Dr. Greumach MacFothaidh
Ghost of Dr. Donald Ewen Cameron
Dr. Sigismund Crookshank
Voices of Jack
Kennedy, Ian Duncan Smith, George Osborne, Dr. Jeffrey Lieberman,
Prof. Joseph Biederman, Dr. Jack Carruthers-Smythe
©
Thomas Hoskyns Leonard September 2015
ACT 1
Scene 1
A dimly lit
waiting room, with a screen on the back wall. Trithagoras is camp,
man-sized and cat-like, with blue furry skin, whiskers, and a big
bushy tail. He talks with a lisp. Dr. Greumach McFothaidh is a
distinguished looking,
clean-shaven, white-haired octogenarian. He talks with a Glaswegian
accent.
ENTER
TRITHAGORAS. A PICTURE OF QINSATORIX FLASHES ONTO SCREEN
TRITHAGORAS:
Why hi there, fellow humanoids! Welcome to the Royal Nuke
Loony Bin in Fairmilehead, Edinburgh, just by the Hell’s End
ski-slope. I'm Trithagoras, the Minister of Philosophical
Re-Interpretation on your multi-cultural sister planet Qinsatorix,
and I'm sometimes referred to as the Cicero of the Aton star system.
ENTER GREUMACH
WIELDING LARGE RED BOOK, HE BURPS LOUDLY. TRITHAGORAS GIVES HIM A
DISDAINFUL LOOK.
TRITHAGORAS
(TO AUDIENCE): And, my good
folk, I've time-warped
to Scotland to further investigate how your cynical Establishment
controls and subdues your proletariat and
bourgoisie.
GREUMACH: Michty me! Deil tak the hindmist! Michty me!
TRITHAGORAS
GIVES GREUMACH ANOTHER DISDAINFUL LOOK, AND FLICKS HIS WHISKERS
TRITHAGORAS (TO
AUDIENCE): He sounds like one of the more delusional inmates in
God-forsaken establishment.
GREUMACH (looking
at Trithagoras): Radge! Radge heidbanger! Radge!
TRITHAGORAS:
Speak for yourself, you foolish fellow. (TO AUDIENCE) As I was
about to say, I am utterly gobsmacked by your Workfare program. Your
volunteers, and that’s a joke in itself, are treated far worse than
our grovelling Apollo and dipshit Yankee slaves on Qinsatorix. Even
the laziest of our minions get fed before they're crocohorse-whipped.
GREUMACH: What
are you doing here, pussy cat? You look as if you’ve just escaped
from the Intensive Care Unit with a needle in your knackers.
TRITHAGORAS
(indignantly): I’m not a cat! I’m the noble Trithagoras, a
felixian and a proud member of my species. Begone from my
mid-afternoon psychosis, old man.
GREUMACH: I’m
real enough. I’m Dr. Greumach McFothaidh, the resident
psychoanalytic psychotherapist in this thrice-cursed establishment. I
was trained as a youth by R.D. Laing, you know.
TRITHAGORAS
(looking surprised): I would never have guessed that you're a
psychotherapist, and I'm most impressed. Laing encouraged his
patients to embrace their madness, and he sent them tripping on LSD
for good measure.
GREUMACH: Alas! I
long for those Halcyon days, Trithagoras. The Glasgow Royal has long
since gone to pot, and nowadays all my inpatients have been so
brain-fried by either ECT or those damned psychiatric medications
that they bleep back at me like the sheep they have become.
TRITHAGORAS: The
reason I’m here, Greumach, is that two young people on Workfare
called Timothy and Tracy have recently volunteered to kowtow to your
Dr. Sigismund Crookshank for thirty hours a week.
GREUMACH: He's a
pain in the neck if ever there was one.
TRITHAGORAS. So
I've heard. I’m planning to follow Timothy and Tracy into Dr.
Crookshank's office in my magical panther suit to observe how Dr.
Crookshank endeavours to control them.
GREUMACH: That
will be interesting, Our clinical psychiatrists endeavour to control
vast swathes of our population with their malicious maltreatments.
Maybe Crookshank will subdue the volunteers with toxic psych meds
too.
TRITHAGORAS:
That's barbaric. Those treatments belong to a bygone age.
GREUMACH: They
certainly do. And how do you felixians endeavour to control each
other?
TRITHAGORAS: On
Qinsatorix we simply send our mentally ill to the Archipelago of the
Eternal Life-Giving Insects for a month and they come back as sane as
the fiery dragon god Aleph-Baal himself.
GREUMACH:
Qinsatorix? How delightful, I was there in my Freudian dreams only
last night. I simply love your Crown Princess's antler-shaped breasts
and green pubie-shunter.
TRITHAGORAS
(chuckling): Your highly vivid sense of imagination is not
entirely off the wall, old bean.
GREUMACH: While
most psychotherapists are a touch psychopathic, I am not at all
psychotic, my good--er--man.
ENTER THE
SKELETAL GHOST OF DR. DONALD EWEN CAMERON, THE
GHOST OF A WIZENED OLD MAN
GREUMACH: Not you again, Ewen Cameron! A pox on your mind control
experiments! You even abused children in torture suits, as well as
all those vulnerable adults, while you were fixing their minds with
your confounded chemicals and electric shocks.
CAMERON: The entire world order was at stake. What those damned
liberals did to Joe McCarthy beggars belief.
TRITHAGORAS (Aside to audience): This is the a mere ghost of
an obnoxious twerp who died in 1967 in Lake Placid, New York. They
should have killed him during the Kennedy era several years earlier.
He was the director of the C.I.A.'s mind control program at McGill
University, and he devised the most outrageously cruel ways of
dehumanising thousands of well-meaning citizens.
GREUMACH: You're well informed for a space alien, Trithagoras, though
The C.I.A.'s barbaric mind control program is better known nowadays
as the MK Ultra project.
CAMERON (chuckling manically): MK Ultra! Yes! There was
nothing Jack Kennedy could to stop us, either in Montreal or all
around the U.S. of fucking A.
PICTURE OF
JACK KENNEDY APPEARS ON SCREEN
VOICE OF KENNEDY: We are opposed around this world by a monolithic
ruthless conspiracy that relies on covert means for a sphere of
influence, on infiltration instead of invasion, on subversion instead
of elections, on intimidation instead of free choice, on guerillas by
night instead of armies by day.
GREUMACH: Way to go, Jack! I've often wondered who the monolithic
ruthless conspirators really are. In my worst moments, I think
they're the all-powerful paedophiles, the ones who murder their
hapless prey, those who control Britain at this very moment while
sacrificing some of their number to protect the rest.
TRITHAGORAS: A fanciful conspiracy theory if ever there was one!
According to our imperially funded interplanetary Q.I.A. and
Q.C.H.Q. investigations, the monolithic conspirators are all on the
board of the huge pharmaceutical company Das Grösste
Pharmaunternehmen of Munich, or Grösste
Pharma for short.
GREUMACH: They sound as if they're even worse than Glaxo-Smith-Kline
and Merck.
TRITHAGORAS (pondering): That could be true, I suppose. If my
sources in the Qatermass cell of the Q.I.A. are to be believed,
Grösste Pharma helped the
Nazis to orchestrate their mass extermination of their mental
disabled citizens during the 1930s. And then they helped the CIA to
initiate MK Ultra in North America during the late 1950s.
CAMERON: Kennedy knew about our activities, but he struggled to do
anything about them. He tried repeatedly to stop our mind experiments
in Montreal since he knew we were creating a race of well-controlled
super-minions, including a selection of gifted paedophiles, who would
help Grösste Pharma to
infiltrate every single institution around the world.
TRITHAGORAS: Unfortunately, Allan Dulles and the backstabbing zombies
in the C.I.A. got the better of him in 1963.
VOICE OF KENNEDY: There is a plot in this country to enslave every
man, woman, and child, and before I leave this high and noble office,
I intend to expose this plot.
TRITHAGORAS: Jack said that seven days before his assassination and
it sealed his fate.
CAMERON (chuckling): It certainly did. Kennedy was shot
through his head from the grassy knoll by a bushy-haired C.I.A. agent
called George Bung, or whatever.
TRITHAGORAS: According to my interplanetary sources, Jack knew only
too well that Grösste Pharma
intended in the long term to turn your proletariats into lapdogs and
dummies by putting chemicals into their food and giving them
medications which poison their enzymes.
CAMERON: Yes indeed! And the free spirits are getting branded as
mentally disabled to this very day, so that their enzymes can be
fried with psych meds and their brains with electric shocks.
GREUMACH (snarling): Michty michty me! Your wicked mind
control experiments gave rise to an entirely new brand of psychiatry,
Cameron. Nowadays, the clinical psychiatrists dominate our
profession, and torture, destroy, and murder their patients, while
pretending to try to cure them.
CAMERON (laughing): We couldn't have done it without the help
of the arch-boffins at Columbia University, and the paedophile
eugenicists from University College London.
GREUMACH: And the dreadfully sadistic Dr. William Sargant of St.
Thomas's Hospital London, who changed and besmirched the face of
British psychiatry beyond recognition.
PICTURE OF DR. WILLIAM SARGANT FLASHES
ONTO SCREEN
CAMERON (chuckling): That wimp wasn't in the same class as me.
GREUMACH: I'm sure he wasn't. And now the pompous prat who's Head of
Psychiatry at Columbia reigns supreme, while he and his cohorts put
the homos, the loose women, and the unconventional into very painful
biochemical straightjackets.
PICTURE OF DR. JEFFREY LIEBERMAN
FLASHES ONTO SCREEN
TRITHAGORAS: Your Sir Francis Galton started it all when he invented
Eugenics at UCL during the 1880s. However, HE thought that mind
control could be used to create a superior race of men and women
rather than just a privileged aristocracy.
PICTURE OF SIR FRANCIS GALTON FLASHES
ONTO SCREEN
CAMERON: Who gives a shit? The innoculations help a bit too,
especially when the silly kiddy-widdies suffer from curious
allergies.
GREUMACH (shouting): You might have graduated from Glasgow
University, Ewen Cameron, but you're no friend of mine.
CAMERON:
Who gives a fuck?
Psychotherapists just sit on their fat arses while their patients
spew hot air.
GREUMACH SEIZES CAMERON AROUND THROAT
GREUMACH: I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you.
CAMERON (screaming): Ye cannae, ye glaikit heidbanger. Ah'm
awriddy deid
.
GREUMACH KICKS
CAMERON IN HIS CROTCH. CAMERON YOWLS HIS HEAD OFF AND FALLS PRONE
ONTO FLOOR
TRITHAGORAS: So much for that piece of shit
GREUMACH: Welcome to Kafka's Castle. You haven't met the rest of the
turds yet.
