"Another bloody werewolf!" said Doctor Blix. Where the hell were they all coming from? "Okay, give him the usual, and I'll take a look at him tomorrow."
        This was worrying. So far, the only thing they had found which could control lycanthropy was Voodozlin-X, and their stocks were running low.
        "And the insurance ...." muttered Doctor Blix, not bothering to complete the thought.
        Although he already knew it was useless, he tried entering the patient's data under the headings "werewolf," "werewolvism," "lycanthropy" and, as a desperate last stab, "lyncanthropic ideation," but they were all non-existent categories.
        "Check the classification manual," said the computer.
        But Doctor Blix had no need to check. He went to where he was forced, and reported the patient as a case of blofogristaniposis, which at least accounted for all that hair.
        The word "werewolf," coming from the TV screen, made him look up.
        "Could you say that again?"
        "What is the president's position on the werewolf panic?"
        "There is no statistical evidence to support the existence of the so-called Salem Syndrome," said Arial Shrine, the presidential spokesperson.
        "Uh, well, does the White House have a position on the nationwide outbreak of blofogristaniposis?"
        "The White House," said Arial, glisteningly bald, "does not see that as a problem."
        The next night was the night of the full moon. And after that night, of course, Arial Shrine made no more public pronouncements.