Smoking Dead. S. Bonavida Ponce

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      “Doctor, I don't care about the family tree of your family. Could you tell us about the Zombie Fungus?”

      The old professor grunted badly.

      “You're only interested in that shit. Let's see when the journalists mature. That was years ago. You always come to interview me for the same reason. After so much time, haven't more interesting news come out? By the way, young lady, wouldn't you like to get the phone number of a scientific eminence?”

      Corinne recorded the whole interview from the side of the room. When she saw the old professor's attitude, she raised her fist to the height of her face and straightened her middle finger pointing it towards the ceiling in an unfriendly gesture.

      “I like them to resist," whispered the professor. “That excites them.”

      “Professor, I promise you by God, your mother and all the archangels that I will then pass you the telephone number of the camera operator, but please, can we start with the main topic?”

      The professor grunted and smiled all at once, if that was possible. Peter thought that they would begin to enter into an infinite loop, in which the professor would insist on giving his telephone number to Corinne, she would raise her hand in a defiant gesture, and he would kindly insist again with a “Can we start with the main theme, please?”

      Peter breathed a snort full of despair.

      "Marlboroach takes me. Let this old mummy begin to release all his boring speech or I strangle him with my own hands. It also reminds me of my old college chemistry professor, Mr. Moriarty. When God created the human species, why did he allow chemists and biologists to exist? I know only two worse professions. Lawyers and computer scientists.”

      To Peter's surprise the professor adjusted his crotch, smiled sarcastically at Corinne, and fell silent.

      “Professor, may we begin? Would you be so kind as to tell us about the Zombie Fungus?”

      “What kind of asshole invented that name? That's stupid. That name could only occur to a common newscaster. Surely some presenter from the FOXX network invented that name. But it is already known that not everyone can belong to the intellectual elite, as only a select group of people can do it. Its only correct name is Ophiocordyceps unilateralis.”

      “Of course, professor, could you give us your opinion on the toxin Ophio or how the hell is called that?”

      “Make no mistake young man, it is not a toxin. It's a parasite.”

      “Thank you for correcting me. Regarding the parasite, could you tell us briefly what it is?”

      The brief explanation lasted only three and a half hours. A really small time if we compare it with the usual talks and symposiums of these academics that could last weeks or even months. Corinne had to change the camera batteries twice. Between changing and changing the battery, the professor would lower his hand to the crotch and dedicate an affectionate virile male gesture to that beautiful female who resisted him so much.

      The Professor's mobile began to vibrate and he picked up the phone. Peter took advantage of that moment of distraction, grabbed Corinne by the arm and fled like Marlboroach's soul from the headquarters of the World Federation Plagues.

      "Why after the great plague did all the names start with World Federation? Many publicists survived after the great plague and yet the world remained devoid of ideas. Where did invention and imagination go? On these occasions I dream that it would have been better to have been annihilated by the great plague of smokers.”

      The old van, a radiant white with the logo of the PPC was waiting for them outside.

      "Old hysterical cockatoo. Three and a half hours of my life lost. It has been worse than the broadcast of a political debate.”

      Although Corinne was a freak and a somewhat special woman, deep down Peter knew badly that she would have put up with that old mummy. Since they had only recently been working together, Peter decided to take a small step forward in professional relationships.

      “Corinne, I'm sorry for what you've had to endure.”

      “What do you say?”

      “I'm talking about that obsessed old man.”

      “I don't understand.”

      “Woman. The lascivious gestures, the macho comments...”

      “But I liked him. I was just pretending to be interesting. I didn't want him to think I was a chippy woman.”

      A drop of sweat rushed down Peter's left temple.

      "This buddy is silly. Whoever understands her buys her. Where do they get the camera operators?".

      Peter drove the van back to the hotel. Corinne was still painting his nails on the co-driver's seat, this time in a strange violet shade.

      You have to drink a lot to become an Oxford-Cambridge University professor.

      According to Peter, until now the report had two good things and one bad. The two good things were always hanging on Corinne's front. The bad thing was the exhaustion of travelling to such scattered and disparate locations all over the world. At times like this he remembered his boss very much, while Mr. Belvedere enjoyed all the pleasures of the comfortable office, they moved more than a mint candy in a child's mouth.

      Mr. Belvedere had come up with the brilliant idea of giving them a little trip around the world, that way they could collect the different opinions, comments and various bullshit from the different smoking specialists.

      "As good as it is at home.”

      Before entering Ex Oxford-Cambridge University, careless Peter was struck with a small black post that was at the perfect crotch height of an average adult.

      “Fuck Marlboroach and all his children.”

      “Don't swear, Peter. They are forbidden by Clown President.”

      “Do you know where you and Clown President can go? What a pain!”

      Limping and still with a great annoyance in their noble parts, Peter and Corinne entered the Department of History of the 20^th century of the Ex-University Oxford-Cambridge. The old professor of the such division, the highest authority in knowledge about the 20^th century was waiting for them tanking refuge behind his table. It turned out to be the largest bottle-ass glasses Peter had ever seen in his entire life.

      “Are the two boys from the TV crew? Excuse me, but I can't see very well, I'm half blind. Would you like a whiskey?”

      Corinne and Peter shook their heads.

      “It’s a pity, boys. Whiskey opens the doors of the mind, it's scientifically proven” Having said that, the old professor poured himself a fairly loaded, ice-free glass of Jackie Danyels. Then he lowered СКАЧАТЬ