"Wow, I notice a surfeit of essays pertaining to Autism from the students at the moment. I'm diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome which accounts for my embarrassingly inappropriate social skills," said one professor named Dr Harold Protractor.
"There have been recent news items on the BBC news website linking a higher risk of a parent's offspring becoming Autistic if the father is older," said the other, Dr Emma Bladdermaker.
"I can confirm that my father was considerably old in comparison to the average age of a father when his sperm fertilized my mother's egg. He would have been about 45 at the time," intoned Dr Protractor.
"But that was just an aside," said Dr Bladdermaker sympathetically, resting a palm on Dr Protractor's shoulder.
"What I'd like to tell you is that I hate my parents. But that's not because I believe the way parents bring up their children can make them Autistic.
"I hate them because they are both comparitively more ugly than the average British person (and that's saying something, considering British people are much less attractive than Americans [Burt Reynolds, David Duchovny are much better looking than Tony Blair, whom admittedly is a dashing man nevertheless].
"You may think, dear me, why be so shallow? But consider this. Who wins? The beautiful people. Case in point: Tony Blair and Gordon Brown, the two most powerful people in the country at present; both have seductive fulsome lips, strapping broad frames, eyes that shine with strength and vitality and wide, handsomely flowing noses.
"They're not the nicest people but people do love a good-looking person. When they're sad, they're easier to sympathise with than a sad-looking person who lacks beauty. Ditto for any emotion. Why? Because essentially almost everything is about sex. Human beings aren't some magnificent, deep beings. Any depth we reach is framed by our vanity and is therefore as shallow as the behaviour of the lowliest of the universe's chemistry, the atom.
Dr Bladdermaker smiled slightly, her eyes searching Dr Protractor's face, "We're animals with bigger brains. We live for the sake of living, just because we're masses of chemicals and that's what masses of chemicals do. Survival is paramount and attractive spouses are central to that. Those who are attractive possess the ability to charm others, they are therefore powerful and influential."
Dr Protractor shuffled his feet and averted his gaze to the side of his peripheral vision, to blurry abandon. He continued, "I've struggled in life because I don't have social skills. But I've been pondering over something. Autistic people generally speaking are the least talented socialisers, perhaps on a par with severely mentally ill people.
"Their inability to socialise isn't related to the lack of ability to communicate but the lack of ability to communicate in a way other people understand or appreciate. Even if you could read an Autistic person's mind, they'd be just as difficult to understand or appreciate as when they talk or express themselves in body language.
"All other Autistic people I've met, most of whom have had Asperger's syndrome have been to my intense dislike. That's not to say they aren't useful people. It's speculated that many of history's most important scientists and geniuses were Asperger's syndrome.
"But if you research their lives, in relationships almost all were dysfunctional and miserable. Why can't people with Asperger's syndrome be more than just brainy people? Must they be consigned to the fringes of society, unacceptable in all social circles, even their own?
"My opinion is no. It's quite simple. What is needed is cosmetic surgery for Autistic people. If we were all more attractive than the average person, or at least as attractive, then we'd be making social waves. The government should earmark funding for just this. I'm sick and tired of advocacy, dead-end sympathy support, inadequate provisions for those most in society don't want to provide for.
"Allow me to tell you a little story I've been imagining and cogitating rewrites for in my mental scrapbook. Picture the scene... A man who wakes up one Monday morning looks the spitting image of David Duchovny (Mulder in the X-Files). Until this Monday morning, he had looked like a person with below average aesthetic appeal, with flat features and an uninteresting face.
"Not knowing what has happened, he walks around dazedly in a town centre, wondering how he'll ever make friends. He has no hope. He just doesn't know how to talk to people, the only thing he notices is loads of women keep on looking at him. Why? He's afraid. Then he looks in a mirror and gets the fright of his life! My god, he looks sexy.
"Could it be that after years of being paranoid and believing everybody wanted to kill him, that somebody took the pity on him to surgically alter his face in his sleep? Too good to be true, surely. Too fantastical. Such a metamorphosis - unthinkable!
"And he goes mad. Just as he has many times before. He smashes a chair in his house and gets sectioned under the Mental Health Act 1983. This isn't something new. He's been in and out of mental wards all his young life, he's a what they call in the NHS a revolving door patient and a bed-blocker.
"In the psychiatric ward, an amazing epiphany flows over him. With his unexplained new-found face, even though women still hate his non-existant social grace they can't help but be infatuated by his angelic looks.
"He notices other patients who are just as unseemly in their personality as him are ignored while he gets fretted over by the female nurses. Being a man of above average intelligence, he deduces he just never realised how important attraction was and that he should have known all along that that was what he needed.
"He smiled. If only he'd paid to get cosmetic surgery years ago instead of buying cigarettes, alcohol, video games and takeaways. Now he felt so happy, so truly and madly and deeply joyful that the world was his oyster.
"Sure, he was still Autistic and mentally ill. But people would forgive his mistakes. They'd help him no matter where he would go. Of course, the relationships he'd have with the beautiful girls would all be hollow because he was unable to understand others but as long as he had someone to sleep with when he felt lonely he'd get by.
"Hell, it beats living vicariously through Dawson's Creek episodes, he smiled to himself."
Dr Bladdermaker was about to say something but before she got the chance Dr Protractor ran out of the room, squealing.
The End.
(… At least that’s what you thought … So I played with your emotions. Big deal! You know you loved it.)
Dr Bladdermaker called her mum. “I think it’s time I paid a visit to the doctor. Or a few, in fact. Difficult visits. I, uh, am going to have to make a visit to my bank too. Remortgaging the house. I-“
“Emma! You fucking daughter of a bitch! Read today’s Financial Times’ headline! Central London property boom never bloody sodding ends! Thank fucking shitting fathersucking titfucking God! Your daddy is a nobody and me, I’m a bit fat piggy. Har-de-fucking-har! While he’s rotting in Swindon with his dumbo of a son Christopher and his bloody night-time dog-walking incidents, we’re gonna be sipping champagne with people who say, ‘Look at my wad of cash,’ while driving around in their convertible Jeep Cherokees and sun-roof-installed-as-standard Toyotas. .Oh, oh, read that Financial Times headline. Oh, yeah! That’s it! Read it out loud! Louder! Read it again! Read it again! Read it again! Read it again!â€
“Oh mum! Then we can have all the cosmetic surgery we need. We finally have the right to be beautiful, now we have money! Oh mum, I can’t believe it. We’re free at last.â€
“I love you, Emma. You mean the world to me. We’ve had a tough past. It hasn’t been easy the two of us being on the Autistic spectrum. It’s been difficult coping with other people’s fear of us and our differences. But we’ve made it now. Oh, Emma. We’ve made it. I can’t wait till you catch that train to come and see me. Get to it, honey! I love you so much,†said Emma’s mum, her voice coming to a sudden stop, then starting again in an orgasmic bellow as her eyes closed wildly, “read it again! Read it out loud! Read it again! Read it again! Read it again! Read it again!â€
"Is she gone yet?"