The Final Days of Dr.Kelly
--------------------------
Foreword
Death, the one thing certain and
the thing most uncertain; the
road from which no traveller
returns... Joe Smith
April 18th
Today is October 3rd - my diary is running slow - and I, Dr.Gene Kelly,
named after the famous Irish Chromosome, have decided to commit my final
thoughts and actions to paper. I have never maintained any such journal
before, unless you count the record of my journey around the great market
towns of England I etched onto my grandmothers back before flogging her
in public. Prior to proceeding with my tale, I must confess to two
important details. Firstly, I am an incurable romantic sadist of the old
boy meets girl/boy whips boy variety, and secondly I am a Catholic. Both
of these irrelevances will become relevant in due course. Apart from
this, I consider myself an alright sort of chap. Except I'm not a chap
at all but a big busted, fully grown woman with a woman's instincts, and
yet, only five days ago, I was Dennis Spencer, an international snooker
referee. This is my story.
April 13th
Today I finished refereeing the first leg of the Dunhill masters and got
into an argument with Jimmy White. Perhaps I was foolish to smear Cran-
berry sauce across Jimmy's bottom as he bent down to clip a tricky pink
into the middle. He reacted violently and threw the black at me, im-
pacting about an inch below where my right eye would have been if I
hadn't lost it in a bet with a Bangladeshi. When I awoke I was in a dark
room. I knew it was a dark room because the man standing at the foot of
the bed said "I'll be right with you as soon as I finish developing
these prints." His name was Ashley. My head was reeling and as is usual
under great stress I was wondering: Whatever happened to Dr. And The
Medics? Ashley cocked his head and said:
"They released two other singles after Spirit In The Sky, Burn which
reached no. 29 and Waterloo, a re-working of the old Abba favourite. Roy
Wood sang on the latter."
I was astonished.
"I have the ability to read minds," Ashley said. He obviously missed the
point. The astonishing part was why anybody would take any interest
whatsoever in the chart career of Dr. And The Medics, but by now he was
pursuing his point with vigour.
"Forgive my little ways Mr Spencer. I found you dressed in a torn
referee's outfit outside the Crucible in a dustbin covered in urine. I
tested it and found it belonged to a top snooker player but I'm not sure
which one. I am an inventor."
Just then the door slammed shut. "This is my sister, Esmerelda. She is
deaf, dumb, blind, mad, armless, legless and headless. Her only pleasure
is allowing the village boys to plunder her. When friends come to stay
I use her as a pillow. She will show you to your room."
The three of us waited in silence for an hour before Ashley remembered
his sister couldn't walk.
Outside my bedroom door he paused and said..."The last person to visit
my sister and myself here did so some twenty four years past." I asked
him why this was so? He muttered something about buying a timeshare flat
near Looe in Cornwall. As he struggled along the landing in his motor-
ised wheelchair he paused, turned to me and said "You can go anywhere
in this house, do anything, touch anything, but whatever you do, do
not go into the room at the top of the stairs."
He gestured with the dead carp he was planning to cook a little later
and then with one incredible burst of energy, leaned forward in his
wheelchair and bumped down all eighteen steps on his bottom.
That night I dreamt I was being chased by a man wielding the Saturday
Night Fever album. I awoke, covered in sweat, singing 'Staying Alive'.
I felt unusually drawn towards the room at the top of the stairs. As I
climbed towards the inconspicuous door I heard a moaning, panting sound.
I placed my hand on the door knob, but the door flung open as if some
force from within had finally broken free. I hid behind a giant cardboard
promotional copy of 'Tartan: The Official Biography Of The Bay City
Rollers.' A young man ran out doing up his trousers and Esmerelda rolled
out just behind him. I looked inside the room.
At first it seemed to be a large microwave oven until I drew nearer and
saw the words 'Matter Transmogrifier' scratched into a metal plate. I
climbed inside. Just the the door closed and through a window I could
see Ashley holding up his sister and laughing. There was a whirring
sound followed by a chugging and a salty smell in the air as if some-
body had used this thing to wash their feet, cook anchovies or perhaps
...make love. Ashley was laughing uncontrollably as I smashed my hands
against the window. As I began to fade in unconsciousness I saw a
small deflated balloon in the machine with me.
The next thing I knew I was back at the Crucible Theatre. It was as if
the entire episode had been some fantastic experiment grown from my
imagination. Dennis Taylor was 6 frames to 2 ahead against Cliff
Thorburn, who asked me to clean the white. As I bent over and pressed
my hands against the nap of the cloth, a tiny droplet of milky fluid
rippled off the green beize table. And then it was followed by the
strangest of sensations, as if my head was being squeezed into a roll
of clingfilm. I gazed across the table to Taylor. The reflection in
his glasses told me all I needed to know.
An hour later and I was walking down the streets of Sheffield. My vision
was strongly impaired and my skin had become rubbery. I tried to feel my
skull but it had dissolved into a warm fluid. I stopped outside a shop
and looked into a mirror. I was changing into a human condom, and a post
coital one at that.
Within a matter of days I will find it impossible to continue with my
journal.
April 14th, 15th, 16th
Took the kids camping to Wales.
April 17th
I can barely move. I've covered myself in ladies clothing and must begin
to live a new life as Dr. Gene Kelly. As long as no-one touches me,
smells me, or tries to enter into any kind of personal relationship with
me, I will be able to lead a normal life.
--------------------------
Foreword
Death, the one thing certain and
the thing most uncertain; the
road from which no traveller
returns... Joe Smith
April 18th
Today is October 3rd - my diary is running slow - and I, Dr.Gene Kelly,
named after the famous Irish Chromosome, have decided to commit my final
thoughts and actions to paper. I have never maintained any such journal
before, unless you count the record of my journey around the great market
towns of England I etched onto my grandmothers back before flogging her
in public. Prior to proceeding with my tale, I must confess to two
important details. Firstly, I am an incurable romantic sadist of the old
boy meets girl/boy whips boy variety, and secondly I am a Catholic. Both
of these irrelevances will become relevant in due course. Apart from
this, I consider myself an alright sort of chap. Except I'm not a chap
at all but a big busted, fully grown woman with a woman's instincts, and
yet, only five days ago, I was Dennis Spencer, an international snooker
referee. This is my story.
April 13th
Today I finished refereeing the first leg of the Dunhill masters and got
into an argument with Jimmy White. Perhaps I was foolish to smear Cran-
berry sauce across Jimmy's bottom as he bent down to clip a tricky pink
into the middle. He reacted violently and threw the black at me, im-
pacting about an inch below where my right eye would have been if I
hadn't lost it in a bet with a Bangladeshi. When I awoke I was in a dark
room. I knew it was a dark room because the man standing at the foot of
the bed said "I'll be right with you as soon as I finish developing
these prints." His name was Ashley. My head was reeling and as is usual
under great stress I was wondering: Whatever happened to Dr. And The
Medics? Ashley cocked his head and said:
"They released two other singles after Spirit In The Sky, Burn which
reached no. 29 and Waterloo, a re-working of the old Abba favourite. Roy
Wood sang on the latter."
I was astonished.
"I have the ability to read minds," Ashley said. He obviously missed the
point. The astonishing part was why anybody would take any interest
whatsoever in the chart career of Dr. And The Medics, but by now he was
pursuing his point with vigour.
"Forgive my little ways Mr Spencer. I found you dressed in a torn
referee's outfit outside the Crucible in a dustbin covered in urine. I
tested it and found it belonged to a top snooker player but I'm not sure
which one. I am an inventor."
Just then the door slammed shut. "This is my sister, Esmerelda. She is
deaf, dumb, blind, mad, armless, legless and headless. Her only pleasure
is allowing the village boys to plunder her. When friends come to stay
I use her as a pillow. She will show you to your room."
The three of us waited in silence for an hour before Ashley remembered
his sister couldn't walk.
Outside my bedroom door he paused and said..."The last person to visit
my sister and myself here did so some twenty four years past." I asked
him why this was so? He muttered something about buying a timeshare flat
near Looe in Cornwall. As he struggled along the landing in his motor-
ised wheelchair he paused, turned to me and said "You can go anywhere
in this house, do anything, touch anything, but whatever you do, do
not go into the room at the top of the stairs."
He gestured with the dead carp he was planning to cook a little later
and then with one incredible burst of energy, leaned forward in his
wheelchair and bumped down all eighteen steps on his bottom.
That night I dreamt I was being chased by a man wielding the Saturday
Night Fever album. I awoke, covered in sweat, singing 'Staying Alive'.
I felt unusually drawn towards the room at the top of the stairs. As I
climbed towards the inconspicuous door I heard a moaning, panting sound.
I placed my hand on the door knob, but the door flung open as if some
force from within had finally broken free. I hid behind a giant cardboard
promotional copy of 'Tartan: The Official Biography Of The Bay City
Rollers.' A young man ran out doing up his trousers and Esmerelda rolled
out just behind him. I looked inside the room.
At first it seemed to be a large microwave oven until I drew nearer and
saw the words 'Matter Transmogrifier' scratched into a metal plate. I
climbed inside. Just the the door closed and through a window I could
see Ashley holding up his sister and laughing. There was a whirring
sound followed by a chugging and a salty smell in the air as if some-
body had used this thing to wash their feet, cook anchovies or perhaps
...make love. Ashley was laughing uncontrollably as I smashed my hands
against the window. As I began to fade in unconsciousness I saw a
small deflated balloon in the machine with me.
The next thing I knew I was back at the Crucible Theatre. It was as if
the entire episode had been some fantastic experiment grown from my
imagination. Dennis Taylor was 6 frames to 2 ahead against Cliff
Thorburn, who asked me to clean the white. As I bent over and pressed
my hands against the nap of the cloth, a tiny droplet of milky fluid
rippled off the green beize table. And then it was followed by the
strangest of sensations, as if my head was being squeezed into a roll
of clingfilm. I gazed across the table to Taylor. The reflection in
his glasses told me all I needed to know.
An hour later and I was walking down the streets of Sheffield. My vision
was strongly impaired and my skin had become rubbery. I tried to feel my
skull but it had dissolved into a warm fluid. I stopped outside a shop
and looked into a mirror. I was changing into a human condom, and a post
coital one at that.
Within a matter of days I will find it impossible to continue with my
journal.
April 14th, 15th, 16th
Took the kids camping to Wales.
April 17th
I can barely move. I've covered myself in ladies clothing and must begin
to live a new life as Dr. Gene Kelly. As long as no-one touches me,
smells me, or tries to enter into any kind of personal relationship with
me, I will be able to lead a normal life.
