His year at the Holy Writ Reeducation Retreat was up, and later that day, Dr. Maximilian Tundra would be asked to renounce the Flying Spaghetti Monster and evolution.
Kissing off the FSM would be easy — he’d only been preaching his brand of Norse Pastafarianism to make fun of creationism — but evolution?
How did one renounce science? On the other hand, he felt like he would do whatever it took to get out of there, because he couldn’t imagine living through another day of what was, ironically, hell.
When he’d received his punishment for teaching evolution, the Judge had made the Reeducation Retreat sound like a combination of Dachau and the Inquisition, when in fact, it was more like summer camp, with lots of Bibles. And sleep deprivation.
Then there were Writ counselors, hypodermics and pharmaceuticals at the ready. That’s when they weren’t hugging you and asking if you’d accepted Jesus as your personal savior yet or asking you to sing spirituals along with them. A lot of these counselors were virginal young women; unfortunately these nubile believers also toted genital clamps for the wayward souls who showed any interest whatsoever in their chaste bodies. (Dr. Tundra had experienced this first hand, so to speak, after an inadvertent glance at Sister Brittany’s not-to-be-ogled ta-tas. It had taken a month for his tackle to work properly again.)
Yep, Jesus was going to be his savior.
Oh, the brainwashing hadn’t taken. Dr. Tundra had once been described as having a somewhat avant garde approach to the use of pharmaceuticals, and this had naturally built up a resistance to the kinds of drugs they were using in the reeducation camp. The group hugs were okay, and actually quite enjoyable when Sister Brittany was the huggee. The sleep deprivation he could handle. The hours of scripture? The bad poetry? The worse music?
He couldn’t take it any more. He would say anything to get out of there. Flat earth. Moon made of cheese. They could have it all, as long as he didn’t have to listen to another sermon. It’s not like he was Galileo or something.
Yep, Jesus was going to get him the hell out of there. The FSM — crap. Evolution — it’s just a theory, right?
And once he got out of the reeducation retreat? He was going for the nearest border, and then anyplace where Sunday shopping was allowed.
Author’s Note: This is a sequel to Dr. Tundra in the Dock | There is also an interview with Dr. T about his brand of Norse Pastafarianism | Image: William Blake’s The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun