The Post Office of Doctor Moreau (3/5) By Kenton Hall

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5). Part 1.

Our greatest mind had gone mad. We didn't really notice at first. We were so used to taking Moreau's infallibility for granted that some of the first odd ideas - all pencils should be octagonal, or penguins were a clean, cheap source of fuel - were instituted without question. We finally saw the light when Moreau declared himself Supreme Emperor of the Laundry Basket and spent a week and a half unpairing all our socks and then demanding that we each chop off one of our feet, for efficiency's sake.

He has been a patient of St. Benedict's Lunatic Asylum and Steak House ever since. Or so we had believed. ***

I was cycling to Jerkwad's office wearing one of those crash helmets that allows you to look like an extra from Close Encounters, when I decided that I needed to see Sandy. (Yes. I cycle. Screw you. I lost my driver's license a couple of years ago when I discovered that you can't actually get a Fiat to mate with a police cruiser.) I don't know what it is about ex-wives. I mean, clearly, there is a reason why the 'ex'- has been summarily attached to the 'wives', but they have a tremendous ability to sucker you back into their lives without even trying or, often, being able to stomach the sight of you.

It was like that with Sandy and me. We never spoke, she returned all of my letters and she called the police when I started stealing her garbage and recycling it as gift baskets - but we just couldn't stay away from each other. Well, within the restrictions imposed by a 500 yard minimum distance.

"Sandy, I just want to talk," I said softly. You don't know how hard it is to say anything softly through a megaphone from the other side of the street, but I managed it - just. "Fuck off, Jonas!" she shouted back through the kitchen window. Ah, she DID still love me. This was very reassuring. "I'm about to embark on a dangerous mission," I replied, "And I thought you might like to make love, for old time's sake. In case I'm killed in action, or maimed in some intimate way."

"Jonas, life is full of disappointment. I remember you every day. When the dry cleaners put a hole in my best dress. When dried spaghetti lodges in the deepest recesses of the dishwasher. Best of all, I can do all of these things with my clothes on. What possible desire would I have to spend 20 minutes getting undressed, in return for 30 seconds of sex and half an hour of apology?" "How's Daniel?"

Continued...Next Page (4/5)

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