Detlof: your warden told me today: "Not a day goes by, without the guards complaining about D. First, there was the 12 hours of you acting really trashed, laying in the corner begging for some "serotininereuptakeinhibitors" then the vomiting, and the mumbling about "no bare-breasted blondes, no pretty milkmaids in a Dirndle, no ultra horny sunshine Flittchens, where are my sunshine Flittchens!"" (whoah Detlof! guess J's advice paid off) The next day, you gave your Muesli to some two-fisted giant from St. Moritz who (under the harmless cover of a chocolate factory) allegedly spread a computer virus that infected all of the SACD discs around the world in order to make them repeat the Ballermann top hit "Zehn nackte Friseusen", and you--Detlof--tried to to convince this thug that it was a once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity for him to start up a criminal fraternity with someone with a "party-with-no-holds-barred pharmaceutic expertise." What you didn't know was that this Alpha-male you were trying to finagle into your schemes (Katharina is right, Detlof is planning something) is a key informant in the Salvatore clan, and quickly informed the don of your habits (Detlof, this is a matter of life and death, please be careful of any "Canadian" cognac from the outside, even if Katharina gives it to you--the guards switch it around while they inspect it-- because it is laced (by the don himself!) with some seriously disjointed lo-fi gnarl that will have you hallucinating you have a "secret sex friend" who can stand on their head while you sink in their quicksand hearing "Glühwein, Girls, und Gipfel-Gaudi" played backwards at the wrong speed. But, you know what kubla (he has some inside connection to the police where you live, I don't know how, something about "Thailand Teens at the Schatzi Bar") e-mailed to me after I told him what your warden said? That they (I mean, the authorities watching you closely right now), as a last measure, have called in some phonopsychologists (some former colleagues of yours that are angry at you for dismissing their experiments as "scantily clad sonic Pavlovianism" in your last essay for the "Zurich Psychoanalytic Blätter") preparing a good-old-American saturation therapy for you: you know, what the white-coated prison doctors tried on that unlucky Beethoven fanatic in "A Clockwork" with the eyes pried wide open, only with you they plan something through the ears--with Bose loudspeakers and a Minidisc player left over from Sansui's R&D into data hyper-reduction (the good Dr. of Bose is even flying in as we speak on a plane under Cornfedboy's pseudonym). Wirehead, we have to get the timing right, we have to get Detlof out of the "Knast" fast, scot free, and put him immediately into a de-Flittchen-ization program. I know a good one near Baden Baden; and while Detlof is squirming in his bed screaming vainly for an ultra-horny Tüssi, we can smuggle his rig in a storage container marked "Schweizer Butter Ist Besser" to Gregm and Dssmann.
