists killed about one of of every thousand patients with anesthesia alone, and this was an acceptable risk. It was in this field, against these numbers, that this doctor looked bad.

"You don't understand," he would say, each time, after the review board had rendered a decision, and then he would explain. "The surgeon nicked an artery, and the patient lost a lot of blood, so of course the ratio of sodium pentothal was too high!"

Or, "They didn't tell me the patient was missing a leg, so it is understandable that I gave him too much!"

Or, "There is no way that woman only weighed ninety-five pounds! Look at her huge corpse!"

Or, "It was all Joseph's fault!" Joseph was the pharmaceutical purchasing representative for the hospital. "Joseph kept buying the wrong things, and then those things killed the patients!"

But no one gave credence to his outlandish claims.

After several years, when he had killed enough people, he was let go from the hospital. Because it was known in the medical community that he was not very good at his job, he was unable to find any work at any other hospitals.

So the boy became an anesthesiologist at a large veterinary clinic, where animals were the only things he could accidentally murder at an inordinately high rate.

One day the King of Foxes came calling at the veterinary clinic. He lay his scepter across the front desk, and adjusted his crown. "I seem to have fallen and broken my leg rather badly," said the Fox King. "It hurts like the very dickens, and I have been assured that you provide the best care. Fix my leg, and everyone here shall be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. Fail to fix my leg, and my skulk of foxes shall tear you to pieces."

"Okay," said the receptionist, and then she called in the doctors, and made the Fox King repeat himself.

All of the doctors kept looking at the anesthesiologist. As everyone knows, a wild animal with a broken leg must be put under general anesthesia in order to undergo surgery.

"For God's sake, don't fuck this up," said the Head Surgeon to the anesthesiologist.

Oh, how the anesthesiologist did sweat. As the doctors took x-rays, he ran into his office and read all about the unique biology of Vulpes Vulpes, the red fox. As the nurses shaved the Fox King's leg, he carefully noted the Fox King's weight to the ounce, and began running complicated equations to determine the precise dosage of the anesthesia. As the Fox King spoke with his loved ones, he carefully measured the animal's mouth and sternum.

The doctors all scrubbed in, and the anesthesiologist put the Fox King under.

After surgery, the entire operating room waited with bated breath. The surgery had gone well. The leg was pinned and casted. The Fox King was still alive, but there are many things that an anesthesiologist can do horribly wrong that will leave a patient alive. No one wanted the King of Foxes to be a vegetable, or even slightly brain damaged.

At last, the Fox King shook his head, muttered, and opened his eyes. He looked down at his cast, and flexed his foot. The nurses scrambled to help him sit up.

"Thank you," said the Fox King, when he had regained his faculties.

Everyone in the hospital breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

"Take them apart," said the healed King of Foxes, and his skulk set upon the surgeons and nurses in a flurry of fangs and claws. They yanked the receptionist's arm from its socket, and broke her neck. They burrowed into the Head Surgeon's soft underbelly with sharp little teeth. And then they tore out the anesthesiologist's throat, silencing a scream and leaving him gurgling to drown in his own blood.

As we all know, all foxes are liars; and the King of Foxes doubly so.

Illustration by the lovely and talented Bill Latham.