by Doug Hawley
Coroners Neil and
Judy perform an autopsy on a recent death.
Neil: It looks like another
victim of Euphoria.
Judy: Yeah, the husband
said she had eyes shut, arched back, and had apparently just died when he found
her. Plus, she had orgasm face and residual vaginal engorgement. All symptoms
of Euphoria overuse. Suppose the husband couldn’t get her off? He seemed
clueless about what had happened or didn’t want to admit what he suspected.
Looks like another case of better living through chemistry gone wrong. Can too
much pleasure kill?
Neil: You are probably
right about the husband. That’s the eighth death from Euphoria. A lot of people
can’t get off solo or otherwise, without the help from pills.
Judy: Are there any
leads on the manufacturer? This has been going on for months now.
Neil: The cops say
they have some ideas, but they won’t divulge anything publicly. You’d
think that they would know more since this
started last year. We only hear about the deaths. I suspect that people are
taking too much Euphoria. The ones that die are probably the same ones that
think that if one donut or one beer is good, ten are better. People have no
A plus for the cops
is that they did get some lower-level distributor, but that guy didn’t know the
next level up. As we know, the marketing is some underground pyramid scheme.
Judy: I’ve got a
little secret. I tried it solo, and it shook my world and that was with a half-dose.
It was a whole-body orgasm that lasted for hours. I tried it on a Saturday
morning and had aftershocks until Sunday morning. It was a good thing that I
didn’t need to leave the house until Monday.
Neil: I know what
you mean. Sally and I use it sparingly. We use half a pill each and get
multiple orgasms for hours. Can you imagine somebody using Euphoria while out
Judy: Should we shut
down our little sideline? We’ve already made plenty of money from Euphoria
production. The penalty for what we are doing is life in prison, and we already
got and spent plenty of money.
Neil: Nah, let’s
just cut back on the dosage and add some caveats. We’re already guilty of
serious crimes, and I don’t want to lose that cash flow and you shouldn’t,
either. You don’t want to have your Tesla repossessed and give up your
expensive dinners where you tip big to impress your friends.
I’ve got my Mercedes
payments to keep up and high-end “gentlemen’s” clubs aren’t cheap. I don’t want
to even think about living on a coroner’s salary.
If you don’t want to
think of yourself, how about showing concern for our many distributors and
their families? Don’t you have any empathy or concern for the economy?
Hold it, here’s another
thought. We could try to go legitimate. It would require covering our tracks
and changing the formula and the name. Then it would take us a while to get
some big drug company to tweak it more for safety and do the clinical trials.
The legitimate market for a revised Euphoria could be in the billions of
dollars. I can see the TV commercial now—first the satisfied customers, then
the list of all of the fifty side effects like they do on those ubiquitous TV
Judy: Let’s go with
the second plan. I’ve still got enough money saved for my expenses short-term,
so I can put off the riches for a little while. You made me think of something
else: Full strength-Euphoria for those states that allow assisted suicide.
There would be happy endings for terminal patients who would be coming and
is a former
mathematician turned actuary (mathemortician) who writes, snowshoes, volunteers
and hikes. He was a volunteer wheelchair jockey (pusher, role model, unpaid
escort) at a hospital, greeter at the Marine Mammal Center, “normal” in a
balance study at OHSU, and docent at China Camp in California, and now is a
volunteer bookseller in support of his local library, and a killer of invasive
species at his local park. He lives with editor and musician Sharon. He
currently resides in Lake Oswego, OR and has lived in Manhattan (KS that is),
Atlanta, Louisville, Denver, LA, and marvy Marin CA.
Charles Addams, Edgar Allan Poe, and Willy Wonka sired a bastard child it would be the
fat asthmatic by the name of Michael D. Davis. He has been called warped
by dear friends and a freak by passing strangers. Michael started drawing cartoons when
he was ten, and his skill has improved with his humor, which isn’t saying much. He
is for the most part self-taught, only ever crediting the help of one great high school
art teacher. His art has been shown at his local library for multiple years only
during October due to its macabre nature. If you want to see more of Michael’s
strange, odd, weird, cartoons you can follow him on Instagram at