Hedonist For A
Day
by Michael A. Kechula
“Welcome
to Hedonist For a Day,” said the TV host.
“Every week, we select a winner from three
unfortunate men who've had lives of unspeakable
misery. Each contestant has eight minutes to tell
his story. The contestant who gets the most
applause from our studio audience wins twenty-four
hours in our Pleasure Palace, where he’ll
enjoy incredible pleasure from fabulous women and
special machines.”
After the
first two men told their woeful stories, a model
brought in a large glass jar and set it on table.
Inside was a severed head immersed in yellowish
liquid.
The host spoke
into the jar. “What’s your name, Sir?”
“Howard,”
the head gurgled.
“Tell us
about your unspeakable misery.”
The head told
a tale of alien abduction that was so shocking,
hundreds of home viewers fainted. Several
had heart attacks.
“That was
the most horrible story of tortuous suffering I’ve
ever heard,” said the host, as the audience
applauded wildly.
TV cameras
showed a computer loaded with blinking lights. A
bell sounded, and a card fell into a hopper. The
host read the card. “This week’s
Hedonist For a Day is…Howard!”
Howard’s
grinning head bobbed so violently, it almost flew
out of the jar.
The show ended. A
stagehand carried the jar into the Pleasure
Palace.
“This is
the first time a decapitated head ever won,”
the host said. “Since you don’t have a
body, we’re not sure how to apply our
pleasure techniques. Let’s try an erotic
massage by professional geishas and see what
happens.” Pointing to a topless
pleasure provider, the host added, “Take
Howard’s head out of the jar and put it on
the massage table.”
“No!”
Howard yelled. “If you remove me from
the fluid, I’ll die within three minutes. How
about using pleasure machines?”
“That
involves placing pleasure probes onto your head.
Since you’re immersed in fluid, you’ll
be electrocuted.”
“Dammit! I
won fair and square. You better find a way
to give me the pleasure you promised, or I’ll
sue you for a million dollars!”
The show’s
producer took the host aside. “This guy’s
a royal pain. Maybe we can say we had a computer
error, and that he really didn’t win. I’ll
give him a thousand dollars, and get him outta
here.”
When Howard
heard the producer’s offer, he said, “Keep
your money. I want to feel every ounce of
pleasure you owe me.”
The host and
producer conferred again.
“Howard,”
said the host, “we’re going to put fish
in your jar. The kind we have in mind wiggle
frantically when they swim. When they brush
against your face, their wiggling will give you
exquisite pleasure.”
“Sounds
good to me.”
The host
dropped six little fish into the jar.
“Mmm,”
Howard gurgled. “This is sooo nice.”
Seconds later,
his screams could be heard for miles.
“Look at
those cute tropical fishies,” said a
pleasure provider, as Howard’s skull sank to
the bottom of the jar. “What kind are
they?”
“Piranha,”
said the host.
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