PART IV - The Weigh In

The Holy Ghost adjusted the scale. "Even weights. This'll be a close match, boys."

The Old Messiah and the New Messiah glared into each other's eyes. "Goood."

They went into their dressing rooms. The New Messiah started flipping through last year's criminal code from Follicle, New Jersey.

"Hey, no lex before a fight!" said his trainer, and the Newfie put away the book.

The Old Messiah looked out the window and saw the flashing sign of a Seven Eleven^TM store with a broken switch. A sudden yearning for a package of Big League Chew^TM took over his soul, proving that even Messiahs are vulnerable to possession.

Part III - Four Anti-Semitics, Three Convenience Stores, Two Disciples and a Pict in a Pear Tree.

Oliver North, his Lawyer, Ma Bell, and Pa Bell all said, "I hate bagels!" at the same instant, though separated by vast distances, thus setting some sort of record. Guinness was not amused.

Oliver North and his Lawyer stood in Beckers^TM saying, "No further comment!" to a raving Pict named Hafenvlaader.

The store owner screamed, "Yoo Lackies gut oot of my stoore!" Hafenvlaader owned this store as well as Elvis Schtuckerman's house of warped tunage, but we can visit that later.

Ma and Pa Bell were trying to heist a Mac's Milk^TM store in Westbury, Connecticut, for selling bagels in a hick town. Otherwise, they have very little to do with the story.

At that precise moment, Judas Iscariot MCMLXXIII and Dr. Skuppernung, the mad eastern Gemmologist, were sitting in a little known German restaurant in little Laos on the west side barrio and felt this unusual event occur. "Kvick!" Skuppernung said. "Ve must tell ze New Messiah!"

"Yeah, yeah, let me order first, will ya?"

A young waiter named Vladimir Jones (He's a combination of Reggae singer, waiter, and line backer, but if nothing else he's a black Russian) approached their table and asked for their order. The two disciples noted Vlad's dark complexion, but suppressed their overwhelming desire to start the Local KKK Kabinet meetings just yet. Besides, they had already cleaned house at KKKmart's white sale.

"Can I Take y'order, mahn?"

"Yeah, I'll have the Hyena sauerkraut with Mexican rice platter and a killer Kool-Aid," replied Isie in a superior tone.

"Giff me de Oysters und Yogurt, pleez."

"Yah mon, right away." Vlad left in a swirl of dreads.

"Has de dress cote relaxed 'ere or vat?"

"Sure, sure, put a cork in it, Doc. Ya talk too much."

"Humpff."

They sat in silence for a moment and Isie thought about the thermodynamics of his muffler while Doc considered the possible permutations of their bar maid naked in chains with whipped cream applied to all the right places. As time passed and his little daydream continued, he applied more whipped cream and more until the bar maid was completely enveloped in whipped cream except for her hands and feet which were now flailing from suffocation under the heap of whipped cream. Then his vision faded as Vlad arrived with a tray.

"'Ere's yo food, gentlemahn," drawled Vlad as one of his dreads dangled in the rice. He dropped the plates and disappeared back into the kitchen before Doc could ask for ketchup.

Turning to the bar, he signalled the waitress. "Exkoose me. Cudt I haff..?"

"You have a problem, sir?"

"Yes, I..."

"You think you got problems? Look at me! I'm fifty seven years old and trying to make a living as a bar maid! And if that wasn't enough, when I was fourteen I was raped by a runaway bison!"

"I'm sorry..."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, pal! Where were you and your sorries when I was giving birth to twin lambs!.."

Isie and Doc both flashed looks of `I've heard this all before' and started digging into the food after Doc had removed some strands of cotton from his teeth.

Doc returned to the sanctity of his whipped cream imaginings, but the giant lump of whipped cream was still now. She was dead. Returning to reality, Doc would have nothing more to do with the bar maid – She was dead to him in life now too. Doc made a mental note to have a visit with his therapist as he started to imagine the body of his therapist naked and in chains. He started to apply the whipped cream. More and more whipped cream got added. Doc amended his mental note to find a new therapist as his previous therapist was now dead to him.

Meanwhile, outside the restaurant, Hafenvlaader hoisted a sniper rifle into his pear tree and took aim at Judas. "Hold still, you imperialist Christian..."

A wind started to stir and Hafenvlaader along with his pear tree were sucked into the funnel of a space warp. Isie never knew how close to death he had come, which was just as well, considering his heart condition.

Part II - Seven Wishes and a Posy for Eric

The Dark One watched with trepidation as Moon Runner foiled the ISO attempt at capture. "Hmmm, the prophecy grows nearer. I've got to get that Indian and wipe him clean off the universe..."

The Dark One then eyed a small ring on his left pinkie (The Dark One was just that way - not that there's anything wrong with... yeah, whatever), and rubbed the inset gem three times with a hank of fur from Fluffy the furless cat. A puff of smoke erupted in front of him, clearing to reveal The Ring of Tuth the Whacko.

Grinning evilly as only a living Shadow can, he said, "Whomsoever shall find this ring will be my ultimate tool!" So saying, he cast the ring into the world.

It landed in a jewellery shop on west 43rd and Erb st. in Kitchener, Ontario. It was bought later that afternoon by Eric, the German gibbering wimp. Eric had sworn to make Lovely Lumpy Linda Lonely his wife from the day he first laid eyes, and a few other parts of his anatomy, on her. The only trouble was getting her away from Mother Superiority Complex at the Convent for Sexually Impossible Women who Only Moan for Credit.

Leaving the jewellery shop, Eric stumbled, landing in a pile of garbage and used needles. He lay on the ground for quite a while. His energy was spent.

The ring pulsated in it's box. It wanted a host.

Eric loved Linda - she was his life force. His mother had given him life, but Linda was a reason to live. Her mere existence drove him to go on. Eric pulled himself out of the garbage to continue to his beloved. {We could make some neo-philosophical point about life being a struggle from the muck, but... nah.}

Eric marched over to the Convent as fast as his two inch stride could carry him. People watching him thought he looked like a low budget silly movie character being shot freeze frame. Three hours was all it took him to cover the half block distance between himself and his beloved. Still trying to pull his lederhosen up, he knocked on the door, only to be answered by Mother Superiority Complex. She scowled at him with a superior air and swiftly kicked his groin. He dropped the leg-wear just before dropping to the sidewalk.

He had to get to Linda. Gathering some semblance of functionality, Eric crawled around to the back of the convent. Calling to Linda, he climbed the maple trellis. A window flew open above, dropping three potted plants on his head, nearly knocking him unconscious and probably causing a pair of concussions - it's impossible to tell, since he was examined by Dr. L.

"Eric... Eric... Where for art thou Eric?"

"Down here! You got any Advil?"

Eric edged up to her window, and put the ring on her sill as the roar of a chain saw echoed below.

"Oh... What might this be?" Linda asked in a high pitched squeal. With a sausage like hand she took the ring...

... As the trellis collapsed under the ministrations of Bob Vilah and his chain saw. "Hold these," Bob said, and handed Eric the splinters of his erstwhile support. "And next week, we'll look at putting a new drainage pipe through the neighbour's basement."

Linda put on the ring. "It's beautiful... OHHHH!"

The ring's evil seeped into Linda's soul, sorta like ground water contamination. Her mind was so innocent - so open. It would have made an excellent twenty-four hour convenience store.

The Dark One smiled, a brilliantly sunny smile.

Part I – Where Everyone Starts

{Another Author's Note: Everyone doesn't really start here. I mean, come on, folks. You looked at the character list, right? Let me tell ya, bud, trying to fit all those people into one narrative is bad enough. You want us to put them all into one part? Hah! You'll see that right around the time you see Michael Jackson as President - maybe not even then. I repeat, not everyone starts here. We just had a hard time coming up with a good section title, so this was our compromise position. If you don't like it, sue us, assuming you can actually deliver a subpoena. We regret any inconvenience, etc, etc, et al. Enjoy the rest of the plot.

KDAmery.}

{Still Another Author's Note: It's not to say that our audience has lost the physical capability to deliver a subpoena, though they might after reading this book, but that our audience may never be able to find us. So, if you took that statement the wrong way - sue us!

CWBorysowich.}

{The Last Silly Author's Note: I can't believe you're sucking up to a non-existent audience.

KDAmery.}

Moon Runner Hendrix sat at the bar of The Roach Motel, rolling a joint of Colombian Red. Paisley sat across from him, dipping her fingers in the remains of a drink and watching the water drip back into the glass.

"Want a hit?" asked Moon Runner.

"No thanks, I hate violence."

Moon Runner lit the joint, keeping his eye on her chest. As he inhaled, he thought that, sometimes, the world could be a very good place.

A man in khakis and sunglasses sat at one of the tables in the bar. He watched the pair with a bored demeanour.

Harry, owner and operator of The Roach Motel, also watched them from down the bar. ISO had told Harry about Moon Runner's activities, how he was a Daemon Cultist, drug runner, and communist. Harry believed that like he believed budget estimates. Besides, he had larger troubles; Moon Runner might score with Paisley. Harry hated him for this, because Harry thought Paisley was the living incarnation of love itself, the heiress to the tradition of Venus and Marilyn Monroe. It didn't help that her father, Stormin Normin, would blow his head clean off if anything his person had contact with in the last twenty years ever came into contact with her. This even included air molecules; thus Harry was taking a big chance just being in the same room with Paisley. Even so, Harry refused to let Moon Runner go between thighs he would never see. That wouldn't do, no way. He signalled ISO to move in.

The Secret Assassin burst through the basement door. "Freeze you red-skinned-red-commie-red-daemon-worshipping-drug-fiend!" A gattling gun the size of an El Dorado hung taut in his hands, and Paisley stared in amazement. The man in khakis raised an ironic eyebrow.

But Moon Runner was a fast fuck when stoned. "Excuse me, while I kiss the sky, Kimo-Sabe," and he disappeared.

Paisley blinked. She could have sworn that someone had been sitting in front of her a second before. Moon Unit or somebody, right? Maybe he got up when that guy with the big gun burst in. Paisley hated guns; they promoted violence. She turned and saw Harry sitting in the corner. Flashing a scowl, she ran towards the door. The door swung open and she landed in the arms of a woman. "Whoa, girl," the new comer said. "What's the hurry?"

"I want to get away from Harry."

Lickin' Linda Lovelace the lesbian said, "Come with me, I've got a van with tinted windows..."

The Secret Assassin blinked twice and said, "Fuck me, how'd he do dat? Harry, whatch yoo bin feedin dese ijits, anyway?"

"Dunno, man, he does that a lot."

"Well warn a guy, wouldja?"

"Sorry man, you mean it wasn't in his dossier?"

"Do bears travel warped speed?"

Just then a fizzling image appeared in the middle of the room and materialized as Smokey the Bear. Leaving his freeze frame position, he glanced around the room.

"Can anyone tell me where Yellowstone is?"

"Sure", Harry said, "go outside and make a left, then follow the smoke. You can't miss it. By the way Ed, how come we're talkin' like hoods?"

"You idiot!" The Secret Assassin screamed. "You just compromised my cover!" He opened fire and annihilated everything in the bar, except Smokey, who zapped up REAL quick.

Harry made a narrow escape through a closed window with fifty bullets in his knees. The left knee won 27 to 23 (hey, we're keeping score). The secret assassin vanished into the shadows from which he had appeared.

The casual observer was not to be found in the wreckage.

PART ___ - Damn The Romans For Not Inventing Zero!

Something was different. Everything looked the same, but something was different. It was like being trapped in someone else’s stale breath, but different. A change was coming - big change - not obviate events foreseen by Nostradamus, Jules Vern, or even Jojo - heck, any slope headed newt would have seen that stuff coming. The coming events were bigger than all of them put together - as if you were too focused on the locomotive about to wipe your Hyundai off the level crossing to notice the 747 that’s gonna get the lot of ya. A change that hit so deep into the core of reality that only the insane might have had the slightest inkling of its coming. They never believe the crazies.

Naturally, we caught on immediately.

It seemed like just another day, only on way more coffee than is really good for your pancreas. You know, when you find yourself looking back fondly on the usual absurdity of it all as a wonderful time when you could actually make some vague semblance of sense out of whatever. `Loopy’ doesn’t even start to cover it.

It was the sort of day that made Old Testament writers say, “Gimme a break, that shit never happened.” Even the nut cases turned around and asked, “Hey, are you for real?” It was the sort of day that could make you ramble on endlessly about crap that really doesn’t make the slightest difference to folks in Poughkipsie just to give your fingers exercise, even though you’re coming down with carpal tunnel syndrome and all your nails have broken from the pressure you’re bringing to bear on the keyboard that came with your buddy’s computer, which really wasn’t made for this sort of thing but had to put up with it because you were having a real weird day and had to let the pressure out somewhere, even if it was an undeserving keyboard made by a large multinational corporation that would be the first against the wall when the revolution comes, which is probably next Tuesday unless it doesn’t fit your schedule. But we digress, and anyway we already wrote the Sentence to End All Sentences.

KDAmery and CWBorysowich had stayed up the whole week watching F-Movies from the ‘Just Worstsellers’ rental place in the next province. It was six thirty in the morning, and they were out of pretzels (always happens). So, they levered themselves out of their loungers and staggered to the door of the igloo, and...

“Holy shit, look at the size of that box,” KDAmery said.

“That is definitely big - you’d think we’d have heard the crane delivering it.”

“Well, I did think all the grinding gears were an odd sound effect for that last gratuitous sex scene...”

CWB examined the markings, “It says Mitsu...bishi - heck that means it could be anything! At least I hope it’s not from that stupid French singer.”

KDA frowned. “You didn’t buy `Get Dumb’ at Mac’s by mistake, did you?”

“Umn... No... No I didn’t”

It wasn’t a day for getting gifts or giving gifts since those typically come several months after your birthday or Christmas. As much as I like the idea of a gift giving season, I don’t want to be the one to pay for it. So, the next time you’re going out and picking up one of those over stuffed ‘Tickle Me Silly’ kinda dolls, take a step back for once. Step away from the towering warehouse shelving crammed with consumables that’s muffling your neighbourhood kids screaming for the toy of the hour in the other aisles. Look up towards the ceiling... hold your arms up in the air and in the loudest shrillest voice scream “I am a total victim of marketing!”

With a modicum of effort they hoisted the huge box through a small window in the 4th storey bathroom and lugged down to the middle of their basement rec-room floor.

CWB raised an eyebrow. “Now I can’t see my Persian rug.”

“Stop scrunching your eyes shut. Now, how do we get in this... oh, here it is.” KDA opened the sliding patio door and stepped into the box’s vestibule. “Wow, this thing’s bigger than our whole igloo.” [Blatant rip off of a line from The Wall. Please don’t sue us, we’re attached to our money.]

“That is a huge screen... and it comes with a couch!”

“And hey, two remotes!” KDA tossed one to CWB.

“But, the markings on the remotes appear to be Etruscan.”

“Hmm, let’s see if I can... Hey, the buttons are laid out in the exact proportions of the placement of all the statues on Easter Island.”

“What does this button do...” after CWB pressed the button the television set started to glow green - everything except the screen. “Maybe it has to warm up first...”

“Okay, you turned the cabinet on...” KDA looked closer at the remote. “Hey, the buttons are little faces sticking their tongues out!” He pressed on one. “Take that, ya rude little--”

“Uh, KDA...”

“What?”

“Check out the wall.”

KDA looked up. The wall that the remote had been pointing at when he pushed the little bugger’s tongue had turned into a giant projection of a porno movie. “Holy fuck.”

“Uh, that doesn’t look like Immaculate Conception to me... Here, let’s see--”

“No, hang on.” KDA hit the fast forward. “I want to get to the lesbian scene.”

But CWB had already depressed another button. And the screen bounced to another wall of the box and was completely white with a small speck that was just off center. The speck quickly grew larger and soon looked like it could be a person. As the speck grew, it yelled, “I’m here... am I too late?... I made it!”

CWB murmured, “Late for what?”

The new guy and KDA both asked, “You say something?”

Both CWB and KDA’s attention snapped to the guy on the blank white screen.

“Was he talking to us?”

“Were you talking to me?” Echoed from the speakers of the TV set.

KDA looked back and forth from the set to the wall where the guy was. “Interactive technology seems to be improving...”

“Apparently they couldn’t afford scenery tho...”

Now somewhat exhausted, the guy on the screen staggered into a close-up, “Am I... too late?”

KDA looked at his watch and said, “Yeah.” He turned the wall off. “Probably annoying.”

“There’s never anything on anyway. I’m not sure why we bother with television in the first place. It’s almost like we keep watching in anticipation that something good might magically appear one day. Plus, that grand achievement in the penultimate interaction between animate and inanimate turns out to have no friggin’ scenery.”

“Tell me about it. 67 million channels and dick all on. Too bad you can’t do anything really cool with these.” He casually gestured with the remote and hit a button.

An end table with a bowl of nachos appeared in the middle of the room. Not on a wall, not on the TV, in the middle of the room.

“Hmmm... Do you suppose it’s edible?” CWB posed as the drool welled in his mouth.

“Dunno.” KDA picked a nacho out and ate it. “Oh, fuck!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Man does this need salsa!”

“Figures... Not up to par... Just like the last 70 years of technological advancement. All these stupid little baby steps... Why couldn’t a processor go from a first release of 4.77mhz to 500mhz the next year? All those damn useless processors that sit in garbage heaps. Now we have virtual Nachos... then they’ll have virtual nachos with cheese, then virtual nachos with cheese and ground beef...”

“Hang on a sec, I had the volume down.” KDA hit the button again. A table with a steak and scampi tail dinner appeared complete with Chateau Latour 1927. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”

“... Still, our little Interactive Dude Version 1.0 is just a guy on a blank white screen. If it was me designing this shit, I’d at least put the guy in a jungle filled with alligators for version 1.0...” As CWB Mashed a button with his thumb, the man from the white screen appeared on the wall again in extreme close up, as if he was knocking on the screen and wondering what had happened to the guys in the window. Then he slowly turned around.

Behind him was now a sprawling jungle with echoing noises of birds and animals, then the man’s face turned hospital white as he leapt from the close up into the background screaming as several alligators chased him through the now swampy scene.

“See, now this I like!”

KDA shook his head. “What, no velocoraptors? Say, doesn’t that guy look like Rob Smith?”

CWB approached the wall that was projecting the screaming image and squinted, “you know, I think you might be right...”

The guy on the screen was jumping from limbs of trees onto the backs of other Alligators in shear panic “GUYS! Get me outta here! What are you trying to do? Kill me?!?”

CWB pressed another button with his thumb and the wall faded to black. “How ‘bout some of that steak?”

KDA looked thoughtfully at his remote. “These things are weird. Kinda scary, I mean the raw power to change people’s lives... this is fucking kewl!!!”

“Yeah, that’s great, but I’m hungry.”

“Naw seriously, with these we could really turn shit upside down. We could...”

“Then who would put it right-side up again?”

“That’s just it, we could decide what’s up! What’s left and right, what’s...”

“Wait... I see the flaw here. The fact that we would look at things and see them as upside down is only due to our conditioning of constantly seeing them the other way. Humanity needs to curb its anal retentive views of up and down! Free your mind!!!”

“O... K. Well, consider these the enema. We could lay the powerful low... change the world... hell, we could move out of this igloo!”

“I’ve always considered the powerful beneath me anyway.”

“Well, now they’ll know. I’m getting a woody just thinking about it.”

CWB glanced down at his remote control and raised an eyebrow in intrigue, “you sure it wasn’t the lesbo show?”

“Uh... you could be right. But still, this is cool. So, first priority...” KDA switched the porno back on.