Patrons at Gambays last night were dumbfounded when John Hefner, Leader of the WCE’s Sexpat Party, stumbled in, trembling and incoherent. "I’m befuddled and terrified – outer space creatures kidnapped me!", Hefner wailed.
Hefner said "I’d been up at the Hui Shan Alpine Chateau Ski Club, relaxing with a friend. Then, with my pipe, and bathrobe, I slipped outside for a breath of fresh night-air. Next thing I knew I awoke in a space-ship. Through the windows I could see the red planet Mars, just below. Strange-looking beings examined my body, and they put a dome-thing with wires on my cranium.
"Some of these creatures, he stammered, "had male characteristics; others appeared to be females – they were hot and gorgeous, except that they had only one eye. Then I was whisked back to Earth, and the Expatdom, and found myself back on the familiar turf of the 1912 Bar District."
Fortuitously, long-term Expatdom resident, Doctor Ben Casey MD, now retired, happened to be in Gambays. "Give me room, people, I need to examine John, and then develop a well-formed diagnostic-prognostication."
The doctor then carried-out the conventional clinical-procedure for such cases, by first drenching Hefner with cold water, slapping his face, and running a geiger-counter over him. "Hand me my forceps, and, quickly, a discombobulator!", barked the doctor.
Doctor Ben Casey said he could find nothing physically-wrong with John, "but I worked in close association with psychiatrists at John Hopkins, and so I am qualified to now pronounce my diagnosis."
He said that John’s condition was just a mild short-term psychological-impairment, "which, in concise, lay-terminology, is described as ‘a symbolic enactment of deeply entrenched unconscious dysfunctional hyponeural interpersonal atrophy with a history of mutual reinforcement and the facilitation of neural norepinephrine linkages due to a progressively heightened plateau and his prevalent psychobiological reactivity to his prevalent relationships with self and others atypical of sex-addictive disorders’ ".
A much-relieved John Hefner was glad to hear that it had all been in his mind, and apologised to everyone for creating a false alarm. He acknowledged that the mental-fatigue of overworking himself for the cause of the Sexpat Party, and the WCE, had been responsible for his hallucinatory-experience. "It’s time I slowed-down a bit", he sighed. Bar patrons then resumed their sword-fighting.
Frank Minkleman, brother of Fred Minkleman, offered Hefner a half-priced double-brandy. "No thanks", Hefner replied, "n’gop’EEP’I’r’l, – I’d prefer a eekz’ow-ak’org’aq’eoylISK na’knDu’, please, with a dash of jup’oy’pu’na’w, kuj’v’aDp’ogts".