Lair of Dr. Thong

Dr. Thong was just polishing up the abstract of an article she'd just finished, "Discoethnology 1984: Dance Floor to Gymnasium in the Grim Aerobics Dawn," for an important medical doctor's world think tank quarterly journal magazine when the telephone rang. It was that guy who'd come by earlier that month for a kill shot.

"Doctor."

"Yes, this is Dr. Donna Thong." Dr. Thong always smiled on the phone because she had an awareness that facial expressions could resound audibly along the vocal cords through facio-cranial acoustics.

"Dr. Thong, I..."

By now, Mike considered Donna to be someone who had become one of his regular interlocutors.

"I was just wondering if..."

"Oh. Mike, isn't it?"

"Yes. That's my name."

"Well Mike, you silly. Why don't you tell me how you're feeling."

"But Doctor, don't you see-- it's just that..."

"Yes, Mike?"

"I'm feeling so HOT (hot)."

"Oh, pardon me? Sweetie are you there? Did you say hot two times?"

"Oh, doctor... doctor..."

They could both hear the music. It was overcoming them. They were helpless in its spinning thumping groove.