Clinical Transcript: Patient #333-G
Date: August 13, 2026 Attending: Dr. Belialzabeth, PhD, LCSW (Licensed Clinical Supernatural Wrecker) Patient: Snaggle, Gremlin (Class II)
Dr. Belialzabeth: (Straightens a bright plaid blazer that clashes violently with her horns, puffing a thick sulfur cigar) I tell ya, in this profession, I get no respect. No respect at all! I had a banshee in here this morning crying her eyes out. I said, “Lady, take it easy, you’re rusting my filing cabinets!” She says, “I’m mourning the impending doom of mortals!” I said, “With that breath, you’re causing it!” Hey! (Taps cigar ashes directly onto the carpet) Anyway, what’s eating you, Snaggle? You look like you just went through a woodchipper, and not in the fun way!
Snaggle: (Picking nervously at his pointy, green ears) It’s the youths, Doc. The human youths. I’m having a crisis of purpose. I’m a Class II Gremlin! I’m supposed to be the pinnacle of mechanical mischief! But I can’t compete with these kids on TikTok anymore.
Dr. Belialzabeth: TikTok! I tell ya, my ex-husband is on TikTok. He does those lip-sync videos. He’s so bad at it, even the ventriloquist dummies are sending him hate mail! So what’s the problem? You’re a monster, go break a router!
Snaggle: It’s not that simple! Yesterday, I spent three hours carefully loosening the lug nuts on a Honda Civic. A classic Gremlin maneuver. Subtle. Maddening. But before the guy even backs out of the driveway, his teenage son runs up with a ring light, dumps a bucket of radioactive-green paint on his dad’s head, screams “IT’S A PRANK, BRO,” and gets four million views in an hour! How do I compete with that?! They’re out-gremlining me!
Dr. Belialzabeth: (Snorts, nearly choking on her cigar) Paint? That’s it? I tell ya, my grandmother hit harder than that, and she was a poltergeist with arthritis! Snaggle, look at yourself. Your grandfather brought down a B-17 bomber over Munich, and you’re crying over a little Sherwin-Williams? You gotta step it up, kid! These TikTokers are playing checkers, you gotta play Russian Roulette! With a fully loaded revolver!
Snaggle: Step it up? Like… cut the brake lines instead of the lug nuts?
Dr. Belialzabeth: Brake lines?! What is this, 1993? I’m talking PAIN, Snaggle! Real, agonizing, viral-sensation PAIN! You want views? You want respect? You don’t just hide a guy’s car keys. You hide his pacemaker! Hey!
Snaggle: (Eyes wide, gulping) Hide his pacemaker? That’s… that’s a felony, Doc. Isn’t that a bit dark?
Dr. Belialzabeth: Dark? I’ll tell you what’s dark! The roast beef at the hospital cafeteria! Now that’s a tragedy. Look, kid, the internet has numbed these meat-sacks. A whoopee cushion doesn’t cut it anymore. If you ain’t causing compound fractures, you ain’t going viral! You gotta up the trauma! The next time some influencer does a little dance in a grocery store aisle, you don’t just untie their shoelaces. You drop the whole ceiling on ’em! Splat! Like a Looney Tunes anvil!
Snaggle: But I… I just want to be mildly infuriating! That’s the Gremlin way! I like tangling headphone wires and making printers jam!
Dr. Belialzabeth: (Slams hand on the desk) Mildly infuriating? You’re a Gremlin, not a hangnail! Mildly infuriating is listening to my mother-in-law describe her gallstones. If you want to beat the pranksters, you gotta become a terror! Next time they try to prank their girlfriend by pretending to cheat, you rewire their smart-house to shoot actual lasers from the smoke detectors! Give ’em a little third-degree burn to remember you by!
Snaggle: (Fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable but taking notes) Third-degree burns… lasers… I mean, I guess I do know how to bypass a circuit breaker…
Dr. Belialzabeth: That’s the spirit! Give ’em something to cry about to their followers! I tell ya, do what I tell my mother-in-law when she asks for a hug: go play in traffic! And take one of those prank-tubers with you!
Snaggle: Okay… okay! I’ll do it! I’m gonna go hotwire a forklift and crash it into a hype house!
Dr. Belialzabeth: Now you’re talking! Next week, I want a full report. And if nobody needs a skin graft or a neck brace by next Tuesday, I’m doubling my hourly rate! Now get outta here, my next patient is a vampire with an overbite, and I gotta go sharpen the wooden stakes. And hey, tell the receptionist to validate your parking—right before you slash her tires! Heh heh!