User:God Of Pills
With a history like Pill Popping Patty's, you'd need a god like the God of Pills. Or you wouldn't.
Once upon a time there was a jagged little pill, to borrow a stale phrase. That pill, being an oral contraceptive for members of the female persuasion, was on a trajectory to disable the reproductive materials that would, nine-and-a-half months later, form Patricia Alicia Theresia deHairyPits, seventyninth Baroness of Pissant.
With a Grand Scheme of Things drawn out on odd bits of cloud, divine sanitary towels, and napkins from the Gods' Public House (Nectar and Ambrosia half price every Tuesday night!), the God of Pills foresaw how Patricia Alicia Theresia deHairyPits would become his most loyal (and only) follower. It has to be said that the God of Pills is also an extremely disorganised god if he forgets to take his medication. Anyway, this Grand Scheme of Things was the result of a semi-dissociative episode of, roughly speaking, half an eternity. Gods take a gung-ho approach to mental illness, and in essence try to weather it out, like a human would a flu infection.
In the Grand Scheme of Things, Patricia Alicia Theresia deHairyPits was to be the scion of a Grand Family, who received enlightenment from the divine inspiration bestowed upon her by the God of Pills. She was to found a noble, intellectualist religious establishment devoted to the finesse of biochemistry and the placebo effect. Patricia Alicia Theresia was destined for great and glorious deeds!
Therefore the God of Pills, being all-powerful in the pellet and lozenge department, decreed in all his wisdom that the oral contraceptive ingested by Patricia Alicia Theresia's mother was the result of a production error. And thus, in a night of fierce and aristocratic copulation some two weeks later, the stars aligned to spell out 'SO CLICHÉ'. The God of Pills's will was done.
All worked out well: the perfect genes met, creating a physically strong and intellectually superior female human with a high tolerance to addictive substances. Now her parents, being as privileged as the Pope's Poodle, would only have to do their thing.
Which they did.
Like anyone firmly believing in the power of contraceptives, Patricia Alicia Theresia's mother was not bothered by possible fetal health. Not at all. So she drank away many a Pinot Noir of excellent vintage, smoked bushels of cigarillo's, hand-turned by ancient Communist washerwomen, and washed it all down with the finest 'shomp-anye'. Daily. For months and months. Ah, yes, the joys of being wealthy...
Yes, reader, smoke and drink during pregnancy ARE detrimental to the development of the fetus, no matter how infrequent. The God of Pills, having forgotten that he was to divinely inspire a Rude Health Monk to influence the noble couple, felt like such a pillock.
Suffice to say, Our Patricia didn't come out a proper Patricia. Not even half one. Our Patricia turned out to be a physically strong, vigorously healthy and frequently violent female human. Plus she heard voices. To be more precise, she heard one voice, and that was the one belonging to the God of Pills.
Our Patricia was a dunce. Like many of her forebears, she was endowed with a sense of moral superiority and, as is often the case with aristocratic inbreeding, an innate belief that everything should belong to her, before or after a good old-fashioned civilised duel. This, and the fact that it took her five years to get through nursery school, made her a force to be reckoned with in the playground: aggressive, overbearing, and at least four years older than anyone else.
As the deHairyPits parents had been convinced of the innate nobility of their daughter, and were as unable to comprehend that a scion of theirs wouldn't make it into grammar school as any parent from a privileged background, they surrendered their child to doctors for examination at nine.