me. Four months in, and I’ve already read Ulysses twice. I’m addicted to it. I can’t put it down. I’ve got whole ten page sentences learned off by heart. And the steroids have given me that power thanks to Doctor Scream. I’ve noticed my dancing skills have improved too, Fred, but that all awaits in month six, I think. The Donut Hole steroids. Arrange a date with her Fred, please, after month six. I’ll be dancing beautifully by then and I’ll be eternally grateful to you. I’d even go to the toilet for you if I could.’
‘No you wouldn’t Scoopy. No, you definitely wouldn’t. It’s in the toilet where our species’ ruin has already started to fester like white maggots. There’s no bloody privacy these days. Not even in the toilet.’
He started messing with the app on his phone again, preparing door number three for open sesame.
‘Scoopy, I’m getting quite adept at the old multi-tasking due to the steroids probably, so I’ll continue. Michael Jackson is going to come speeding towards us at any minute now with his head on fire. No moon-walking for anyone because we’ll all be wired up and woof woof woofing for the bots and the super-rich very soon indeed. It’s a coming round the mountains when I open this final door to Doctor Scream’s office. Confirmed. Get your fiver ready, Scoopy. Wave it in the air man. People get really upset with people using their phones constantly. Everyone moans about it these days. Shouted phone conversations on the bus, Scoopy, you can’t not overhear their yappings, yammerings and yowlings. Internet surfers and social media chatterers at the dinner table. Drool comes out their mouths when they’re white-foaming about this stuff. Do you know what I say Scoopy to those people? You never had it so good. That’s all in the ha’penny place. Because it’s all happening in the toilet nowadays – trousers 'round the ankles. Catch up Scoopy Boo. The cubicle is where it’s all at.
‘I talked to my doctor last year, Scoopy, she came around to my house, when I was unemployed, and she told me about Amber Brains.
‘The doctor said, “You’ve got Amber Brains Fred, Type 2 Amber Brains, You’ll never be able to play that old piano.”
‘But if I practice long and hard enough, surely Doctor?’
‘Sorry Fred. I’m afraid we’re not as mentally flexible as the last generation. Too much machines and internet means we’re not red-hot in the old head department any more. Read my lips, Freddy Cheese, you’ll never be able to play that old piano. Never.’
‘What if I get out in the open air more? Go for long runs in the Phoenix Park?’
‘Fred, you’re afraid of people you don’t know. How are you ever going to run around a park flooded with people queuing at all the food banks? Eh? You won’t do it.’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘Ok, go out your back door over there and walk to the shed at the end of your garden.’
‘Ok. Fuck it. You’re right Doctor. I admit it. I’m afraid of outside. Is there no way back to red? Surely the bots are working and creating a path there as we speak?’
‘You must be joking. It suits them fine this way.’
‘But how did we come to this?’
‘It all began when people started to use their phones when they were on the toilet. Trousers 'round the ankles. You can’t blame them really. You can see who’s calling you and if it’s your boss or a botty you better answer quickly or get fired mate. A life or death situation. It’s not hygienic Freddy in the long run, talking and defecating at the same time. Trousers 'round the ankles. It spreads disease. Amber brains. Type 2. To be precise. That’s what you’ve got.’
‘Bloody hell. I’m mad as hell Doctor and I’m gonna do something about it. I’m gonna go on Twitter right now and abuse someone – preferably a woman. That’s what I’m gonna do. I’m not taking this sitting down any more – trousers 'round the ankles.’
‘How did you guess Freddy? That’s exactly what I’ve written on your prescription. Are you a doctor?’
‘No, but I could be, if there was a little less disease in the world.’
‘Sure it won’t be long now Freddy until you get all your red brains growing back again in luminescent bunches like bananas.’
‘I can’t wait doctor.’
‘Neither can I Fred, that’s why I’m wearing goggles and a helmet.’
And voila Scoopy, that amber brains input seems to have done the trick.
Right on cue door number three opened wide like a sore mouth at the dentist and we ran towards the office cupboard as if high on nitrous oxide. It was going to be easy from here on in because the key was already in the lock awaiting our twisting fingers, our grabbing eyeballs and eureka! Fiver notes would be exchanged. Our future fate would be sealed.
Unable to move towards the cupboard pari passu with Fred, I fell behind rather quickly. When I reached Scream’s desk, I could see Fred staring at the key in the cupboard lock ahead of me on the far side of the room - and hesitating. I was Aneas’ son Julius from Virgil’s Aeneid, running from the burning city of Troy with his father (and it seemed right, Fred felt like my father in many ways, even though he was around my age, if not a whisker younger) but I couldn’t keep up with him. Our world was going to go up in flames like Michael Jackson’s hair like the city of Troy. I could see the kindling ready in the hearth starting to crackle and before long our heads would be flaming, wired up and we’d become woof, woof, woofing canines or even mew, mew, mewing felines. However, before Fred could turn the cupboard key one millimetre we heard Doctor Scream himself rolling up the shutters outside, opening the side door of The Donut Factory and coming towards us. We raced to the canteen and spread ourselves behind newspapers and empty coffee cups. He popped his head around.
‘Lads, can you do a few extra hours after your shift? I’ve another three orders to do for tomorrow. They just pinged my email.’
In unison, ‘No problem Doctor.’
I knew what Fred was thinking straight off but before I could say a dicky-bird he said, ‘Scoopy, I’ll talk to my sister this evening.’