#on the upside! have i mentioned i have scanner access now

[brawltogethernow]

@ladynoirjuly days 11, 14, 22

[macgyvermedical]

Omg I know probably everyone has seen this by now but I just watched it for the first time and... it’s amazing. It is the most accurate to medical drama thing I have ever seen. I have watched it like 6 times now and I’m dying laughing.

So the non-med-people can enjoy this as much as I did:

“We have a 35 year old male- he was at the gym, he got hypertensive”

Hypertensive means high blood pressure. Most people at the gym are doing something strenuous and therefore have blood pressure that would be considered really, really high if they had it at rest. So unless this guy was having chest pain or a bad headache or confusion or some other symptom of hypertension that was causing damage, which in report they should have lead with, in other words... he’s totally fine.

“They were able to monitor everything on his apple watch” / “We’re just going to monitor everything right through the apple watch”

I know they’re referring to a very specific episode of a very specific show but I’m blanking right now on what it was (New Amsterdam, maybe?). Also the apple watch can monitor pulse, sense falls, and record a 1-lead EKG (with an app that can be downloaded separately) that can detect a heart rhythm called sinus rhythm (normal) and atrial fibrillation (generally not life threatening), but nothing else, meaning this does not explain literally anything they talk about in this video.

“He had a blood pulse that was really really high”

They’d just say something like “his heart rate was _____ bpm” which everyone in the room would know how to interpret. Also it’s just a pulse or heart rate, not a “blood pulse”.

“Can we go ahead and start fluids? Let’s go with Jevity 1.5 Cal” / “I’m just gonna run this straight through the IV pump”

Jevity 1.5 Cal is a type of tube feed (that has 1.5 calories per milliliter) that would go through a feeding tube. You cannot put this through an IV (it would kill the patient), and you can’t run it on an IV pump (none of the tubes or connectors can connect to each other as a safety feature... so you don’t accidentally run it through an IV and kill someone).

“We’re gonna need access to his cardiovascular system- I think I’m going to have to put in a peripheral IV right at the bedside since the ORs are busy.”

A peripheral IV is just what you think of as an IV. They’re almost always put in at the bedside (meaning they can be put in right in the patient’s room).

“Does someone want to call family and get consent?”

There’s no indication that this patient cannot give their own consent, and if he was unconscious and consent was implied (we assume you would want to be helped if you were in medical distress so bad you were unconscious), they wouldn’t waste time getting the family’s consent for something as small as an IV. Which was probably already put in by the paramedics on the way there.

“I’ll go ahead and get gowned up”

IVs are a “clean” but not “sterile” procedure, meaning that we don’t need to wear a gown for them (unless there’s another reason we should be wearing one, like contact precautions for infectious disease). Also he is wearing the gown backwards.

“I’m not seeing anything, he’s so hypertensive.”

HYPERtension (high blood pressure) generally does not make a difference in how difficult it is to find veins, in fact, it might make it a little easier. HYPOtension (low blood pressure) does make it harder to find veins to put IVs in.

“If I do this right there is going to be a flash”

A “flash” in the context of an IV start is a small amount of blood that pops into a window in the IV start device, which tells you the IV catheter is in the vein. It is not a literal flash of light. Little misinterpretations of things like this are everywhere in medical fiction.

“It is in the femoral artery, we now have access to his cardiovascular system”

The femoral artery is in the leg and it is not something you put a peripheral IV in. A central line maybe, but that actually would be done in an OR as a sterile procedure.

“The bladder scanner’s reading 0, we need to go ahead and place a foley”

A bladder scanner is used to determine if a patient is keeping urine in their bladder even after they urinate. A reading of 0 is ideal because that means there is no urine in the bladder. You would not place a foley (a catheter that goes in the bladder and continuously drains urine out) for this patient, because they’re voiding fine on their own. Medical dramas misinterpret test results like this all the time, or use tests that don’t make sense (like this guy’s bladder scan for hypertension).

*hooks up foley to suction*

Urine drains out of foleys to gravity, it does not need to be hooked up to suction. When you’re watching medical dramas they do a lot of “hook it up wherever, the audience won’t know the difference” which is what they’re poking fun at here.

“Patient’s still in tachycardia, I need to go ahead and begin mild compressions”

Tachycardia just means a heart rate above 100 (or 120 depending on your hospital). The only thing you’d do for this (assuming sinus tach) is figure out what’s causing it (dehydration, anxiety, pain, fever, etc...) and correct that. If it’s something called supraventricular tachycardia, you might give a drug called adenosine or try having the patient bear down, but you would never start compressions for tachycardia unless the patient’s heart was beating so fast they lost a pulse. And there’s no such thing as “mild compressions”- it’s compressions or no compressions. There’s nothing in between.

“This is Blake on 4b, we’re calling a supercode.”

The term “megacode” is sometimes used (especially in training) to refer to a code where you’re using the whole algorithm for a cardiac arrest to work the patient. There is nothing called a “supercode”, though a lot of times they’ll say random words with Code attached to sound medical in medical dramas but that don’t mean anything.

“We just got an alert he’s in V-fib, we can stop compressions”

V-fib, or ventricular fibrillation, is a pulseless rhythm, and that’s when you would START compressions typically. Also, an apple watch cannot sense v-fib.

“The patient’s desatting- he’s not tolerating room air oxygenation”

This would actually be said “the patient’s desatting (the percentage of the patient’s hemoglobin molecules that have oxygen attached to them are dropping), he’s not tolerating room air” So there’s just a few extra words here that make the character look like he’s never been in a hospital before.

“I think we need to go ahead and intubate with a bag mask”

Intubation (putting a tube down a person’s throat to deliver air/O2 directly into their lungs) is a different thing than oxygenating with a bag valve mask (basically just pushing air into the patient’s lungs without a tube). Then he goes ahead and puts a non-rebreather (type of oxygen mask that doesn’t have anything to do with either of the two things he just mentioned) on the patient upside down. He then hooks the oxygen tubing up to the same suction he attached the foley to earlier.

“The bag’s not inflating all the way- I think I’m going to have to go in manually”

Squeezing the bag on a non-rebreather does nothing useful. Swearsies.

“Good news- his oxygen is coming down and his BP’s going up”

He’s here for... hypertension, right? Like, we want the opposite of that to happen.

*on the phone with x-ray* “The blood in his body is going clockwise???”

This is both not a result you can get, and also not a result you’d get from x-ray anyway, which is something that happens all the time in medical fiction. Random results that don’t make sense from departments they wouldn’t have come from.

“Team- everything we learned in school- throw it out the window, we’ve gotta save this guy!”

No one is that dramatic irl. You’d get laughed out of the room.

“His potassium level is 10.8- we’re gonna go ahead and we’re gonna need more potassium!”

10.8 is an absurdly lethally high amount of potassium. No wonder that guy is in v-fib. You would not put more potassium in this guy. You would be getting the insulin and D50 out of the Pyxis (med machine) and frantically paging anyone with an MD or DO after their name for an order to give it to bring the potassium down.

“Someone get me a banana” *spikes the banana like it’s an IV bag* “I know they didn’t teach us this in school, but it’s all we have”

I feel like that’s referencing the scene in Off the Map where they spike the coconut. Which, turns out, actually a thing. Unlike the banana.

Also they’re in a hospital. There are many forms of potassium in a hospital, which is a misconception you also see a lot in medical fiction- improvisation when it’s completely unnecessary.

“Sir, this may burn a little bit”

Oh, hey, something they got right! Potassium does burn given IV! Just like in medical fiction, they’ll get one little thing bizzarly correct in the midst of all that.

“The apple watch is dying! Does anyone have a charger??”

Another moment of “we definitely don’t need to be improvising this... we’re in a hospital” which I could totally see them doing in a medical drama.

“I think we have to open up his airway- we need an incentive spirometer chest tube”

Like when they were talking about intubating him with the “bag mask” he’s talking about two completely different things. A chest tube is a tube that goes into the chest and drains air or fluid so the lungs can expand fully. An incentive spirometer is a device used to encourage deep breathing in patients (which prevents fluid from building up in the lungs). What’s shown in the video is an incentive spirometer that’s apparently been hooked up to the chest tube. Which is another excellent misinterpretation that I could totally see being made from google research.

“I’m going to go ahead and check for PERRLA” *looks in mouth*

PERRLA is an acronym for an assessment of the pupils and how they react to light and accommodate distance. While you might want to check it in a code, you would not look in the mouth...

“We can cancel the supercode, also there’s no need for the MRSA nasal swab”

In the context of transferring him to the floor instead of the ICU, you genuinely wouldn’t do the nasal swab for MRSA (more necessary in an ICU setting, and many ICUs require one (and put anyone who comes up positive in isolation) to prevent spread of antibiotic resistant infection). HOWEVER, this is another thing that hospital shows do where they misunderstand the importance of certain things, or what would be deliberately ordered versus be a part of a routine order set that wouldn’t even really get mentioned. Like the MRSA swab for the ICU.

Nurse Blake really hit the nail on the head with this. I love it to pieces!

[queennicoleinboots]

Off Grid Desert Farming with Pastor Penn and Scholar Alexia, part 1

A/N: SEQUEL to "A Special PBC Royalty News Report by Stan Doe and Chrissy, submissive queen of nomenclature with many titles"

Date: August 27, 2021, 9:11 p.m.

"Lights! Sound! Costumes! Crowns! Sashes! Make-up! Camera! Action!" Milk Mama chrissy with all of her glorious titles spoke with her distinct English voice.

The cameras turned on to reveal Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets with his silver crown sitting 10 inches away from Pastor Penn. Pastor Penn had his navy blue sash on as he sat 10 inches away from a female brown bear with round-framed glasses and a royal blue graduation gown with a silver sash named Scholar Alexia. Scholar Alexia sat 10 inches away from King Bruce Ice who still wore his intricate silver crown.

"Hello everybody, this is Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets supporting Off Grid Desert Farming with Pastor Penn and Scholar Alexia in their very important broadcast. Without further ado, Pastor Penn," the werewolf prince spoke in his distinguished English accent.

"No need for titles, Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets. I'm Penn with Off Grid Desert Farming with Penn and Alexia. Alexia is here with us to help deliver this broadcast that we all need to hear and know about," the golden bear spoke strongly with his Southern accent.

"Hello everybody, this is Alexia with Off Grid Desert Farming with Penn and Alexia. My husband has some very disturbing news to tell you about our future whether on Earth or on any other planet anywhere for that matter, unless you're in a different dimension. Then you're lucky," Scholar Alexia said in her soft voice.

Pastor Penn, Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets, and King Bruce Ice chuckled.

"But most of us aren't in another time frame or in the upside down dimensions that aren't accessible in our lifetimes no matter how many light years we travel, so this news are about to share pertains to us. But we don't have much time. Penn!" Scholar Alexia shouted.

"Today we asked Saul Turner, an excellent intergalactic journalist who tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to join us on this broadcast today and tell us about the latest jab credit cards and jab biosignatures that are being implemented next month," Penn said.

"And he is very controversial because most journalists have a whole helluva lotta bias," King Bruce Ice said. "Saul Turner, tell us about yourself, for those of us who are new to your work."

A brown bear with eyes similar to Prince Banana Ice of all bears who wore a white button-down shirt, black tie, and khakis pants spoke on the other screen. "Yes. I am Saul Turner, a former Cat Intelligence Association agent that is appointed to tell the whole truth whether I want to or not. The powers that be assigned me this job," Saul Turner said before he whispered, "lest I disappear off the face of the galaxies forever."

"Thank you, Saul Turner. You mentioned in a previous news story that if we don't present proof of being jabbed at any store or market, the registers and wallets would not be functional. Is that correct?" Pastor Penn asked.

"Very! The governments of the world are downloading chips into the jabbed people as proof of their jabbed status. The cashiers will scan everyone with lasers to examine if he or she is jabbed. If you are not jabbed, the gasoline pumps will not work for you. Cash registers won't open. Even zippered WALLETS won't open for you. 'Open Sesame' will not even work for you so don't bother saying it to a scanner. Trust me. I tried it. It didn't work, AND NO I HAVEN'T BEEN JABBED," Saul Turner said loudly.

"Wow. I guess we ain't doing a darn thing unless we get jabbed," Pastor Penn said with an uneasy chuckle.

"NOT A DAMN THING!" Saul Turner said with fervor.

"That's bullshit! That's gonna fuck up the economy. We have to get jabbed to buy or sell. That's bulllllssssshhhiiittttt!" King Bruce Ice said as he growled "bulllllssssshhhiiittttt!"

"They don't care about the economy. They care about control. They care about the (encrypted voice done by Milk Mama chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying BEETLEJUICE) system," Pastor Penn said. "And more stuff has been happening around the multiverse in regard to this (encrypted voice done by Milk Mama chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying NEW AMAZON MULTIVERSE). I don't have time to talk about it in length on this network, but I can reference you to my backup channel on Odyssee.cahm. I have years of information on there that will bring you up to speed on everything going on."

"But what we need to talk about right now is the massacre that just happened an hour minutes ago in Abracadabra on Planet Neiber in the Twix Galaxy. IBIB, the terrorist group that once ruled the Planet has resurged from the depths from which they came. They are responsible for most of the massacres and for the explosions that happened in Kabbabullibulli, Abracadabra. That's near the Kabbabullibulli space station, but not in the same place. The Twix galaxy has a lot of similar names there. It's crazy. There are many wounded astronauts on those spaceships and a few dozen dead," Scholar Alexia said.

"There were two explosions that just happened 30 minutes ago as well. Astronauts from the Green Planet and Earth have been caught in the crossfire and are aborting their quote-unquote safe-keeping mission in Abracadabra. We have graphic photos to show this incident. If there are are minors watching, please tell them to leave the room and watch Telebubbies for two minutes before returning to this broadcast," Pastor Penn said.

Milk Mama chrissy then put an intermission screen on with her pups playing for two minutes to allow all minors to escape the news before Pastor Penn spoke again.

"Thank you, Milk Mama Drama Llama chrissy. I noted the lower case out of respect for one of your doms that I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet," Pastor Penn said.

"You're welcome. I'm not in business to scar the youth of the multiverse. Please continue," Milk Mama Drama Llama chissy spoke.

"Okay. Are you ready, everyone, to see the graphic horrors of the Kabbabullibulli Abracadabra explosion?" Pastor Penn asked.

"No, but we'll show it anyway to boost our ratings," Milk Mama Drama Llama chrissy said as she began to show the pictures.

Some were of spaceships blowing up. Some had parts of space suits floating in space. One dead astronaut was being eaten by space bacteria while other body parts were floating in the midst of space. Pizza the Hut from Spaceballs was smiling and sitting on a blood moon wearing a green Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses on top of his head with his right thumb in the air while Q from Street Fighter: Third Strike was eating his flesh.

"Damn. Dat's FUCKED UP!" King Bruce Ice said as he looked at the other screen in horror.

"Yes. It's all very tragic. I extend my prayers that the rest of the astronauts escape safely before the Twix galaxy turns into milk chocolate, nougat, caramel, and nuts. Traveling through will require a sweet tooth," Pastor Penn said.

"Yes. A few bears brought several Twix bars on the spaceship on our travels here," King Bruce Ice said.

"AL Koala and the Tarbaran were in League with IBIB in the Kabbabullibulli Abracadabra city. There will be more than 30 dead astronauts in this explosion. You see that a nuclear explosion just occurred on the two entire planet as wells: Neiber and Fluggoit. A third and fourth explosion JUST HAPPENED!" Pastor Penn shouted.

We all saw the video of the Neiber and Fluggoit exploding. The whole news station gasped.

"And and the neighboring planet Italala just caught on fire.... and there are live feeds of astronauts and people spontaneously combusting... any chance of evacuation is very slim. Lord Help us. But we already knew this was gonna happen. Only through the Lord can we get through this. And everyone literally is covering this story if news exist at all. The United Planets Association definitely (encrypted voice by Milk Mama chrissy, Encrypting Genius saying, "Fudge Sundaed") up on the evacuation of Abracadabra and any other cities in the Twix galaxy at all. We should have evacuated years ago," Pastor Penn said.

"And Now the Planet Ubiquitousistan in the PaiDai galaxy has just been bombed by Abracadabra space magicians in retaliation of the Planet Abracadabra blowing up. The galaxies are literally blowing up. They're imploding, and black holes are eating other planets. Tourist planets have been targeted by space trash as well," Scholar Alexia said.

"But as bad as this is, getting the jab is still the worst thing ever. At least if you die without the jab, you get a chance to live in Chronistica. If you have gotten the jab, you will sent to Hades. Other sources, Saul Turner, Ghetto Gosbear, Brother Friar John, and recently, Found Sheep are other news sources that are telling you the horrors of the jab and the implications on intergalactic society. Right now, things are going to hell in a handbasket. Please call out to the Lord. Are you 100 percent that you are going to Chrononistica today? If not, then read John 3:16, Psalm 23, Psalm 91, Psalm 123, Psalm 139, the whole book of Revelation, and Matthew 6:23," Pastor Penn said. "The most important news is the Lord is coming again. The planets exploding is his message for us to be better people. More news will come as we gather more information."

"Yes, but we need to share some light news after that horror of intergalactic war and black holes eating Twix bars just happened. I'm just thankful that we're safe for now," Scholar Alexia said.

"Oh yes, please. It's just ghaaaahstly out there. I am almost disassociating just to be able to continue the broadcast," Milk Mama chrissy said.

"Absolutely. It's a scary multiverse out there. But onto lighter things until I am mentally ready to share the rest of this broadcast. Ahem... Apparently, Xara made a typo in "Chrissy and All of Her Glorious Titles Have Spoken." She said that it was the Prequel to "Bears, Eat Your Heart Out. Chrissy, all titles, is trying to arrive. Apparently, so is Everyone Else" instead of saying that it was the SEQUEL to "Bears, Eat Your Heart Out. Chrissy, all titles, is trying to arrive. Apparently, so is Everyone Else." The sequel comes after not before," Pastor Penn said with a chuckle and smile.

"Correction. Prequel is correct. Not everyone has arrived yet. There are several characters that have not arrived yet. They are detained at the airport in Kabbabullibulli space station between the Milkway Galaxy and Snickers Galaxy," Submissive Drama Queen Chrissy said. "But I have recent news that they are safely moving through the galaxies in either direction. A few spaceships have had to stop and get repaired, but Mayor Mr. Bill reinstated that all unjabbed must land on a planet OUTSIDE of the Twix galaxy immediately. Also, a side note, Queen Xara just now took heed of your correction and corrected the latest versions. Probably only out of respect for you. Whether it is the truth, whole truth, and nothing but the truth is something completely beyond my limited comprehension of the time and space continuum."

"How is even remotely a prequel?! You had to get everyone off the United Kingdom spaceship before the news report began," Pastor Penn said as he visibly shrugged. "Also, thank goodness that safe passage is possible, even if the chances are extremely very super terribly low."

"That is Incorrect, Pastor Penn. In the Snickers galaxy, time is going side to side. Time is not going forward. In fact, we are still reporting from a SPACE ship. We have not fully landed on the Green Planet yet," Submissive Drama Queen Chrissy said. "Apparently, we should land very soon unless we want our spaceship to blow up mid-broadcast. I certainly wouldn't want to be like those in the Twix galaxy trying to get to the Milkway or Snickers galaxy. Or if you're crazy, The Cadberry or Twizzler Galaxies"

"Whoa! Everybody, we have hit a time snag... and a general life snag in the multiverse! Is that why out of 10 people who reviewed that report in full, NO one commented on that time mistake?" Pastor Penn asked. "Although I think everyone else has been focusing on the multiverse literally imploding on itself to care about a mere dyslexic time hiccup."

"I think so. I really do. The Green Planet and its time mechanics are a mystery for those of us who are used to Earth's fast-forward time mechanism," Scholar Alexia said in her soft, sweet voice.

"Indeed. I mentioned it to Queen Xara before she posted it on the Florida News Agency, Stumblr, Feebly, Daily News Journal, and in the personal inboxes of Paul the Goat and Pauno, the Greek God of food, wine, fertility, sex and crack cocaine. She was the one who showed me intricate diagrams of time on the Green Planet and proof that we are indeed living in an alternate reality matrix full of typographical errors according to the writer's publishing system on Earth," Submissive Drama Queen Chrissy said.

"As a matter of fact, my existence is because of Queen Xara's travels to alternate realities," Stan Doe spoke in his deep voice.

"Oh? You've got to tell us about it some time," Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets said.

"Some time. Pastor Penn has a much more urgent broadcast to tell before mine will happen," Stan Doe stated before he scratched his head and looked at the teleprompter that literally just had breaking news. "Someone just committed suicide at the Kabbabullibulli space station."

"Yep. It just happened two seconds ago as we were speaking. It's worse than the Onion's broadcast from 2010 about 'some bullshit happening somewhere,'" Pastor Penn said as he showed a screen of an angry grizzly bear in a top hat and a trenchcoat exposing a bomb attached to himself in the middle of a very distraught space station.

"What the actual fuck?" King Bruce Ice asked.

A female grizzly bear wearing a short-sleeved knee-high red dress and red high heels lifted a small bit of the bottom of her dress to reveal a bomb strapped to her right thigh. Then both bears set their bombs off in the space station.

"Two other people just committed suicide," Stan Doe said as he stared at the camera.

Milk Mama chrissy was sobbing as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "Excuse me. All of this destruction, mayhem, and bloodshed is really breaking my heart. May we go to a commercial break, please?"

"Absolutely. I have more news, but it can wait," Pastor Penn said.

"I think that it would be best for the sake of the audience to have a commercial break to calm their nerves," Scholar Alexia said.

"And now for a very necessary commercial break," Milk Mama chrissy, the queenliest of submissive drama queens said.

[creativitytoexplore]

[SF][HM] You Can Choose Your Friends, But You Can't Choose Your Post-Apocalyptic Overlord https://ift.tt/34Kya2C

Of all the aspects of life after the apocalypse, it’s the lack of social etiquette which irks George the most.

“The neighbours are at it again.” He says from his position, peering between the boarded windows of their ramshackle dwelling. Said in a tone so deliberate as to be the conversational equivalent of a worm on a hook.

A deep, obvious sigh exhales behind him. The sigh a person emits after having had such a conversational worm dangled in front of them for the hundredth time that hour, when they hate worms, but the worm is dangled, anyway.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Dinkler says in such a nonchalant manner as to be the conversational equivalent of taking the worm and stamping on it. Of all the aspects of life after the apocalypse, he finds most bearable. Food may be scarce, but messing with George gives him some form of nourishment.

“Not noticed! The gang of crazy bastards we hide from every day is at this very moment hunting some poor saps down. And they aren’t doing it quietly. It’s like a Tory Party Conference out there.”

“Calling them crazy bastards isn’t very neighbourly. But, how’s dinner coming along?”

“They’re the ones that go about calling themselves ‘Crazy Dave and the Swinging Dicks’! If you don’t want to be called crazy, then don’t give call yourself it and go about eating people. It’s not rocket science.”

“True.” Dinkler says, losing impetus on his George-baiting. His hunger pangs taking precedence. “Have you started dinner?”

“It’s shocking behaviour,” George responds, oblivious to Dinkler’s questioning. “Needs someone to shake things up. Get the world back on track.”

Another sigh seeps from Dinkler and fills the room like a disgruntled miasma. “Oh,” he says monotone, remembering the correct response to get the conversation moving and have any chance of consuming food within the next 5 hours. “If only there was someone we could turn to?”

“Well,” George says, turning away from the window to join Dinkler by the fire. “Funny you should say that.”

“We’re not having dinner, are we?”

“But, I’ve always felt that there’s some unfinished business between politics and myself.”

Dinkler scours his vicinity for anything to eat to ease the boredom of the impending monologue, but finds only a twig. He chews said twig.

“The war coming when it did put the kibosh on my political career.”

“Well, that and the fact that everyone hated you.”

“I was misunderstood. That’s why I put that election video together, to help get some good PR. Although that ended up backfiring.”

“Yeah. When the person you hire’s only previous experience is doing propaganda videos for I.S. it rarely goes down well.”

“He was cheap and had his own equipment. How was I supposed to know?”

“The fact he got you to do it in an orange jumpsuit was a bit of a red flag. That and the hate speech.”

“In retrospect you are correct, but creative types are strange. I thought he was being ironic.”

“I bet you still provided catering.” Dinkler says, nodding towards the empty cooking pot next to the fire.

“I could have been Prime Minister by now,” George says, looking into the distance. “Or World President. Something good like that. Something big enough where people drop everything when they know I’m coming because they want to impress me. Red carpets are rolled out. Everyone bows and curtsies. They want to shake my hand, but are cautious. They know I’m a mega great guy, but know I don’t take any shit and come down hard on bad guys.”

George takes a breath. “That’s great,” Dinkler interjects. “How’s about you whip us something up and we discuss it more over dinner?”

“Dinner? Well, I’m sorry to be the one to piss on your chips Dinkler,”

“Don’t mention chips. I’d kill for chips.”

“But what you see is what we’ve got,” he says, gesturing to the distinct lack of anything consumable in their abode. “And that amounts to fuck all. I’ve been waiting for the crazy gang to go to sleep so that we can sneak out.”

“Those bastards. They ruin everything.”

“Who isn’t being neighbourly now?” George says, settling back in his chair.

From outside, a chorus of screams pierces the air. Scrambling to the slats, they press themselves against any accessible gap to glimpse what’s happening.

“Looks like it’s all kicking off over there now.” George says. “Where did they get that string of sausages from?”

“They’re not sausages.”

Confused, George ponders this. Realisation dawns like a creeping glacier.

“Oh, that’s horrendous,” he says, shaking off the disgust. “Still, they’re giving it a good go.”

“Indeed. Cannibals get called a lot of things, but the one thing you can say is that they’re not fussy eaters.”

Transfixed, they watch the events unfold.

“All done! They made light work of that.” George says, stepping across the room and pulling two hessian sacks from under their meagre possessions.

“Say what you want about cannibals, but they know how to work as a team.”

“By my reckoning we should have about 15 minutes until the meat sweats kick in and they fall asleep.”

“Either that or the inevitable seizure stemming from a diet based almost solely upon the consumption of human flesh kicks in.”

“You ready?”

“Shopping time!” they say in unison before high-fiving and scampering outside.

“I’m not saying that what you did was wrong,” Dinkler says as he and George squeeze back into the shack, shopping bags in tow. “It’s just I wish you’d been more careful with it. It was food after all.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” George responds, letting his bags drop to floor and slumping in his chair, before stoking the fire to encourage the flames to stand up once more. “But, when I’m being chased by a pack of crazed, mutated dogs because they want the rat I’ve got. I’m going to drop it every time.”

“You didn’t drop it though.” Dinkler says, joining George by the fire. “You screamed and flung it as far as you could.”

“It was a calculated risk. Only a fool would concern themselves with silver,” he says with a knowing wink, patting his shopping bag. “When they’re sitting on gold.”

“Ooooo, now you’re talking! Come on, put me out of my misery. What you got?”

“Well,” George says, delving deep into the bag. “If there’s one thing I know you’ve been desperate for...” A moment hangs as he gropes for the item. It’s only momentary, but lasts an age. Dinkler on the edge of his seat. “… it’s pot pouri.”

George pulls out a handful of what appear to be wood chippings and passes them to Dinkler, who regards them, aghast.

“Pot pouri?”

“You’re welcome.”

“But, they’re just wood chippings,” Dinkler says, before giving them a sniff and recoiling. “Correction. Wood chippings covered in rat urine. That can’t be all you’ve got?”

Reeling, Dinkler ponders the chippings, only to notice a mischievous grin arching from the corner of George’s mouth.

“Ha! Very good. You got me there.”

“You know me, always keeping you guessing.”

“Top one. Excellent. So, what have you got?”

“I know you’re crazy about this stuff.” George turns his bag upside down and empties a bag’s worth of chippings onto the floor.

“What the…? You collected an entire bags worth of piss-soaked wood chippings and threw away the only food. Why would you do this?”

“You’re always complaining about the smell. I thought it would help.” George says, trying not to appear hurt.

“I think I’ve mentioned the smell once in the last 5 years. I’ve moaned about being hungry every day. Yet, I don’t see you trying to start a chicken farm.”

“If what I’ve got is so rubbish, what have you got that’s so great.”

“Stand by,” Dinkler says, reaching into his bag. “I’ve got this.” He says, brandishing a severed hand.

“Why on earth have you got someone’s hand?”

“I thought it may come in useful if we ever come across some super-secret military bunker. They always have those scanners that need a hand print to let you in. If we ever find one, we pop this hand in and Hey, Presto! We’re in.”

“Other than they build those machines to recognise the hand prints of the people that worked there, that’s a perfect plan! Although did you not think that if it would work on some random severed hand, the functioning live ones you have at the end of your wrists would do?”

“Everything’s obvious when it’s pointed out to you, Einstein.”

“What else you got in there? A head to do the talking? A leg to help us run faster?”

“No. But, I’ve got this.” Dinkler says and pulls out a cigarette lighter. “You know, to help us with the fire and stuff.”

Impressed, George leans over to take it. He turns it over in his hands, inspecting it before striking the spark wheel. Nothing happens.

“It’s empty?”

“Yeah. But if we ever find any lighter fuel, then we can just fill it up.”

Rubbing his hands down his face, George sighs. “Anything else?”

“Just these,” Dinkler takes a stack of old, crumpled magazines and hands them to George.

“Well. Isn’t this just great! Another washout! How are we supposed to eat any of these?”

Dinkler shrugs. “Why don’t you ask that rat you threw away?”

“Well, I’m going to the privy. And when I come back, I want to know what you’re doing about the food.” George says, stepping away from the fire. Only to step back, grab a magazine and stride outside.

Squatting over a hole in the ground in the darkness, muttering to himself, George leafs through a battered copy of ‘The Stage’ magazine. Turning the crumpled pages, he skims the content. Until something catches his eye.

“Dinkler!” he shouts. “Come here!”

“You can wipe yourself tonight.” George hears through the thin wall.

Pulling his trousers up, he hurries inside. “Not that, you buffoon. You need to see this.”

Dropping the magazine in Dinkler’s lap, he points to an article. “There, look at that.”

“It’s a review of ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’? 3 out of 5 stars. Seems a tad under rated given the quality of the material, but if you’re that concerned about it then just write over it. Everyone involved is most likely dead.”

“No, you moron. Look at the picture. The guy playing Frank-N-Furter.” He says, jabbing his finger at the picture.

Dinkler absorbs the image. Although disguised by the garish make-up, he recognises the individual.

“Crazy Dave! It can’t be.”

“That’s what I thought. But, read the article.”

Skimming the text, Dinkler searches for correct passage. “Here it is,” he says. “‘Newcomer David Rudkin leads the stellar cast.’” Leaning back in his chair, he laughs. “Just goes to show you never know!”

“You know what this means, though?” George says, snatching the magazine back.

“You want him to help set up some amateur dramatics?”

“No. This,” he says, brandishing the magazine. “Is dynamite. It’s political gold dust.”

Regarding George’s face, Dinkler tries to establish if his gut instinct is correct. “You’re not suggesting…”

“… Yes! We blackmail the bastard! Look in political circles there’s a strategy that if you want to get someone, you attack them on their strengths, not their weaknesses. Thus removing whatever potential power they may have had.”

“I’m sure that worked well with the privately educated offspring of hedge fund managers and diplomats. But, we’re talking about actual cannibalistic killers. Even if we got close enough to blackmail him, what would we even ask for?”

“Whatever we wanted! We’d say we’d keep his secret safe as long as we could go about our business and survive!”

“It’s crazy. There’s no point even trying. They’d kill us as soon as we get within 10 feet.”

“Think about it though.” George says, pulling closer. “Think about the freedom. Think about being able to walk out during the day with only the fear of being attacked by mutated, crazed wolves. Rather than mutated, crazed wolves AND homicidal cannibals. And think about the food we may get.”

Dinkler stops. His interest piqued. “Go on.”

“Well. If we can ask for anything, we could just ask for food. Or for them to not kill us whilst we’re looking for food.”

“We could get food?”

“Of course. Even scraps off their table are better than what we have now. But, if we pitch this right then we could get way more.”

“And you think we could do this?”

“Politics I know,” George says, patting his friend on the shoulder. “And I know this is going to work.”

The campsite is quiet. Eerily so.

“Where is everyone? And everything?” Dinkler whispers as they tip toe over the threshold.

Despite being home to a rampaging hoard, there are few signs of life. A few fading campfires. Bare, hardened patches of ground from where people have slept. But little else.

“I don’t know. Perhaps whilst being murderous they also espouse a cleanliness ethos. I guess it’s admirable.”

“I guess.”

They push on. Tip-toeing the whole way.

“I wonder if he’s going to be the kind of weirdo that only refers to themselves in the 3rd person. The kind that’s all: ‘Crazy Dave does not like this’, and ‘Crazy Dave approves of this’. Or, if he’s going to be the kind that’s camp and give eloquent, but violent speeches whilst twirling his moustache.”

“The fact this guy was in musical theatre, I would stump for the latter.”

They continue on. Clinging to one another as they step through the darkness. But the place is deserted.

“What do we do then?” Dinkler asks. “Leave a note?”

George shrugs. “I guess. But, who do we address it to? Dave? David? Mr Crazy?”

From within the darkness, there’s a chuckle. A chuckle that turns into a cackle. Then the night erupts with the sound of manic laughter.

Terrified, they try to flee, but a figure emerges from the gloom, cutting off their escape. Wearing a necklace of human teeth, his eyes wild, big hair and mouth crimson with blood, Crazy Dave resembles a cannibal from a Hanna-Barbera cartoon passed through a Spandau Ballet filter.

“Whom dares to enter to set foot on the private land of Crazy Dave?” he booms, enunciating every syllable. You can take the man out of the theatre.

Turning, George see’s the Swinging Dicks forming a perimeter around them. Each has a mouth dripping with blood, and an absence of any clothing on their bottom half. Despite the crippling fear, he can’t help but admire the boldness and clarity of their branding.

“Mr Dave that would be me.”

“What brings you to trespass here? What wish do you have other than to die?”

“Urm,” George stutters, terrified and struggling to think. Having Dinkler behind him making such comments as ‘You’ll have someone’s eye out with that thing, son’ and ‘I can see why you’re so angry’ does not help. “Well, I wondered if I could speak with you in private?”

Crazy Dave laughs a loud, diaphragm powered laugh. “You wish private council with me? For what reason would I grant you such an honour?”

“It’s to do with this?” George says, holding up the magazine.

He tries to hide the reaction, but George spots the look of panic in Dave’s face. Recognition of the item and its implications flashes across his face, only to be quelled. But, in that instance, no matter how minute, George knows he’s in.

“Walk with me.” He says, beckoning George to follow him. “Swinging Dicks? Be sure to attend to my friend’s colleague here.” He says, gesturing to Dinkler. A hush falls across the semi-nude cannibals as their leader and George stroll off.

“My plan was to blackmail you.” George says, strolling side-by-side with Dave. “But, being here, seeing you operate. I believe we can come to something more, mutually beneficial.”

“How so?”

“You’re born to lead. True leaders are hard to find. Yet here you are and I see everything you have created. Yet, I can’t help wonder if you could not have done more?”

Dave bristles. “You think I’m lazy?”

“Not at all. Just,” he pauses, choosing his words. “Under advised.”

“Under advised?”

“Let me tell you a bit about myself. Before the war I was someone with considerable influence. I advised the wealthy and the powerful. I enabled them to become more wealthy and powerful. Then the world changed. Now I see you and I wonder if, with a little additional guidance, this is someone whom could achieve more?”

“And what more is it I could achieve?”

“You have control over a sizeable area of land. But, what if you could have more? What if you could rule with impunity for as far as the eye can see?”

“And you’d be willing to do this for free?”

“Well, that’s where I would have some conditions. My friend and I. We’d need food and water. And assurances that your ‘employees’ would not harm us.”

“Of course.”

“For that simple price you gain not only an advisor, but a guarantee that this little secret.” George says, showing the magazine. “Stays well and truly hidden.” George stops and extends his hand. “So, what do you say?”

There’s commotion as they return to camp. The Swinging Dicks are a blur of frenzied excitement. They dance and cavort in a circle, arms flapping, legs flailing, and appendages bouncing like banana trees in a thunderstorm. In the middle of this whirlwind stands Dinkler. Bewildered. Scared. Using his best British stoicism to not look at the jiggling members.

“What is all this noise?” Dave barks, striding forward.

“Dinkler! What have you done?”

“A little help would be fantastic.” Dinkler shouts.

A Swinging Dick peels away from the melee and hurls himself at Dave’s feet. “It’s happened Master. The prophecy you spoke of. The chosen one has arrived.”

“Prophecy?” George says, confused.

“Nonsense.” Dave scolds. “It can’t be true.”

The Swinging Dick can’t contain his excitement. Hopping from foot to foot like a toddler reluctant to admit they need the toilet. “It is Master. He’s here.” And points at Dinkler, who notices and waves back.

Turning to Dave, hoping for confirmation of this obvious mistake, George is met with a timid, guilty expression.

“Master said that the chosen one will come to lead us to fortune and glory.” The Swinging Dick asserts.

“This is ludicrous! Dinkler can’t be the chos…” he’s interrupted by the Swinging Dick slapping a piece of paper into his hands. Turning it round, and straightening it out reveals it to be an aging police E-Fit. The resemblance to Dinkler is uncanny. “This can’t be right. Says this person is wanted for assaulting two officers. Dinkler’s barely beaten an egg.”

“How’s it going over there?” Dinkler enquires. “Even if you can’t get them to stop dancing, I’d very much appreciate it if they didn’t have to do it around me.”

“This has to be some sort of…” George turns to Dave, who is already almost 100 meters away, fleeing into the night.

“Sorry,” he shouts back, ripping the trinkets of the clan from his person with glee, skipping and kicking his heels together. “But, they need feeding several times a day and get very cranky if they don’t nap. But, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

George watches as Dave’s laughter and image fade into the darkness until only the sound of chanting remains. The dawning realisation solidifies through his body.

“Dinkler?” He asks, and the group falls still and silent. One of the Swinging Dicks walks over and shoves George.

“That’s Master Dinkler.” He growls. “Now kneel.”

“They’re making a lot of noise again.” George says, from his position peering between the boarded windows of their shack.

“They’ll tire out soon enough.” Dinkler remarks. “But, better they make a lot of noise doing aerobics, than that other stuff. Now how’s dinner coming along?”

“I guess. But would be good if they could do it with some trousers on.”

“Some habits are just too ingrained.”

“They don’t need to wear much. Just…”

“… George.” Dinkler interrupts. “There’s no point even trying. The changes we’ve made thus far have been tolerated. This will be a step too far. They like to let it all hang out! If the price of peace and harmony is an excess of visible dong, then you’re just going to have to get used to some extra sausage in your diet. So, settle down and let them get on with it. Now, how’s dinner coming along?”

Turning away from the window and back to the pot suspended over the fire, George slips an apron over his head. Across the middle should read ‘Head Cook’, but the word ‘Cook’ has been scribbled out and replaced with ‘Cock’.

“They do know that I’m your advisor, right? It’s just that I could do with them treating me with a bit more respect.” Reaching up to hand Dinkler a steaming bowl who is sitting upon an extravagant throne made from found items. This throne fills their shack.

“Yeah, they know. What can I say? Boys will be boys.”

“When do you think you’ll look at those suggestions I made?”

“I’ll look soon,” Dinkler says, reclining back and spooning food into his mouth. “All in good time.”

THE END

submitted by /u/Mattwotwrites [link] [comments]