AUTHORS' NOTE: This is just a little fan-fic based on one of the pointless, yet extremely funny conversations that takes place in the show. Try and imagine it as a lost scene from any episode in particular. Enjoy.
-
The lunatic asylum was as ever bustling with activity. Nurses crossing doctors; doctors ignoring patients; patients getting in the way of surfing the Web, or spiking fellow staff's drinks with substances that turn urine blue, everyday hospital stuff such as that. The long walk from the canteen down to the operating theatre, where they are about to perform a routine hernia operation, is being traversed by two of the most well-known members of the hospital surgical staff.
The lightly-flame, bushy-haired Dr. 'Mac' Macartney, wit sharper than a bayonet; and the anaesthetist he most often works with, the narcissictic, Suisse-born, ever-so-slightly donkey-looking Dr. Guillaime 'Guy' Secretan. The former is rolling around a question in his head, while the latter is, as ever, checking out and rating the arses of all the nurses, clerical staff and indeed patients who walk by, categorising them in his mind with an incredible detail often missing from his work.
"Question." Mac said, suddenly. "How much has a man like you dreamed of his own harem of women?…"
Guy instantly looked interested. "A harem?. You know me, that would be Heaven in a tent. Under certain conditions of course."
"How much have you dreamed of it, exactly?…" pushed Mac, obviously getting at something. Guy immediately knew this was going to be a conversation as long as the journey to the operating theatre.
"How much?. What, out of ten?…" asked Guy.
"Percentage-wise. Just how much?…" replied Mac, still fishing for the answers he wanted. He knew Guy always had an answer for everything, so his aim wouldn't be too difficult.
"Percentage-wise?. I dunno…" Guy considered his response for a moment. "85…no, no 90…90 percent…"
Mac nodded, assimiliating the information as they continued walking. "Okay, it can be yours tomorrow. What would you say?…"
"Well, yeah, obviously," replied Guy, as if his medical associate were completely stupid. "Though, as I say, under certain conditions…"
"Such as what?…" asked Mac, obviously willing to bend his questioning to fit the eventual outcome he wanted from the man he most enjoyed winding up out of everyone in the hospital.
"Well, firstly, standard of women in the harem," Guy replied, quite possibly having previously given the whole concept of a tent full of wives serious consideration. "No Hairy Mary's or Big Bertha's, spank you very much…"
Mac agreed. "Big Bertha's are out, definitely."
"What number of women are we talking about?…" asked Guy, now starting to really get serious about the offer, not wanting to get anything out of place, a king of inate Suisse-efficiency exuding from him.
"Uh…ten." Mac replied, instantly getting a reaction from Guy best described as a scoff. "Ten!…" he said, almost with a laugh. "Hardly worth the bother, might as well just stay at home."
Mac reconsidered. "Okay, twenty, with the option of an extra five if you're willing for the harem not to be in Switzerland."
"Then, where would it be based?…" asked Guy, doing his best to poke gaping holes into the concept and get one up on someone he'd describe as his friend in some circles. "Here?. France?…the Yemen?. Where?…"
"Wherever you want, it's your harem." Mac conceded as both he and Guy reached the area just a few hundred yards up the corridor from the operating theatre which held a series of lockers containing surgical gowns they both need to deck in order to operate. The two men start removing their jackets and putting them on as Guy thinks.
"Alright, say I want it in Cambodia. Can that be done?…" asked Guy, as he finished adopting his surgical gown just seconds before Mac does, feeling proud even at that little one-upmanship.
Mac nodded. "Anywhere. Anywhere on planet Earth."
Guy instantly took advantage of a hole in the argument as the two men continued down the corridor now they had both gotten dressed ready for surgery. "Well, that's ridiculous, how would I get there regularly from England."
"Okay," began to reply Mac, thinking on the spot. "You get a…private jet fuelled up and ready for takeoff at Gatwick, on twenty-four hour standby."
Guy remained resolutely unimpressed. "Still wouldn't be worth the round trip every day, if I'm going all the way to Cambodia."
Again, Mac thought on his feet and was pleased with what he came up with. "Alright, the jet is a super-jet equipped with…with warp-speed."
"Warp-speed?…" replied Guy, for the first time starting to become impressed. Mac could see it in his face and knew he was onto a winner with this one.
"Yep. Gets you there and back, (clicks his fingers) instantaneously!" he said, as both he and Guy reached the doors to the operating theatre, and Guy started nodding with interest.
He was hooked, so he turned and looked Mac straight in the eye with a deadly seriousness. "Alright…what's the price?…" he asked, eventually. Mac looked back at him with equal seriousness.
"One month…as the kidnapped S/M love slave…of Ann Widdecombe." he declared. He was surprised at how quickly Guy responded in the positive without even considering it.
"I'll do it." he said, matter-of-factly. "Piece of piss."
"S/M remember?…" reminded Mac. "S/M…and Ann Widdecombe…for a month…most of which would be spent in a dungeon…a sex dungeon."
"Yeah, but I'd have a twenty-five strong harem and a private twenty-four hour jet with warp speed on standby." declared Guy extremely cheerfully at the prospect.
"Good point, well made. " conceded Mac as both he and Guy placed the hygienic covers on their mouths and entered the operating theatre to tamper with yet another fragile, human life…