Break Out

Was rolled out of my room late this morning by Theovaldus and Theovaldus’ assistant, Kemji, a swarthy, squat gentleman with the permanent scowl of a gravedigger. Kemji, I was certain, had rifled through my pockets before rolling me into the corridor, though I’m sure my plastic sheet (the exudations resulting from aggravated hydrocolloidal liposis had necessitated this change of materials) has no pockets. I was taken to Room 201 for a late breakfast of Vanadium injections and then palpated roughly about the buttocks and chest. ‘Breasts’ Kemji had cackled. I was then rolled out of Room 201 and into Room 208, where I was lathered in an anti-friction ointment and wrapped in a suit of rubber phosphate that molded immediately to the contours of my enlarged shape, easily accommodating my increasingly bloated appendages and abdominal regions (the heat lamps, I suspect). Kemji, as I was spread out before him in my rubber suit and utterly defenseless, told me that he had watched every one of my films back in his ‘town’ and that they all sucked. He made an ambiguous gesture. He said that if anyone where he came from (where exactly did he come from?) had made such trash he would have been strung up and whipped with cowhide. He spat. Theovaldus dismissed his partner and called in another whose name I’ve forgotten, and realizing that it would be less of a hassle with a third helper, called in a third man, and in this way I was rolled to the end of the B Wing and into the Glycerin Chamber.

Just before leaving me there, Theovaldus offered me a Twinkie on the sly. Naturally, I refused and was injected instead with Methionine and given a chunk of Yohimbe bark to chew on to keep my saliva flowing. Before us stood a massive tank as tall as a silo with filmy, transparent walls. It seemed to be filled with a gently purling zinc-colored liquid. A team of lab technicians rolled me onto a rubber platform and signaled to the rest of the team in the control room to lower a hydraulic crane, which, in a matter of seconds, had lifted the platform two stories up and emptied me into the tank, where, due to the rubber phosphate, I floated. Several seconds later a lab technician dove into the tank in scuba diving gear and connected what must have been Dr. Rangou’s most elaborate and powerful irrigator to my suit, gave me the thumbs up and jumped back out.

I remember little of the rest of the day. By 3 o’clock I had chewed the Yohimbe bark to a twiggy paste but couldn’t spit it out because I couldn’t turn over. Periodically, the irrigator would switch on and flush like a jack hammer and then, as suddenly, suck at my bowels until I was sure I had none to speak of. Throughout this time, I caught out of the corner of my eye groups of anxious scientists observing me in 5-minute shifts, scribbling feverishly on the clipboards and darting off. The glycerin, Theovaldus had made perfectly clear, was ionized and was the only hope I had of coaxing the malignant fat out of my system before I . . . I really don’t want to think about this.

At 5 o’clock I was removed from the tank and rolled to my room, where I quickly passed out. At 10 I awoke, having dreamt again of Chundrag Dorje, this time as a pickled herring chasing me with a fork; a significant dream in that I had always chased after the meals in my dreams and now Chundrag Dorje was chasing me! He was trying to tell me something, I was certain. I meditated immediately, thanking my mentor, and quickly contacted Chatto telepathically, ordering him to find a peasant with a wagon and at least six or seven strong village men. By 11, robed in plastic, I was lifted into a pig cart by Montado, a local farmer, and seven of his stoutest sons. By 1 in the morning I was sitting in Montado’s stable supping on Montado’s excellent foie de gras and a platter of steaming pigs’ feet. At midnight, I was transferred by cattle trailer to the local airstrip in Arcueil, and from there by a transport plane kindly arranged by the Emergency Grain Distribution Agency of a nearby canton to Orly, where I am now sitting outside a French McDonald’s at an Internet terminal awaiting my flight back home to Hollywood. Gary, if you read this, please warm up the Buddhist Water Garden.

Yesterday’s Meals
Breakfast
Vanadium injection (o points)

Lunch
Methionine injection, Yohimbe bark (o points)

Late Dinner
21 oz. foie de gras, pigs’ feet (3 points)

Pre-Breakfast Snack
2 Royal Deluxes, large pommes frittes, small pommes frittes, 3 Croque Mc Dos, Recette au Saumon, Asterix Happy Meal (surprised, and encouraged, that the French had this), McFlurry, bottle of Evian.

My Weight: Didn’t have the opportunity to weigh myself yesterday but I’ve got my fingers crossed.