[The scene: Castle Carfax. The drawing room, late at night. Candles gutter fitfully in sconces on the walls. An eerie melody swirls up from the organola† in the chapel across the courtyard. The castle's dread master summons his twisted servant.]
One of our experimental subjects has taken action to fend off our usual methods!
The orbital mind-control latherth, thir?
Exactly! We must resort to other means to continue the protocols. I think we should continue with more... chemical methods of mind alteration.
Not... the BFG, marthter? Ith that thafe?
Safe?! What does that matter, Igor, when there are so many things we could discover? Just think... SCIENCE is waiting to be done!
Of courthe, marthter. I'm thorry.
You are forgiven, Igor. Now, go fetch the amaretto, the chocolate liqueuer, and the purple vodka. I shall prepare the dosage
† Like a pianola, only scarier.