Jocop Classic: Latrenian's Last Physical

The post-war West Coast Italian joke has for too long languished in the oblivion that is the backwash of kulturstampedenauskalifornischehorsenscheisse™.

It was 1972 and Latrenian, on full scholarship, was doing so well at Yale he’d already been expelled by the Black Students’ Union. Not only that, even Whitey had noticed he was in the top 1% of his class.

So it was that he came to the attention of Skull & Crossbones which correctly detected him as a clear and present danger to the impending hegemony of its graduates within the corridors of power to manage the decline of The Republic.

Something had to be done. The Black Students' Union and Skull & Crossbones met, conspired, planned, scheduled and, in tandem, came up with a scheme. Phone calls were made.

Latrenian was duly summoned by the Dean of Students who explained to him that several other blacks on scholarship had recently died of unknown causes which did not involve lynch mobs. To ensure Latrenian’s continuing good health, the Dean advised, a full medical would be required as a condition for his continued scholarship. The honours student had no choice.

The following day, after no wait whatsoever, he was ushered by the stacked receptionist into a huge laboratory in the bowels of the university medical center where to his immediate consternation he was confronted by a contraption the likes of which he had never previously beheld. And he was pre-med.

"Uh, what is that?" Latrenian nervously inquired of the receptionist.

"Oh that’s just the new AMM," she replied.

"AMM?"

"Yeah. Automatic Medical Machine. All you do is sit in the dentist's chair, they hook you up and the machine performs a complete medical on you. The medical team will be right with you," she said as she sashayed her preternaturally fine ass out of the lab.

Latrenian was dealing with a sense of foreboding as The Doctor and his team of assistants suddenly appeared and immediately commenced strapping him into the AMM, all the while making the usual reassurances. "This will just take a sec." "This is one helluva diagnostic tool, you'll actually enjoy this." And: "Jesus, I lost my ass in the market last week."

What Latrenian did not know was that Yale had developed this new technological marvel for the purpose—not of checking the patient’s health—but of lowering his/her/its IQ. This new electro-mechanical breakthrough was intended for use by members of forthcoming Executive Branches on electoral supervisory personnel after future elections had been retroactively preempted.

Latrenian was now completely strapped in with wires running everywhere out of his skull.

The technician in charge flicked on the power switch, checked all the gauges and then turned his attention to the IQ Meter. This was the control to induce the desired new level in the subject's intelligence. The initial reading was IQ 140. The Doctor nodded to the technician who now turned the control down to 85.

All eyes were on Latrenian as the AMM hummed, lit up and did its work. Then the technician checked the meter, saw that the IQ had been lowered to 85. Just as he turned to give the thumbs up to The Doctor, his lab coat sleeve caught the control switch, twisting it down another turn and a half. Appalled, the technician fainted straightaway as the entire AMM team rushed to the control console. Horror stricken, The Doctor saw that the IQ control knob had been turned to "46." In total panic, he turned to Latrenian in the dentist's chair and immediately stripped away all the wiring from his skull. It was then that he checked the meter and saw that the AMM had completed its work.

Latrenian was now IQ 46.

Terrified, he turned to the former honours student and said: "Oh my god, Latrenian! Are you ok?"

The prone Latrenian had his eyes closed. But now there was a flutter of the eyelids and his eyes popped open.

“Ai donna feela so gud.”