Conversation · Measurehead

"The vile C-F race cauldron of pederasty, please."

"I KNEW YOU WOULD GO STRAIGHT FOR THE VILE CAULDRON -- EVERYONE DOES." He does not look surprised. "YOU NEED TO FIRST LEARN ABOUT TYPE A AND B TO APPRECIATE THE DEPRAVITY OF THE CHIMERIC RACES."

"Yeah, I mean otherwise..." the woman twirls her hair, "it just won't make any sense."

"Yes. It would seem nonsensical."

"YOU NEED TO KNOW BOTH TYPES A AND B TO UNDERSTAND THE CONTEXT FOR THE RECKLESS GENETIC ABANDONMENT IN THE PHYLO-CAULDRON."

"Yeah.." The young woman puts a piece of chewing gum in her mouth. "You have to have context, you know."

"The vile C-F race cauldron of pederasty, please."

"TYPES C-F ARE A MUSEUM OF FAILED CHIMERIC EXPERIMENTS AND TRAGIC MAL-ADAPTATIONS. THEY ARE TORTURED CREATURES WAITING TO BE PUT TO SLEEP. YOUR MORBID INTEREST IN THEM WORRIES ME."

"Yes, better not to go into it."

"IT WOULD BE CRUEL." The man agrees. "TO ENTERTAIN OURSELVES WITH THEIR DEFORMITIES. WERE THERE ANY ABLE BODIED RACES YOU NEEDED EDUCATION ON?"

"Chimeric experiments?"

"LESSER RACES LIKE THE MESQUITO, A GROTESQUE MIXTURE OF A MESQUE WOMAN AND A SEMENESE MAN, ONLY POSSIBLE IF THE MOTHER IS MESQUE AND THE FATHER SEMENESE. THE OTHER WAY AROUND THEY FAIL TO PRODUCE OFFSPRING."

"THE MESQUITO IS BORN STERILE. LIKE A DONKEY..." He looks west, ruefully: "ALL THEY HAVE LEFT IS TO RIDE CUSTOMIZED MOTOR CARRIAGES WITH HYDRAULIC SUSPENSION, LISTENING TO AGGRESSIVE EL MARIACHI MUSIC TO VENT THEIR IMPOTENT DESPAIR."

It seems unlikely that two human beings produce genetically sterile offspring.

"Maybe I have misunderstood something, but aren't humans too similar to produce genetically sterile offspring."

"YOU ARE RIGHT. YOU HAVE MISUNDERSTOOD. YOU LACK BASIC PHYLOGENETIC EDUCATION."

The sage will not budge on this.

"Any more?"

"THEN THERE IS... " He pauses dramatically. "THE SEMENO-KOJKIC CHIMERA. ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO KNOW OF THE SEMENO-KOJKIC CHIMERA? IT IS NOT AN AESTHETIC SIGHT."

"Better not to. The Semeno-Kojkic chimera seems like more than I could handle right now."

"THAT IS UNDERSTANDABLE. WERE THERE MORE FORTUNATE TYPES YOU NEEDED TO BE EDUCATED ABOUT?"

"Yes."

"THE KOJKO, AS YOU KNOW, ARE VERY SERVILE. ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY MEET THE RICH-MAN. RACIAL SCIENTISTS HAVE TOYED WITH THE IDEA OF CROSSING THE SEMENESE WITH A KOJKO, TO PRODUCE A SUPER-WORKER OF SEMENESE STRENGTH AND GRAAD SERVILITY..."

"THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN. THE SEMENESE AND THE KOJKO MAY HAVE SIMILAR INTERBREEDING PROBLEMS AS THE MESQUITO -- WE WILL NEVER KNOW PRECISELY. NO SEMENESE MAN COULD MAINTAIN AN ERECTION IN THE SUFFOCATING POTATO STENCH OF A KOJKO WOMAN, OR KOJKA.

There is a strange sadness in his tone. A less than heroic melancholy this time...

Your eyes bounce to the young woman at his side, twirling her hair. It is light brownish and eyes are a random colour...

Wasn't she called Katya. A common name among the...

"Isn't the name of your companion Katya?"

"THE HEART THAT PUMPS THE HAEMOGLOBIN IS MYSTERIOUS, AND SO IS ITS DARK WILL," he answers enigmatically. "ENOUGH OF THESE PERSONAL MATTERS. HAVE YOU BEEN EDUCATED TO ALL THE RASSO-TYPES NOW?"

He does not seem angry, nor does the woman look affected. She just twirls her hair. Perhaps they've been through this and established an accord?

Yeah, I'm not gonna bring this up.

Of course. Very tactical. This leads to dangerous places...

"BUT ENOUGH. IT IS CRUEL TO ENTERTAIN OURSELVES WITH THE DEFORMITIES OF TYPE C-F. WERE THERE ANY ABLE BODIED RACES YOU NEEDED EDUCATION ON?"

"Potato coloured hair, random coloured eyes..." (Nod toward Measurehead's woman.)

"You seem kinda blue about this, Measurehead."

"Enough of C-F."

"YES. IT IS CRUEL TO ENTERTAIN OURSELVES WITH THE DEFORMITIES OF C-F. WERE THERE ANY ABLE BODIED RACES YOU NEEDED EDUCATION ON?"

"Let's discuss something else."

"I CANNOT POSSIBLY IMAGINE WHAT ELSE WE HAVE TO DISCUSS, TYPE B REVACHOLIAN -- YOUR LOVE FOR DISCO MUSIC AND VENEREAL DISEASE?"

[Leave.]

"Please, stop doing this. You're making us look bad."

"We still need to get into the harbour. We need help with the tree situation. There must be another way..." His gaze wanders over the Whirling's roof to the yard.

Try the jump? Up there, on the roof! It'll be worth it. Else there is little choice but to figure out a way to deal with the man...

"We still need to get into the harbour. There is an interview to conduct. There must be another way..." His gaze wanders over the Whirling's roof to the yard.

"What are those tattoos of yours supposed to mean?"

"RACISTS ARE GENERALLY NOT VERY GOOD EXAMPLES OF THEIR RACE." He gestures toward the lorryman down the street...

"Welcome to Revachol!" you hear him yell at a red-head woman visiting the Frittte nearby.

He must think red-heads are immigrants.

"I AM NOT LIKE THEM. I AM CRANIOMETRIC PERFECTION. I HAVE TAKEN THE TROUBLE TO PERMANENTLY DRAW A PHRENOLOGIC GRID ON MY SKULL AND FEATURES. THIS SHOULD DISPEL ANY DOUBT."

True. That is a noble cranium -- but you got a hard noggin yourself!

The drawings are precise and look true to their pseudoscientific ambitions. One thing however -- it is not entirely free of throwbacks in the phylogenetic tree. His large jaw, for example, could be a trait indicative of criminalism. Also his ear lobes could be smaller.

"Your ear lobes are too big."

"THE SIZE OF THE EAR LOBES IS NOT A REAL CRANIOMETRIC CRITERIA. EVERYONE KNOWS THIS."

"Your ear lobes are flawless, Jean-Luc."

"YES..." The man falls silent, his face motionless.

"You're right. That's craniometric perfection. My race does not stand a chance."

"CORRECT."

Say nothing.

"YOUR SILENCE BETRAYS YOUR INFERIORITY. YOU DO NOT HAVE A REPLY. YOU SHOULD ENTER A DEEP RACE SLUMBER. PERHAPS IN FOUR THOUSAND YEARS THERE IS NEED FOR A SERVILE HOMONCULUS."

"Are you sure? I mean... that jaw is clearly an atavistic stigmata."