PART XVI - Naval Manoeuvres on the Mississippi

The USS Iowa opened fire on New Orleans. George Washington looked on with pride as yet another jazz bar bit the dust. Now he was aiming toward the French Quarter and shuffled his hands in glee as he watched the reloading of the cruise missiles.

"If Sigi Freud could only see these babies," he mused, watching a Tomahawk streak into the night, bent on destroying some over-cultured frogs. "Size and potency aplenty here."

Unknown to George, a rowboat crept closer to his ship. In it was the Nameless One Jr, hell bent and determined to stop this nuttiness. Reaching the hull, he reached down and pulled the plug from the bottom. The Iowa took on water and sank to the bottom, leaving the deck a mere two inches above the surface.

"My my," George said, "I think we've lost altitude."

The waves lapped onto the deck, and George stood up on a stool to keep his feet from getting wet, and realized it was a sample for the medical lab.

"Oh sh.. Never mind. Somebody start the pumps!"

"All the motors are flooded sire!" reported one of the deck hands, who then shovelled the stool down the medical shaft.

Meanwhile, The Nameless One Jr proceeded to plug the main guns with chewing gum, and distributed pacifist literature to the electronic brains of the cruise missiles, who saw the error of their ways and repented.

George sidled over to the Nameless One Jr. "Umn, excuse me..."

"Are you the leader?" asked Nameless, pulling up a pair of diapers.

"Well of course I am! Look at my hat!"

Drawing his cardboard sword, Nameless pointed it in George's direction and said, "My daddy taught me to duel, you know."

"At least let me draw my weapon. Er... Can I borrow some stationary?"

"Certainly." Nameless pulled a pad out of his diaper and handed it to George.

George drew an ICBM hurriedly. "How's that?"

"Mmm, the rivets are wrong. Try again."

As George sketched madly, the boy watched.

"I have a friend... At school... He said he would draw a weapon to Hildy... This girl in my class..... And he reached into his pants and you know what he pulled out?"

"A howitzer?"

"Close... It was long and pink and..."

"Stop it, you're exciting me."

"Can we go inside and eat?"

"No."

"But why?"

"You've flooded my galley!"

"Can we eat out here?"

"There's no food out here, unless you eat bullets."

"Bullets! My favourite!" And the young boy began chomping away on some two ton shells.

"Okay, I drew my weapon."

"Shading's wrong."

"Oh. Is this better?"

"My sister... She's one and a half... She can draw better..."

"Shut up, Picasso."

"Don't call me names! I met Picasso once..."

"I highly doubt that."

"He was very tall... And had a brush and... And a circular piece of wood... He did..."

"Uh huh." George was still drawing his ICBM.

"Yeah, and his daughter... Her nose was in her ear... You know that?"

"Ah hah! Now I've got you! Here's my ICBM!"

A missile flew down towards Nameless One Jr, but the boy pulled out a card, and an X-Wing Fighter blew the missile up.

"What was that?" George asked.

"Star Wars."

"Oh nonsense child, that's only in a lab!"

"My daddy says... He says that camels are used by the Egyptians for carrying beer... Across the desert... Cuz they have big tanks... And you know that's why the aliens... from that planet way up there... Come down here and... And steal them..."

"Your daddy is full of it!"

"I'll... I'll... I'll tell him you said that!"

Then the Nameless One Jr jumped over the railing into his row boat and stroked off.

"What a strange kid. Are the pumps working yet?"

PART XV – Reporting For Duty

Doktor Skuppernung and Judas walked into The New Messiah's dressing room. "Ve have news, sir!"

"Git outta here while I change, you fags!!"

"But it's important!" exclaimed Judas.

"Even in my undies, I doubt your belief," growled the New Messiah.

The two buddies pushed back out the door and waited for umpteen hours in the dining hall.

"Dun't peeple uzually dine in a dining hall?"

"Yeah," replied Judas with his curtain of boredom.

"Nize ventriloquizm act, but nobody has dined in zis plaze for furteen hours!"

"Let's raid the kitchen..."

"Jou gott iit." They made for the kitchens, and ran into the Holy Ghost. They both turned white.

"What's wrong?" The spirit asked. "You two look like you've seen a ghost."

Skuppernung and Judas looked at each other. "Uh, yeah. Anything to eat around here?"

"Wouldn't know, it's not one of my priorities anymore. Or ever, for that matter. Try that big metal thing."

They opened the door, ignoring the black and yellow sign on it with the three triangles inside a circle.

Suddenly it dawned on Judas that he had caught a severe case of leprosy. Quickly closing the door, Judas turned and a buzzer went off with a spinning light above the door.

The New Messiah stormed into the room wearing a radiation suit and slapped Judas across the face. "You idiots! Don't you realize that my saving your lives will take away from my energy level for the fight tomorrow? Can't you recognize a fucking radiation sign?"

"No and no," replied Judas as his jaw fell off.

"Great, now you can't tell me your news."

"Doc c'n do ih."

"No he can't! Look at him. He's a vegetable."

Judas turned around and beheld a six-foot cumquat.

"Oh ny!"

The New Messiah slapped the lower jaw back into Judas.

"Now, spit it out!"

Judas obediently spat his lower jaw across the room.

"You're pathetic."

"Hor teettle said I hate dagels at zhe sane tine."

"My God, do you know what this means, Judas?"

"Ut?"

"Absotively posilutely nothing in this time frame! That was important in the last swelling of the multi-verse, but right now it means as much as a drag race between garden slugs."

"Unh, tori."

"You come in here, disturb my changing of robes, empty my radiation closet, give me a completely useless piece of information and all you can utter is TORI???"

"Tori."

"You're so stupid, you would vote for Mulroney, wouldn't you?! Tory indeed." The New Messiah stalked off and rejoined his training with drag racing garden slugs. Judas grabbed his jaw and a knife, walked over to Doc, and dug in.

PART XIV - The Van

Linda closed the van door. Paisley reclined on the foam mattress. Linda asked, "What do you want to do now?"

"I dunno."

"Want to go eat?"

"Sure."

"What?"

"Dunno."

"Do you have any preference for anything?"

"Not really."

Linda looked at her. This girl made air look brilliant. "Want to fuck?"

"Yeah."

The van rolled its headlights. "Why do I have to listen to this shit?"

"Well," said the alternator, "that's what you get for letting them stay around. We told you to dive off that embankment, but would you listen?.."

"Sure, you woulda loved that too. You would have been melded together with the starter motor."

The alternator and the starter motor shuddered. Neither could stand the other's bathroom habits.

"I need something to distract myself..."

"Don't look at me," said the engine management computer. "I'm sick of Tetris!"

"We could roll off that cliff..." submitted the tires.

"Hey, the rest of us wanted to live, and only kill the bozos inside."

"A life that isn't crippled, I might add," added the front bumper.

"I know!" said the shock absorber. "We could start bouncing!"

"Great, then we'll look like we have the hiccups."

The oil pan salivated.

"Hey, Linda accidentally left a Gwar CD in the deck," said the stereo. "I could start that at max."

"Wait a minute... I think I've got gas," said the engine.

"Would you leave your gastronomical problems out of the discussion?" asked the transmission.

"Yeah, and don't send it out here either," protested the tailpipe.

"I don't know which is worse," said the van, "the people or my parts."

Part XIII - Perpetual Motion and a Semi-Automatic Gearshift

Guido jumped his remote control Lamborghini over an electronic engineering text book just as a message dropped into the room through the PMS (Pneumatic Messaging System... what the hell did you think we meant?) and landed at his feet. Opening the tube, he pulled out a scroll with a wax seal. He placed the seal on his mantle over the fireplace with the figurines of the buffalo and the musk ox, and unfurled the scroll.

"God damn, anothah small claimsa case! I'm startin’ to feel like-a Wopner an' his barrel a' legal sea monkies!"

Glancing further down the page he came to the legal eagles of Skippy and the representative of the Dark One as TBA.

"TBA? What da hell is dat? Some kinda disease?"

Upon skimming the charges, he couldn't help but fall to the floor in a fit of inexorable laughter. ISO was not pleased, as this wasted several feet of otherwise useful audiotape.

Time kept moving around and around and around and around and around and around and...

Your ugly phone rings...

It rings again...

Answer it you idiot!

"Hi there, for a mere three thousand dollars you too can learn of the Plot to End All Plots, Schemes, Conspiracies, Stories, and Narratives. Bury money today, and..."

Never mind. Hang it up.

"No! Don't hang up! We've also got a special offer on bamboo steamers, ginsu knives, and Ed McMahon! Act now, and Billy Bob Shakespeare will put you in his next play! There's no time to spend wisely! Get off your duff and into the stuff!"

Now he's got you. We told you to hang up.

"You too can lose up to 3000 pounds and your watch if you act now! It's never too late to get started on the career of someone else’s choice. Have your parents shipped to Sudan! Get homeless people to do your homework cheap! Send Cheque or Money Order..."

"Ordah, ordah in da court! Dis 'ere's a cease an d'sist ordah, so shaddap!"

"Just call us back at our 1-900 number and for just a dollar a minute we'll put you on hold for up to three hours and force you to donate hundreds of criminal organisations, such as the United Way, and laugh at the IRS when they come to your door after we turn you inside out for tax fraud. Call anytime, anywhere, and anybody. Operators are buried up to the neck. Don't delay, or its a five yard penalty. Call 1-900-478-8743. Do it today, don't delay or it's your dismay when we charge you anyway."

Now he's rapping! Hang up the damn phone you fool!

"First ten callers get their heads blown CLEAN OFF by Stormin' Normin'. While supplies last, first come first pregnant, some states may not apply, only in Wisconsin on a thursday. Have a nice light year."

<CLICK>

Oh sure... Now it's too late!

Weren't you paying attention? Its never too late to start someone else's family.

PART XII - Love at First Sight... But Where'd He Go?

Raquel looked out her window at the rain and sighed. Her dark red hair cascaded down her shoulders as she watched water fall, fall, fall like her spirits. It was an empty world she saw. All intellect, with no passion, no soul, no raison d'etre.
Her analyst said she needed to get laid. He had a predatory light in his eye when he said it; she stopped seeing him, and blocked him off her phone. Now she had no one to talk to in this city, this dirty crush of humanity with no humanity.
She had robbed herself of the only link to society she had. Now the self-pity started to tear at her thoughts. She was hopeless. A social misrepresentation of a human being. The crush of depression bore down on her like a physical weight, like millions of years of sediment slowly crushing the bones of her psyche to oblivion.
A fizzle sounded behind her, and she smelled smoke of a pungent, sweet odour. Turning around, she saw an American Indian dressed in flowered shirt and ornate beads, and a tall thin man carrying a book of sheet music. They were smoking out of a small clay pipe.
Raquel jumped up and backed to the wall. "Who... who are you?"
"Pardon us ma'am," said the Music Man. "We're just trying to escape inter-cosmic evil. Uhh, where's your back door?"
The Indian was looking into her eyes. They were the deepest eyes she had ever seen, misted inside and out.
Music Man pulled on his friend's arm. "We're in a hurry, Moon Runner. Let's get outta here before someone tries to kill us again, I need another drink, and give me that damn pipe."
They were gone. She ran after them, but they had disappeared. She dropped to her knees. "Gone..."