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Hedonist For A Day
by Michael A. Kechula

“Welcome to Hedonist For a Day,” said the TV host. “Every week, we select a winner from three unfortunate men who've had lives of unspeakable misery. Each contestant has eight minutes to tell his story. The contestant who gets the most applause from our studio audience wins twenty-four hours in our Pleasure Palace, where he’ll enjoy incredible pleasure from fabulous women and special machines.”

After the first two men told their woeful stories, a model brought in a large glass jar and set it on table. Inside was a severed head immersed in yellowish liquid.

The host spoke into the jar. “What’s your name, Sir?”

“Howard,” the head gurgled.

“Tell us about your unspeakable misery.”

The head told a tale of alien abduction that was so shocking, hundreds of home viewers fainted. Several had heart attacks.

“That was the most horrible story of tortuous suffering I’ve ever heard,” said the host, as the audience applauded wildly.

TV cameras showed a computer loaded with blinking lights. A bell sounded, and a card fell into a hopper. The host read the card. “This week’s Hedonist For a Day is…Howard!”

Howard’s grinning head bobbed so violently, it almost flew out of the jar.

The show ended. A stagehand carried the jar into the Pleasure Palace.

“This is the first time a decapitated head ever won,” the host said. “Since you don’t have a body, we’re not sure how to apply our pleasure techniques. Let’s try an erotic massage by professional geishas and see what happens.” Pointing to a topless pleasure provider, the host added, “Take Howard’s head out of the jar and put it on the massage table.”

“No!” Howard yelled. “If you remove me from the fluid, I’ll die within three minutes. How about using pleasure machines?”

“That involves placing pleasure probes onto your head. Since you’re immersed in fluid, you’ll be electrocuted.”

“Dammit! I won fair and square. You better find a way to give me the pleasure you promised, or I’ll sue you for a million dollars!”

The show’s producer took the host aside. “This guy’s a royal pain. Maybe we can say we had a computer error, and that he really didn’t win. I’ll give him a thousand dollars, and get him outta here.”

When Howard heard the producer’s offer, he said, “Keep your money. I want to feel every ounce of pleasure you owe me.”

The host and producer conferred again.

“Howard,” said the host, “we’re going to put fish in your jar. The kind we have in mind wiggle frantically when they swim. When they brush against your face, their wiggling will give you exquisite pleasure.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The host dropped six little fish into the jar.

“Mmm,” Howard gurgled. “This is sooo nice.”

Seconds later, his screams could be heard for miles.

“Look at those cute tropical fishies,” said a pleasure provider, as Howard’s skull sank to the bottom of the jar. “What kind are they?”

“Piranha,” said the host.