Free Bigot Hall by Steve Aylett

stipe of a bark fungus.
    ‘What sort of life span are we discussing?’ I asked, scrutinising the sketch.
    ‘Three months. Enough to outlive human curiosity but being inconspicuous isn’t all. The entire three months are spent seeding and growing the next Verger. Delegation again, you see - postponement. We all record and write instructions but it seems personal wisdom can only be learnt in the physical, not passively from a book. Each generation is as moronic as the last, a clean slate. Almost no cumulative knowledge.’ He smiled. His face imploded like a blown egg, releasing a little puff of dust. ‘Sorry you had to see this, laughing boy,’ he said through the mess of his face, then with a loud snap he collapsed like an articulated skeleton.
    I prodded the still mass at my feet - it rustled like a sack of leaves. Enjoy your childhood, I thought, while you can.
    The vat began to bubble and bump like an eggboiler. The new Verger was shifting its limbs in the swirling suspension, slow and blind. The plasma roiled as the creature reached a glistening hand over the edge of the tank. There was no lid. The new head arose from behind the glass. The film across its milky eyes broke, and it blinked at me. The caul over its mouth tore as the new Verger tried to speak. ‘Oh,’ it said.
    ‘Eh, Verger?’ I asked, unwrapping a new stick of gum.
    The Verger squinted like a newborn. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘what a tangled web we weave.’  

DEMOLITION
     
     
    ‘What do you mean by bringing this dog in here?’ stated Uncle Snapper with a compressed anger or perhaps fear, as Father entered followed by the skittering spaniel Nelson. The dog sat down, raised its eyebrows and regarded Snapper in a sarcastic pretence at wounded surprise.
    It was pointless to pretend that Nelson was a normal hound. He was in the habit of smiling, laughing, or performing abrupt and eccentric dances. He would begin a sentence and stop as everyone turned. He sat upright in an armchair and read the morning paper, snapping it open and seeming to understand. He signalled the answers to complex arithmetical questions by biting Uncle Snapper to the appropriate count. Father stated that dogs like Nelson were part of life’s rich tapestry and Snapper remarked that if he spotted a dog like Nelson in a tapestry he’d publicly eat pure lard.
    Anyway it all came to a head one afternoon when Snapper bounded up on both legs claiming that Nelson, who was sat nearby like a loaf of bread, had accused him of being a royalist.
    ‘This has gone far enough,’ shouted Professor Leap, and pointed at Nelson. ‘The number of delusions you’ve projected onto that poor hound it’s a wonder he hasn’t ignited like kindling under a laser. I’ll tell you how to prove whether this tormented animal speaks or not.’
    Leap came up with the notion of attaching a voice-activated dictaphone to Nelson’s collar. If the mammal made a remark we would have proof positive of this phenomenon. Leap went ahead with the procedure and after a while the machine was removed and the results replayed as the household gathered to listen in sharp-eared and anxious silence. The recording began mundanely enough:
     
    SNAPPER (shouting): Didn’t I tell you at fantastic expense I don’t care a straw for your opinions?
    THE VERGER (shouting): And I know you’re a cocky, arrogant liar!
    SNAPPER (shouting): You dare say that to my face?
    THE VERGER (shouting): That’s where your ears and brain are housed unless I’m sadly mistaken!
    FATHER (shouting): Not the drill, brother!
    SNAPPER (shouting): I’ll kill him!
    FATHER (shouting): Grab him, Cannon!
    POOR MR CANNON (shouting): I’ll be dragged apart by lions before I’ll offer help [incoherent] obliterate all reason and kill [possibly ‘everyone’] each and every chance I get! All matter is localised in [sobs, a shriek]
    SNAPPER (shouting): Get that bloody dog out of here!
    FATHER (shouting): Snapper’s gone berserk, Cannon - put the dog