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-¡Owww! -Dr. Berger screamed-. ¡You sliced open my nether regions!
Margaret immediately regretted her slice-and-dice decision.
“That might not’ve been my real dad”, She thought.
And then everything turned blood red.
-¡That’s our dad you just sliced and diced open! -Charlie said and then smiled-. ¡Take that, Daddy! -And he took the hatchet from Margaret-. ¡Let me have a swing!
-¡Margaret, this is... curious! -Screamed the gutted gastroenterologist-. ¡You fucking sliced me like a one iron! ¡A fucking one iron!
This Dr. Berger’s head was shaking back and forth with a frightening rabidity. He had taken a hatchet to the crotch and was feeling not so good about it - bland to the point of total sensory deprivation.
Another Dr. Berger was in the back of the bathroom screaming in panic. His screams only stopped when Charlie parted his hair with Margaret’s hatchet.
And then a thick, green liquid started salivating from this Dr. Berger’s head. Mincing her words with the back of her hand, Margaret smacked Charlie, who reeled away from her in shock and awe. Margaret saw that she had spooked the little creep and immediately had no regrets. She instead had the green ooze Tupperwared to have later with her plate of “Huevos Humanos”.
This creeped out people enough, but was no match for when Margaret started smearing it on her teeth.
-¡Princess, that was son of a bitch gross -Exclaimed a Dr. Berger - the one that was grossed-out-. ¡But I’ll bet it tastes really good!
-It doesn’t taste at all -Margaret responded, calm in her brazenness-. It’s green blood. My real father doesn’t have green, tasteless blood.
-¡We’re saved! -Mrs. Berger exclaimed, licking the green blood from her dying husband’s head-. ¡Praise Jebus! ¡It tastes like chicken! ¡We’re saved! ¡We’re saved!
Mrs. Berger had four emotions that she knew how to mimic.
-There’s another cost from all of this bull crap you’ve been piling -The father said to the kids-. And that is : ¡Mr. Martinez is in love with both of you!
This bomb shell took an hour and a half to set in. Cossacks came into the bathroom, danced, exited, and everything went back to “normal”.
And finally, with everything “normal”, Mrs. Berger made an appointment to get more documents “notarized” in Arizona. But before she would go to Phoenix, she insisted that the twisted siblings explain everything that had gone on while she was previously getting shit notarized.
Mr. Martinez had recanted his professions of love for Margaret and Charlie, but he was not without other major problems. He and Dr. Berger had sustained the longest continuous conversation, succeeding in making the “Guinness Book of World Records”, but in the process created several clones of Dr. Berger who desperately tried to stop the conversation before it killed their host from boredom.
And the same monstrous creations that had tried to stop the Guinness gab-a-thon then went after Dr. Berger. It wasn’t enough just to kill Martinez, they had decided, Old Man Berger had to go also. They had tried to kill the two gabbers, but ended up joining in the conversation, and hanging in the bathroom.
-¿Why do you need a bathroom laboratory when you have the university at your disposal? -Mr. Martinez axed.
-Suppose I had to urinate... -One of the Dr. Berger’s answered-. I’d have to drop what I was doing, leave my experiments, get the men’s executive washroom key... You get the idea.
-Well, I’ve talked with the members of the university junta and they’ve directed me to shut down your bathroom and confiscate all of the Lysol spray... ¡Plants!
John Madden coulda circled the tension with a telestrater. Dr. Berger had had visions of converting his bathroom sanctuary into a brothel when he retired, with Mr. Martinez as the first “John”. But now his dream was crumbling, and with it his home’s laboratory and only bathroom.
-Destroy my plants and you destroy a part of me -It was the silliest thing he could think to say-. And once you’ve destroyed a part of me... everyone will suffer. And then: the entire world.
-¿Which part of you? -Mrs. Berger axed.
-Please, Mrs. Berger... -Mr. Berger - the forgetful Mr. Berger - said, forgetting his wife’s name-. If you’re going to speak, ¿would you please remove your self to the garden? -He was on a roll, and a little thing like his wife’s name wasn’t going to stop his sentences-. You’re a pain in the neck.
During this final scene, an armored truck pulled up outside the Berger home, waiting to pick up Mrs. Berger and the children. But the real action was happening in the bathroom.
-I’m establishing a race of super plants -Dr. Berger said-. I take fake, plastic plants and send 690 volts of electricity through them, taking their PNA structure and crispy-frying it to human/plant DNA - I call it “Plee-NA”. Then, accidentally, the hand of my cerebral cortex got mixed in with the electrified plastic plant PNA. Without fully realizing it, part of my own SNA mixed with the plastic plant PNA, which produced plant blood that got all over your mom’s prize-winning azaleas that she had been hydropodding in the bathroom.
-¡That’s horrible! -Charlie exclaimed, startling the pajamas off of any pajama’d people in the vicinity.
-¡Ha! You forget: I am a scientist -Dr. Berger replied-. And if you think that that’s horrible, I haven’t even gotten to the crux: I’ve invented an entirely new species.
-Like plants with hands... -Charlie said to Margaret.
His father agreed.
-Yes. But these new species have begun to age rapidly. Now I’m buying dentures and Depends. I wanted to make a superior species, not a subperior species. I wanted to make their lives easier. I figured: plants + hands = easier. But I can’t take it anymore... And I promised my self I wouldn’t cry...
Dr. Berger started crying like a baby being held under water.
-I just have nothing to say about this -Mrs. Berger said, pounding back a bottle of red wine-. ¿Is the armored car here yet?
-I can’t do that -Dr. Berger replied-. I can’t just decide to do nothing. It would... It would be like involuntary plantslaughter. One day I’m going to find jobs for these motherfuckers assembling LEGOS. I believe that my plant clones can do this, but I’ve been inhaling a lot of asbestos lately. A shitload. Put your selves in my place. I have more cerebral cortex than most. My mind...
-But you’re actually one of the dumbest shits in this plant circus -Margaret offered-. Come to think of it, it’s a dead heat between you, your fucking plants and Tom Cruise...
-No one’s perfect -Dr. Berger said, leaning back on a table to take in the comedy. He started talking in a bland and serial killer tone-. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. They’re mainly my intellect and anger. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little, too late. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever. And this brings me to Mr. Martinez. ¡That pederastying fuck! ¡I’m going to have him incarcerated and then Juan Encarnacion’d! He’s gonna be so fucked-up he’ll be praying to Pat Sajak.
-¿Does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body? -Charlie axed.
Dr. Berger nodded his head.
-I dunno -He said-. What I do know is that the baseball bat rules the helmet-less head. I wanted to make the perfect species, but I missed it by that much.
-But Daddy -Margaret said, putting her hands on her head for protection-. You’re such a tool.
She took her hands from her head and put them on her hips.
-I don’t know... -One of the Dr. Bergers replied, mucous pouring from every pore-. ¿I’m really that horrible?
He was above, beyond and even transversing “that horrible”.
-Maybe I’m that horrible when I’m holding my still-beating heart in my hands and asking for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation -He wasn’t helping his cause-. I have extremely quick reactions for a mannequin, and my blood contains three of the world’s six elements. And give me a day or two and I’ll have the cat dissected. Hell, I’ll start now. ¿Where’s that fucking feline? Get me some Tender Vittles, ¡pronto! ¡Get that cat over here!
Margaret and Charlie applauded.
-I thought his punk ass was supposed to be veering back towards normal -Mrs. Berger said, looking in the direction of her spittle-laden spouse.
-I’ll be back to normal soon -Dr. Berger said, beating a tambourine on his hip-. And if Mr. Martinez tries to convene his college fascist junta and take away my “Employee of the Month” award or my bathroom laboratory, I’ll convert this entire city into a playground for the rich and make it mandatory to drive SUV’s.
Margaret and Charlie started to clap, but stopped.
-A little late on that last couple of points, Dad -Charlie interjected.
-Everyone who is alive now -Dr. Berger continued-, will be ¡DEAD! -And then to Margaret and Charlie-: You can applaud now. Thank you.
It was all more than Margaret could process. She had recognized some of the words - like “you” and “can” and “applaud” and “now” - but they sailed over her head on their way to hell. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and... things got worse.
Dr. Berger turned around to go back into the bathroom.
-¡Oi! -His spouse loudly espoused-. ¿Where the fuck do you think you’re going?
-I’m going to work on my plan to destroy the city with my plant friends, dear -Dr. Berger assured his wife-. I’m also coordinating our outfits, because we may be bringing this city to its knees, but we’re not savages.
It was the weekend and most of the plants were doing their tendril isometric exercises. The bathroom was strewn with piles of rope, piles of raisins, and bottles of talons polished in anticipation of All Talons Day. Some of the smaller plants were petitioning to be transplanted into the garden. Even the doctor’s lab equipment had a petition going, this one trying to prevent them from being melted down and sold to the university to make key chains.
On Sunday the family was scheduled to go out shopping for proper bathroom accessories. Margaret was in the garden sneaking a smoke when one of the transplanted plants accosted her.
“These plants are complete pieces of crap”, Margaret thought as she felt a tendril caress her ankle. “Fucking plants. It’s a beautiful day and they pull this shit”.
The sunlight was particularly low when suddenly a voice whispered through the smoky haze:
Margaret looked down at the plant that was wrapping its tendrils around her and stammered:
-¿Wha’...? ¿Wha’ the...?
-Margaret -The tiny transplant said-. Do me a favor, please.
-¡DO - ME - A - FAVOR! -The plant plotted-. ¡Kill your father! ¡I am your father! ¡Kill your father! ¡I am your father! ¡Kill your father! ¡I am your father!
-- back to the Bathroom --