Darby McGrill woke in the middle of the night and shambled off to the bathroom, mumbling about his "Damn old prostate problem." That wasn't his only concern, though. On his last office visit, young Doctor Johnny Frankenmine studied Darby's record and told him in so many words that he was all but in the grave because of an incurable growth in his belly. Afterwards, Darby had half-heartedly (the way he did most things) prayed for Divine Help.
As Darby stood before his "potty fixture," as he deemed it, letting Ma Nature take her own sweet time acting, he became aware of a wee, thin voice a-calling out to him: "Hey, Darby McGrill, don't just stand there peein'. Get me outta this daaark place!"
Startled, McGrill opened the medicine cabinet and peered inside. Over to one side on the second shelf, behind a gob of dusty cotton and an empty bottle of aspirin, there lay a large, purple pill--the likes of which he'd never seen--that immediately began rolling around agitatedly as though under its own power. "Get me the hell outta here, Darby McGrill--and I'll cure what ails you!" said the purple pill.
Wondering if he had gone completely daft, Darby picked up the pill and popped it into his mouth. 'Twas a powerfully painful task getting it down, for sure. He hiccoughed once, and the tiny voice issued from his mouth: "Now get ye to bed, Darby McGrill--and tomorrow ye'll be foine and live another thirty years or more!"
And his and everyone else's astonishment, Darby McGrill did just that.
As Darby stood before his "potty fixture," as he deemed it, letting Ma Nature take her own sweet time acting, he became aware of a wee, thin voice a-calling out to him: "Hey, Darby McGrill, don't just stand there peein'. Get me outta this daaark place!"
Startled, McGrill opened the medicine cabinet and peered inside. Over to one side on the second shelf, behind a gob of dusty cotton and an empty bottle of aspirin, there lay a large, purple pill--the likes of which he'd never seen--that immediately began rolling around agitatedly as though under its own power. "Get me the hell outta here, Darby McGrill--and I'll cure what ails you!" said the purple pill.
Wondering if he had gone completely daft, Darby picked up the pill and popped it into his mouth. 'Twas a powerfully painful task getting it down, for sure. He hiccoughed once, and the tiny voice issued from his mouth: "Now get ye to bed, Darby McGrill--and tomorrow ye'll be foine and live another thirty years or more!"
And his and everyone else's astonishment, Darby McGrill did just that.
