‘That was brilliant, Hylas!’
‘Yeah! How did you think of it?’
‘I suddenly realised it’s a game; they aren't serious; they're not crazy, just having fun with us. And that’s so relaxing. Most people take themselves so seriously. I hope the men are the same.’
‘They are,’ Mort assured him. ‘Even better in many ways.’
‘I can’t help wondering, though, why they only have men as noble savages.’
‘Because the women, who love to think of themselves as underdogs, would never tolerate having sexy naked women roaming around, dancing with their husbands, teaching them games… making their wives and daughters look less physically attractive. The men, on the other hand, are perfectly happy to have handsome naked men attending to their wives, because they know we’re all gay. And like all successful heterosexual males, they're convinced they're perfect and feel no insecurity about being compared to gay men, or seeing their wives get fucked on stage.’
‘On stage! I still can’t believe this. Don’t they care?’
‘The stage in Oasis is sacred soil where everything is permitted and nothing is real, so cannot be taken seriously. It’s where fantasies come to life, problems are aired, and everyone learns something about themselves and others. If Gregory fucks Henry’s wife during a play about surviving a flood, for example, then Henry is proud to see his wife being such a fine actress. They accept intuitively that life is all about sex, so to eliminate sex from human interaction is to lie. And our theatre is about truth. Lies are what you hear and see on mass media. We have none of them here, we have the stage, and reports on what's happening outside Oasis from people we trust.’
‘That sounds too good to be true.’
‘It is, but it’s better than what's happening outside.’
‘Do we have to make it a performance tonight?’
‘Definitely; Anne has decreed. We’ll go to the theatre now and rehearse.’
‘Did you tell her we’re an item,’ Hylas asked Hercules.
‘No, she either has ESP or a finely tuned gossip radar. She knows everything. So, what do you guys think of the females?’
‘Nicer than I expected, in character I mean.’
‘Don’t be fooled, they were on their best behaviour to impress the new men.’
‘That's a pity. I must say their shapes are a bit off-putting.’
‘Yeah. They're really bottom heavy. I guess it makes for stability, but I'm really glad I'm not a heterosexual.’
‘If you were you'd love fat hips and narrow shoulders and lumps of fat on the chest.’
Fidel shook his head dubiously. ‘I don’t think I could ever find that attractive.’
They'd arrived at an open piazza. Arnold pointed to the far side. ‘What’s that circular ruin?’
‘A temple to the muses, Mort told him. ‘It’s my domain and where you’ll be performing tonight. Come on in.’
Ten semi-circular stone terraces rose steeply, giving excellent views onto an elaborate little stage with a classical proscenium and royal blue curtains. Above the seating, a domed roof appeared to float on creamy sandstone columns, between which statues of gods and goddesses gazed down. Circular windows behind the heads of the statues, were like haloes filling the theatre with an amber glow.
‘This is a very beautiful space! You must be incredibly proud of your father, Mort.’
‘I am, and not only for his architecture.’
‘How many does it seat?’
‘Two hundred in comfort, more if we squeeze. We bring our own cushions.’
‘I can’t wait to see a show.’
‘You're the show tonight, any ideas?’
‘None, Mort. You’ll have to help us.’
‘I figured as much so I've invited a couple of experts to assist.’ He looked towards the open archway. ‘As they're not here yet I’ll show you backstage and all the gear we’ve got.’
Twenty minutes later he had demonstrated the complex pulley system that raised and lowered scenery and permitted people to fly, the dressing rooms and lighting box and sound system, and was about to take them to the large collection of flats in storage under the stage when Penelope and Perses entered the auditorium.
‘Not late are we?’
‘Perfectly on time.’ Mort laughed at the open mouths of the others. ‘Penelope’s been wanting do a spoof medical consultation for ages, so lets get started.’
An hilarious hour later there was just time to go home, shower, ensure their bodies were pristine, and eat something before returning to the theatre where they stood behind the closed stage curtain with Steven Snupe, a tall, swarthy man with a long hooked nose, prominent bones, and neatly trimmed beard; impeccably dressed in a midnight blue velvet dinner suit, cream shirt with ruffs at wrists and down the front, and shiny patent leather shoes. At a signal from Mort he stepped through the curtains onto the apron, bowed to the packed theatre and presented a wry, often humorous news round up, gleaned from his many and various contacts.
‘As predicted,’ he concluded with a frown after ten minutes of concentrated information, ‘the median temperature has been higher this month than usual and high tides are again higher than last year. Water expansion accounts for most of it, but apparently glacial melt is increasing in South America and Alaska. It is only a matter of time before the central business district is permanently abandoned. Some beach suburbs have become inaccessible at high tide and sewage is an increasing worry. So far it’s containable. People are opening their homes to family members whose houses are uninhabitable, but it’s going to be a worry for us in Oasis if things get markedly worse, because the push inland to higher ground will put pressure on us to accept refugees.’
‘Never!’ someone called, supported by several ‘hear, hears’.
‘As you know the port was closed by the cyclone. It seems it will never reopen due to infrastructure damage and silting. The rest of the world is not in any better shape—ports and infrastructure being at sea level, so the talk is all about becoming more self-sufficient.’ He sniffed. ‘Forty years too late. Unemployment’s at sixty percent. Everything’s in short supply, as those who go shopping will have realised, especially food.’
‘What about the Tablelands.’
‘They’re geared to export, so good food’s rotting on the docks, underwater. It’ll take some time before they grow enough staple foods to supply us.’
‘What about bringing in stuff by rail?’
‘The cyclone washed out miles of bridges and track, and without spare parts for heavy machinery it’s going to be pick and shovel and many, many months, if ever, before they're reopened. But there's plenty of labour because all those thousands of out of work males can now opt to accept board and lodging from their employer in lieu of wages, but must sign a contract for at least three years. If that’s not slavery I don’t know what is.’
‘What happens to their women and children?’
‘Not clear. Possibly some form of hostel accommodation next to workshops that are being planned.’
‘Workshops? What for?’
‘Cottage industries, from what I hear.’
‘Sounds like a euphemism for workhouses.’
‘Ominous.’
‘Indeed. Well, that's all from me for tonight. Now its time for you all to decide whether to accept five new young men as assistants for Hercules and Mort. Doctor Wellniss, who has spent some time with them, kindly offered to provide you with enough information to make up your minds about their health and fitness for the job.’ He smiled, picked up his notes, acknowledged the applause and descended from the stage to sit with his wife and children.’
The house lights dimmed and an amber spotlight played on the blue curtains, which parted just enough to reveal Penelope in a spotlessly white doctor’s coat, neat little cap on curly blonde hair, a multitude of tinkling bracelets, several gold necklaces, drop earrings, baby-doll makeup, and her trademark white, ankle-snapping high-heeled shoes. She was standing beside a tall, ornately carved, polished wood cabinet containing several cupboards and drawers and shelves with flasks of coloured liquid. Behind it, the stage was impenetrably black.
A disturbing, almost diabolical smile played across the doctor’s lips as she carefully inspected and arranged several dangerous looking knives and other instruments, including an enormous syringe with a long, sharp needle. She looked up, apparently surprised at seeing the tittering audience.
‘Have you heard the news?’ she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth and giggling like a silly schoolgirl. ‘We’re getting five new naked noble savages and I tested them all yesterday—extensively!’ She stopped to take a deep breath and giggle. ‘And they're healthy—I posted a positive report.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘But,’ she rested an anguished hand on her heart as her face dissolved into misery. ‘Several noble residents said they don’t trust me to check properly! Can you believe it? Moi. Doctor Wellniss. Not trusted! They demanded to know exactly how I tested.’ She sniffed her sadness, then managed a brave smile. ‘As you all know, I’m an easy person, …’ She paused to allow the audience to agree, but they laughed instead. ‘I never take offence!’ she snarled, angrily, ‘so to allay all those pathetic, irrational fears about my competence I will demonstrate my procedures tonight.’
Cheers and applause.
‘An in depth survey of the first five people I encountered after leaving my house this evening, revealed that the five major concerns regarding naked savages are: do they carry unknown diseases? Are they strong and fit enough to do the work required. Do they understand their social position? If they are invited into homes, is it safe to let them sit down? And is it safe for Noble Residents to have sex with them?’
During the laughter, Perses, also in a white doctor’s coat, arranged five collapsible chairs a few metres to the left of his mother.
‘Get the savages, Perses. Don’t keep the audience waiting.’
‘Ok, Ok…don’t get your knickers in a twist.’
‘I can’t…’ She giggled insanely. ‘I'm not wearing any.’ To cheers and stamping of feet she raised her coat to prove it.
Perses waved to someone off stage and the five applicants jogged in, bowed and took their seats. They looked cheerful enough, but were feeling inordinately nervous. This wasn’t like the gymnasium! There they were in control—here they weren't. They’d seen the health test results and been told they had the jobs, so this was supposed to be pure fun, but it suddenly felt very important that they made the audience laugh. That they didn’t make fools of themselves. But they'd only had one rehearsal. Compounding stage fright, the audience of nearly two hundred superbly dressed men, women and young people appeared to be stacked almost vertically; a wall of faces, mouths, eyes and bodies scrutinising, assessing. The men had taken great care with their appearance; shaved, trimmed, scrubbed and polished. At Hercules’ suggestion, Hylas had removed all scrappy bits of body and facial hair leaving him seamless, and Robert had got rid of the beard that had always itched. They knew they had never looked better, but even so…would the noble residents, as they loved to be called, find them interesting and attractive enough?
‘You,’ Penelope pointed at Bart. ‘Come here.’
Bart stood and looked around as if unsure whether to obey or run for his life, so Penelope marched over and, to guffaws of delight from the audience, took a firm hold of his penis and led him into position beside the cabinet, maintaining her grip as if frightened he’d run away.
‘Tell the noble residents your name.’
‘Bart.’
‘Very good, Bart. I am going to show my critics how I tested your blood for pathogens.’
‘What….now?’
‘Yes. I’ll just take a little blood. Are you nervous?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good. Perses! Blood extraction apparatus!’
Perses took from the cabinet a glass bowl and a large needle attached to a clear plastic tube.
Penelope released Bart’s manhood, which had dramatically appreciated in size, and wrapped a band around his upper arm. Perses passed her the needle and placed the end of the tube in the glass bowl on the floor. Penelope felt the tip of the huge needle, smiled wickedly and licked her lips.
‘That looks awfully big,’ Bart said nervously. ‘It wasn’t that big last night.’
‘And neither was that!’ Penelope giggled, giving his erection a playful tap. ‘If we use the small one the audience won’t be able to see it, will they?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Now, stand still and relax. It won’t hurt a bit.’ She pulled her arm back as if ready to hurl a javelin, then thrust the needle into Bart’s vein, securing it with tape. Almost immediately blood began to flow down the tube and into the bowl.
‘See? Didn’t hurt a bit, did it?’
Bart was swaying in shock, eyes wide, mouth agape.
Penelope rubbed her hands and spoke to the tittering audience. ‘While we’re taking a little of Bart’s lovely red blood, let’s have the next victim… I mean patient.’
Perses led Fidel by the hand to Penelope, who rubbed her hand through his chest hair.
‘Mmm… A veritable satyr; no wonder they had to pry a lusting young lass off you in the swimming pool this afternoon.’
Fidel was staring in confusion at Bart who had sagged to his knees and was in the process of toppling sideways in a faint. The audience was shouting warnings between laughs. With a cry of despair, Fidel pushed Penelope away and held Bart upright under the arms, while Perses ran backstage to fetch a strong-looking box. Fidel sat Bart on it, supporting him while staring in disbelief at the blood still draining into the bowl.
‘How dare you interfere with…’
Perses tapped his mother on the arm and pointed at the blood now overflowing the bowl onto the stage.
Penelope threw up her hands and giggled. ‘Oh silly me, I'm always forgetting to turn things off. I suppose I’d better put some back.’ She pulled out the needle and tube and passed them to Perses. ‘Get rid of these and bring me the Syringe!’
Perses handed her a syringe as large as a litre milk bottle, with a needle to match, which she filled with blood by sucking it from the bowl. Then while Fidel held Bart’s head firmly, she thrust the needle into his jugular vein and pressed the plunger. As the blood was squeezed back into him, Bart began to revive. After the second refill, he stood. Wobbled a bit. Smiled and gazed around vaguely.
Penelope held up the bowl to inspect the remaining blood, nodded satisfaction, and then accepted a flask containing white powder from Perses. After tipping the contents into the blood she gave it a stir with her finger. It turned from red to black.
‘Eureka!’ She shouted, displaying the bowl to the audience. ‘A perfect result. The change from red to black proves Bart is free of every disease known to mankind, as well as several others!’ After placing the bowl in the cupboard she turned a winning smile on Bart.
‘How do you feel?’
‘A bit woozy.’
‘Better keep propping him up then, Fidel,’ she advised. ‘Are you up to answering a few questions, Bart?’
‘I think so.’
‘What’s your take on the seven deadly sins?’
‘They’re another religious guilt trip.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The word ‘sin’ means behaviour displeasing to a God—an entity I reckon doesn't exist.’
‘So the so-called deadly sins are not bad after all?’
‘Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth are nothing but emotional terms for the natural behaviour that has enabled humans to survive. There’s nothing wrong with having pride in oneself, wanting to eat, improving one’s circumstances, enjoying sex, emulating others, getting angry, or having enough sleep. Problems only arise if people ignore the commonsense truism that more than enough is too much.’
‘For example?’
‘Eating too much is unhealthy, sex addiction is bad for relationships, aggression leads to physical conflict… that sort of thing.’
‘From what you’ve seen do you think the Noble Residents of Oasis are guilty of any of those… sins?’
‘No. Their feet seem to be firmly planted in reality. They enjoy natural human behaviour without guilt, and appear to have accepted that we all have to make the best of what we have, without crying for the moon.’
‘Thank you, Bart.’
Bart took a slight bow and, accompanied by applause, returned to his chair.
Penelope turned to Fidel who had been patiently waiting.
‘Are you strong, Fidel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Prove it by lifting Perses with one hand.’
Fidel frowned, placed a grinning Perses next to the box, stood on it himself, grasped the collar of Perses’ coat, and on the count of three, hoisted the youth into the air. Or he would have if Perses hadn't raised his arms allowing the coat to fly straight up and disappear into the darkness of the flies, leaving the slim, lightly bronzed son of the doctor standing in his birthday suit beside the box, a look of bemused surprise on his face.
‘Not very convincing, Fidel,’ Penelope sneered. ‘Anyone can toss a coat into the air.’
‘Where’s my coat?’ Perses complained.
‘You look better without it,’ Fidel grunted, scratching his head while considering the situation. ‘Got it,’ he muttered getting down from the box. ‘Make yourself streamlined like a rocket,’ he instructed, placing Perses’ hands together above his head. Then in one quick motion he grasped the youth’s ankles and gave an almighty heave. Perses shot straight up into the air and, like his coat, disappeared into the darkness above the stage.
Loud laughter, clapping and cheering.
‘Help!’ Perses shouted. ‘I’m falling back! Catch me, Fidel!’
Fidel held out his arms as two bare feet appeared followed by legs and the lost body that floated slowly down until Perses was cradled like a baby, gazing up in adoration at his saviour. Fidel kissed the youth’s forehead, carefully placed him on his feet, took a bow and rejoined his friends.
When the applause subsided, Penelope pointed at Hylas. ‘Perses! Get me that one.’
Hylas sprang from his chair, leaped off the stage and was halfway to the exit when Perses leaped onto his back and rode him like a horse back onto the stage, where he was unceremoniously dumped beside the cabinet and his mother, who smiled and patted Hylas on the head.
‘You're fast and strong, carrying Perses like that.’
‘He’s just a flea,’ Hylas shrugged dismissively.
‘But a useful one,’ Penelope murmured. Turning to the audience she stated firmly, ‘Fitness, strength and health require excellent reflexes and powerful lungs, and Hylas has volunteered to be tested.’
Hylas looked less than delighted, but was calmed by Perses, who resembled him remarkably. Both were lean, tall and sinewy, olive skinned, dark eyed and smooth. And although Hylas was obviously fitter and stronger, his face had a boyish innocence that suggested they might be almost the same age.
‘Sit on the box and cross your legs!’ the doctor commanded.
Hylas sat, placed his right leg over his left, and watched as Perses carefully balanced a basket of fruit on the raised foot.
‘I am going to test your reflexes, Hylas, Do you know what they are?’
‘They’re physical reactions that occur without conscious thought, like pulling your hand away from a hot fire.’
‘Exactly. Are you ready?’
‘I’m always ready.’
‘Penelope lightly tapped just under the kneecap of the crossed leg and Hylas’s foot jerked wildly sending the basket of fruit up into the air in a wide arc, to land without spilling it’s contents beside the other noble savages, who each took a piece of fruit and began eating.
Meanwhile Perses was worried. ‘Mum! There's something wrong with Hylas’s leg.’
The leg in question was stretched rigidly in front, and despite Perses’ best efforts it seemed there was no way to make it bend again.’
Penelope pushed her son aside. ‘This requires surgical intervention.’ Picking up a scalpel she inspected the leg thoughtfully. ‘All it requires is a quick slice through the tendon.’ She indicated the spot.
‘And then he’ll be fine?’
‘Of course!’
‘The leg will bend?’
‘Of course… but he won’t be able to walk again. No pain no gain.’
As she raised the scalpel the knee bent and the audience cheered.
‘Now, lets see if your lungs are as good as your reflexes,’ the doctor said briskly. ‘Perses! The tube.’
From the cabinet, Perses produced an inner tube from a tyre. But not an ordinary car tyre, this one must have come from a very large truck.
‘I want you to demonstrate your lung capacity by blowing just one breath into the tube, Hylas. When you're ready.’
Hylas took a huge breath, put his lips to the valve and blew. Within seconds the tube expanded until it seemed on the point of bursting. Yet still Hylas blew and still it expanded until the quivering black rubber took on an almost translucent hue and became seriously deformed. ‘Stop, stop!’ Penelope shouted cowering back in terror. ‘It’s going to explode!’
‘Hylas removed the valve from his mouth and frowned as the air escaped with a loud whistle. ‘But I haven't finished the breath.’
‘Never mind that. You get ten ticks for not blowing the place up. Now go back to your friends and send Robert to me.’
Robert stood, yawned, then sauntered across and leaned on the cabinet. ‘Nice tits, Penny,’ he grinned with a cheeky wink, undoing the top button of her coat to expose her right breast, which he stroked gently.’
Penelope glared at him. ‘Don’t call me Penny.’
What'll I call you then? Cent?’
The doctor pursed her lips. ‘You are nothing more than an uncivilized, naked savage!’
Robert gazed forlornly out at the audience, ‘She’s right… I feel a right tit.’ He sniffed, and pushed it back into the coat, causing a button to fall off and both breasts to pop out. After pushing at them ineffectually several times, he shrugged and gave up. ‘I apologise, fair lady, I cannot keep abreast of this problem. What should I do?’
‘Shut up, sit still and treat me with the respect due to a Noble Resident and eminent doctor while I demonstrate the testing of blood pressure and heart rate. Perses! The heart monitor.’
Perses attached a band around Robert’s chest that was connected to a loudspeaker and digital display. When he flicked a switch, everyone could hear the drumbeat of Robert’s heart and see the rate displayed on a screen. Currently it was fifty-four beats per minute.
‘Now do twenty star jumps,’ the doctor commanded.’
Robert obeyed, with the predictable result between his legs, but the unpredicted result that his heartbeat slowed to twenty-seven beats per minute.
‘Do twenty press ups!’ Penelope instructed.
The heartbeats slowed until they stopped completely at the twentieth and the display showed a zero. Robert stood up breathing easily, not having raised a sweat.
Penelope tapped the screen, but nothing changed, then she leaned over Robert to check the instruments. Robert put his head forward and sucked on a nipple. Penelope appeared not to notice, instead she removed the band and wrapped it around her son’s chest. Immediately the sound of a strongly beating heart filled the theatre, at the rate of sixty beats per minute.
‘Ah!’ Penelope said in disgust. ‘You are too vulgar to even have a heartbeat. Quite frankly, you are pissing me off. Which leads me to your next test; I need a urine sample. ‘Perses! Bring the urine sample flask!’
The audience, which had been laughing constantly, clapped and stamped their feet as Robert filled the flask, then the blood bowl, and was rapidly filling the bucket with pale yellow liquid when Penelope tied a bright yellow ribbon around Robert’s penis and pulled it tight, cutting off the flow.
‘Get out! Get out!’ She screamed. ‘You're rude, stupid, heartless and keep taking the piss. This is a serious demonstration… oh what shall I do.’ She sank onto the box in tears. Robert pulled her gently to her feet, removed the yellow ribbon, stroked her hair and said sweetly as he tied it around a lock of her hair, ‘I apologise, doctor, I was rendered stupid by your beauty which is enough to drive a man mad with desire.’ He pulled her head back, fondled her breasts and kissed her on the lips while the audience clapped and called encouragement.
Penelope gazed into his eyes. ‘Am I really beautiful enough to make men mad?’
‘Am I not clinically insane?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s your proof, doctor.’
Penelope’s smile was beatific. ‘Thank you, Robert. No one has ever said such a nice thing to me. You must come to dinner soon.’
Eyes rolling in relief, Robert retreated to his chair.
The doctor looked at her watch. ‘Goodness, time’s running out. Here, boy.’ She patted her thigh and Arnold came running up like a pet dog.
‘Arnold, Some people are worried that if you noble savages sit down on their best chairs, you’ll leave your personal, perfumed stamp on the furniture. What have you to say to that?’
‘We won’t, because we’re meticulous about hygiene and are constantly checking, and we also have a secret weapon.’
‘Sounds exciting, what’s that?’
‘We strengthen our sphincters with daily exercises until they're so tight nothing can get either in or out—unless we want.’
‘Do you mind demonstrating?’
‘What? The tightness of my sphincter?’
‘The cleanliness. We’ll take the other claim on trust.’ She addressed the audience. ‘But if in doubt, noble residents, provide a small towel, it will embarrass no one.’ Turning back to Arnold. ‘Well, young man? Let the noble residents judge your hygienic standards.’
Arnold shrugged at the audience in resignation, then knelt facing the audience with his bum in the air. Penelope held what looked like a gigantic magnifying glass behind him and the image was projected on the screen. At first slightly out of focus, it resolved into what looked remarkably like tightly pursed lips which twitched slightly, then parted and opened to reveal a set of sharp white teeth before the sphincter drew tightly closed once more.
When the laughter subsided, Penelope continued. ‘As you can see, noble residents, this sphincter is spotless and in perfect condition, not even the suggestion of a haemorrhoid, not a whiff of gas, not a particle of excrement.’ She gave his cheeks a resounding slap. ‘You can place this bottom on my furniture any time you wish, Arnold.’
Arnold stood and smiled modestly. ‘Thank you, Penelope.’
‘My pleasure. Now for the final test—a sperm count.’
‘You want me to masturbate?’
‘How else are you going to produce a sample? Surely you’re not shy.’
‘Of course I’m not shy, just not sure I can oblige. But I’ll give it my best shot, being always delighted to come to the aid of a fair damsel.’
[Groans at the puerile pun].
With casual ease and gentlemanly grace, Arnold arranged himself sexily on the box, played with the family jewels for a few seconds then gazed out at the audience, clearly distraught. ‘Apologies, all. It seems this member of the family is shy in front of an audience.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ snapped Penelope. ‘You're just attention seeking. Perses! Help this flaccid savage to perform.’
With a resigned shrug and audible sigh at having yet another task to perform, Perses knelt beside Arnold and with delicate fingers brought the recalcitrant member to attention. ‘Shall I finish off, or do you want to do it yourself?’
‘It’s obviously on better terms with your hands than mine, so go for it.’
‘Demonstrating a natural aptitude for the task, Perses soon had Arnold leaning back in ecstasy while the doctor hovered with a large plate, ready to catch the precious fluid. After a low groan from the depths of his being, Arnold arched his back in violent spasm and shot at least a litre of thick creamy stuff into the air. Penelope caught it in the centre of the plate where it glistened and wobbled slightly like a large creamy blancmange.
‘Bull’s-eye!’ she crowed, to cheers of approval, then scraped a little off onto a glass slide and placed it under a microscope attached to a video camera and monitor. The audience leaned forward to see the result.
At low magnification millions of tiny wriggling objects covered the screen.
‘You have a potent brew, Arnold. Let’s ramp up the magnification.’
As the objects grew ever larger, so did the wonderment of the observers when they realised the cute little wriggling sperms that had seemed so inoffensive, in reality had scales, legs, claws, snouts and teeth. Sharp little teeth with which they were snapping and chewing at each other.
‘Take careful note, boys and girls,’ the doctor warned with a waggling finger. ‘If you permit Arnold to inject this stuff into your sensitive places