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.