Leave me alone; I'm not well. What's wrong? If I could ask the stenographer to read back what's been said so far. "Leave me alone; I'm not well..." ...Enough; do you not see that I want to be left alone, and yet you persist in asking me what's wrong? Yes, but your post-semicolon comment offering up the information that you're not well is a blatant request that your general well-being be inquired after. Ah, I see your knowledge of social linguistics far outweighs anything that I might possibly know about myself; you may ask your question again. You're too kind, sir. Don't I fucking know it. What's wrong? I have eye cancer. Chaos esto? Queue? What's that? Cancer of the eye. I suspected as much. How long have you had it for? Surely you mean how long have you had it for? That too. Well? A few hours. The doctors diagnosed it a few hours ago? No, dear boy, listen to what I have to say: I've had eye cancer for a few hours. How do you know? It's pressing some anatomical button in my eye and triggering beautiful colours the likes of which have never been seen before. That's nice; describe them. Well, there's this one that's not quite red and not quite yellow. Orange? You have eye cancer too? I suppose I do. We should form a support group. What's that? A group that supports each other, in this instance through the beauty, and the expected trials and tribulations that are to follow from having eye cancer, and it makes it easier to forget who's who. I suspected as much. So you wanna do it? Sure. And then let's form a support group. Hilarious; I bet you're a real hit with the ladies. Only when I get violent. Hark: a wolf. "Hi, I'm a wolf." Hi wolf. 'Sup? "I have a message for the one with eye cancer. To whom... is that you?" Yes, and he has eye cancer too. Yes, and he has eye cancer too. "Well, I'm under lax instructions to give this message to the one with the eye cancer, not the two with the eye cancer." Well then I'm afraid you're unable to pass on the message, for we are a support group: we laugh through the good times, help each other through the bad times, we offer a shoulder to cry on, a sleeve to drain a nose on, love, support, friendship, but most importantly coffee. It's me; gimme the message. "Here you go. Adieu." Bye bye cutiepie. Bye. So what does it say? None of your business; are you in the habit of reading other people's private letters? You know as well as I do that I am. How am I expected to know that? Uniformed armed guards. Uninformed guesswork? Thass whuh I se dinnaye? No; stenographer? "Uniformed armed guards." Thanks again. "You're welcome." Don't get ideas above your station, just do your fucking job. Stenographer? "I have a small penis and bathe in runny monkey shit." What's it say? I'm just reading... it's for you: it says you have eye cancer and it hasn't responded well to the treatment of doing nothing; they're going to operate. When? It just says 'You'll be hearing from us.' That's very ambiguous; is it signed in any way? Yes, what a good guess; it's signed simply 'Doctor'. "Hello, I'm here to cut out your eye cancer." Who are you? "Call me Doctor." Call me Ishmael. Just call me. Hello Doctor. Hello Ishmael. "Hello." I hear you're hear to cut out my eye cancer. No I'm not, Doctor is. I was talking to the doctor... "Not the doctor, Doctor." Nice name; did your parents give you that? "Yes. Now there we go, that didn't hurt a bit did it?" Yes it fucking did, it's fucking agony; it feels like someone just cut out a large lump from my eye. "Never underestimate the power of positive thought: redefine the ever-mutating boundaries of pain and tolerance and you'll be fine." Nope, still kills like a bitch. I have eye cancer too, Doctor. "There, now that didn't hurt did it?" No Doctor. "How about that?" Oh yeah, that really hurts. "Redefine." Oooh, I feel all relaxed and mellow. "I'll just quickly stitch the two of you up then I'll be off. Now you'll find your vision is a little stitchy for a few weeks; this will tail off after the stitches are removed. After that you'll be as right as rain." We'll be able to see again? I'll be able to see again? "Probably not: I always fuck up when I take stitches out; you can expect your eyeball to fill with blood from my dilettante mistakes, then clot. When I re-operate to remove the red rubber ball from your eye, I'll slip again and you'll be left blind. Make the most of these few weeks. Adieu." And yeu. Where's that from? Friends probably. Who was that masked man? I can't see oranges. The fruit or the colour? Both, but it's the inability to see the colour which is causing the inability to see the fruit. Ooh, now I can't see oranges either. I want my cancer back. Me too. "Did someone call?" Oh, Doctor, come back please. "Fuck. Gimme another go." Oh, Doctor, come back please. "Did someone call?" Yes, we want our cancer back. I want my cancer back. "This is highly unorthodox. I like it. Here you go... now that didn't hurt a bit, did it?" Not telling. Now do me! "Are you in agony yet?" Only emotionally. "Then my work is done. Adieu." Bon voyage. Ohh, this is fucking beautiful: look at the orange stitching in that shampoo bottle. I can't see the stitching... I guess the operation was a complete failure. Don't be so fucking negative all the time; don't you remember? Remember what? Doctor said you'd have stitchy vision while the stitches were still in; try moving your head a little. Oh would you look at that? What? Well, the orange stitches in the shampoo bottle, but I actually meant the fact that my stitches were lined up perfectly with the stitches in the shampoo bottle. Isn't it beautiful? It certainly is... it certainly is...