Enjoy some new fiction (© 2023 by Cedric Williams) :

“The trouble with employing peasants as midwives is they allow themselves to become emotionally invested,” stated the Earl. Reginald Bartholomew Sasquatch III, more formally known as the Earl of Ductwork, was lounging on one of the daybeds in his drawing room. Also present was the Earl’s casual acquaintance, Lord Aqueous Philbin.

“I quite agree,” said the good Lord. “When Lady Aqueous died in childbirth, the midwife became embarrassingly emotional. The wailing, the lamentation, it was all so…distasteful.”

“Quite agree, quite agree!” replied the Earl. “Thence, I have devised a solution.”

“Oh?” inquizified Lord Aqueous. “Do tell!”

The Earl replied, “Ferrets.”

Lord Aqueous had come to expect a certain level of unintentional absurdity in the Earl’s ramblings, but this reply left him momentarily speechless.

The Earl continued, “I am quite certain that ferrets could be trained to serve as midwives.”

As the Lord regained his senses, he asked, “Do you…mean to tell me…you honestly believe that you could teach midwifery to a ferret?”

“Well, not me personally. But I am convinced a proper animal trainer, employing a well-designed curriculum, could prepare a reasonably intelligent ferret to competently perform as a midwife in as little as six weeks.”

“Well,” returned the Lord, “I am convinced that you, my good man, are full of shit.”

The Earl was a tad concerned by this statement, but the two gentlemen pressed onward, debating the matter until Lord Aqueous Philbin departed shortly after tea. As the Earl sat alone in his drawing room, he grew increasingly worried. To his ears, to be “full of shit” sounded like a serious medical condition. And he had been feeling a little “off” since the day he was bitten by the one ferret he had attempted to train by himself. So, the Earl decided, it was time to assemble his medical team.

Being an Earl has its privileges. One such privilege is that all physicians across the entire earldom are at the Earl’s beck and call 24/7. Naturally, the Earl had designated a medical team comprised of the finest doctors in his domain; the Earl had selected Dr. Yobbo Side-Salad to lead this team. The team performed a complete, head-to-toe MRI, and Dr. Side-Salad sat down with the Earl to discuss the results.

“It would seem,” the good doctor said, “that you have a very rare condition known as Hyperfecesia.”

“You mean…?” began the Earl.

“Yes,” said the doctor, “your body is indeed retaining copious amounts of shit.”

“What is to be done about it?”

“There is nothing to be done,” said Side-Salad. “There is no known cure. An average man in your condition would have about six weeks to live. But since you are the Earl, you are entitled to more of everything, so I’ll let you have twelve weeks.”

The Earl was understandably distraught. For several days thereafter, he slowly wandered the halls of his palace, with one question on his mind:

Who will train the ferrets?

End of Part A

(click here for part B)