Harold was a neighbor to Larry. He had moved in to Doug’s old house when Doug was delivered up to Canada. Harold had a tumor in his head, but that is not the thing that made him unusual. Oh no! What made Harold unusual was that he was the only human being ever to have been born in the Transcendental Arrangement. Of course, his mother never told him.
Larry looked over the fence and saw his new neighbor swinging a cat around his head by its tail. Not being one to judge, he called out: “Howdy!”
Startled, Harold dropped the cat. They both watched it recover itself and streak away, never to be seen in the neighborhood again.
“Your cat?” Larry asked.
“Naw. Belonged to somebody else.”
Since no other explanation was offered, Larry tried another conversational gambit. “Play cards?”
“Our pastor is preaching against them, want to come hear?”
And so it as they fell into conversation and eventually came around to medical matters.
“Yeah,” Larry said, “I have a tumor in my head as well.”
“Going to do anything about it?”
“Not really. So, want to come to church with me? I can probably get you in with the deacons.”
So it was agreed, and Harold visited that Sunday, all spiffed out, and in an uncharacteristically absent way, Doc made him a deacon.
“He’s got me worried,” Larry confided afterward, “Seems to be a bit distracted the past couple of weeks.”
“Maybe he’s got a tumor in his head too?”
Among other things on the planet Golf, there was a sinister group of people dedicated to perpetrating medical research. They perfected a machine which by means of undetectable radiation produced in patients an unstoppable aspiration to world domination.
“This is truly and ingeniously medical,” the head of research, Dr. Spigot said.
“Yes. It could even be dangerous,” Dr. Crinkle agreed.
“You know, they’d probably try it on earth,” the bright young assistant, Dr. Principle suggested.
“I bet they would,” Spigot agreed. “We could rig it to be some kind of fancy radiation machine for cancer.”
“They’d go for that.”
So it was agreed. They journeyed up the mountain of Hinga Lum Dura and came to the cave at the top, where they performed the ritual, and went inside.
“Get one of those guys from Accounticon to rig it,” the sage advised the doctors who came to ask his advice. “They’re in pretty tight with the temporal powers on earth.”
“Does anybody stand out in particular?” They asked with all due humility.
“Ah,” the sage said, scratching both his armpits at the same time. “Why yes, come to think of it.”