“Slowly, the doctor turned. Extending a pointing finger, he said “But … but that’s an orange … !”"
“Yes,” said Mrs Murray. You know her, she was born with octupoid-like tentacles instead of hair.
“We couldn’t be happier,” said Mr Murray, through the independently levitating ouija board that is his sole means of communication. Since he is corporeally-challenged.
“All we want to know,” asked Mrs Murray carefully, “is to the signs and portents indicate a girl orange, a boy orange, or something in-between.”
“We want to use the correct pronouns from the get-go,” said Mr Murray.
At which point, Doctor Smith turned and fled from the nursery, and was last seen headed towards the cactus grove where the waterfront boardwalk never actually existed.
We of course wish Doctor Smith a quick and speedy recovery from his retrograde amnesia. We are also assured that the Sherrif’s Secret Police are going to keep an eye on him as he walks uncertainly between the venomous cactii and attack-trained triffids.
And now… the weather.
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