Reynaldo the World’s Smallest Circus Bear Vs. Dr. Grue Pansky
Dr. Grue Pansky cleared his throat and scratched at his earlobe, covertly extracting a glob of wax. He rolled the sebum between his fingers, thinking of the word “semen” and pun-rolling it with “not believing.” He was suddenly reminded of his patient, later revealed to run a child sex trafficking ring, Shtuffin Jensen Glurba, fond of sex magick practices involving whacking off in his victim’s face.
The world really didn’t think much of him, and Dr. Pansky would never quite be comfortable with his lowered status ever since he left his staff position at Los De Abajo Hospital in San Bernardo, California under a cloud. Known as “Doctor Doom” to many of his patients for the record number of people, including major celebrities, who had died after appearing on his show RockStar Rehab on HBO, he no longer felt that he could afford to be associated with the sprawling, beautiful campus, a whited sepulcher plump to bursting with awful unclean bones and worse.
“I am not Doctor Doom,” he’d told reporters at the time. “I am a human being.” You could have heard crickets, even the sound of tumbleweed families rolling down avenues of sin.
“That is to say…those patients were going to die…anyway.”
“Ahem.” The small bear cleared his throat. Dr. Pansky looked up from his laptop. He’d nodded off. Too many late nights with Dr. Brownstone and Dr. J.
“I heard all about your patient, Eyelish Kiernan. She went all aggro on her boss, right?”
“Wasn’t me,” said Pansky irritably.
“Of course not,” said Reynaldo, the World’s Smallest Circus Bear.
An endless unquiet pause ensued.
Then: “Have you ever considered yoga and meditation?” asked Reynaldo, raising a thoughtful paw.
“Anyway,” said Pansky, slapping himself awake like Satan’s own bitch, “this is not and has never been about me. It’s about you. It’s about Reynaldo, literally the World’s Smallest Circus Bear. It’s about your childhood trauma, the death of your parents in a fire that you started when you fired up your first joint and casually tossed it to the forest floor. It’s about your journey through being a CIA asset to realizing your grandiose ambition to become the Bear Messiah, bringer of the Secret Wisdom and Sexy Shmexiness. It’s about your collaboration with the author of THE DEATH JAZZ, Alex S. Johnson, and the way Johnson has used me as a recurrent character in stories such as ‘Vitonic: For Your Life!,’ ‘Looker,’ and even referenced me and Los De Abajo Hospital under a different name between the pages of Morbid Curiosity Magazine, edited by Loren Rhoads.”
“That Johnson dude? Never trust him,” said the bear, shedding a single, tiny tear.
“Oh yeah? I thought as much. He sent me quite the nasty barbed memo when I…”
“When you…”
“When I…harrrumph…Satan’s Jeweled Cock…I must protest…”
“Look into my eyes, see who I am,” said Reynaldo, smiling. Twin flames danced in his cheeky chocolate brown eyes.
“The…the Devil!!!” cried Dr. Pansky.
“No. A thousand times no. I must protest,” said the bear with an air of injured innocence. “The Devil would be someone who trades his good name to become a shill for Big Pharma, pushing bullshit psych medications whilst condemning a substance that is legal in many states, including this one, California, where you practice…I’m talking about the sticky Black Sabbath wrote a song about…it will free your mind muh friend…”
“No…” shrieked Pansky. “That way lies chaos and schizophrenia!” He cleared his throat. “I and my colleague Dr. Thomas Hermuzti have declared that delta nine THC, otherwise known as murrrrrr…eeee….wa…”
“Go on, say it. I see you shiver in antici…”
“No.”
“You know why you’re such an awful person and went on mixed martial arts expert and lame-ass comedian Shmoe Rogaine’s show to spread anti-vax disinformation on behalf of your Big Pharma handlers is…”
“Nooooo…”
“You’re a fraud and you want to dress in a bra and panties and suck me off, doncha…that’s your shameful secret. But you’re too much of a fucking narcissist to admit it…let me tell you what, the rock stars you condemn because they check in under what you call a ‘phony name’ to this bish up in here are actually pretty fucking cool, whereas you yourself are a disappointment to your patients, everybody who trusted you, yourself, your long-suffering parents, your wife…”
“Have you no decency? Have you no ethics? Have you no morality? Fortunately nobody will ever have the unmitigated umbrage to publish a story with a scenario such as you’ve just lain out for me….”
“Are you 100% sure about that? What about HORROR SLEAZE TRASH?”
Pansky gulped, then smiled. “Not even HST.”
The bear smiled too. Very wide.
“Ok,so I do have quite the yen for forced feminization and crawling on muh hands n’ knees like a little bitch…”
“There you go muh goodman, my Young Goodman Brownstone,…”
“Why do you insist on making up awful nicknames for me? I do NOT have an addiction. I am not an addict. I TREAT addicts like…”
“Like?” Reynaldo made a signature gesture, the one he used when he was about to juggle chainsaws while negotiating a unicycle across a flaming tightrope?”
“Like…”
“Admitting you have a problem is literally the first step…”
Dr Pansky rose from his chair and kicked it over, sporting an enormous erection. He unzipped and began to furiously masturbate. The bear dove for cover just in time to avoid being caught in the eye with a geyser of hot jissom.
“You’ve gone and spoilt it! Damn you!!! I was going to save that one for muh spank bank for all time!!!”
“Seriously?” Reynaldo said in a tone of pained dignity. “But you know what? I think we’ve both been played.”
“How so?” said Dr. Pansky. The infamous host of RockStar Rehab attempted to seize a clutch of fur to wipe his still-spurting cock off on. The bear tucked and rolled, rolled and tucked, and kept rocking and rolling, rolling, rolling out into the long shock corridor of Los De Abajo Hospital. He could hear the LAPD choppers overhead. He knew he was in trouble once again. And he revelled in it.
He adored it.
It made his day.
Alex S. Johnson proof-read the story one more time, then typed:
THE END?
Horror Sleaze Trash 