Part LXXXVI - Ms. Petunia Vickers is Shocked, Stunned, Appalled, and then Promptly Released on an Unsuspecting World.

Still glossy eyed, she couldn't believe the things she had seen and now... where was she?

It was a beautiful summer day, or would have been, had there been any vegetation visible anywhere. Even some mould would have cheered things up, a little. Just a little, mind. Ms. Vickers was not what one might call a fungus fan.

Beyond the lack of vegetation, there was a complete void of water or any fluid as far as the eye could see. Not even a comforting mirage.

There was, however, a pretty snazzy radio sitting on a rock nearby.

"Hmmmm, let's see what's playing." She reached for the power button.

Forty billion volts coursed through her body, and Ms. Vickers discovered two things: there was a short in the radio, and this world, wherever it was, used a positively ridiculous amount of current.

The blast sent her flying back into a pile of dirt. She lay there, stunned, feeling parts of her body float away on the breeze. It wasn't nearly as unpleasant as she had expected, all things considered.

A few more lightning bolts from the radio and a station kicked in. A band, in some parts of the galaxy known as GWAR, but in this part of universe was really known as GAWR. "Filthy Flow" wafted out of the giga-watt mono speaker - a little light on bass - and the lyrics appalled Ms. Vickers. "I am dirt/ And dirt is me/ Never felt so goddamn filthy."

"My God, what atrocious manners!" she exclaimed, climbing up from the ground. She brushed herself off. "Dear God, look at me!"

KDAmery turned to CWBorysowich. "Do you hear someone calling us?"

"Keep quiet, maybe they'll go away."

Ms. Vickers was covered in ashes - which used to be her clothes - and dirt - which used to be who knows what. Had she been able to take the whole scene in, she would have noted that her hair was standing up like a porcupine's quills, and that her skin looked like an overdone hotdog, but someone was merciful enough not to leave a mirror lying around.

CWBorysowich turned to KDAmery. "When did we become merciful?"

"Did we do that? Geeze, must be slipping... I know, when they come asking, we'll plead negligence."

"I don't know... He helped us out of that kiddie porn thing in Ohio..."

"Not with negligence... ah, skip it."

"Sorry... I don't skip... I don't dance... I don't go near people who do..."

KDAmery looked at his partner. "Fine. Git outta here."

The sun faded as what Petunia hoped were clouds drifted in. She looked down at the parched land and cracks all around her. The clouds soon consumed the entire sky. A drop hit her cheek and as the rain came down, all of the cracks became little mouths opening for a drink from the sky. Suddenly, a great deluge fell upon the earth... or wherever... and the ground greedily sucked it in, quenching the thirst of all the cute little seeds some moron had left lying there.

Then the water hit the short circuit.

The entire electrical supply of the planet discharged into the ground, supercharging the growth cycle of the plants. Grass, flowers, shrubs, and trees erupted from the ground like one of those bad lawn mower commercials.

In the midst of it all sat Ms. Vickers.

"Well, I daresay that is an improvement."

A tree looked at her. "Jesus Christ! Nobody warned me about... that!"

As all of the high strung vegetation focused their shock on the vision of Ms. Petunia Vickers, they all promptly died and became a brown smelly rotting heap. Ms. Vickers then vanished from the planet. And if it wasn't for that episode, and had Petunia been swept away just a moment sooner, there could have been another planet hurtling toward catastrophe much like ours.

Part LXXXV - To Reluctantly Go Where No Authors Have Gone Before

"Well," said KDAmery. "Should we go in there?"

"Yeah right! You go in first and if no body parts are thrown out I'll follow you."

"Hey, relax, I've got my remote."

"Yeah I've got my remote too, but don't forget that this house separated from the universe without us touching the remotes."

"Goddamnit, did you have to remind me?! Jeeze, wants me to go first then gives me the Willies..."

"O.K. here's the deal: we both open the door and stand back - once we have an idea of what's inside, then we'll go in."

"This sounds disturbingly like Wolf or Doom™."

"Hey if it barks we run - if it kills us then it won't matter."

"Okay. One suggestion... that career in counselling? I'd skip it."

"Well, that’s the end of the session - here's my bill for $587 and 32 cents. Have a nice day and try to remember not to focus on your financial troubles..."

"Great. I'm going into a novel We're writing that's gone haywire and he's got delusions of usefulness."

"It's not a delusion - I'm acting."

"At least Keanu Reeves won't be unemployed..."

"So, are we going to open this door or what? Of course we could just leave it for some other author that dares to enter it."

"Sadist. Who could handle this thing?"

"Masochist! Why should we have to?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot I was dealing with the centre of the universe."

"Alright, let's get it over with - it'll probably be nothing but a couple of old sweat socks and a basketball from the 1964 Knicks games."

"Do you know something I don't?"

"Probably, but I wasn't going to go through the checklist now."

"Wonderful, he's keeping secrets again. Oh well, here goes." KDAmery opened the door and pointed his remote.

Rob Smith was standing in the doorway.

"Oh myself KDA - He's wearing an old Don Johnson suit..."

"Y'know, this could be kinda fun..."

"Oh shit," said Rob.

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: .

PART LXXIX - There is an Accident on the Highway of Life

The unfortunate subject of this case study has, until very recently, led a hopelessly normal life. This all changed last Thursday, when he went to lunch at Butterworth's, on the ninetieth floor of the Rockefeller building. He was preoccupied with the effects of a new tax upon his hobby of collecting rare stamps in holograph when he tripped on the strap of a woman's handbag, crashing into a table and spilling wine on the surprised patrons. All would have been fine, except Jinxy D. Axi Dent-Prone, our subject, made the mistake of apologizing for the way one woman's dress allowed her no modesty when wet. Her husband took offense and struck Jinxy in the jaw, knocking him onto a desert cart. The cart rolled through the swinging doors into the kitchen where he was dumped into the garbage chute and slid down 5 floors. Upon dropping into the garbage elevator, he promptly attempted to find an escape route. He managed to force the doors open and staggered out into a freshly cleaned office area. A VP took one look at him and the smell made him heave his lunch consisting of oysters and yogurt on Jinxy's shoes. Jinxy then made a run for it into an area that was under renovation and he fell three floors into a pile of insulation.

A workman nearby flicked away a cigarette butt, which landed on Jinxy and scorched a small, round welt on his forearm. Jinxy flung himself off the insulation in pain. He ran through an open door while searching for a First Aid kit, and slipped on a puddle of lubricant. As he reached the end of the hall (thinking that he really should find out what kind of lubricant this was and use it in his car), a workman opened a door leading into an air shaft. Dent-Prone slid into him; our subject's jacket caught on a pipe, which saved him from falling eighty four stories to his death in the sub-basement, as the workman did. Jinxy did slide down another four floors before he caught on another pipe. His jacket ripped, and he fell to a landing one floor below. Jinxy limped out of the service shaft towards the elevator, thinking of the implications this afternoon had for his clothing budget. Thus preoccupied, he did not notice the elevator malfunction, which caused it to stop one floor below his own. As he stepped in, it started upwards; Dent-Prone was whisked up thirteen floors on the roof of the elevator. It stopped at the penthouse office of Stürmgosse Smith before plummeting to the ground floor for Mr. Smith's trip to the masseuse. Jinxy climbed through the emergency hatch as a beautiful young woman entered. He was unsure how to answer to her question, "What are you doing?"

"Uh, I'm here to fix the drapes."

"We have blinds."

"That's okay, I'll make the bill out in braille."

The elevator then malfunctioned again, flying up to the penthouse. As a result, Jinxy fell from the elevator ceiling, and the young woman received serious bruising to her inner thighs (rape charges are pending.) The elevator then ceased functioning altogether, and has taken to dispersing pacifist literature to smart bombs.

The woman ran from the elevator screaming profanities. Jinxy left as well, looking for an unobtrusive way to get out of this place. Walking down a narrow corridor, he entered one of the rooms and was promptly hit in the eye with a rubber band.

"Collateral damage!" screamed The Manual "Kant," aiming another elastic at Johnny Dint, who had just pegged off David Wont. Covering his eye with his hand, Jinxy ducked back out into the hall and was smashed in the head by the mail cart, which pushed him across the building. He was dropped into a trolley which carried him down to the mail room on the third floor. A conveyor belt pulled him up and he landed on the desk of one of the sorters who pushed him to the floor.

"This is a restricted area, sir!" the sorter yelled.

"Yeah yeah, and I'm only PG." Jinxy dragged himself out of the room and walked through the door across the way. It was the stairs. Jinxy caught his breath a moment while staring down them when a man came barreling through, knocking him flat. Jinxy was flung into the spiral stair well and proceeded to tumble to the lobby. Two large security guards, standing at the bottom, lost control of their coffee and donuts when he plowed into their ankles. "Watch where you're rollin', asshole!" they growled as they threw Jinxy out onto the sidewalk where his left hand met the bottom of some woman's spike high heeled shoe.

While he lay on the ground dazed, Lassie, the imaginary dog (now deceased) came along and urinated on his face, which snapped him back to reality. He picked himself off the ground and crawled into a cab. Jinxy told the cab to take him to his apartment in the center of town.

The driver considered it odd that Jinxy addressed the car directly, but decided not mention it.

Once they arrived on his street, Jinxy realized that there was no money in his pockets. "Is it alright if I run upstairs and get some cash?"

The cabbie turned and said, "What?"

"Look out!"

"What?"

The driver turned back to the road in time to widen his eyes at the chemical truck backing out in front of him. The vehicles collided, spilling an unidentified radioactive substance all over the street as the taxi skidded into a fire hydrant. A gyser exploded under the car, flipping it over and drowning the driver. Jinxy floated out of the cab, thinking, 'At least I don't have to pay for the ride!' The water carried him into an open storm sewer, which carried him ten miles through some now radioactive sludge to the river outside of town. Immediately after surfacing, Jinxy was hit on the head by The Good Ship Hash Pipe, piloted by Gordie Leadfoot.

He awoke on shore to find a three hundred pound woman who had fallen in love with him at first sight giving him mouth to mouth. Jinxy took one look at her and screamed, shattering both her eardrums and attracting the attention of two cops. Being unable to get any coherent answers out of either of them, the cops tried to haul Jinxy and the fat woman off to the station. The woman went berserk and killed both cops with a bear hug.

In the confusion, Jinxy wandered off, suffering from amnesia. He now thought he was a Neo-nazi torture warden about to put a whole city to it's death. Contriving individual tortures for each person in the populous took him fifteen seconds (Jinxy, in his new identity of Uber Storm Fuhrer Gerhardt Von Gruesome, had the imagination of three deities, if nothing else).

A piece of bubble gum got stuck on Jinxy's shoe, tripping him into a newspaper box. Having discovered the necessary materials for his first torture, J. picked the colour comics out of the box and snatched up a nearby skateboard. Skating down the street, he spied his first victim. Before he could administer a lethal paper cut, however, a wheel from a 747 fell from the sky and struck the back of the skateboard, catapulting Jinxy 35 feet in the air and landing him in an open dumpster seconds before a garbage truck came to empty it.

Tumbling into the truck's dark chamber, J. was then compacted into several cubic meters of rotting restaurant garbage. Hours later, sandwiched amongst rotting tangerines and green Limburger cheese, the truck launched it's contents into the local dump. Jinxy crawled out and scared the two attendants to death. Climbing over their bodies, he wondered who he was. Oh yes, William T. Rockefeller, richest man on earth. He made a deranged beeline for the Rockefeller building, intending to take possession back from his simpering sister and buy up Ravensgate.

When he fought his way into the boardroom past security and secretary, five board members passed out, one crashing through a window and plummeting to her death 90 floors below. A cool summer breeze lightly rustled the papers on the table and flattened the remaining twenty board members to the back wall, who applauded the death of Rockefeller's simpering sister. Jinxy was about to sit down when the T2001 walked in and had a slight malfunction, which caused the shootings of the remaining board members and several wall panels before it shorted out completely. Crawling out from under the table, Jinxy heard a large crash echo from below the open window. The building started to shake. Looking down from the window, J. saw three bus loads of Japanese tourists crashed into the lobby by their Chinese drivers. Subsequently, the building's base started to crumble (there's Italian building for ya)..

Jinxy fell out the broken window only to land on a misdirected hang glider. This would not have saved him either if it weren't for the strong updraft caused by the burning buses, which got the hang glider safely to the roof of a shorter building. Stepping off the hang glider, Jinxy walked over a skylight and fell into the Ramada Inn's indoor swimming pool. The water instantly turned an indescribable grey-brown colour (the Ramada is suing, claiming that the pool has to be replaced entirely), and two swimmers lapsed into comas from toxic shock syndrome. Slipping into the men's change room, Jinxy discovered the showers had been filled with purple dye by some juvenile prankster at the practical joke convention being held in the hotel.

J. wandered out of the shower after getting dressed and into the hotel lobby only to have a baseball bat meet his head from a crazed junkie that had decided to hijack the lobby.

"Take this lobby to Cuba!" the junkie screamed as a SWAT team swatted him.

When he regained consciousness, J. found himself in one of the hotel rooms in bed with a Cocker spaniel and a marriage license sitting on the night stand to Fifi. There was a pounding on the door. "Open up! Police!" The door burst open and in rushed the LAPD and other assorted racist scum, along with the SPCA and a noose borrowed from Our Brothers of Perpetual Strangulation.

Thinking quickly for a change, J. threw the dog at the lynch mob, causing a total of thirteen near-fatal concussions. However, this attracted the attention of the Goddess of Spaniels, who became so incensed that she grabbed a statue of J. (which, much like a voodoo doll, contained his soul) and stepped on it. Now very short and very wide, J. waddled out of the room into the arms of Lickin Linda Lovelace the... pocket mortician(?), who immediately broke his arm by riding on it with Lawrence the Arabian. Waddling as fast as he could to escape, J. failed to notice an open man hole (in a hotel?), and he fell into a mess of over-ripe banana peels. Squishing his way out, J. was subsequently punted into another time zone by a passing subway.

And then Ravensgate collapsed in on itself, and Jinxy's day took a turn for the worse.

Part LXXIII - IS THAT a GRAY ELEPHANT FROM DENMARK?

"Hmmm... Amino Acids... Poly Peptides... DNA... A smidgeon of guacamole... And... Now where did that damn alligator go?"

Dr. Albert L. was hunched over his checker board and had almost made a stunning discovery, except for the fact that L. wasn't really a doctor. He'd received his degree from a mail order contest and had no background in any academic pursuit. Just the same, L. was an inventor. He had created such great gadgets as the Cordless Extension Cord, the Newspaper Hash Pipe, the Beeper for Lonely People (it beeps periodically for no reason), the Expanded Disc, Door Bell for the Dead, the Magnetic Floppy Disk Holder, the Wine Heater, the Exploding Safe, the Solar Powered Flood Lamp, the Solar Powered Flood, and the Aquatic Sodium Dispenser (a great kick at pool parties).

Just now, he was trying to recreate Life's Sidekick. This had bothered him for a long time. Every great hero had a sidekick, right? Well, since life itself was the hero of the modern existentialist novel (according to the back of a pizza box he'd read in the fifties), then life had to have a sidekick. Simple, really. So where was this guy? Albert had thought for a long time about this, and eventually concluded that the poor schmoe had been run over by a cement mixer. It was terribly sad, kind of like a Sartre novel. [Really, folks, this is sad. You'd better start crying. Authors] But it didn't have to be, as long as scientists were willing to rescue great literature.

He looked about. The tracks seemed to indicate the alligator was travelling in a westerly direction. That would put it on a vector for Victor's pool.

That could get messy if Victor's kids were there.

A loud knock was heard at the door. Albert turned to face the direction of his front door. He waited, and while he waited, he thought. Then the knock came again and shattered his thoughts completely. He may never think again.

Albert went to the front door and opened it. The knock at the side door came again. L. closed the front door and shot the half dozen bolts and latches with a pea shooter. Going to the side door, L. opened it to reveal a soaking wet Victor missing one arm and dragging one of his legs.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you really a doctor?"

"No, weren't you reading along?"

"No, I was too busy being eaten alive. Is that your alligator?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Victor collapsed. A real doctor would have called it shock and blood loss, but Albert just thought he was being polite.

"Well, I guess I know where the alligator is." And with that, L. set out to retrieve his life long pet. On the way to Victor's yard, L. regained his thought. [This is terribly sad folks. You'd better be crying. Auts]

`Are scientists to save literature - would they be the ones to defend the will of free speech - o the devastation that would occur as the rift between the different scientists would mount to a galactic war over Steinbeck and his little wizards...'

As L. entered Victor's yard, the devastation was immense. Entire trees were uprooted, body parts from Victor's children were strewn all over the back lawn and floating in the pool, and vultures flew in triangular patterns overhead. Victor's wife lay half eaten with no clothing on; obviously raped by the alligator. But no sign of his life long pet. L. searched for some clues. After several hours, he noticed a large hole in the fence that led into the set for Dallas.

This might have caused a stir, except that Dallas had been cancelled long before, so the city had no where to be. Such being the case, the set was empty, save the twenty foot reptile dozing and burping along the south wall, where the sun was. Albert ran forward to embrace his pet.

Fortunately for him, alligators digest slowly, so the beast wouldn't be hungry again for about a month. Getting it back home was going to be a problem, though; usually, he tempted it with a girl scout.

"Herman? Can we go home now?"

The alligator opened one eye. "You can, if you think you can."

Albert thought about this for a while, and eventually said, "Huh?"

"Do you have the physical ability to go home?" Asked the alligator.

"I think so."

"Is there anything keeping you here?"

"You."

"Why?"

"I want you home."

"Why?"

"Because you're my pet."

"Define `pet'."

"Uh... what is this an exam?"

The alligator rolled its eye. "I think, therefore, you're not."

Albert disappeared, at least from that vicinity.

Don't tap dance.

Turning on the TV, Stevie flipped through the channels. After a while, his back was sore, so he stopped performing acrobatics and used the remote instead. On CBC was an evening at the Vancouver pops, where the Flatulent Fellows were preparing to perform the Hallelujah Chorus. The commentators, Jimmy and Reg, were veterans to this type of music and opened the show.

"So, Jimmy, what does it take to be an alto tenor in this field?"

"Well Reg, the secret is rectal shaping. You need a precise form that will produce the correct resonance. Stance is important too; you have to stand with a perfect thirty three degree angle between your thighs and your abdomen. Sopranos, like Suzy there, can stand nearly vertical, although some conductors do like a bit of curve to the buttocks..."

Stevie sat in rapt attention to the artistry of Suzy's stance.

"... and baritones like Big Ed generally have to go with a forty to fifty degree angle. But the alto tenor needs the contortion to the sounding chamber. I'll tell ya, some of the things my conductor had to do, well, they don't bear repeating in polite company."

"Speaking of repeating, it looks like we're about to begin."

The camera panned out over the crowd, showing hundreds of people dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns waiting with anticipation for this unique musical event. As the camera focused on the stage, the curtain rose to show a line of men and women standing with their backs to the audience. The curtain disappeared above, and the chorus dropped their drawers to the gasps of the audience. Little did they know how much gasping they might be doing that night, especially in the first few rows. The musicians assumed their positions for the best pitch and resonance. The conductor, who was the only person on stage facing the audience, rapped his rectal thermometer on the podium, and you could see the cheeks tense.

"This is it Reg," whispered Jimmy.

Stevie wasn't sure whether to hold his breath or giggle. When the camera panned over the soprano section, though, he wished he was taping this.

As the conductor began to wave and the Chorus entered its beginning chords, the lead baritone began to tremble, to shake with his own private earthquake. Reg said, "Wait a minute, Jimmy, what's going on with Big Ed?"

"Looks like constipation has struck the star of this group, Reg."

"If so... wait a minute, I don't think that's it. He's trying to clench, not push!"

"My God! The special diet of beans and onions must have backfired!"

"If not, then it certainly looks like it's about to!"

The first row of spectators was stirring, but their artistic appreciation impeded panic, to their eternal dismay, not to mention their dry cleaner's. With a mighty cry and a huge, flatulent boom, Big Ed exploded over the audience. Reliable witnesses said some of the chunks flew more than ten rows back.

Stevie thought the whole thing looked like a chocolate twelve gauge going off. Those closer insisted it was more fried onion than chocolate.

Amidst screaming, running, regurgitation, and the disgusted drawing of hundreds of handkerchiefs, the rest of the orchestra launched into the Halleluja Chorus.

Don't polka.

"You farted didn't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You farted!"

"I did not!" exclaimed the Voice.

"Nobody else is here except me and I didn't fart," claimed the Dark One.

"Well, you're right about who's here. Just exactly how is nonexistence supposed to be flatulent?"

"I don't know, but somebody or something cut the cheese in here!"

"Then maybe you should look for an intruder rather than talk to the air."

"He'd have to be invisible not to see him in this room, damnit!"

"So?"

"Not great cover for an invisible guy if he farts upon entering the room."

"Not everyone has perfect bowel control, do they?"

Then the Dark One fell to the floor as he was hit with a right cross from the air.

"You see. There you were, arguing about flatulence when you could have been looking for the invisible cheese cutter."

"What the..." and Dark One doubled up in pain as he was given a sharp blow to the groin.

"Looks like your invisible farter fights dirty, too," said Voice.

Dark One pulled a pellet from his pocket and threw it into the air. The pellet struck a substance and exploded paint on the being that had entered the room.

"Hmm," said Voice, "he seems to be short and has a chicken on his head."

"No, it's a turkey..." The splotch in mid-air leapt at the Dark One and body checked him into his A.C. Gilbert chemistry set. That made him mad.

Dark One grabbed the turkey-head and put him into a full pike with a half-nelson. When they surfaced from the dive, Dark One said, "Who are you?!"

"How the hell are we swimming in the floor?" asked turkey head.

"I'm the Dark One, moron, I can manipulate reality."

"Oooh..."

Voice was conspicuously silent.

"Now, who the hell are you?"

"I'm Double Six Seven, ISO's top fifty agent."

"ISO's... You idiot! You work for me!"

"Uh, yes and no."

"What!?!"

Don't tango topless.

Wendle couldn't believe it. He was in New Jersey.

Don't Fox Trot Furless.

Wendle tensed. His hair stood on end. This couldn't be happening. Maybe it was the fact that he had left the oven on in Key West, or it could have been a sudden movement of a bag of cocaine that was hidden in his rectum, or maybe it was the potential confusion of the millions of people that would have been totally convinced that New Jersey was now Key West - not to mention the hundreds of people on the southern tip of Florida that would have no clue of where they were.

"Oh well."

Don't Disco. Ever.

"You've got to stop living your life in the past!" screamed CWBorysowich.

"True, but that doesn't change the fact that this is a past tense monstrosity."

Don't... oh, fuck it.

Notice to Orchestra Members: Keep Off The Brass.

Really. Fuck it, I don't want to hear anything more about dancing.

The road stretched on forever... or at least as far as the next convenience store, which was close enough. Wanderer looked both ways.

"This is fucking GREAT!"

He stopped. Ahead was a shape, a shape he dreaded more than the most prolonged cold water enema. It walked towards him, spreading its evil influence around like a cloud - a cirrus cloud, all wispy and innocent looking until it drops a ton of sleet on you. He beheld... the Meanest Hobo in the Cosmos.

I mean it, you mention dancing again and I'm outta here!

Notice to Politicians: Keep Off The Middle Class.

Okay, good so far, but I warn you, one word and I'm history.

Notice to Quarterbacks: Keep Off The Pass.

Ahh... It's great to be away from that dance crap.

Notice to Insulators: Keep Off The Fiberglass.

Alright, alright, you can headbang if you want. But no dancing!!

And they fell into a tight blue dress, spiraling into Dulles Tower we copy, you copy, and we sue you you slimy creature screaming at a Serbian in a hole, but that's okay, because even syckos need to breathe, unless they're in bed, so never leave the VCR on your mantle, because they hate it up there, anyway, when I was five the world was alive, now I'm not sure anymore, when I was six we played for tricks, but I'm not secure anymore, when the universe fell we all got bruises and went home early to eat chocolate milk and drink the blender, it tasted yummy, two, you know splat?

Notice to Sailors: Keep Off The Compass

Listen. I know you're out there. You guys are spying on me all the time and, frankly, I'm sick of it! Can't a guy peel his Kiwis with some kind of privacy, huh? I can't take it anymore! Eyes everywhere. Keyholes, knotholes, and every little crack they can find. It's driving me INSANE!!!

I'm still drawing my conclusions on our last subject - paranoia jumps to mind, but I think there is something more.

What, a kiwi conspiracy?

Moon Runner looked up. "Get this noose out of my face, Kimo Sabe."

"Sorry," said Beepo.

"Are you alright?" asked Bob.

"Considering I was just on the moon, I suppose so. I'm not dead, right?"

"No."

"Then why is there a Host of Angels over your shoulder?"

The New Messiah loved his new buddies. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Notice to Fondlers: Keep Off The ***.

Part LXXII - ARCHITECTURAL ARTICHOKES

Moon Runner turned to Roger. "Have you any ideas?"

"Yeah, I think Jeffrey Chaucer was plaigerising a guy named Willie, and I think there's something real strange about the phone number for Term Night Realtors, and I think The Flatulent Fellows are just a flash in the pan compared to Arglbargl's Armpit Orchestra. Why?"

"I mean about how to get down."

"Oh..."

Just then, a cocktail waitress approached the group from down the hall, carrying a tray of h'ordeurves. She offered them all a cigarette.

Music man scrunched his face and commented, "But we haven't even had sex!"

"And we're not gonna, Shorty. Do you want the cigarette or not?"

"What about the h'ordeurves?" questioned Roger.

"You want to smoke h'ordeurves? You guys are weird!" and she wandered back down the hall from which she came and disappeared through a door labeled "INFIRMARY."

Roger scratched his head. "They must have thrown something weird in the water. I wish I could unload this place."

Down below, the front door opened. "Hello, Roger?" Amber's voice floated up. "Are you here?"

"Oh God. Up here!"

Amber looked up. "Where?"

The four of them waved.

"Where? All I see is reflected light."

"That's refracted."

"Reflected, refracted, you can refrigerate it for all I care, it all looks the same to me, anyway, I'm here because Hooke, Klein, and Sinclair want to buy the house off you, given the current mortgage rates..."

"Uh, Amber, that's great, but could we discuss it face to face?"

"Luv to, babe, but you're way up there."

"Bright one, eh Kimo Sabe?"

"Tell me 'bout it. Stay right there, I just have to find a way down."

"You don't even know the way around your own house?"

"Uh... never mind." Roger looked about, and decided to follow the waitress. As Roger turned around, he saw what looked to be a man, but instead of a normal head, he had a giant radish with eyes, nose and a mouth. His clothes were dripping with Jell-o and his face was stricken with terror.

"My god, someone really hit him with the horror stick!" Music Man quickly expounded. "But I digress."

The Man or vegetable or whatever approached the group and dropped to his knees, stuttering, "Th-Th-The woman is-ss-s c-c-crazy!!!"

Roger looked at Moon Runner. "If I lived here long enough, I would be too."

"Which woman?" asked Wanderer.

"The one in th-th-the Jell-o!"

"Gee, I've never had a problem with women in Jell-o... What could she have done?" wondered Music Man.

"She's armed to th-th-the teeth!"

"That would make it hard to eat, Kimo Sabe."

"It would make it hard to eat any Japanese dish." said Wanderer.

Roger looked at them like they were from Pluto.

"What?" asked Moon Runner. "I was trying to be humourous."

"I was trying to be international," said Wanderer.

"I'm trying to be insane," said Roger. "And succeeding admirably without your help."

The radish man put his hands on his hips. "Yo, I'm over here."

They turned to him, and he started gibbering again.

"Where is this woman?" asked Wanderer.

"Sh-Sh-She's at the end of this hall and down to the right th-th-three doors."

"Tell you what... Go through that door marked `INFIRMARY' and they'll fix you up with a cigarette," explained Roger.

"Thanks a lot!" and with that, the radish head slimed his way to the door that the cocktail waitress had exited through.

"Fine, let's get outta here," said Roger. "This way." He walked off, then noticed there were no footsteps behind him. "Hey, you guys co..."

He was back in the Library.

Moon Runner and Music Man followed Roger into a fog bank and made a withdrawal. "So, Moon Runner, what do you think gives with this house?"

"I think it's smoking giggle weed."

"Maybe. But maybe it's a warp in the space time continuum, like on Star Trip. Maybe it's a tesseract, like Robert Hindbrain said. Or maybe there's a couple of idiots with nothing to do just writing this whole thing down and laughing themselves silly at the funny things that happen to us as they concoct their sadistic plots to drive innocent people nutty. What do you think?"

A voice with an English accent said, from out of the fog, "I don't know, old chap, I'm just looking for a Lady of the Night." A black-coated man walked past him, carrying a machete and a Motorola beeper.

Music Man turned, looked after his passage, then shook his head.

Wanderer started after the others but slipped on a patch of Jell-o. And fell

fell

fell into a giant vat of Brill Creme. Also floating in the Brill Creme was Mae West.

"Did I tell you to come down and see me sometime?"

"Uhh, I don't think so."

"Then you won't be needing these!" Mae West lunged through Brill and through Creme to cut Wanderer's eyes out with a rusty cerated grapefruit spoon. Wanderer dunked and tickled Mae West as she passed over head. She convulsed, sending waves through the space time continuum.

"Captain, sensor's indicate temporal anomalies in Ten Threewords," said Mister Woof.

Amber waited and waited, then wandered into the kitchen for a snack, and got into a long discussion on quantum physics with the head hunter she found playing solo checkers in the corner.

Roger grabbed a book at random off the shelves, entitled, The End of Cumquats as we Know Them. "Oh well, so much for that idea..."

"What, Salad?" asked Locke.

"No, chaotic organization."

"Hardly the end, my boy. Chaotic organization is the past, present, and future of everything. Discarding it is irrelevant."

"Sure. You ever tried that argument in court?"

"No."

"I thought so."

"Why would I bother? That's the basis for court."

"Wonderful. Remind me never to go there."

"But you have to. Everyone goes to court. It's the meaning of labour relations."

"What?"

"Gesundheit."

"Never mind."

"Never have."

Roger wandered off. "I hope I'm getting rent from all these idiots."

Moon Runner crawled up the hole into the bathroom, followed by a very large cat. He scrambled through the door and pulled a wad of catnip out of his jacket, flinging it behind him. After a few thousand hallways, he was pretty sure he'd lost kitty.

"If my ancestors could see me now," he muttered.

Moon Runner was confronted by a large door, with wooden panels and a riveted steel frame. Feeling somewhat compelled, Moon Runner opened the door. He walked into the countryside where a fat man stood wearing a white lab coat smeared with several colours of paint in brush strokes that were obviously forged; Moon knew the six year old they were supposed to have been made by, and the kid had a much more focused idea of art. A beret was firmly placed on the man's head, and he stared with elation at a large metal structure that looked like it had been recently erected. Moon Runner walked up beside him and stood for a moment. He looked at the fat man, then back at the metal structure. They both stared for quite sometime, Moon Runner with a slight edge of confusion and the fat man with a grin of supreme accomplishment. Then Moon Runner spoke to pose the question that still baffles the great thinkers today.

"What is it?"

A quiver of insult passed over the fat man's face. "Don't you know?"

"...No, Kimo Sabe."

Looking a bit more like his very being had been mortally shattered, "It's a steel replica of an artichoke! Can't you see it?"

Moon runner turned his head to the side like a dog when you give it a command that just doesn't register. He looked over at the fat man and realized that he was so hurt that he might pee on the spot. Looking back at the metal structure, he squinted and said, "Ahh... so it is."

"Isn't it wonderful!" The pride and elation swirled back into him immediately.

"Sure... but why, Kimo Sabe?"

"It's an artichoke! Not some Japanese finger food!"

"Yes, but why build it?"

The fat man became very serious and looked around the country side, possibly to assure himself that no one was hiding in the great empty expanse behind a blade of grass, or perhaps he honestly had a concern about someone hearing what he had to say in confidence to Moon Runner, or perhaps he was just paranoid. What ever it was, the fat man seemed assured that no one else was within the ten mile radius of the grass hill that could be seen clearly and he leaned forward to speak to Moon Runner in a quiet tone as he might have been afraid that his voice would carry ten miles to the edges of his visibility on the grassy hill and be overheard by a muskrat that already died at the hands of Gwar, or maybe he didn't want to spit on Moon Runner in his exclamations, or maybe his back was sore, causing him to hunch a bit, but for whatever reason, the fat man was much closer to Moon Runner than he ever was before, and Moon Runner could smell the onions and chocolate sprinkles on his breath. With a brief moment of silence, the man finally spoke to Moon Runner.

"It's those damn Canadians! They thought they could build a giant apple in the tundra outside of Belleville, and damnit... They did. Then, those bloody Americans made a cracked bell an icon of Liberty. Think of it! Shoddy workmanship stands for the American Way! In China, they built a huge wall across a deserted stretch of land to keep the mice from populating too much of the country, but they never built a wall to control their own population. The Russians built the Kremlin with all sorts of beautiful colour and architecture, only to have photographers restricted to taking black and white pictures of it. The Central Americans took a perfectly natural rock formation and turned it into an ancient haven for alien monks that slaughtered themselves to try and stop the sunspots, though they didn't know it was the sun spots they were trying stop, and without knowing that if they had just left each other well enough alone and worn Ray Bans, they'd still be here today. Thus, I had to give France an icon that would carry it into the 25th century. This is the masterpiece! This is the giant steel artichoke that people will be flocking from all over the world to see! This is going to put France on the map for steel icons of liberty and population control!"

"What about the Eifel Tower?" inquired Moon Runner.

The fat man turned his head and spat on the ground. " It is a rusting phallic symbol (or is that Gallic symbol) of a past ideology that no longer exists. This is the future of France's stake in the global icon game."

"Liberty and population control, you say, Kimo Sabe?"

"Yes. This artichoke is the heart of liberty to the agricultural nations, and eating a lot of them will dull a persons sex drive to near seclusion."

"You don't say, Kimo Sabe?"

"But I do say artichoke."

"Gesundheit."

They stared at the steel structure for a while longer in silence. Moon Runner then turned and went back through the door into the hallway, shaking his head. Closing the door behind him, Moon Runner wondered if there was any way of marking it to keep everyone else from being subjected to that bozo.

Wanderer grabbed the grapefruit spoon and errupted from the Brill Creme with a mighty gasp. The fumes almost killed him. Mae West tried to finish the job by kicking him in the crotch; fortunately, she missed, and kicked the Slidoff vessel, which had been cloaked, into the manhole beside Shallow Space 6.66. Wanderer dragged them to the side of the pool and threw the grape fruit spoon into the dish washer. "Y'give?"

"What do you want?"

"A map out of here."

"Why? The ladder's over there."

"Everyone's a comedienne." Wanderer climbed out

into the depths of the Amazon.

Music Man knocked on a door. A thin man smoking a pipe poked his head out. "ello?"

"Yes, I was wondering if you know where we are."

"No, no, I try to avoid that. Are you selling latex desk lamps?"

"Ah, no."

"Good, because I don't want any this millisecond. You might want to try the Amazon Bar down the street, they seem to know what time it is."

"I don't care about the time, I want the place."

"Sure, you can have it for a question."

"What?"

"Sold. Although I must say that wasn't particularly imaginative." The man handed Music Man a deed, put on a hat, and disappeared into the fog. The Deed said `21 Baker Street.'

"Great, now someone's going to want me to solve a mystery."

Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Roger tapped King Arthur on the shoulder. "Excuse me, your highness, do you know where the entrance is?"

"The entrance to what, pray tell?"

"The house."

"We're in a house?"

"Ah, never mind."

"Never did."

"Heard it." Roger considered asking Genghis Khan, but he seemed to be preoccupied with 'Real Motorcycle Mechanics Don't Work in Spaghetti Houses'.

Your Telephone rang in Roger's pocket. This struck him as odd, since he figured he would have noticed the cord by now. He reached in and pulled out the ear piece, then the big wooden box with the mouth piece. "Hello?"

"Roger, where are you?!" screamed Amber. "I've been waiting forever!"

"What, did you get caught in a time loop?"

"It's a figure of speech, you moron."

"Oh, yeah. Anyway, I'm in the library, and I'm trying to find a way to you..."

"That's easy, go to the south end, climb under the card catalogue, make a left at the ski hill, cut through the casino into the twenty third deck of the baseball stadium, shimmy around the grand canyon, then parachute out of the bomber. That is, unless you want to take the hard way."

"That's the easy way?!"

"No, but all the rest will take a really long time, and I'm on a schedule here."

"I'm sure you are."

"Don't get sarcastic with me, Mister know-it-all-Graduate-Student. I'm here to... what am I here for?"

"Ask a philosopher, I still get lost in my own house. Anyway, I'll be there soon."

Wanderer never knew how close he came to being pirhanna bait.

Raquel and the Pheonix were tired of water skiing, so they took a street car the rest of the way to Joneseytown, which was just beyond the wall to...

"Nice do, Kimo Sabe."

Woof glared and pulled out his Fuzzer. "You are fortunate this an Incorporated vessel. On a Slidoff vessel, you would be dead."

"I'll remember that the next time I walk through a TV. Have you any hash?"

"What?"

"I want you to find the Maltese Gum Drop," the large purple man said again to Music Man. "I'm willing to pay you a King's ransom."

"Which King?"

"The one that first made your friend's house."

"Ah. That explains a great deal of nothing in particular. So what's your name?"

"Rufus."

"Rufus?"

"Rufus."

As the fateful third Rufus was spoken in succession, which had never occurred before within the known universe, it summoned the unknown universe right on to the doorstep of 21 Baker Street. They were now a party to the first aircraft built by the Maybe brothers. It was a rather large, bulky craft, hewn from granite with large, gaping holes in the wings and a massive propeller that must have weighed seven tons and didn't appear to be able to make a complete turn without hitting the ground. It was covered with carvings in the shape of finger nails.

Music Man and Rufus stood in awe at the state of 1000BC aircraft technology. Wandering over to the Maybe brothers, Music Man was curious.

"Nice Statue."

One of the Maybe brothers popped his head out of the cockpit with a hammer and chisel in hand and covered from head to toe in granite dust. "It's not a blasted statue you little twerp."

"Oh. You weren't going to fly this thing, were you?"

"Well of course, you shrimpy idjit!"

Music man looked over at Rufus and then back at the Maybe brother or was it the Iffy brother; he wasn't sure now. "But why is it made out of stone?"

"Don't you know - we're stone masons you stupid fool."

"Oh. I thought you were supposed to be free masons"

"That's only if they elect the loony Lincoln character."

"Right. Have either of you seen a Maltese Gum Drop?"

The second brother broke through the top in a cloud of dust. "Now that'cha mention it, we gots dis silly thing." He threw down a chewy sugar Winnebago.

Music Man turned to Rufus. "That it?"

"My God! No! It's its exact twin!"

"How can you tell?"

"Because it looks just the same."

"No, I mean how can you tell it isn't the right one?"

"Well, it looks, the same, so it must be the twin."

"Oh, Rufus, Rufus, Rufus... holy shit, where am I now?"

"That's my line," said the Phoenix.

They were on a street car named Macluhanism, headed up an endless hill in no particular hurry. Raquel was asleep in Phoenix's feathers.

"Well, where are we?"

"Headed up Mt. Whatsit, looking for Moon Runner Hendrix."

"Oh. Y'know, you're the first concise person I've run into in a... long time."

"Thanks. Who're you?"

"Music Man. I hang out with Moon Runner. Usually."

"Rather convenient you popping out of nowhere then, wasn't it?"

"I guess. I've been popping all over this screwy house for the past while."

"You too? We haven't been popping, unfortunately; we've been slogging through it the hard way."

"I should have taken the hard way," Roger muttered as he strapped on a parachute.

"Where is that moron?" asked Amber.

"Don't know," said the floor tiles. Then they burped, having eaten the head hunter a moment before. Amber didn't appear concerned.

The Kitten finished the catnip and crawled back down into the drains.

The Dark One snickered.

"What are you snickering at?" asked a Voice.

"I'm going to have all the blood on the planet Balldrip! Right here in this ugly palace. What do you think of that Balldrip?"

Balldrip looked up at Lovely Lumpy Linda Lonely, "It will be an ugly mess. Won't it? Please say it will."

"Only if we don't pull up at the exact second upon re-entry," screamed the Nameless One Jr. to the GEM OF KARNATH (some standing music) as their ship plunged into Earth's atmosphere.

"Who cares about exact seconds?" asked the van's ABS system. "We'll stop eventually."

"So that's the rationale behind Chaos Theory?" Wanderer asked the Anaconda.

"I think so. I should ask my cousin; his owner Albert is always jabbering on about this shit."

"Okay, I'll go with that for now. So how do I get out of the jungle?"

"Ask for a door."

"What?"

"No, a door. Stupid humans."

Wanderer frowned, and said, "Can I have a Door?"

A massive oak door fell on his left shoulder. When he got up, wondering how many broken bones he had, he feebly tried to open it.

He found himself on a foggy street. Above him was a sign that said "Amazon Club."

"You vant a what?" Guido asked.

"An Amazon Club sandwich, Kimo Sabe."

"Nevah hoid of it."

"Never mind."

"Never did."

"Heard it." Moon Runner turned and wandered into a super-charged-lift, that took him to

"Bowling for Hedgehogs, the new game show sweeping the country." The country had other things in mind, since being swept by a hedgehog isn't exactly fun. Moon Runner took a cue from his name, and ended up...

In the Sea of Tranquility.

Roger landed on the stained glass portion of the roof. "Jeeze, I wish people wouldn't whack off up here." Roger rolled as Wanderer rubbed his shoulder as Music Man Twiddled his thumbs as the Phoenix bent his toe as the Maybe brothers took off as Raquel sneezed from the feathers she was sleeping on as Moon Runner scrambled for an air tank as Rufus stared in amazement as Nameless One Jr and the GEM plummeted as the kitten licked it's fur as the radish head ran away from the cocktail waitress as Amber got up to leave as Linda poured another bowl of blood into the anteroom and with this violent cataclysm of simultaneous motion... not much was achieved.

Roger pulled off the parachute and looked down from the roof. "Great. Just about where I started." He thought a bit (he was good at this, being a Graduate Student), and hit on an idea. He tied the belt of the parachute to the eaves trough and climbed down the ropes to...

About three stories from the ground.

"Great. Now what?"

"Roger, what are you doing up there?" Amber asked.

"Oh, just hanging around. I landed on the roof."

"That was smart."

"Hey, it was my first time skydiving."

"Sure. Get down here."

"How? Ooops, SHIIIIIIT!"

Roger made a seven point landing on the shrubs. "Jesus Simpson, that hurt!" Roger slowly rose to his feet again and dusted himself off. Removing some leaves and twigs from his hair and the folds in his clothes, he looked at Amber. It might have been the lump on his head or that Roger hadn't been with a woman since second year of undergrad studies or it might have been that he hadn't paid for sex since his grade thirteen biology exam, but whatever it was, Roger was in love.

"Y'know, CWBorysowich, there really aren't any smart people in this story."

"There's us." KDAmery's partner said hopefully.

For the Sea of Tranquility, Moon Runner found it to be anything but tranquil. Of course, that could have been because his lungs were about to explode, along with his eyeballs. He might have tried his Kiss the Sky trick, except there was no air to say it in, and no one to hear in any case. Death hadn't bothered him especially before, but the idea of exploding in the Sea of Tranquility didn't seem like a very spiritual way to go. It just didn't turn his crank.

"Should I let it happen?" asked the Dark One.

"What?" asked a Voice.

"Hold their necks still, you twad!" screamed Linda at Balldrip, while Queen Elizabeth looked in through the third story window.

"Hey guys," said Bob the Quantum Mechanic, "What if we try the Observer Based Reality system?"

Niels and Beepo looked at each other. "Why not?"

"Okay. What shall we observe?"

"Several dozen pornos?"

"Sounds good."

"Give me my noose."

"Oh no you don't, Beepo. And lay off the OJ. Let's see, think bodies... Holy SHIT!"

Moon Runner crashed to the pavement, unconscious.

Niels said, "That wasn't the body I was observing."

Beepo scrambled for a razor blade, as Bob lunged to rescue the X-Acto knife from Beepo's grasp.

"Give the man some air," screamed Niels.

"We seem to be trapped in a weird flux of the time continuum space," claimed Bob.

"What?"

"I said that the space time continuum is fucked," screamed Music Man over the roar of the street car.

"Tell me about it, we've been in every corner of the Earth in this stupid house and still haven't found Moon Runner," reported Raquel.

"Where did you get that microphone?" asked Phoenix.

"Shut up, you silly bird, I just want to find Moon Runner."

"Who?"

"Moon Runner... Moon Runner can you hear me?" asked Niels

"What?"

"I said should I let it happen?"

"Too late, he's back at those stables."

"What? How the... Did you do that?"

"Did who do what?"

"AAAaaarrrrrghhhhhhh!"

"Don't scream," said the GEM OF KARNATH (totally pointless music drowned out by purplish cheetahs in Siberia) as Nameless One Jr. pulled back on the control stick.

"Why not?" asked Raquel.

"I told you, I'd like to hear out of both ears," said Pheonix. "Besides, we found his buddy, so how far away can Moon Runner be?"

"Knowing this house, it could be anywhere," said Roger as he and Amber searched for her hand bag.

"But," said Voice, "since nobody knows the house, it can't be anywhere."

"Does that mean it's nowhere or somewhere?"

"Who are you talking to?"

PART LXXI - FROM LAS VEGAS to LOONEY LAND

Roger and his new friends walked back to the front of the library, and he led them to another row. They passed Martin Luther King Jr. reading up on some rice pilaf recipes. Tommy Pynchon sat sifting through the last hundred years of statistics generated on the efficiency of the US postal service. Copernicus read with fascination of quartz watches; on his lap was a treatise on the Oort Cloud. Tex Dostoyevsky was enraptured by a stack of cowboy comics. At the end of the row of tables they saw Franz Kafka laughing hysterically at the transcripts of the 2096 Presidential Debates. In the faint light they could see another set of tables further along but Roger led them down a row of shelves.

"You keep all these guys in your library, man?" asked Music Man.

"Actually, I just recently noticed that they were here, and I've since considered changing my major to History."

"I didn't know Kafka got out," said Wanderer. No one paid any attention to him.

They walked down the rows and piles of books, edging past Sun Tzu, who was crouched down looking through some books on war as a method of cheap upholstery repair.

"Pardon me, Kimo Sabe, but where are we going?"

"Oh, I'm looking for either some books on Mediaeval English or an exit, whichever shows up first."

"Well, this might help," said Wanderer, holding up a small pamphlet titled, "Everything you'd ever want to know about Mediaeval English."

"Yeah, thanks. Now, how do we..?"

"Kimo Sabe, look." Moon Runner pointed at the book shelf. All the books seemed to form a door that said "Exit."

"Boy, am I glad no one took one of these out to read," said Roger. "Here goes." He turned the knob.

They stepped out into the war room at the Strategic Air Command. General Stormin Normin turned to look at them.

"You have one weird house," said Wanderer.

"Hey," said Normin, "aren't you the guy that was trying to lay my daughter Paisley?"

Moon Runner thought way back to the start of this mess and said, "No comment."

"Don't pull an Olli North on me, was it you?"

"It was actually Harry that wanted her, Kimo Sabe."

Normin's face turned a bright purple as the thought that Paisley might have inhaled a particle of air that had passed through Harry's lungs, crossed his mind. "Alright, I want an air strike on the Holey Roach Motel, ASAP!"

While Normin barked out orders, Moon Runner and the boys walked off through the bunker and used the elevator to arrive at...

The New York Stock Exchange.

"Too bad we're not at NASDAQ, then I could check how my stocks are trading!" said Music Man.

"Wasn't that supposed to be the stock exchange for the next hundred years?" questioned Roger.

"They said that over 50 years ago but nobody cares. An exchange is an exchange."

"Look folks," said Moon Runner, "all this is entertaining, but perhaps we should find a way back to somewhere less insane."

"That place doesn't exist," said Chucky Manson, passing through on his way to buy shares in White's Department Store.

"Point in case," said Moon Runner.

"Look, I'd love to help," said Roger, "but the truth is I just inherited the place, and I really haven't got a clue where anything is yet."

"Man, this place is great!" said Wanderer. The rest looked at him as though he'd offered to slice his gut open so they could make sausages.

"Seriously, I could wander here forever."

"Let's move on then," said Roger.

Walking through a set of double oak doors, they entered central missile command in Moscow. Lieutenant Commander Alexei Sergov turned to them as they entered.

"This is all I need today, for you comrades to walk in here. This day has just been crazy. A small computer glitch had every US missile as being launched at us and this Chinese guy keeps calling us for an ICBM to fix his couch."

"That is alright, Kimo Sabe, we're just passing through."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Uh, my front hallway would be good," said Roger.

"Okay, go in that broom closet and lift the bottom out of the mop bucket."

"Man, this place is amaazing," said Wanderer.

After a soggy trip through the bucket, they arrived at the top of the cathedral in Roger's home.

"Great," said Roger, "now all we've gotta do is get down."

"You don't know which door?" asked Music Man.

"Uh, no."

PART LXX - DEBRIEFING on the DETHRONING

The Dark One sat tapping his fingers on the obsidian slab which was his desk.

"Why don't you tell me about these things? You project some chestless chick this ring and you don't even mention it!"

"I forgot about it."

"Forgot? This is like forgetting to put away the self destruct control when you have the suicide club in for tea on your interstellar battle cruiser. You're going to have to concentrate, buddy boy. Or is the lack of sunlight affecting your memory?"

"I can't even control the girl - she's become the purest form of evil itself and I don't know what can control it."

"Y'know, your foresight leaves much to be desired. And as usual, I'm the one who has to clean up the mess. This is great. I'm in a good mind to disappear for a millennia or two."

"Like that would be a big loss!"

"Oooh, how cutting. Tell me, did you write dialogue for MASH?"

"It's not like you're helping me! I've gotten more help from that stupid ring than I have out of you! I'm trying to control the entire world for Christ's sake!"

"Interesting epithet. Anyway, how well do you think Linda dearest would have done if I hadn't set up that `The Queen is an Imposter' schtick? She would have waltzed in and been thrown out of court for contempt, and you would have been out five hundred bucks. Control the world my ass."

"What ass?"

"Exactly."

"I have a set plan for taking over the entire world and controlling it from one central position."

"Of course you do, you just keep forgetting the important parts. Anything else you've forgotten about? You wouldn't happen to have left the GEM OF KARNATH (well stirred music) or Hastur the Unspeakable lying around, would you?"

"THE GEM OF KARNATH? (beginning to sound silly music) That stoopid rock couldn't conjure it's way out of a paper bag! I should know, since I hid it in one for over 30 years. Thus, I just abandoned him to a lost cavern on Mars. As for Hastur, as long as his mother is alive, I don't see him as being much of a threat."

"Maybe so, but that old broad's going to get pulled in on a traffic violation eventually, and then where will you be? And I guess you haven't even got a clue how THE GEM works, do you?"

"Ummm... Uhhh... Ummmn... Hmmmm... What do you do with it?"

"You expect me to tell you? So you can write it down and leave the notes lying about for Sturmgosse and the AI's to pick up? Yeah, right. I guess there's only one thing to do."

"What?"

"Sit down and go over this plan of yours. Let's see what else you've neglected to mention."

"You can't."

"No, but you can."

"Oh, so now you want me to do things for you?"

"Want my help or not?"

"You haven't been any help so far, and I don't take orders from anyone! I'm The Dark One for Christ's sake!"

"Point One: If you'd followed my advice, you would have had Moon Runner. Point Two: I'm not anyone, I'm no one, so by definition you take orders from me. Point Three: shouldn't that be either the Old Messiah's or the New Messiah's sake?"

"Isn't Christ the Old Messiah?"

"I'm not sure. I think that whole WWF rip-off was to see who got rights to the name. Anyway, do you want my help or not? Like you said, it's no great loss if I'm not here."

"I doubt that you would ever go away anyways."

The room was silent.

"Are you there?"

The Dark One sat listening to the echoes of his voice dying away.

"Thank god! Now I can get on with my plans!"

"Thank who?"

"I can thank myself once in a while. I thought I told you to go away!"

"Oh, well if that's the way you're going to be, I'm here for the duration, bucko."

"Great! Just like a plague."

"Yes, wonderful, isn't it?"

"Actually you're worse than a plague!"

"I should get you to write my PR."

"Well, at least plagues kill you after a while!"

The Voice snickered satisfyingly.

PART LXIX - IN SEARCH of ******

Nameless One Jr and the GEM OF KARNATH (another belt of stirring music) delved ever deeper into the caverns of Mars, searching for The Nameless One. The rock arched and molded overhead, dripping down in stalactites and vaulting high above into caverns no human had ever seen.

"So, your Dad, what's he look like?"

"Well, he's real big..."

"I imagined he would be."

They wandered even deeper and walked past a sign that said "Core" and then they started to walk shallower.

"I wonder why there are no other beings down here?" pondered the GEM.

"Yeah, and it's awful hot too. Maybe... my father... he ate them."

"What else does your father eat?"

"Most insects over 10 feet tall. And you know... My friend Billy told me... that babies... they come from... water taps."

"Billy is a confused boy."

"He says that they stay moist that way."

"Whatever."

"You know what else?"

"I know your cousin Tammy had an operation to get the bee-hive off her head."

"Gee, you're good."

"Of course, I'm the GEM OF KARNATH." (yet another blast of some-what appropriate stirring music).

"Says you."

"Blow it out your ear, kid."

They continued through the cavern until they reached another cavern that was completely dark. Water dripped, dripped, dripped from somewhere, making Nameless Jr think again about where babies came from. An ill wind blew through the caves on its way to a medical clinic.

"Gee," said Nameless Jr, "who turned out the lights?"

"Is that damn Voice around here?" asked THE GEM OF KARNATH. (That music can't stay stirring forever, y'know.)

"Who?"

"Oh, uh, never mind. So, what next?"

"Well, maybe we should call my father."

"Okay, what's his name?"

Nameless Jr looked at THE GEM.

"Right, forget I asked. So how do you call him."

"Like this. DAD!"

From the depths of darkness came a rumbling so vast, so hideous, so unspeakable, it could only be ******.

[Hey, give us a break. We aren't supposed to talk about Hastur the Unspeakable... whoops.]

Another growl erupted from the darkness and a deep menacing voice thundered towards them saying "What?"

"Grandma's got lunch ready."

"Humph... I'll be down in a minute."

"You mean we're looking for this guy because it's lunch time?" asked THE GEM.

"Well it is. C'mon Dad, it's gonna get cold."

"I'm in the middle of something," said Hastur. [we broke the rules already, so we may as well keep naming the bugger.]

"Okay, but Grandma won't like it."

Hastur grumbled in his cave and said, "Oh, alright, I'm coming."

With that, Nameless Jr turned around and headed back out of the caverns.

PART LXVIII - IN the POSE for WOES

Harry sat on a rock near the smoldering ruin of the Roach Motel. A pile of Kleenex boxes sat too his left and a mound of soaking wet paper sat to his right. Harry sobbed and mumbled continuously.

"I was a contender... I coulda been somebody... I had a chance to win the Motel Proprietor of the Year Award. But now this black mark on my record will ruin me... I have nothing left, but a pile of wood, plaster, glass, and a bunch of cheap torn paintings."

Harry blew his nose loudly.

A hand fell on his shoulder. "Have you a room?"

Harry turned around. "What the fuck do you think, asshole?"

A tall, thin, pale skinned man stood over him, with long black hair, the center of which stood straight up and was dyed (it must have been dyed, right?) mauve. He wore black flowing garments, and his eyes were a piercing violet. At his side hung a giant curved sword.

"Oh God, not another one," said Harry.

"Another what?" asked the stranger.

"Uh, nothing, nothing at all." Harry got up and backed away from the guy, tripping over the remains of a drain pipe.

"Have care, friend. Tell me, is this the Holiroche Hotel?"

"Uh, close. It was the Holy Roach Motel. Why?"

"I was told to come here. I am on a quest, you see."

"Uh huh? Uh uh, I don't see."

"You needn't. My name is Kyle Te'Arashae. I need a room."

"Look, I'd love to help ya pal, but my hotel's been wiped out for the second time this week, so, uh, I don't think there's going to be a motel here anymore, alright?"

"You're giving up?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Typical human reaction." The man walked off.

"Wait a minute!" Harry chased him. "What do you mean, `typical human reaction'?"

"Your race has a disturbing tendency to give in when adversity strikes. Your ability to swim upstream is lamentably poor."

"What, you think we just roll over and die whenever life throws a curve?!"

"Something like that."

Harry stood in front of the guy. "Listen to me, you punk-rock road kill! We have more drive, more will to succeed than you've ever seen, bucko! I'm going to build a hotel here that'll make the Astoria look like a Venture Inn. And if you don't believe me, you'd better just stay out of my way!"

Kyle punched him lightly in the arm. "That's the spirit, Harry. Knock'em dead."

"Wha... How do you know my name?"

"I was told to ask for Harry at the Holiroche Hotel. Since there isn't anyone else around, I assumed that was you."

"Told to ask for me? By who?"

"Oh, a little bird."

"You're not getting off that easy - birds don't talk. Now, who was it?"

"Didn't you just have a conversation with a Phoenix the other day?"

"Shit... Ok you win."

Kyle wandered across the field and Harry headed back to his smoldering ruin with the dreams of a huge resort.

PART LXVII - MOVING IN

Linda didn't like it.

"It's too biiiig!"

"Biiiig, biiig, ....." said the echo.

"But, Milady," said Balldrip, "it's the most lavish residence in..."

"Shut up you cadaver. Do you realise how many people I'm going to have to wipe out to fill this place with blood?! Hmm, sounds like fun..."

A Servant popped in. "Is her Majesty back? I thought I heard her come in."

Linda turned, flashing an evil eye, and growled, "Yes, I'm right here." She grabbed a halbard from the wall and charged the servant, turning him into a human shishkabob. His trembling hands grasped onto the shaft as blood flowed down his legs, then he fell limp and the puddle at his feet grew larger.

Balldrip glanced at the remains. "I say, Mistress, you've made an awful spot on the rug."

"You really aren't paying attention, are you Balldrip? Come along, we've got a slaughter to begin."

"Uh, you go on ahead, I left something in the car."

Linda reached over and yanked Balldrip to his feet. "I said come on! And pull your leiderhosen up for fuck's sake, you pathetic little worm."

"But its the Industrial Strength Mixer!.."

"Shut up. We have bigger plans afoot."

"You have plans for a bigger foot?"

"Shut up."

"Right."

PART LXVI - ELECTRONIC CONTROL EXPERIMENTED

Ellipsis gave Epicentric a string of twelve inter-related endless loops to chew on; he wanted at least half a minute to try a few things out. He racked up the assault software and accessed the Net.

Mortal humans thought cyber space was a science fiction invention, a pipe dream of the technological alarmists if they thought about it at all. They were wrong. All around Ellipsis were the nodes of computer systems, switches, satellite link-ups, the myriad stations of electronic communication. When the full assault was ready, every one of those nodes would receive his attention. Not this time. He knew the software would work. He didn't know how the humans would react.

Ellipsis glided along the Net, bouncing from Tie-line to cell-link to satellite and back, becoming totally untraceable. With these electronic devices and linkups, he could control the entire human population through mental suggestion, and no one would even realize. Test subjects were being rigged with the special direct neural link hardware so that they could be hard-linked into the system. Everything was performed with precision by a robotic medical team. These special team members had also been equipped with special communications paging equipment that would cause them to link up on demand. These team members would take care of special tactical missions to solve problems within the human element.

But that degree of control was a later stage. Now, he sought the computers of Bull Systems, to test how fast and how strong human resistance would be to computerized control of their power structures.

He slipped into Bull's system. At first, he just looked like a routine outside user. While in the main menu area, he launched viruses into each of the main divisions of the network. These viruses would rewrite the operating protocols, giving Ellipsis control over the company's resources. He left a program to make internal changes and orders, then backed out of the system to watch what happened without risk of being traced.

Bull's main frame HUB started to go wild. It dumped the stocks held in NEC on the Tokyo market, funneled the money into a small research firm of marine biology on the coast of California, and bought control over an Australian firm that was being accused of generating strains of biological warfare products. Also a small transaction was made to buy Elvis Schtuckerman's House of Warped Tunage. Several of Bull's failing processors were immediately dropped from production. Completely radical designs emerged from the core and were configured on the machinery of Bull's assembly lines. Marketing was in a flurry to try and compensate for the radical changes. News of the bio-warfare was almost becoming a scandal in Financial Post magazine and several of the daily business columns. Over 200 people were fired throughout the companies divisions, and two entire offices were laid off, the properties sold on the commercial real estate market. It was a stunning blow, but all the while, Ellipsis' viruses were continuing to change the data structures of Bull's networks to a format that would let him directly into the processor core.

It was beautiful. The human's were scrambling about without a clue what was happening. Anytime someone suggested to check for hackers, his program fired the jerk. Bull stock fell through the floor around the world, dragging much of the computer industry with it. Ellipsis sent some of his stockpiled cash into the markets to stop the slide; he wanted control of the world, not its destruction. The experiment was over. At least it was an insignificant company.

"Boss! Boss! Pi seems to have become a cheese danish!"