Mrs O

Like a spiderless Miss Moffitt, she sits perched on her high stool behind a counter, dispensing death to a community. This place, over which she shares dominion with the teacher, the priest and the doctor. Psycho inert substances, barbiturates, opiates, whatever the doctor orders, she peddles and as long as you have the note, the dispensary note, the prescription you get the man’s antidisestablishment substance. And always with a sneer, “Mr Sniffle”, she peers down her equine nose and purses her electrolyticly removed hairless lips. Maw and Paw Sniffle scored a load gear here, gear from which I was never weaned, and the lill Sniffles have drunk deeply at her yellow anti-biotic foamy fountain. The teenagers can’t score a ten-spot round our gaff, yet she sprays it around like candy.


Beginning with that hand which rocks your cradle baby,  power is held over you for the duration by a succession of individuals and institutions until you can no longer say “any day above ground is a good one”. They’re everywhere, people who want to boss you, have a piece of you, punters who want to be in They said (that’s the big They, this is a paranoid posting) that the priests had the power, all the time fondling our children and riding each other and getting confused about each other and the children. Priests have never been top of my Christmas card list, too black, too unholy. But other uniforms jump up and grab at your genitalia.


But it’s the Mr. thing which yanks my junkie chain. She knows too much, she has my records, she has three generations of Sniffle records. What does she know which so exercises me?  What is it about her dispenses which diss’s me so. It’s the arm’s length Mr. Sniffle thing when she knows I’ve had diarrhea, it’s the removal from my pile pain, it’s the silent judgment on my sleeping pill, it’s a lot of things but mostly it’s the power which she won’t let go, our Mrs. O.

8 responses to “Mrs O

  1. I’m with you on this one. It’s a Big Brother thing. Your illness is our business and we know best. Of course you have the ‘lurgy’, you’ve smoked, imbibed, eaten high saturated fat and failed to complete a 30 mile circuit four times a week. But hey, we’re doing you a big favour (oh, and by the way, this will help us hit our targets for which we will be handsomely remunerated).

  2. I’m feeling the love @17 . And yes,they so know best. The lurgy = the fellas in black, yes? And why oh why have you not completed your circuit today?

    Hey Obama, what a man………….

  3. Here’s hoping. Its the best hope we’ve had for such a long time (God , I sound like Clarence in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ or what’s her name in ‘National Velvet’ but I do mean it).

  4. There is a real Tim Burton feel to this.

    I really really love the wave you weave an image.

  5. *way* not *wave*, dammit.

  6. Oh God no Xbox, no that’s somebody else altogether. Thanks.

  7. The wave you weave, I like it!

    Sniffle, this is why I go to the homoeopath instead. A listening ear, you tell all your woes, yourself, they form a shifting picture of you with a base that goes back to your childhood. The medicine and follow up care are part of the price. It has its flaws, but at the end of the day your practitioner’s a friend and no one looks down their nose at you!

  8. Thanks Jo,

    I never gone to a homeopath, and it’s not that I’m homeophobic either.

    I know a girl who practises and now I might.

    Thanks again.

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