Part LXXXIV - The Case of The Back From The Dead And Gone Again Lieutenant

"Georgie, are the twist engines recurled yet?"

~No, Captain,~ came the disembodied reply. ~We seem to have a super-space reinforcement wave surrounding the engines keeping them from recurling.~

"Meaning..."

~We're going to have straight engines for a while yet.~

"Wonderful," said Captain Poopdeck. "Even in space we get homophobia. Where is Commander Biker?"

"Checking for where-when anomalies in the crew's quarters with Counsellor Boy-Toy," said Mister Woof.

"As I was saying..."

"Sir! There's a Twist-Yard distortion off the port bow!" screamed Lieutenant Traptin Tar.

"On window. Wait a minute! You're dead!"

Lieutenant Tar's face froze. She frantically grabbed her wrist. "You're right! I can't find a pulse!" She keeled over.

Boner ran over to her. "She's dead, Tim!"

Captain Poopdeck smacked him. "You twit, you're not in Star Trip the Tenth Iteration! And zip up your pants."

"Oops, sorry, got off on the wrong set." Boner stepped into the Super-Charged Lifter and was lifted away at super speed.

Poopdeck punched his chest miscommunicator. "Ouch! Doctor Brushstroke, Lieutenant Tar is dead!"

~Captain, you have to learn to let go...~

"No, I mean she's dead here, on the overpass."

~What!?~

"I was hoping you could explain it to me."

~I'm on my way.~

"Make it just like that."

Ensign Rowboat at the tiller turned to Barry, who was sitting beside her at the Shops Terminal, and asked, "I thought it was Commander Biker who got trapped in tar?"

"What, did his Harley spring a leak again?! Oh my, Georgie is not going to be pleased about that! No sir!"

"Don't call me `Sir,' Sir, you out rank me."

"I'm sorry, but I've just been overcome by the repetitiveness of it all."

"Again?"

"Captain!" barked Mister Woof, "The disturbance Lieutenant Tar noticed has gained in strength by three million percent!"

"On window!"

Off the port bow a twisting of the where-when fabric (which was corduroy at that particular location) could be seen by all with eyes in their heads and a working visual cortex. The twisting increased until a square-rigged ship emerged.

"Dear God!" exclaimed Barry. "It's the Bored!"

"Wonderful," said Poopdeck. "I've already heard the phrase, `yeah, whatever,' enough to last me twenty lifetimes."

PART LXXXIII - Granite Dust Ain't No Deli Sandwich

Lickin' Linda Lovelace was attacked by Exhaustion.

"Lawrence, Lawrence, get this madman off me!"

Lawrence rolled his eyes individually down an alley and kicked the interloper's brains out. They ended up in the delicatessen mentioned last part. Not to be anti-semitic, of course; just disgusting. Thought you'd like to know. But we digress, eh?

"Sandwich?" offered Linda.

"No - sand in my eye."

"You picked a fine alley to roll them in with all the garbage back there. I can't believe the wasted food in these places."

"BELIEVE!!!" screamed Jerry Rhombus from an overhead television. "You too can be one of the chosen millions to be raped and pillaged by our ministry. Remember that our God is publicly funded and can't exist without out your generous financial and rhetorical support."

[ELLIPSIS'S INSERTION: THAT GOD IS PUBLIC DOMAIN.]

"God, somebody change the damn Chanel," said Linda, "My nostrils are killing me."

"ATCHOOOOOO" sneezed Lawrence.

"BLESS YOU!! My children of the future will be the most prosperous in our mutually beneficial afterlife..."

"Change the fucking channel!" Screamed a man at the back of the deli as a tomato and bacon sandwich hit the monitor.

The sandwich dropped on Lawrence's head and the channel changed.

"Ohhhhh Ambra... Mmmmm yeah baby"

"My god Linda they have cable."

Linda and Lawrence glanced at the group of children sitting cross-legged on the floor with their eyes glued to the screen.

"UH... UH... Do you like taking me that way John?"

"Ohhh YES Ambra YES!"

"Fine," cut in a man in a suit," will that be SX, DX, or clock doubled?"

"Fuckin' commercials," said an anonymous man in the back.

"Is there anything out there that can make a good story these days?!?"

The New Messiah shook his head. Nothing came out. `I know who can,' he thought, `but they won't help me. They keep writing this stupid plot.'

CWBorysowich looked at his partner and asked, "I did?"

"Did what?"

"Looked at you?"

"When?"

"Before."

"Statement, my point."

"Got a life?" asked CWB.

"What kind?"

"Recently?"

"How recent?"

"In the wake of your ancestors or have you still got that conscience?"

"Nonsense,"said KDA," point to me. My serve: where's the Old Messiah?"

"Isn't he at your place?"

"When did he go there?"

"Didn't you take him?"

"Did somebody tell you that?"

"That you took him like Ambra?"

"Who?"

"You don't know Ambra?"

"Should I?"

"Do you have her number?"

"On me?"

"What's on you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Didn't you mention it?"

"Wasn't that in passing?"

"What did you pass?"

"Do you know someone who's interested?"

"Should somebody be?"

"Shouldn't that be the principal of the thing?"

"When did you get principals?"

"What, did I leave a school lying around?"

"Lie in school often?"

"How would they notice?"

"Did you post a notice to tell them?"

"Would they have read it?"

"Can they even read?"

"Can they read cans?"

"You were going to post a can?"

"Would Canada Post take a can?"

"Do you have a can they want?"

"Do they have to go?"

"Who's leaving?"

"Did a door open?"

"You didn't jam it?"

"What flavour?"

"Are raspberries in season?"

"Are the seasons changing?"

"When will you ever change?"

"When will you ever stabilise?"

"Have you stabilised already?"

"Stabilised what?"

"Can't you stabilize anything?"

"Why are you so critical?"

"Wasn't your father a critic?"

"Wasn't family supposed to be off limits?"

"Your family went out of bounds?"

"Didn't you tie them up right?"

"Don't you have the rope?"

"How often?"

"Are you tired of this?"

"Do you want to give up?"

"With two points already, can't you give up?"

"But is any lead sufficient?"

"Wouldn't you still win?"

"Is winning the point?"

"Are you expecting a point with that stupid question?"

"Derrogatory, match point. Good game."

"You thought so?"

"Are we going to go through all this again?"

"Didn't you already get match point?"

"Then why are you asking more questions?"

"Weren't you asking the questions?"

"Which particular questions?"

"Are you denying the questions?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Are you paranoid?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Since this isn't for a point, why should I be?"

"If this is pointless, why are we doing it?"

"You haven't done pointless things before?"

"When?"

"Anytime before?"

"Before time?"

"Do you think it possible?"

"Is anything impossible?"

"Even if everything is possible, is it not pointless?"

"Doesn't that depend on the score?"

"Can we stop if this doesn't affect the score anymore?"

"Do you think we can?"

"Is it a matter of belief?"

"What does Rev. Rhombus say?"

"BELIEVE!!!!"

"That was a great show Rev.!" squeaked Nick the noose.

"IT WAS, WASN'T IT?" bellowed the Reverend.

"Uh, sir, we're off the air."

"OH! Sorry, boys, got carried away."

`Try harder,' thought the observer.

"How much did we raise today boys?"

"8.6 billion dollars, sir." screeched one of the other members of the congregation.

"Ahh, an amount even Sturmgosse would be proud of..."

PART LXXXII - Particle Physics would be cool if it was bigger!

"I can't see it!!!"

"Bring over that flashlight Beepo."

"This one?"

"Uhh, Yeah Rudolf will do - how did we end up with a reindeer?"

"There it is over there... Bring the nose in a little closer... I think I know what it is... Justa little closer... And a bit closer... A bit OH SHIT!!"

"Way to go Bob - you lost the reindeer in that vortex."

"I almost had it."

"What - what did you almost have?" inquisitioned Beepo.

"Get these Spanish priests out of my face, you clown. I almost had the real forged signature of DaVinci."

"God Damn it Bob," Neils glanced apologetically to the Spanish Priests, "We're out one reindeer because of a friggin signature. Have you lost touch with surreality? If we don't clean up this clump of disjointed time and space, it will tear apart the fabric of my patch work quilt."

"So buy an electric blanket. Anyway, Santa can fly in and rescue the damn reindeer. I asked for a flashlight, anyway. You guys have no sense of proportion."

"Hey I've got no depth perception either," piped in Beepo.

"How can I forget. I still haven't fixed that hot water heater yet," protested Neils.

Bob looked at Neils, then at Beepo, then back at Neils. He shook his head.

"Anyway, I want an Adam smasher set up here right away."

"Don't you mean an atom smasher?"

"If I did, I would have said so."

Beepo started shaking. "But... but Adam is my friend!"

"He's road kill! Pulverise the sucker so I can fix my tools."

Niels looked at Bob, then Beepo, and shook his head.

"You guys are weird."

"Big news coming from a guy in a jockey outfit."

At this point, KDAmery walked into the scene and faced the camera. "As you can see, our quantum mechanics are getting on each others nerves. It was sort of inevitable, when you think about it. I mean, the space time continuum looks like refuse from a delicatessen, and Beepo's chugging Minute Maid by the litre under high pressure. Only a matter of time (puns intended) before a muon wrench gets stuffed in the works. We'd love to show you the rest of this, but hey, we're perverse. Catch ya later."

PART LXXXI - Evrythin's Basicly OK, Eh? Pt. II

Back of a bar, sometime before closing. The CD changer was skipping over ultimately forgettable tunes, and the ceiling fans stuttered. A bar tender cleaned glasses he had cleaned half a dozen times already. Sitting in the back, nursing an hours old drink on the brink of death. Hang in there. We all have to die, but hang in there as long as you can.

He started to speak. No one listening.

"Y'know, evrythin's still basicly OK, y'no? It is, really, see if it ain't. I mean, sure, the universe jus' collapsed into a tool shed, but it's, like, no big deal, cus its a small world anyway. `Sides, we should all try'n get closer, anyway, right?

"Ain'tchoo listenin?

"I mean, shit man, its not like machines have taken over or nuthin. They're not that good yet, y'no? I mean, shit, if engineers're so fuckin brilliant, why do we need technicians?"

Yopu the barmaid came by and asked, "You finished with that?"

He clutched the glass. "Don'tchoo try'n take'im b'fore his time! Don'tchoo try it!"

"Sorry." She backed off.

"I mean, hell, he ain't dead yet." Takes a sip. The drink is on life support now. A strong breeze could evaporate the last of the alcohol. Our narrator doesn't want to hear this.

"It's OK. Evrythin's OK, y'no, cus the frogs 'n toads 'n salamanders are in charge. Amphibian government, man, its great fer the rainy season in Peru, right? Right. Not that we wanna discriminalate 'gainst the left. They's just misGuidoed, man, it's not like they're tryna drive us inta the ground're nuthin, cept in Ontario. 'Sides, evryone needs two sides. Otherwise we'd all fall over, y'no?

"I mean, rock'n roll'll never die, cus a sax players the president. It's cool.

"Basicly OK."

He takes another sip, notices the drink has bit the dust. Throws the glass into the mirror behind the bar.

"Nothin's OK anymore!"

PART LXXX - PLASTIC PEOPLE

Our Shrink sat in his office. Stella the Mannequin from Macy's lay on his couch staring at the ceiling with her arms outstretched in an unnatural pose.

"So what do you think of the Cleveland Indians this year?"

The Mannequin lay on the couch without moving.

"Do you still think that your sister is dead?"

The mannequin rolled off of the couch and thudded on the floor causing an arm to fall off. Our Shrink's secretary ran into the office, excused herself and entered the office to join the Shrink and the broken mannequin.

"Is she going to be OK Doctor?"

"No...I'm afraid she's a mannequin depressive."

A large, scruffy man with a tangled beard and a tattered bandana lounged against a Marshall Stack, painstakingly sewing a thread of Mylar up his left forearm. He thought the dragon's back scales were coming along nicely, despite the discolouration from the dirty needle he'd used the previous week. When he came to the end of the spool, he looked at his watch.

"Damnit, where is that hippie?! Sound check's almost over!"

"Hey, frogbreath! There's some mean bitch out front lookin' for ya!"

"Wha's she look like?"

"She's wearin' these robes and shit. Looks real good in sandals."

"Oh cripes, it's the missus. Look, stall her, man."

"Where ya goin?"

"Anywhere but here." Zeus ducked under the stage and beat feet, cursing whenever he banged his head on a support.

Headlines in the Metropolitan Monomaniac's entertainment section: "Hendrix misses another appearance," and, "Stage blown away by angry fan."

Zeus narrowly escaped the light show. Hospitals were flooded with the casualties. Never get in the way of a goddess during PMS. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, ha! Whoever said that never pissed off Hera.

"Shit, now I gotta think up another disguise."

Zeus sat on the outskirts of Memphis with his pet salamander Tonka.

"So, whaddaya think?"

"Look, the roadie thing's still cool. You just gotta stay around other roadies and keep a low profile."

"Oh, yeah. News flash, slime ball, I just did that and Cleveland Auditorium got flambe'ed."

"Uh huh. You think getting that girl pregnant with twin lambs was keeping a low profile?"

"Hey, I was disguised as a bison..."

"No no no no no. No raping, pillaging, or even stock fraud. Stick to the recreational embroidery, and let the chicks come to you. C'mon, you know how Hera is about family values."

"Hmmm, ya got a point. But that takes half the fun away."

"It doesn't have to. Change into some hot-bod and the groupie girls'll be all over ya. Hell, if ya grow yer hair long and dye it three colours, they'll think you're a musician."

"That or a friend of Kyle's. And can we come up with something a bit sportier for my schtick?"

"Like?"

"I don't know - something the gals would want to hear about."

"Like, `Makeup Artist?'"

"Naah, Hera would pick up on that one in a pico-second."

"Okay, handle the FX."

"Too obvious."

"Hey, if you wanna get babe attention, you're going to get her attention. Deal with it."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna get Hera's attention. She's on that Permanent Menstrual Syndrome and I'm supposed to be laying low remember?"

"Then why're ya asking for a babe-getter image? You know that's like blood in a shark tank."

"Good point. Maybe I should just make myself look like Zeke."

"Who?"

"We're looking for Zeke," said one of the sisters at the front of the procession.

"What for? He's just a senile old man. How can he live in this mine?"

The Sisters of Merciless Food entered the room that used to be Zeke's sitting room. The old fire pit was empty, not touched for possibly months.

"Where could he have gone?" asked the short sister.

The rocks awoke.

"I dunno," said the sister in charge. "Maybe he's in the old man's room."

"Well he'd better hurry back. Our hedgehog casserole is getting cold, and the yak fat is curdling."

The rocks would have salivated, had that been their style.

"Yeah, and our poison ivy salad is going limp."

"Like the boys in Jonseytown?"

"Kinda."

"Why don't we just come back another time. This place is really spooky. Besides, I want to get back and have some more of that Leek Jelly we made."

The rocks pounced. They started to chew, but then the taste of the casserole hit. In an instant, the Sisters of Merciless Food had been ejected in a spontaneous volcanic eruption, their remains scattered over the parking lot of Chez Quickies: poetic justice for a bunch of undergraduate chefs that considered making chocolate chip & ginseng rolls.

From here for the next bit we're editing on CWBorysowich's BIG screen TV, which is large on size and small on resolution. So if the plot seems over blown and under-focused, that's why.

Time is a conspiracy of the watchmakers (go figure).

If we can have TV for the blind, why can't we have stereo for the deaf?

"You been listening to pop radio? We already do."

Where did all the clowns go?

Never mind clowns, here come the Cleveland Browns!

Next hit movie: The Violence of the Shams.

All of the French maids at Chez Quickies came out in force to clean up the parking lot before their president, Francois Mitterand, stopped in for a visit. He liked the job they did, and sold them all cars with faulty wiring. A month later came the biggest case of tragic spontaneous explosions ever known, and there were no maids left to clean it up, either.

Hey, you didn't think we could have the Plot to End ALL Plots without a few fatalities, didja?

Speaking of which, you should all realize that, when this monstrosity is finished, there will be no more plots. Ever. No stories, conspiracies, schemes, or intelligence work. So enjoy this stuff while it lasts.

And, when we're done, we're going to convert it into a microdot. That way, you won't have to read this gigantic thing. It'll look like this: .