Some Minor Adjustments

By Larry Boisen

Trudy Schlaumeier made some final adjustments to the console of her gadget, which she called her, “ideal man maker.” It was attached to a well-padded recliner that had hidden within it all sorts of electronic connections. She had only to convince her potential victim, some young hunk, to sit in the recliner, let the drugged drink he had imbibed take effect, connect all the electrodes to his chest and forehead and then turn the gizmo on. She was a brilliant scientist; although others would deem her a diabolical one.

She had worked so hard creating this contraption and had, in fact, tried it out on a few men already. The fact that the device had not exhibited the correct effect was not due to any failings in her scientific planning but rather to her wrong choice of men.

Her plan was relatively simple: since she was a reasonably attractive woman, she wouldn’t have too difficult a time finding some young hunk to lure to her lair. She would ply him with alcoholic drinks, say and do a few suggestive things, get him to sit in the “electric chair”, wait for the drug to take effect and then whammo! – she would adjust all the dials to alter his state permanently to become a mindless slave that would satisfy her every whim.

Her few past attempts resulted in men who became too docile, too lazy. She wanted a man full of vigor, but one whose one constant goal was to serve her like the queen that she was meant to be. Oh, sure there were plenty of men who would want plenty of hanky-panky, but after they were sated they would just dump her. But this time it would work perfectly. She had found herself a hunk all right, but he was a brainless Lil’ Abner of a man. Once she had manipulated his nervous system and brain waves he would be all hers to cater to her every beck and call.

Herman was his name, and he was due to arrive any minute. She was sure that this time she wouldn’t have to dispose of a body. She didn’t want any guy with brains; she had enough brains for any couple.

The door bell rang. Trudy opened the door, and there stood all six foot four of this simpleton named Herman. He was dressed like the bumpkin that he was wearing a brown and yellow striped shirt. He held a bouquet of flowers in his trembling hands.

“Please come in, Herman. Let us not waste a precious moment. I have some delicious new variety of wine for us to celebrate with. Please be seated.” And she indicated her lethal weapon.

“Oh, thank you,” Herman said as he bowed clumsily and then sat down.

Trudy scurried off and fetched the glasses of wine, one for herself and the other, laced with a sedative, for Herman. Within minutes Herman was in la-la-land and Trudy attached the electrodes to his chest and forehead. She rubbed her hands together and smiled with sinister glee as she started to manipulate the dials. This went on for several minutes.

“Any minute now,” she snickered to herself. Suddenly, Herman popped open his eyes,

looked at her and around the room and then smiled graciously at her.


“I feel simply marvelous,” he said with a somewhat British accent.


Trudy was taken aback a bit at first, but he seemed so happy that she assumed that this was just an unusual side effect. He rose quickly, bowed gracefully, grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“What a charming princess you are, my dear,” he said, and he took her into his arms and waltzed her around the room.


“What happened to the shy young man who was at my door a few minutes ago?” she panted with delighted exhaustion.


“Why, he has been changed into your most ardent lover and slave, madam. Please sit

down so I may attend to your every need and desire.”


She sat down a bit perplexed. He stroked her hair and face. She smiled as she contemplated her plan working so effectively. He continued to stroke her temples, and then suddenly he pressed her temples hard and she passed out. He attached the electrodes to her and walked over to the console.

“Now, let me make a few adjustments here and soon I will have my very own Stepford woman. Ha! Who wants a brilliant woman? No, I have a much better use for you, my dear ditz.