"Heavy Mental"
A Kim Possible mini-fic by Mona
Disclaimer: Kim Possible and all characters from the show are copyright Disney.
"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Or was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Or would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.
'That's some catch, that Catch-22,' he observed.
'It's the best there is,' Doc Daneeka agreed. "
--Joseph Heller, Catch-22.
Psychiatrist Doctor Sigmond Frump glanced at the chart of his latest vic-- er, patient. "Interesting one."
Name: Doctor Drakken.
Occupation: Mad scientist.
Physical Description: Blue skin, black hair, medium height, stitched up scar on cheek. (Don't ask!)
Life's Ambition: Take over the world.
Education: High school graduate. Dropped out of Middleton College junior year.
Diagnosis:
The door opened. The shrink smiled. "Come in and sit down. I'm your therapist, Dr. Frump."
"I've heard of you," the patient replied. "And I'm sure you've heard of my work."
"Oh, yeah. Kim Possible ruins your plans every other week, right?"
Dr. Drakken growled. "Don't ever say that again...unless you want the local stonecutters to engrave 'Here lies a dead shrink.' on a block of marble."
Dr. Frump ignored the obvious threat on his life and smiled. "Perhaps we'd better get started. What is your full name?"
"Doctor Drew Lipsky-Drakken."
"Why are you here?"
"The warden sent me. He thinks I should be transferred to an asylum. He really boils my pasta. When you reach for your greatest potential, you're sane. But when your greatest potential is to rule the world, you're insane. It's a Catch-22!"
"OK. Tell me about your childhood. What did your parents do for a living?"
"My father was an environmental scientist and my mother was a military strategist. She got drummed out when I was four or five. Everyone's forgotten why."
"Did your parents ever fight?"
"Not really...well, there was one time when I was eight. My mother and I were working on my science project..."
Ulysses Lipsky entered his house. "Honey, I'm home!" He held out a bouquet of roses. "I stopped by the florist."
His wife looked scornfully at the bright red flowers. "Next time, buy me a thermonuclear warhead. Those will just be dead in a week."
"But they release uranium into the atmosphere. Roses and other plants, on the other hand, remove our carbon dioxide waste and release oxygen into the air--"
"Stop being so politically correct." She snatched the roses and stomped on them, then turned to her son. "Drew, go to your room! It's about to get ugly!"
"Yes, mommy."
"So I assume your mother was the dominant adult in the house."
"Father wasn't able to sit for a week."
"What about your peers?"
"Peers?" Drakken's eyes blazed. "The neighborhood kids used to tease me. I was awkward in high school. And college...just don't ask about college!"
"According to your records, you dropped out. Why? What could possibly hurt you enough to leave?"
"Three names. Bob Chen--"
"No names, please."
"Well, my trio of friends asked me to get dates for the big science department dance. And don't think I didn't hear Henry Ramesh's, er-- one of my friends' comment: "He cannot even get a date for himself." I wasn't going to approach one girl, much less three. I built three robotic girls. They...didn't turn out as great as I planned. Hey, it was short notice!"
"So what happened?"
"They laughed at me! Not even a 'Nice try' or 'Thank you.' Their piercing hysterics could be heard all over the campus! I was the laughingstock of the college! I withdrew the next day and went home to my mother."
"Don't cry, Drewie. Whenever people would laugh at your father, he'd just curl up in a corner and sob. You don't want to end up like that, do you?"
Drew only sucked his thumb. He pulled it out. "Yick. Sometimes I taste like an inferior brand."
"Well, you could change your name. I never did like your father's last name. Lipsky. It just sounds so wimpy."
"But what? Something that will strike terror in the hearts of my enemies."
"I know! You could use my maiden name. Drakken. Doesn't that sound ominous? And lose those glasses. No wonder they laughed at you."
"Maybe I should speak to your mother," commented Dr. Frump. "Where does she live?"
"She's still living in Middleton. Don't bother, though."
"So what happened after that?"
"After I dropped out of college, I got laser eye surgery. Unfortunately, the skin condition I inherited from my father worsened and my complexion became completely blue."
"Oh. Enough about the past. Tell me about yourself now."
"I happen to be the greatest evil genius the world has ever known."
Dr. Frump held up a red-haired rag doll, then used a marker to draw a smiling face on it. "Pretend that this is your archnemesis." He it set on the coffee table, facing the couch. "What would you say to her?"
Drakken sat up and glared at the doll. "I hate you, Kim Possible." He grabbed the doll and attempt to rip the head off, but the neck only stretched. He turned it over and tried to yank out a string on the toy's back. The string retracted.
"What's the sitch?" said the doll.
The mad scientist frowned, then tried to pull off a leg. It refused to budge. "Dr. Frump! You gave me a defective doll!" He threw it to the floor and stamped on it. It was like an ant trying to squash a bar of frozen butter. "What did I ever do to deserve her?! There are other occupations! She could have been the first teenage businesswoman for all I care!" He gasped for air as he tried to pull the arms off the doll. "She's like a roach. Keeps coming back."
Dr. Frump furiously scribbled down notes on his clipboard and held out a crystal globe. "You have a choice, Dr. Drakken. Do you want the world to have this teenage superheroine? Or do you want her vaporized for yourself? It's you or the world."
"ME! ME! ME!" Dr. Drakken kicked the globe. It flew across the room and shattered against a wall.
"Your hour is up." The psychiatrist sighed. "I see this approach isn't working."
"You don't say. I'd have felt better if that were the real Kim Possible. Nevertheless it felt good. Thanks, doctor."
"You're welcome." Dr. Frump scribbled Criminal Insanity secondary to Persecution Complex in the space marked 'Diagnosis'. "I almost feel sorry for him." He wrote down, Egomaniacal and selfish, possible Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Also exhibits signs of destructive behavior, poor social skills, and inappropriate anger. Come on, Sigmond thought. Can't the guy even laugh at himself? He threw down the clipboard. "I knew I should have been a high school counselor. Maybe it's not too late!" He opened his briefcase, stuffed the contents of his desk in it, then threw open the door. Before he left, he hung up a sign that read 'New Psychiatrist Wanted.'
A Kim Possible mini-fic by Mona
Disclaimer: Kim Possible and all characters from the show are copyright Disney.
"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Or was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Or would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.
'That's some catch, that Catch-22,' he observed.
'It's the best there is,' Doc Daneeka agreed. "
--Joseph Heller, Catch-22.
Psychiatrist Doctor Sigmond Frump glanced at the chart of his latest vic-- er, patient. "Interesting one."
Name: Doctor Drakken.
Occupation: Mad scientist.
Physical Description: Blue skin, black hair, medium height, stitched up scar on cheek. (Don't ask!)
Life's Ambition: Take over the world.
Education: High school graduate. Dropped out of Middleton College junior year.
Diagnosis:
The door opened. The shrink smiled. "Come in and sit down. I'm your therapist, Dr. Frump."
"I've heard of you," the patient replied. "And I'm sure you've heard of my work."
"Oh, yeah. Kim Possible ruins your plans every other week, right?"
Dr. Drakken growled. "Don't ever say that again...unless you want the local stonecutters to engrave 'Here lies a dead shrink.' on a block of marble."
Dr. Frump ignored the obvious threat on his life and smiled. "Perhaps we'd better get started. What is your full name?"
"Doctor Drew Lipsky-Drakken."
"Why are you here?"
"The warden sent me. He thinks I should be transferred to an asylum. He really boils my pasta. When you reach for your greatest potential, you're sane. But when your greatest potential is to rule the world, you're insane. It's a Catch-22!"
"OK. Tell me about your childhood. What did your parents do for a living?"
"My father was an environmental scientist and my mother was a military strategist. She got drummed out when I was four or five. Everyone's forgotten why."
"Did your parents ever fight?"
"Not really...well, there was one time when I was eight. My mother and I were working on my science project..."
Ulysses Lipsky entered his house. "Honey, I'm home!" He held out a bouquet of roses. "I stopped by the florist."
His wife looked scornfully at the bright red flowers. "Next time, buy me a thermonuclear warhead. Those will just be dead in a week."
"But they release uranium into the atmosphere. Roses and other plants, on the other hand, remove our carbon dioxide waste and release oxygen into the air--"
"Stop being so politically correct." She snatched the roses and stomped on them, then turned to her son. "Drew, go to your room! It's about to get ugly!"
"Yes, mommy."
"So I assume your mother was the dominant adult in the house."
"Father wasn't able to sit for a week."
"What about your peers?"
"Peers?" Drakken's eyes blazed. "The neighborhood kids used to tease me. I was awkward in high school. And college...just don't ask about college!"
"According to your records, you dropped out. Why? What could possibly hurt you enough to leave?"
"Three names. Bob Chen--"
"No names, please."
"Well, my trio of friends asked me to get dates for the big science department dance. And don't think I didn't hear Henry Ramesh's, er-- one of my friends' comment: "He cannot even get a date for himself." I wasn't going to approach one girl, much less three. I built three robotic girls. They...didn't turn out as great as I planned. Hey, it was short notice!"
"So what happened?"
"They laughed at me! Not even a 'Nice try' or 'Thank you.' Their piercing hysterics could be heard all over the campus! I was the laughingstock of the college! I withdrew the next day and went home to my mother."
"Don't cry, Drewie. Whenever people would laugh at your father, he'd just curl up in a corner and sob. You don't want to end up like that, do you?"
Drew only sucked his thumb. He pulled it out. "Yick. Sometimes I taste like an inferior brand."
"Well, you could change your name. I never did like your father's last name. Lipsky. It just sounds so wimpy."
"But what? Something that will strike terror in the hearts of my enemies."
"I know! You could use my maiden name. Drakken. Doesn't that sound ominous? And lose those glasses. No wonder they laughed at you."
"Maybe I should speak to your mother," commented Dr. Frump. "Where does she live?"
"She's still living in Middleton. Don't bother, though."
"So what happened after that?"
"After I dropped out of college, I got laser eye surgery. Unfortunately, the skin condition I inherited from my father worsened and my complexion became completely blue."
"Oh. Enough about the past. Tell me about yourself now."
"I happen to be the greatest evil genius the world has ever known."
Dr. Frump held up a red-haired rag doll, then used a marker to draw a smiling face on it. "Pretend that this is your archnemesis." He it set on the coffee table, facing the couch. "What would you say to her?"
Drakken sat up and glared at the doll. "I hate you, Kim Possible." He grabbed the doll and attempt to rip the head off, but the neck only stretched. He turned it over and tried to yank out a string on the toy's back. The string retracted.
"What's the sitch?" said the doll.
The mad scientist frowned, then tried to pull off a leg. It refused to budge. "Dr. Frump! You gave me a defective doll!" He threw it to the floor and stamped on it. It was like an ant trying to squash a bar of frozen butter. "What did I ever do to deserve her?! There are other occupations! She could have been the first teenage businesswoman for all I care!" He gasped for air as he tried to pull the arms off the doll. "She's like a roach. Keeps coming back."
Dr. Frump furiously scribbled down notes on his clipboard and held out a crystal globe. "You have a choice, Dr. Drakken. Do you want the world to have this teenage superheroine? Or do you want her vaporized for yourself? It's you or the world."
"ME! ME! ME!" Dr. Drakken kicked the globe. It flew across the room and shattered against a wall.
"Your hour is up." The psychiatrist sighed. "I see this approach isn't working."
"You don't say. I'd have felt better if that were the real Kim Possible. Nevertheless it felt good. Thanks, doctor."
"You're welcome." Dr. Frump scribbled Criminal Insanity secondary to Persecution Complex in the space marked 'Diagnosis'. "I almost feel sorry for him." He wrote down, Egomaniacal and selfish, possible Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Also exhibits signs of destructive behavior, poor social skills, and inappropriate anger. Come on, Sigmond thought. Can't the guy even laugh at himself? He threw down the clipboard. "I knew I should have been a high school counselor. Maybe it's not too late!" He opened his briefcase, stuffed the contents of his desk in it, then threw open the door. Before he left, he hung up a sign that read 'New Psychiatrist Wanted.'