The scientist & owner of the 46 laboratories, Billum; Master of Computational Finance, Master of Science in Teaching now retired. Has put his developments in his underground laboratories of a Time-Machine and Automatic Pickled Walnuts Slicer developments, experiments and creation on hold, all in the name of empathy and care of blogger Inchcock. Why? I’ll tell yer…
Billum invited Inchcock to come to his scientifically outstanding latest additional laboratory, dedicated to Medicationalistical ailments in the elderly. Having read the news about the Nottingham pensioner was having with his Cataracts, Glaucoma and Saccades in the sad old twits blog. He’s got plenty of his own, yet magnanimously and with great beneficence, Billum offered Inchcock to visit and “Have your Eyes Checked” in Laboratory 102, dedicated to Optical Solutioning! A marvellous offer and gesture, which the old Nottinghamian jumped at the eleemosynary offer. (Not literally, of course, jumping awake, yes, he can and does do… I’m waffling off of topic here again; sorry!)
Someone so far away, with his own ailments to cope with, and cares for others… That’s Billum! On arrival, they fed me, washed me, and we were soon going down to Laboratory-102. A fantastic, amazingly dazzling reception area… I think that his son Alan is the one who deals with the building side of things.
Billum’s other half, HRH Lisa, came in and gave me a sexy, pulse-prompting dance routine to the sounds of 1970s music. While Billum checked on Google, I assume to refresh his memory on cataracts, glaucoma and saccades?
It seemed like no time; it does when you are enjoying yourself. Before Billum took me through to his newest Laboratory-102.
He started his examination of my eyes…
Amid so many tests, prodding, probes and the usage of, to me, unidentifiable optical machines, some that played music, others that hummed, I smelt the perfume of my beloved (but don’t tell Billum) Sweet Petal, HRH Lisa… it was tantalising and moved my loins. Or maybe the painkiller that Petal Lisa gave me caused hallucinations? It contained Codeine, CBD and Cáñamo Hashish, whatever they are, but I felt no pain; they worked a treat!
I was spoilt rotten afterwards!
ODE TO THE VISIT
They sat me on a luxurious settee,
That was warming; they were lovely…
Served biscuits and a mug of Glengettie tea,
Petal Lisa came in and sat with me…
Billum was typing his assessment, you see…
The cats jumped up on my knee,
Petal Lisa, gemtly kissed me… ♥
I realised the tests done by Billum, for free!
I asked Petal Lisa if she wanted an adoptee?
Billum came in his report in hand and calmly…
Said, “It’s’ alright, you’ve got two eyes, not three!
That sort of puzzled and confused me…
Billum gave me a large bottle of CBD…
I went to take a wee-wee…
It didn’t flow very freely…
I said I know I’ve two eyes anyway…
Billum added, rather pleasantly,
Well spotted, and sent me away!
I make these blogs for Billum and Lisa, my Petal, Not for anything that is epithetical… But to raise a laugh, which to me is congenital, For Billum, Alan and my precious Lisa Angelical! I believe a laugh is as effective as hexobarbital,
Enough of this waffle, I need another pittle, Usually a painful trickle… But releasing it is vital… But having a laugh, trying to be comical… To me, is worthy and commonsensical! Even in this ode, that’s pathetical!
And, why is the Inchcock News Snippets reporter there?
Who is Billum? He is the once unspotted, then much-spotted, lesser-spotted, and now spot-free, Humira-taking, emeritus professor of algebraic, arithmetical, numerical, and statistics.
He, and his assistant, the lovely Petal Lisa, are referred to as HRH (Her Royal Highness) locally, around Crowell Manor, their home. She is always there, and always ready to support Billum, on his inventioning-habit. Billum is a clever lad. In fact, at the interviews I’ve had with him, I gleaned little – I was spending so much time on the Thesaurus and Dictionary.
After my last interview, I picked my way through the unwritten, intelligently and clandestinely formulated sagacious words in his replies. This is still a job in progress!
The Short Interview: Scientist, Lecturer, PhD, Astrophysics Master-Technician was working in his cellar basement laboratory, a sort of manufacturing complex, with a nuclear fall-out shelter, DVDs of the entire Grimm series, and enough supplies of cat food for 6-months was working on a new invention at the time.
I inquired what it was he was working on:
Billum: After explaining to me about his work, everything bar what it was he was inventing, said; That mutually inconsistent theory must not be ignored completely. Unless you want to… but if you do, you may miss a vital link that could prove that spaghettification is a natural phenomenon that we will meet. Thus, accepting that this is part of the process needed to be understood before the creation of any viable, workable model can be achieved, naturally…
Thankfully, Angel Lisa arrived as Billum got on with something in the other lab room (by gum, he must be working on two inventions simultaneously? Clever chap, you know!), and I was given a mug of Glengettie tea.
When he returned, I had a wee-wee, washed and returned. The interview resumed: I tried to think of a way, without sounding too stupid or upsetting Mr Billum, that he had not yet told me what the invention was yet… I mumbled and hesitated a bit; you would when talking to a genius!
Inchcock: Would you mind mentioning what your project is, Sir?
Billum: Not at all, transtemporal travel.
Billum: No need to be sorry, my lad… A way is bound to be discovered; I intend to be the man to do it… I’m close now; the lad Alan and HRH are getting excited at the prospect…
Inchcock: Erm, I’m not sorry you are doing it, Sir; I’m just sorry I didn’t understand what transtemporal travel means.
Billum: Well, what do you think it might be?
Inchcock: Er…, transport, maybe a cheaper way to power trains or aeroplanes? No, perhaps an unpunctureable air balloon… or…
Billum: No, no, no… Time-Travel! It’s taken me two weeks to get this far, but I’m sure I shall have it cracked by the end of today!
Inchcock: Er, So, you think it will work and be controllable, Billum?
Billum: Right now, at the particular place you are sitting, at the time when you are sitting there, one of two things is true: Either there is a closed timelike curve passing through that point in spacetime, or there is not. And that situation will never change — no matter what clever engineers may do in the future if they create closed timelike curves, they cannot pass through events in spacetime through which closed timelike curves did not pass. Simple!
Inchcock: Er… Is it?
Billum: Oh, aye! A time-travel paradox is a paradox, an apparent contradiction, or a logical contradiction associated with the idea of time and time travel. Time travel is one of the most popular and most exciting topics in science fiction. In psychology, mental time travel is the capacity to mentally reconstruct personal events from the past. We all do that. The motivation for a character to travel in time, provided that it is intentional, is either to rectify events in the past or to explore the past or future. However, there seems to be a danger of causing a paradox in the timeline, especially when going to the past. The best-known dilemma occurs if the time traveller goes back something like 70 years to the past and inadvertently kills his grandfather before grandpa has met grandma. He is extinguishing his own existence at the very exact moment. If he will never exist in the future, there is no one to go back to the past to cause the change in the timeline in the first place. As a result, the timeline is ambiguous since that time was in the past, and the person exists and does not exist at the same time from a logical viewpoint, at least in one possible interpretation.
Billum: Oh, yes, easy-peasy! Time travel via speed, or the reverse… This is the easiest and most practical way to time travel into the far future – go really fast. According to Einstein’s theory of special relativity, when you travel at speeds approaching the speed of light, time slows down for you relative to the outside world…
Inchcock: So you’ve made an actual time machine then, Billum?
Billum: Of sorts, yes. The stronger the gravity you feel, the slower time moves. So my time bubble is super magnetic and will move at the slowest pace ever, so time travelling backwards is so easy! Which us what we will be doing.
Inchcock: Is it? Err, We?
Billum: Yes! Of course, it has to be large enough to carry food, water etc., for a good few years. And I was looking for someone who is not entirely with it. Preferably bald, so he’ll have no haircutting to worry about, will be needed; to be my first man to time travel in my bubble-magnet… Have another mug of Glengettie, mate…
Lock the doors, Alan!
Ode To The Outcome…
I enjoyed the tutoring for my journey… By HRH, a joyous beauty, You’ll have to see and agree… But facts and numbers only confuse me… Still, we had a cuddle and mug of Glengettie!
Time to go, lacking fear, and HRH was kissed… I went slowly into the ether, the space mist… I wrote of the nothing I saw and all I missed… In time, I became a pretty fair anecdotalist, Throughout, I kept at a level of my cheerfullest…
At no time did I become worried or distressed… With Bill’s magnet-time-machine, I was impressed, It was cold, and I was glad I wore my woolly vest… Although, with my pencil breaking, I was stressed… I’d a spare pencil stuck with a plaster on my chest. Inchcock at his cunning best!
I saw Spike Mulligan, Aneurin Bevan, Yes, Siree! I looked around to see if I could see Suzie… Then I sensed starting, a Thought Storm, spree… And then it all became vividly clear to me…
Huh, it was all a dream, Alto Ego laughed heartily… At his mocking, I did disagree, We had a verbal argy-bargy… I started the battle off with “Pardon me?”, We ended up drinking mugs of Glengettie tea…
There was a damsel I wanted to impress, She was chunky, and I’d heard, easy to undress… She loved a laugh and smiled at my stupidness… But she admired men who showed fearlessness… What could this whimp do with his faintheartedness?
I pondered, deciding on using fictitiousness! Told her I was going bungee jumping, most unchivalrous, Where? she asked – ‘Darley Dale on the bus…’ I’ll come to see you, she said. Oh, excessiveness! Now to face my acrophobia… but not be loveless?
I got the motorbike mended, off to Darley Dale, Picking up en route, the bonny lass, called Abigail, I arrived at the festival and put on a swagger, to no avail… From inside, my stomach churned; I must’ve looked pale… I was putting myself through hell for a desirable female!
Nervous? Me? Yes, I could hardly breathe or inhale! Searching for an excuse, I was feeling foolish and frail… Yet I was laughing along with my beloved Abigail, I looked up at the cherrypicker platform I’ve to scale, Fear of heights and cowardice… will I die at Darley Dale?
I found a resolution by fearing being mocked should I fail… Idea! Thump a Policeman, then they’d take me to jail? But no, I must do this heroic act to impress Abigail! If I live through this, fall in love, I’d tell the tale… Or should I run away and search for the Holy Grail?
They booked my jump for about 1400hrs… I sneaked away to the Pretty Flowers… A quaint pub on the road to Alton Towers… I drank three ciders and four pints of Guinness! Enough surely to get me out of this? I’ll never get up the ladder, being so pissed!
Walking back to the fair, when I was getting near… The fresh air must have taken away my fear… But it may have been something to do with the beer? I started whistling and greeted the gang; I was feeling queer! I cheerfully got into the bungee-jump helmet and gear!
.In the jumpers tent, all the others, some in over-leathers… Nervously talking and bragging, being sick the others! “Who’s first up?” most of them dithering and nervous! I called, “Me first, captain!” The others finished their reefers… Momentarily I thought, Did I take my beta-blockers?
Too late now, and I felt like a performer in a circus! Abigail cheered me as I ascended, I slipped on the ladder, hit my midriff and got winded, Not enough for my bungee jump to be rescinded! No stopping me now that I’d ascended…
I pressed on out to the platform… was this all a dwale? Got out to the edge… shirt off, like a Chippendale… Everyone from below could see I was a male! The wind… suddenly blew a gale! Down onto the ice-cream pole, my body did impale!
A Red Cross man arrived first. “Here, take this aspirin, cock!” The whole thing was a shock and schlock! And, I’d laddered my new knee-length bamboo right sock! Why worry about that… it’s poppycock? Mayhaps I’d gone into PTSD or shellshock? The police arrived and arrested me for TWOC!
I was woken with the sounds of Alto blasting in my brain, boy, was he in a pig-of-a-mood! Spurred on by an overnight lack of sleep that had got me in a foul mood, as well! Resolutely, I tried to give him some suitable magniloquence and verbiage back.
Did I succeed? What do you think?
Oy! Dog breath… yer ignorant git…
Erm… er… what?
You’ve not talked to me for days now! Why? Yo losing interest or summat? Can’t argue or question owt? Gerrin’ old? You ought to…
Hang on, hang on… What are you ranting abarght?
You, yer fubuckler, just cause your scared to death, fear of me and I always win the verbalisationing arguments? You’re a lily-livered chicken when it comes to confrontations…
You plastic spastic! You’ve fallen asleep on me?
Alto’s only physical damage he can cause to me came into play. He sent his famously ear-cringing gurgling sound through my head; it is loud, irritating and even painful at times… It worked, and I stirred back into imitation life…
Oh, you gurgling git! Shithead! Can’t you see how tired I am? I got had very little sleep last night…
Good! I’m considering reporting you to the Alto & ID disciplinary committee; falling asleep on an Alto? Anyway, I know you’re knackered and have bad earholes; that’s why I gurgled you! Dumbo!
Oh, dearie me… can’t we have a standard argument without the insults and nastiness? I’m sure other humans who have Altos in attendance are not always getting hassle from them…
Hahaha! No! You don’t understand the intentions of the Alto duties. The opposite of IDs. Being as much bother and bringing as much misery to your allotted human is the basic instructions given to us…
Do you actually know any other Alto’s then?
Yer… we meet up sometimes, usually, when our humans are ill in hospital or summat like that – we ain’t allowed to hassle them then, for some unknown reason…
Ah! So you don’t know it all then? Not so clever after all?
I’m clever enough to know that you have lost interest in your Alto! I must know why…
As I said, you’re not so clever then? It’s simple enough, Alto; I’m so worn out with the physical ailments and no sleep… and admit I had lost interest and was pleased when you gave me a two-day break from your bickering last week…
Rest? You think I wanted you to rest! Oh, no, it was a ploy to regain your awareness of our superiority and dominance; we have to perpetuate and spread the news of our leaders of the significant anthropomorphism, thus confusing our humans even more… diminishing the likes of you, in confidence and…
Hold your horses, you’re not going to confuse me with using big words; I am known as a bit of a sesquipedalian missen... although on this occasion you did beat me… Carry on…
It boils down to me having to keep you on tenterhooks permanently. But if yer going to find wasteful time for sleep, you are not paying me enough attention… now that’s logical innit?
Erm… Do humans need sleep, though? Surely?
Yes, yes, yes… But you are greedy! You’ve had to my knowledge, at least two hours kip last night! Wasteful, mate! You must allow your Alto to address your mind detrimentally at all times…
Oh, great! Nowt to with wot, we were on about, but how do you get nourishment to have survived so long?
You know, like we humans need food and sleep. Don’t Altos then?
Oh, no! We get gratification and nourishment each time we get a human going, excited, angry or sobbing their hearts out. Occasionally we may take a sip of your blood… but that’s just so we can locate you in the rare event of you escaping your Alto… I’ve never lost one in over 2000 years…
Did you ever get a famous human allotted to you then?
Oh, aye! I got a chap called Hitler recently. Easy meat, I had him going mad with two years! I almost got Puking Putin; I was down to get him, but you lived too long, and I missed my chance… not that I hold anything against you for that… you overaged, decrepit, uneducated, unsocial sick-loner, ugly, stupid, little-willied, ass fetus! Still, in the land of the witless, you would be King. You’re a ninnyhammer of the highest order, a git with an iron-cross. And you, a guttersnipe, has the nerve to fall asleep when I’m working? You ought to have your testicles torn-off, hung drawn and quartered. You are not worth…
Boy’s, boys… I can stand by no longer… my sweet Angels… Such hatred and so many insults are being bandied about… Is this right? Great ID leader in the ether! Why so, my dearest children?
Who the hell are you to get involved, ID? It’s me that’s been insulted…
Indeed, what did you, a self-proclaimed Alto of Alto’s do? Gave back insults and put-downs ten-fold, just because an ignorant human misunderstands?
Wot yo gonna do abarght it then Inchies Id? There’s nowt what you can do to change an Alto you know…
Indeed, there are several things I could actually do to create remorsefulness in you both… but that would bring me down to your level Alto and even lower if I was to lambast a pathetic human.
Erm… what er…
You’re right, Inchcock; who do you think you are to tell us what to do?
Undoubtedly, just by your two’s behaviour, I am a better, kinder, more understanding ID than you are Alto or Inchcock. I intend to have words with you to guide you along the path of righteousness, kindness and compassion… I have to teach as a female form of a spectre, gnomai, phantasm, succubae or plain ID, whichever you chose to brand me with! Through psychoanalysis, educate the part of the mind in which innate instinctive impulses and primary processes are manifest, thus releasing stress… Bear with me, pay attention, and a new opening will appear – full of pleasure and indubitably, a solution to your naughty, unnice, unpleasant ways of communicating within the shared human form will be found. And happiness will replace the bitterness and jealousy you have shared since the human was born… Now listen…
Inchies ID launched into a sleep-inducing marathon lecture for the next three hours. After that, I could no longer contact Alto-Inchy, and I fell asleep.
I hope that Alto-Inchie comes back to see me in the morning – blimey I do!
HRH Lisa, Problem Sorter Outer, Ether-Carer to Inchcock, Electrician & Nurse (and a cracking looker) was at hand throughout the operation. First Aid box at the ready. Backing up professor Billum all the way. The electrics and life monitorings were handled by Alan.
Billum prepared for the removal of the brain. Amazingly, Inchcock felt not a single pain! He was put at rest, by HRH covering his head area in Phorpain, and giving him an iced lolly. The kindness showed by Billum, was gobsmacking. (They actually had to smack his gob to bring him round later, when refitting the brain and reattaching his head; but that’s for part two to come later.) Billum had thought of everything beforehand, he’d been planning this procedure for over two days, in his glasshouse laboratory. He explained that when the brain comes out, Inchcock may not notice any difference, but not to worry.
Because a false moustache, spectacles, hearing aids, a missing many teeth plastic mouth, and a BO spray would be adorned on the brain straight away; so that it would feel at home without Inchcocks mass of blubber and accoutrements surrounding it. He even supplied mini-walking sticks, crutches, and had the foresight to keep giving the brain a clout now and then, so, as he named him, Brian the Brain would not miss Inchcocks pains from tumbles, walking into things ad the desperate pain from the overactive bladder, Brilliant!
I’m afraid this will have to be caught up with later, because Inchcock’s eyes are too bad to continue, sorry. He may have to skip a blog or two, or just put a few words on. The poor old git is not too good at the moment. The eyes and bladder are the two main reasons.
Professor Billum started with Inchcock’s worst affected area, naturally the brain, but Billum had to take it out first.
I’m leaving it up to Alto-Ego and Inchie ID to do the blog today. I may add something afterwards, but I’m suffering the dreaded, loathed DD (Dracula Depression) this morning. As annoying as this is, trying to find out why is equally disconcerting. As far as I can tell, nothings changed from last night? Humph!
You’ve actually got an advantage over me with this problem, Pugface!
Oh, go on then barbed-wire tongue…. let’s hear it, more sarcasm or criticism, is it?
No, no, no. I’ll explain, mate…
Mate! You just called me, mate!
Are you going to answer me or what? Just cause you’re a thick knob-end of an Ego, doesn’t mean we can’t still be pals. Let’s face it, the more we learn, the more we can pester the life out of Inchcock, innit? So we should help each other learn even more things that will irritate our host… Yes?
Go on then, your taking my Inchcock aggravating time away…
No, I’ve just popped into his pathetic brain; he’ll not be up to or responsive to any joshing, bewildering, bamboozling, or distracting this morning…
Just a cotton-picking minute ID, that’s the things we love to do…
I know, but there are some things even more potent than wot we are, and he’s…
He’s got to live a few more years, at all costs, cause if he snuffs it too soon, or even if Inchcock finds some contentment… the IDAEC (Alto-Ego-Consortium) Guidelines, Rules and Cautionary Advice 112,145,23 will come into force. I’ll end up back in the Soul Bank Vaults, for God knows how many years again! So I…
Well, that’s your advantage. I was going to talk about it mush!
If you cock-it-up, a couple of hundred years in the Soul Bank Vaults, is nothing – If I gerrit wrong, that’s it, end of this Id, altogether. We don’t get transferred to another human-host yer know! Oh, no, it’s a harsh existence for us Ids.
So? Worrya saying like? I could be in there for thousands of years. You are aware that the only hosts there are cockroaches, ants and rats, are yer?
So what’s wrong with that, then?
I won’t be as easy as host Inchcock; the cockroaches are cleverer than he is!
Hahaha! I just listened to him, you know, a while ago. He was talking to his pets! No, honestly! He really was; I’m not jesting Alto, I even think he heard them answering him, too!
No harm… he loves them, it’s a human trait yer know, or do yer? He does that every morning… Unless he’s had trouble in the Porcelain Throne, that is. There’s no problem with that…
Hogglebogwash! How long can he be in the toilet, for heaven sake?
Well, if his evacuation is one of his rock-solid ones, up to about an hour, on occasions, he’s taken longer. When his fungal lesion bleeds, yer see, he has a grossly painful job on, stopping and medicating things…
Gangleboggleisations! Get yersen in the bog; you can pester him while he’s struggling. Give him hell! Bloody heck, a perfect opportunity for giving out some pilgarlic, pooh-pooing, heckling, vilification and raillery. Hahaha! He won’t be able to concentrate on his Porcelain Throne duties at all – Hehehe! Why we could…
Come off it, you know nothing about my host, does yer? You’ve been in this monstrous wobbly-bellied, old idiot for a week now, but yer not learning owt are yer?
Oh, you are, I suppose, yer gerrin’ as thick and decrepit as Inchcock is, pal… yer on the wane, mentally…
You thick swine, on the wane mentally? What else does yer expect? You might have noticed that neither of us is human. We are ethereal, diaphanous beings, or are you not aware of this?
Watch it pug-face, or I’ll report you to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium). You know full well what I meant! I was speaking figuratively, interpretatively, metaphorically, As you are fully aware of; Thunderglobberisations! I thought we’d agreed to be social wiv each other?
Who did? Not me! I’ve not got over you lying to me last week yet… You promised if I signed the IDAEC Guidelines & Cautionary Advice Procedure Adherence 112,145,23, you’d leave this host forever… but no, you are a snotty-nosed ID, aren’t you, so superior… But you being a defrauding, backstabbing, double-crossing, untrustworthy Id that you are, should be reported, not me! Git!
I think you’ve been with this host, Inchcock, for far too long, my old fruitcake! You should just report yourself to the IDAEC as a failure. You’re catching a human beings ailments, such as dementia… No, let me continue…Testicles! If I could, I’d like to tear your head off!.
We’ve already agreed that we are both emblematical, selectively apparitional beings. So tearing my head of would be pointless, don’t you think?
I’m not so sure, Meathead, having never tried to kill anyone before, and as far as I know, no other Id before me has. Perhaps some form of transubstantiating has taken place over the years, and we have acquired the ability to tear off an Alto-Ego’s head? Hehehe!
The same goes for tearing off the head of an Id, indeed?
Ah, I see what you mean. We could, in fact, make history, be the first Id and Alto-Ego to kill each other? Or at least give it a go?
There you go again; you’ve got no morals, have you? What about your Id Oath what you took in training, eh?
Erm, I can’t remember that; it was over three thousand years ago, Dumbo!
Ha! A whippersnapper! Well, for your information, I started off as an Id…
Oh, did you, my friend?
Shut-it! I took the Id oath myself over 5,000 years ago. I seem to remember it went something like, “I shall occupy the given human body as instructed, with the intent of making the host into a big-headed, greedy, parasitic personage within the given period as prescribed by the IDAECC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium-College) Trainer on this day (dated). Convincing the host mentioned above that England will win the world cup again, all Politicians will become trustworthy, and America will land a human-crewed rocket with 5000 paying passengers on board on Mars, at the cost of $3.” You remember that bit, Inchie-Id?
No, and I didn’t miss any lectures or training sessions.
Anyway, it’s time I checked on Inhchcock…
No problem, I can hear him talking to his Carers.
Anyway, what was this question you had for me then? Id my old flower?
Oh, yes… I was a little concerned about why the human hosts always get drunk, stabbing or running over other hosts in their tinned transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire off flaming fireworks into the sky?
Ah, well, it wasn’t always like that, you know…
Tell me what used to happen in the old days Inchie, I’m confused.
Well, in days of yore, the human hosts always get drunk on mead, stab someone, and run over other hosts with the horses and stagecoaches transport, each New Year? And why do they welcome getting older so merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky? Then they welcomed in the new year merrily and fire flaming fireworks into the sky?
Well, I never knew that!.
Hello… Inchcocks took a tumble in the shower…
Bags, I get to annoy him first!
Me first, being the youngest, Crab-Nose!
You got that arse-about-faced as well! The old ones should get priority!
Arse-about-faced… I like it!
We’ll go together, but I get first scoffing, sneering at, chastising Inchcock?
That’s fair enough, mate, as long as you leave the laughing at and humiliating comments in?.
The now two best pals floated through the wall into the wet room with this. But…
Oh, Sod-It! A lot of blood; I think he might be dead?
After all that planning, and arguing too!
Take a close look, see if he’s breathing…
How does yer do that then? I’ve never tried to help a host before?
I’m not sure… erm…
It’s your fault, all that being obstreperous with me!
Well, one of us must wait around until someone finds the body…
We’ve got to report it to the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego) Records Dep’t…
Why are they going to make a song about it?
Someone might make a song and dance about it, but me? I’ll be back in the IDAEC (ID-Alto-Ego-Consortium) Soul Bank Vaults.
Ain’t these human hosts heartless, dying just like that!
Does yer think the Carers will find him int morning then?
I suppose so… hang on, where’s he keep the cans of plonk for the Carers?
Oh, yes, what does yer fancy mate, Vodka and lime. G & T, Pimms, Mojito, Tequila beer, Strongbow, or Rum & Coke, Id?.
T’was months ago, when Billum said, “You need curing!” “I do?” I replied Billum’s words had got me wondering, We continued with our badinaging, The result, revealing a fascinating thing! Bill continued with a medical debriefing, He’s a clever chap, quite a scientific boffin, He’d worked out how to mend the ailments that got me coughing!
He could cure or ease many an ailment without any drugging!
His lad Alan had had a look in…
Did the mechanical engineering,
Medical engineering? That got me fearing!
H.R.H. Lisa, had the first aid kit ready… encouraging?
At this point, I had to ask… is this going to be hurting?
And can I and H.R.H. Lisa do some flirting?
The procedure would take a few days, but no haemorrhaging,
Chances are, Inchie, that you’ll not feel a thing!
Lisa will be there, and take your care under her wing,
But flirting? No, or you really will be hurting!
I thanked him, asked Billum if it involved my contortioning?
“Well, you might jerk about a bit; that’s nothing…”
“You’re used to Shaking Shaun, un Peripheral Pete bugging!”
“Once we set up the various electrics…” Lisa was earwigging…
“Worry not, Inchie… for Billum is not a fledgling!”
“This electroconvulsive therapy will soon have you jogging!”
Then we’ll make you a meal and give you some noggin!
“That’ll be marvellous Lisa, I’d just love some snogging…”
“No, I said noggin, not snogging; oh, dear, your hearing!”
“The syringing, I’ll do that for you! It’ll be astonishing!.
Billum and Alan helped me with the plans on travelling,
The transport I could afford needed ambushing…
I nicked the lorry and got to near Ohio, without any bathing…
Poor H.R.H. and Billum did a bit of nose-clenching!
But soon Billum took charge, first my showering!
Getting over my fears needed establishing,
My worrying, Billum started extinguishing,
He got out his plans to explain, and I stopped flinching…
“I’ll tell yer, in simple terms, what you can be understanding…
We all sat down, and I started listening…
And let’s face it, you’re loaded with them! Electroconvulsive therapy (E.C.T.) is a procedure done under general anaesthesia, in which small electric currents are passed through the brain, intentionally triggering a brief seizure. E.C.T. seems to cause changes in brain chemistry that can quickly reverse symptoms of certain mental health conditions.
Lisa at your side throughout. We know how you love her so, so we’ve asked her to give the odd squeeze of your hand, keep gong close to you so you can smell her perfume, and hear her words of comfort… But try not to get too excited! Remember, it’s all part of the procedure. We won’t be bothering with any anaesthesia because we will have H.R.H.
After having some of H.R.H.’s special Chilli Con Carne and a cream cake, we will be doing it in the basement laboratory.
Hahaha! Nowt to worry over Inchie, E.C.T. is good on older adults who can’t tolerate drug side effects. A muscle relaxant is usually used during the procedure to stop the patient’s muscles from moving during the seizure. Still, we’ll skip that cause with your Peripheral Neuropathy; there ain’t a cat in hells chance of you not twitching.
“Fair enuf!” At this, one of the cats jumped up on my knee and rubbed its chin against mine! Nice!
We’ll throw in a bit of Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (T.M.S.). We think we’ve improved the procedure by swapping bits here and there. Alan worked out that the hyperparameters programmed into the medical device were used to deliver magnetic therapy to the brain by reducing the max-pooling in the convolutional neural networking of the design of the machine. Naturally, this means that your Body Mass Index (B.M.I.) and hypertension will be of less concern than they usually would be, you see?
There’s no worry about quantum entanglements, blue-shiftings, or Lagrangian points. These have all been factored into our plans. As with fasciculations and diaphragmatic flutters, There will be a chance of you horripilationing, but that is of no consequence, as you know.
“Oh, good!” No idea what Billum was on about. He forgets how thick I am, I think. After a lovely nosh, down to the basement, I was led…
There I was, in heaven… with Sweet Morpheus, it was so nice!
I was romancing a buxom lass named Eunice…
And Inchie butted in, with his pestering moans and advice!
But, for the first time ever, we agreed and did empathise…
Perhaps it was not wise for us to try to fraternise?
But we did; I think he enjoyed it likewise!
Inchie: Well, that hospital visit was farce wonnit, mate?
Inchcock: Huh! You again, what’s wiv the mating bit, then?
Inchie: I know we’ve ‘ad our ups and downs, but you’ve been through a rough patch fer this last twenty years or so, and I thought it’d be nice to be nice for a change…
Inchcock: Did yer? I feel like by being non-argumentative, I’m taking away your little pleasures…
Inchie: Worrya mean?
Inchcock: Well, yer usually wins all the verbal fights and tiffs we ‘ave…
Inchie: Naturally yer turd! I’m yer Alto-Ego, yo are the ethereal thing like. So fings like conscience, giving a toss, and yer ability to fret, worry, show signs of pissed-offerdness, and you can get a bit depressed at times… I’ve noticed that! So I’m taking my chance to confuse yer all the more you see?
Inchcock: Not really; I’m flummoxed again already! Why can’t you just leave me alone to get some rest and peace?
Inchie: No, no, no! It doesn’t work like that, dumbo! It’s my job to hassle yer, keep yer on yer toes, like. Else overwise yer might commit Hagi-Kari… then…
Inchcock: What! After all, I’ve been through, do you think that I’d top missen? Rubbish, claptrap, your just stirring things again, aren’t you?
Inchie: Yea, I’m good at that, ain’t I, no doubt about it…
Inchcock: For God’s sake, if you are me, or my other half, surely you must suffer the agonies that I do – so why bother…
Inchie: Ah, you’ve not gorrit yet, have you? You are! I’m not me…
Inchie: Yo just said, for God’s sake, yea?
Inchie: Well, I know that yer doesn’t believe in him… see? Provin’ what an ignorant, uneducated, pug-faced, pathetic, docile, pussy-cat, yer really are, cocker!
Inchcock: Fair enough with the name-calling; there may be an element of truth in some of what you say about me – but surely you must be the same yourself?
Inchie: Perhaps mush, or maybe not. Are you not talking to yourself in reality? Come on… answer that, yer moron!
Inchcock: If there isn’t any God, then why even bring up the subject – I’ll tell you why, no… hang on, what was the question?
Inchie: I know, but it got yer going, see!
Inchcock: How can one see? If you are really me? There is…
Inchie: You retardate; You just can’t grasp it, can you, tit-head?
Inchcock: Grasp what?
Inchie: The relationship between us, knucklehead! Yer still think yer talking to someone else?
Inchcock: I am, you!
Inchie: Yer, but I am you! Ain’t I?
Inchcock: Just because you say so does not mean that is correct!
Inchie: Ah, so you think we are two different entities then?
Inchcock: I’m not sure… what do entities mean?
Inchie: Concentrate pillock! Fink abarght this… you’d know what the word means, yea! If you was me, and I was you… right?
Inchie: Look, numbskull, I think it best if yer gerron with the pork pie supper you wuss plannin’, then I’ll give yer an hour or so, I’ll come back to hassle yer a bit more. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?
Inchcock: Does this mean I’ve won an argument with you?
Inchie: No, you silly old fart! It’s cause it’s Christmas!
Time for a proper chinwag with Alto-Ego Inchie. Who I consider as much a mental ailment like all the other medical ones. I am determined to free myself of his persistent, nagging interference in my thoughts. His mission it seems to me is to make me feel guilty, inadequate, inconsequential, ineffective, and insignificant.
Which he has in fact already successfully achieved.
Although, possible beyond the understanding of anyone normal mortal, and maybe anyone who does not have a cruel, Alto-Ego, nagging away, analysing, mocking and criticising your every decision, and choice, one makes or decides on.
This natter took place last night as I lay in bed, with the notepad near to hand, and took place in several episodes! Sleep was certainly not an option for me…
Inchcock Opens The Chinwag Session:
Inchcock: I can sense your sneering and contempt Inchie, and I have to say you are a bane!
Inchie: Huh! Do yer fink I like being stuck in your brain!
Inchcock: Then go away, stop giving me mental pain!
Inchie: What the hell do think it’s like in here? In your dithering, feckless, vacillant thought-filled indecisive brain?
Inchcock: That’s it, go on, put me down, mock again…
Inchie: From human contact, you should refrain…
Inchcock: You said that when we last spoke, now again?
Inchie: Oh, a comeback from Inchcock, I’ve heard better insults from solid lepidomelane!
Inchcock: Erm… lepidomelane? Wot’s that then? Explain!
Inchie: When you read fings, facts you should retain!
Inchcock: Did I read about lepidomelane?
Inchie: Yer! In 1963, yer pea brain!
Inchcock: I’ve got Vascular Dementia, mental pain…
Inchie: Oh shurrup! Abarght time yer took yer Novocain?
Inchcock: You’ve changed the topic, confused me, yer know that makes me go brain-lame!
Inchie: Course I do, you pillock, I’ve had enough of this game…
Inchcock: What games that’s then, are you on cocaine?
Inchie: Yer coming owt with the insults tonight Inchcock! Enough! This topic’s getting too urbane… Alright, I’ll piss off then!
Inchcock almost nodded off, when Inchie Returned!
Inchie: Hey-up, I’m calling back in defiance!
Inchcock: Why? Have no cognisance!
Inchie: Thought I might catch you on the loo, by chance…
Inchcock: You ‘horrible scumball! You no allegiance?
Inchie: Allegiance? Any idea wot that means?
Inchcock: I learnt that when in my teens!
Inchie: Huh! Gonna give me more gibberish?
Inchcock: Well, thanks for your pertinent attendance…
Inchie: Eh? Playing tricks? Do you mean good riddance?
Inchcock: Well, yes, I do, I’ve had enough of your cruel words!
Inchie: Wot, me? You’re the one spouting insulting words…
Inchcock: Am I? I was just making some lemon curds…
Inchie: What out off… Turds?
Inchcock ignored the Alta-Ego – With Difficulty Mind
He mellowed a little, and went deep in thought, until Inchie returned, and was ready to mislead the interloper…
Inchie: Wotsup, dogbreath? Pissed-off again, blockhead?
Inchcock: Oddly I thought that is what would be said…
Inchie: What’s yer game, that was said well mannered?
Inchcock: It’s up to us both, kill this mutual arguing, time to get together, and start apologising… not endangered!
Inchie: What? Am I being outmanoeuvred?
Inchcock: No mate! My wish is for you to get scunnered!
Inchie: You mean like, we get together and schnockered?
Inchcock: That’s it, we can have our relationship bettered!
Inchie: Summat wrong ‘ere… you and me, get stonkered?
Inchcock: Yea… let our animosity be withered!
Inchie: Why? you dare not… your lily-livered!
Inchcock: Hahaha! Such a poetic turn of phrase!
Inchie: Well, I’m not used to giving praise…
Inchcock: Oh, it’s easy, ns so many ways…
Inchie: Worra yer mean?
Inchcock: We could take time out, play the Steinways…
Inchcock: Go on holiday, as stowaways?
Inchcock: Have a drink, see where our hands stray…
Inchie: Hang on, are you after me body?
Inchcock: No, you haven’t got one, although you can have some control over mine, anyway ♥,
Inchie: Not ‘aving that… but then I couldn’t… could I?
Inchcock: not sure, but I’d risk it if you will. I’m free on Wednesday?
Inchie: Erm… I’m not used to this, who’s gonna pay?
Inchcock: You pay in enjoyment, we both can on the day?
Inchie: Hey, hey, hey… Could we just stop arguing, and have a laze?
Inchcock: Certainly, and we could have a few hoorays?
Inchie: I feel my emotions coming ablaze…
Inchcock: I could bring some bottles… Chardonnays?
Inchie: Surely it can’t be done? No ways!
Inchcock: You Pratt! You’re only in my mind! Best then if we return to our mental, non-verbal affrays!
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Inchcock was arrested and rushed to the Psychiatric Hospital by paramedics, after being caught making rigorous love to his non-existent Alto Ego Inchie, in the balcony of his flat this evening.
The Doctor told the Inchcock Today reporter: “We managed to stop his weeing with excitement, and finally convinced him was not having sex for the first time in his life. He is currently being treated for Psychotic Manic Depression.
Luckily the Doctor on duty had treated Mr Inchcock several times before over the years and had a straight jacket to hand.
Inchcock is expected to be released in a few years, providing he doesn’t kick the bucket earlier! (He’s getting on a bit)