I've been so tired, Doktor.

[President Television]

I've never had an easy time staying awake, but lately, Dok, lately it's all been worse than usual. This happens from time to time. Occasionally, I'll have a day of lucidity if I'm lucky, but it's worse far more often than it's ever better. I don't know if there's a name for what I'm talking about, but I think you might be familiar with it. There's no energy. No sense of motivation. Sure, there are things I want to do, but they're all abstract. It never actually occurs to me to pursue what I want. I'm dizzy and confused, and as I go about my routine I find it hard to keep my head up. I feel like there's some kind of invisible red-white parasite affixed to the back of my skull and draining my life force, proboscis firmly embedded in my pineal gland. Everything starts to go kind of transparent, like animated film cutouts hanging on wires. And here's the scary part: sometimes, it starts to float. I don't know what's wrong with me, Dok, but sometimes I feel like I'm not even here in the real world. This place, whatever it is, it makes me think of the Twilight Zone.
Ever see Terror at 20,000 Feet? I think I'm like the man on the plane, and I'm looking out the window, and I see the crazy blue ape, chewing his way through that wing. It terrifies me, but what's crazy is I kind of want to be that ape. See, I know that when the plane crashes, the ape's going down with it, but at least the ape's going down with a good laugh. The ape gets to indulge its self-destructive impulses. I want to climb out that window, I want to join it, but I don't like heights to begin with. And it's so lonely out there. So cold. Hear that howling? That's not the wind, my good doktor. That's me. Nobody hears it, though. Nobody wants to. And maybe that's a good thing, because it seems like every word out of this idiot mouth just makes things worse. Maybe if they weren't all busy pinning down the crazyman they'd look out the window and see what's going on. Maybe they'd see the monkey that I see.

[E.O.T.]

SOUNDS LIKE

          opposites. DOK HOWL can't sleep.

DOK HOWL

          sounds moar like that purple ape - which you see staring out the window of the plane! He's chewing on tha wing...

[President Television]

SOUNDS LIKE

          opposites. DOK HOWL can't sleep.

DOK HOWL

          sounds moar like that purple ape - which you see staring out the window of the plane! He's chewing on tha wing...

Yeah, this kind of occurred to me. Still, if anyone can help, it's probably the big blue beastie himself.

[E.O.T.]

HEh

          I guess the ape IS actually blue

SEE

          I was thinking "grape ape, grape ape"

[President Television]

HEh

          I guess the ape IS actually blue

SEE

          I was thinking "grape ape, grape ape"

Bonzi Buddies, anyone?

[Doktor Howl]

I've never had an easy time staying awake, but lately, Dok, lately it's all been worse than usual. This happens from time to time. Occasionally, I'll have a day of lucidity if I'm lucky, but it's worse far more often than it's ever better. I don't know if there's a name for what I'm talking about, but I think you might be familiar with it. There's no energy. No sense of motivation. Sure, there are things I want to do, but they're all abstract. It never actually occurs to me to pursue what I want. I'm dizzy and confused, and as I go about my routine I find it hard to keep my head up. I feel like there's some kind of invisible red-white parasite affixed to the back of my skull and draining my life force, proboscis firmly embedded in my pineal gland. Everything starts to go kind of transparent, like animated film cutouts hanging on wires. And here's the scary part: sometimes, it starts to float. I don't know what's wrong with me, Dok, but sometimes I feel like I'm not even here in the real world. This place, whatever it is, it makes me think of the Twilight Zone.
Ever see Terror at 20,000 Feet? I think I'm like the man on the plane, and I'm looking out the window, and I see the crazy blue ape, chewing his way through that wing. It terrifies me, but what's crazy is I kind of want to be that ape. See, I know that when the plane crashes, the ape's going down with it, but at least the ape's going down with a good laugh. The ape gets to indulge its self-destructive impulses. I want to climb out that window, I want to join it, but I don't like heights to begin with. And it's so lonely out there. So cold. Hear that howling? That's not the wind, my good doktor. That's me. Nobody hears it, though. Nobody wants to. And maybe that's a good thing, because it seems like every word out of this idiot mouth just makes things worse. Maybe if they weren't all busy pinning down the crazyman they'd look out the window and see what's going on. Maybe they'd see the monkey that I see.

You have to learn to use that inner monkey.  Learn where it wants to go and what it wants to do, and then make it get off its fat ass and GO AND DO those things.  No sin, no banana.  It's really that simple.

What do you think Mr Rogers did when the camera wasn't on him, Captain?  You think he really dreamed up The Neighborhood of Make-Believe on a cup of coffee?  Hell, no.  That took some serious fucking weirdness and rolling around in the filth in Pittsburgh back alleys.  Fred Rogers was feared in that town, at least by the people that knew the score, and he was quick to jack anyone he caught slipping.  It wasn't just for Prince Tuesday's bling collection, either.  It was just how he rolled.

Of course it all went bad when Fred let his lives touch, and he beat the fuck out of Mr McFeely on camera.  He tried to play it off with a big smile, but the blood spatters on his face and his grin made children cry from coast to coast, and the network finally had to step in.  On August 31st, 2001, production stopped.  The fact that 911 happened 12 days later is, of course, no coincidence.  Without Fred Rogers, the world went bad.

Won't you be my neighbor, Cap'n?

[President Television]

You have to learn to use that inner monkey.  Learn where it wants to go and what it wants to do, and then make it get off its fat ass and GO AND DO those things.  No sin, no banana.  It's really that simple.

What do you think Mr Rogers did when the camera wasn't on him, Captain?  You think he really dreamed up The Neighborhood of Make-Believe on a cup of coffee?  Hell, no.  That took some serious fucking weirdness and rolling around in the filth in Pittsburgh back alleys.  Fred Rogers was feared in that town, at least by the people that knew the score, and he was quick to jack anyone he caught slipping.  It wasn't just for Prince Tuesday's bling collection, either.  It was just how he rolled.

Of course it all went bad when Fred let his lives touch, and he beat the fuck out of Mr McFeely on camera.  He tried to play it off with a big smile, but the blood spatters on his face and his grin made children cry from coast to coast, and the network finally had to step in.  On August 31st, 2001, production stopped.  The fact that 911 happened 12 days later is, of course, no coincidence.  Without Fred Rogers, the world went bad.

Won't you be my neighbor, Cap'n?

I'd love to, Dok, but the street's filthy and rutted, and all the houses are beaten to shit. What can I say, it's an ugly neighborhood. I don't know if I can live on that street every day, the Truth gazing at me out of those broken glass eyes across the street. I mean, some of them are boarded up, but you know it's still peeking out the gaps in the boards. Those holes in the glass are pretty big, too. I recon if you stayed out in the open over there for too long, those little black imps with their Truthful claws would pick you up and carry you somewhere else. Maybe somewhere dark and wet, maybe somewhere under warped floorboards and yellowed plastic siding. Imagine the property value. Those creatures could tie me to a chair, Dok. They'd tie me up and they'd whisper in my ears. I don't know what they'd whisper, but I do know what happens to you after they've whispered for long enough. I've seen the autopsy reports. And I don't know who put those nails in the victims' ears, but I know I don't want to find out for myself.

But maybe you're right. If I won't get off my ass and move down to the hellhole you're living in, who will? And we all know some of us have to live down there. Monsters breed in that neighborhood. Imagine where we'd all be without exterminators.

[Doktor Howl]

I'd love to, Dok, but the street's filthy and rutted, and all the houses are beaten to shit. What can I say, it's an ugly neighborhood. I don't know if I can live on that street every day, the Truth gazing at me out of those broken glass eyes across the street. I mean, some of them are boarded up, but you know it's still peeking out the gaps in the boards. Those holes in the glass are pretty big, too. I recon if you stayed out in the open over there for too long, those little black imps with their Truthful claws would pick you up and carry you somewhere else. Maybe somewhere dark and wet, maybe somewhere under warped floorboards and yellowed plastic siding. Imagine the property value. Those creatures could tie me to a chair, Dok. They'd tie me up and they'd whisper in my ears. I don't know what they'd whisper, but I do know what happens to you after they've whispered for long enough. I've seen the autopsy reports. And I don't know who put those nails in the victims' ears, but I know I don't want to find out for myself.

But maybe you're right. If I won't get off my ass and move down to the hellhole you're living in, who will? And we all know some of us have to live down there. Monsters breed in that neighborhood. Imagine where we'd all be without exterminators.

What is there to be said about a city whose monsters are more real than the normal citizens?

Because we've got monsters, Capn', here in the high desert where everything is true and nothing is permitted.  Don't leave the main road, and for God's sake stay out of the thousands of abandoned mines that dot the surrounding landscape.  But those are the monsters that are easy to deal with.  A shotgun full of silver dimes, and you're gonna be okay.

But some of our monsters, well, they look just like you and I.  They smile, and they're professional, and they beat the mortal shit out of their wives 6 times a year.  They teach school, they sell insurance, and nobody ever saw Little Billy again, ya dig?

So I'm not suggesting that you be my neighbor, Captain.  I'm begging you.

[Kai]

Also, in before GRABBIN PILLS.