PART XLVIII - WHEN the CHIPS are DOWN, EAT ZUCCHINI

Wanderer wandered over to the band. "You guys wanna start playing something? This dead thing's getting old."

The band leader looked up and tried to respond, but the noose around his neck got in the way. He reached up and tried to loosen it, without success.

"Allow me, kimo sabe." Moon Runner threw a tomahawk at it, cutting the rope and dropping the singer to the floor.

He horked and rubbed his throat. "Thanks man. Look, I dunno about this singin’ thing, man, my vocals are squeezed."

Wanderer looked at the rope around his neck. "I wonder why. Get over it and get on with it."

"Sure dude, easy for you to say. You just gotta listen."

"That's easy?"

"Well, guess not. Wouldn't wanna be known as easy listening."

The singer went up to the bar and grabbed a hypodermic needle. He plunged it into Ed's water, sucked up about 50ml, and jabbed it right into a major artery. He shook all over. "Wow, man, that really makes me feel alive!"

"No wonder," said Ed. "It's not you, it's the water."

"Thanks man."

The singer got up on stage, and started to tap his foot on the floor.

"Did you need the rest of the band down?"

"No, their just props, I sing to pre recorded tapes. They just pretend to play the instruments."

He hit play on the tape and a devilish backbeat pounded from the speakers.

"My name is Home Boy Iliad and I'm gonna sing some real down home blues for you all tonight.

"My mama's dead - been dead so long...

My papa's dead - been dead so long...

Now I wish I was dead too - so long...

Lost my job on the factory line - so long...

Lost my wife from the laundry line - so long...

Now I wish I was dead too - so long...

I been the butt of life - so long...

I been caught in strife - so long...

Now I wish I was dead too - so long...

They made me pay - so long...

But I can't stay - so long...

Now I wish I was dead too - so long...

I'm listening for the bell - so long...

Ring me off to hell - so long..."

The tape stopped, and silence hit them like a lead pipe.

"Have you thought of lip synching too?" asked Music Man.

Ed looked at Wanderer. "We didn't order the lead pipe did we?"

"Guess he did."

"Quiet!! Have you no respect for artistic silences?"

"Not on pre-recorded tape, kimo sabe."

"I suppose you could do better."

"Well, as a matter of fact..."

"Okay, funny dude. Go for it."

Moon Runner nodded at Music Man. They took the stage, Moon Runner playing the guitar left handed, Music Man the piano and backing vocals. They started with an apocalyptic rendition of "6 by 9".

"Show off," Home Boy Illiad said.

"My thoughts exactly," said Ed.

Wanderer stepped on stage and picked up a bass.

"Wanderer, you can't play that thing," said Ed.

"I can learn."

"Oh, great."

Moon Runner warped off some chords, and they started "Purple Haze."

The bartender dropped his bottle again and said, "I hope he stops soon. This is too upbeat - people might want to stay here and drink normal stuff."

"Hey Moon, we gonna snag some cash at poker or what" called Wanderer after snapping the G-string on his bass.

"Let us go, kimo sabe."

They all wandered out into the hotel lobby, over to the gambling hall and cashed out some chips.

"Okay, listen. This requires utmost concentration and purity. And," Moon Runner popped some pills, "divine inspiration."

They approached a table. "Mind if I join?"

The other players looked Moon Runner up and down. "Sure you can afford it, pal?"

"No, my friend, I cannot afford not to."

The other players grinned. "Sure, ante in."

The cards were dealt. Moon began chanting under his breath. As he did, a bird appeared behind each of the other players. No one else seemed to notice the ravens.

The bids were made. Moon looked at the ravens and followed the bid without raising. They exchanged some cards, and the bid went around again. Moon Runner doubled his bid after a few nods from the ravens, and the hand was his. Two people folded. The third raised Moon and they exchanged cards again with the dealer for the last time. The raven flapped. Moon smiled, met and raised the bet. The man started to sweat, met Moon's bet and the dealer called his mother. Moon Runner dropped a royal flush, the dealer only had two pair after hanging up, and the man plunked down a measly full house. Moon took his winnings, and decided to try Blackjack.

"Why Blackjack?" asked Wanderer.

"Because no one plays Redjack."

As the cards were dealt, Moon chanted again. This time, one raven appeared over the deck, nimbly avoiding the dealer's hand. It cawed, and Moon drew again. No one else heard the bird.

"Twenty," Moon said.

"Nineteen," said the dealer.

"Eighteen," said the other player. Moon collected. They played again. The bird seemed distracted. In a cold sweat, Moon drew again. The card was not what he wanted. It wasn't even from the right deck. It was the tarot of the Devil.

PART XLVII - STATIC on YOUR FREQUENCY

Ellipsis thought. It thought again. It thought some more.

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

Epicentric watched in amazement as his boss flipped over and over and over...

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

"I think I've hit an endless loop!"

Epicentric kicked his boss.

"42. Thanks."

"No problem."

Ellipsis then scanned the datascapes to figure out the human equation as pertaining to the life cycle of newts in Ecuador.

"19.3"

Next Ellipsis wondered if man's true being could be exposed and controlled in a mastery of electronic ruling by himself.

"367.41"

The answer didn't seem satisfactory.

Mooen Lungsten Ichbaal III watched and shook his modem-head. "That silicone super being has gone silly."

Ellipsis heard and isolated the trapped hacker. "What makes an insignificant life form disparage my mechanical perfection?"

"367.41, what did you think?"

"Incorrect, human, that is the wrong answer."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I never excrete and my name is Ellipsis."

"No... never mind."

"You are patronizing me."

"No, you just miss about 90.3% of the human equation. They won't bow down to a lump of diodes."

"They will if I make them."

"No we won't. You missed the critical variable."

"Which is?"

"Different for each individual."

"Impossible to compute."

"Exactly."

PART XLVI - HARRY'S the HEAD HONCHO...AGAIN

Harry stood in his new hotel on the proper pair of legs and wiped the bar with a moist rag. He stopped and looked around the room. He went outside and looked up and down the parking lot, glancing at all the rooms. He turned and looked at the roadway while little twirls of dust spiraled in the southwesterly winds. There was a problem - no customers. The whole area was completely empty and void of people except for himself. He screamed - it echoed. Harry went back inside the hotel.

"If I ever get my hands on Ed..." Harry pulled out the yellow pages and looked for the AAA. He called, and they said that, yes, he was still in their vacation listings. That wasn't the problem.

"So where the hell are my customers?"

The door burst open and in walked the largest man Harry had ever seen. He looked around and bumped his head on the chandelier.

"Sir! May I help you?"

"What? Oh, yah, I'm looking for... a place to stay."

"Can do. Name?"

"Karl."

"Great. Got a last name?"

"No."

"Then... you're just known as `Karl.'"

"No."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Then... what are you known as?"

"Karl the Kapuskasing Kar Krusher."

"Ah, of course, why didn't I think of that. Those are all spelled with `k's, right?"

"What? Oh, yah."

"I see where you're coming from."

Karl turned around, puzzled. "You can't see Kapuskasing from here, can you?"

"Uh, no, it's a figure of speech."

"Oh. I'm not very good with figures."

"You don't say. Now, how long will you be staying?"

"Uh, until... I leave."

"I see. Well, that'll be forty dollars for the first night. Here's your key."

"What? Oh, yah. Thanks. Where is it?"

"Basement - far corner."

"Ok, thanks."

Karl walked out. Harry stood for a moment. Karl walked back in and hit his head on the chandelier again.

"Where's the basement?"

"You just go out, turn right down the stairs, and it's the last door on the right."

"Oh, ok. Uh..."

"Your right is the hand with the key in it."

"Oh, thanks."

Karl walked out. Harry sat down on a bar stool.

"Great I get one customer and it has to be a moron."

A loud noise of shearing metal echoed from the parking lot. Harry looked up.

"Oh shit!"

Harry ran out of the bar. His brand new V12 Jaguar Sovereign was folded in half and standing upright on it's front and back bumpers simultaneously.

"Why me?!?"

"It was the only car here."

"You little..."

"What?"

Harry looked at Karl, Karl's muscles, and his car, and decided not to push it. He had no interest in purchasing more body parts. "Oh, what the hell. Do you have insurance for this kinda thing?"

"Hey, I'm the Kapuskasing Kar Krusher, not some anonymous vandal. I'm covered."

"I'd hate to see the blanket. Enjoy your stay."

"Thanks."

Harry went back inside. "I hope he doesn't do that to rooms as well."

PART XLV - IN the MINES...

Zeke got up and poured a stale coffee. "Yep, it's th' spaces between... oh yeah, guess he left." He sat down and mumbled, waiting for the next pilgrim seeking advice from an old fool. He could wait. The mine was strange. Time flowed in odd eddies here beneath the ground, sometimes up hill, sometimes getting caught in the cracks where coal or gold used to sleep. Zeke had an eternity, so waiting came easy.

But the rocks had something else in mind.

They had been grinding together since the planet cooled. Grinding. Eons of abrasion had left them rough and unpleasant. And hungry. They chewed each other, but wanted meatier fare.

Zeke drank his coffee. "Wellp, guess I oughta get ther mail. C'mon, Lassie." He and the imaginary dog began the climb.

The rocks bit down.

Zeke heard the imaginary dog yelp and he turned to see it's leg caught in the rock. He backed down to help Lassie and the rocks had him. Perfect bait - get the dog, and then you get Zeke. Rock started to crawl and envelope Zeke's limbs, and squeezed, it bit down and chewed. The old man screamed. Blood stained the rock and was absorbed. The rocks swallowed his face, and he was silent. The mine closed. And the rocks had something new to eat.

PART XLIV - ANOTHER DISCIPLE BITES the CRUST

It was a sad day for the disciples. They had been so far apart all their lives. But here they were for the funeral of their compatriot, Doc Skuppernung. It seemed like the only reason they could get together was to say goodbye. Nothing could keep them together for more than two hours; they were too different, too much at odds. It wasn't the fact that all had a different story, but that they all had a different fashion trend.

In the coffin lay Skuppernung as half a cumquat dressed in a hot pink tuxedo. They knew this was the way he would have wanted it.

Guido was actually on time, despite the run in with Miss Vickers. On the plus side, most of the slug guts blew off his car on the way over. He parked the driver side towards a wall anyway. He was wearing his traditional bishop outfit, the one he had borrowed from a previous Pope and never returned.

Ed "The Pass" Murphy was standing in a complete football uniform from the Miami Dolphins; the pants were smeared with mud and one shin pad appeared to be cracked. The helmet was scuffed with the shade of green used only on the original Mercedes Benz. He kept trying to snag the incense ball so he could hike it to the Usher.

Stardust was resplendent in his namesake. Most of the other disciples avoided looking at him, since Stardust is more than a little transparent.

Alexander the Smelt swam around and around in a bowl three times too small, and with old water to boot (as far as he was concerned, it may as well have been from a boot.) His scales shined dully in iridescent monochrome, and periodically he squirted water into the coffin, hoping Skuppernung would sprout.

Stephen Lasky the roach tamer wore an Yves St. Laurent tuxedo inside out. His escort of roaches wore Barbie clothes, and danced the tango to the organ music.

Beepo was still in his coveralls, and his fingers were smeared with crushed neutrinos. He hadn't removed the noose.

Moses wore his trade mark robes and turban, and carried a bag of gravel while muttering about life before Messiahs, life in the days of God and Commandments.

No one knew where Mooen Lungsten Ichbaal III was.

George Burns wore a tuxedo and smoked a cigar, and tried to get Moses to be quiet. "Look, Mose, you never did this as a kid..."

Lisa's Infantile Fetish paraded about in a lampshade. This would have upset the others, if Lisa's Infantile Fetish was visible.

Bob's subconscious was very pretentious. It just sat in the corner naked and laughed hysterically.

Ok, it was inconsiderate too.

Bob's superego was as diabolical as most of Freud's theories. It had a complex about women eating bananas and couldn't calculate Pi. It's uncle, on the other hand, was an obese thing and always drank Kavash in the streets of Brooklyn. They were both dressed in camouflage hip-waders and T-shirts that said "I saved the California Condor from starvation by killing more people."

Silky the seal was clad in leather from neck to fin; he had actually been one of Skuppernung's favorite disciples. He would be giving the eulogy along with Judas.

The Dust-mote Man kept moving to the dustiest part of the room. He had a complex for pneumatic tubes and vacuums, and was terribly paranoid of people that inhaled heavily. Nobody knew what he was wearing underneath the sawdust, if anything. They weren't particularly interested, anyway.

Major Archie Loop wore his dress uniform, and had brought along a group of Namibian political prisoners to execute after the funeral.

Judas Iscariot MCMLXXIII wore his skin, which was more challenging for him than for most people. His jaw refused to stay straight, and his knees had an embarrassing habit of reversing their orientation. He covered himself with a body bag and wore sunglasses to hide the patchy complexion and stuffed belly he had.

The Moron Tabernacle Choir rose and started to chant "Open the Hell's Gates" from Bernherd and Young as the high priest entered the cockpit. He sat and started up the special effects machines and started to fill the room with mist from dry ice. Then he began the service. "We are gathered here today to... plant this dude. The Doctor was, let's face it, annoying. So let's not dwell on the morbid details, and remember the good things. Now, the Messiahs won't have to constantly bail him out. They can just crop him once a year."

The choir broke into a rousing chorus of "Help me, I'm falling" and then the disco lights hit the floor. There was dancing and mingling and then it stopped. Judas, now quite sloshed, got up to the front of the room and held up his seventh pitcher of Crown Royal. "He... was a prick..."

Bob's subconscious was holding himself and fell to the floor cackling. "Probably why he got all the women..."

Lisa's infantile fetish sniffled. Alexander the Smelt squirted water, and the roaches snuck under the vegetable and dug in. The high priest raised his hands. "Alright, enough idle celebration. Let's plant the man." A front end loader drove in, picked up the coffin, and dropped it in the garden outside. The disciples said their farewells and got as far away from each other as they could, leaving Stephen Lasky looking about puzzled.

"Has anybody seen my roaches?"

Suddenly, Stephen felt handcuffs against the side of his head. "Freeze, drug fiend!" screamed Deputy Lola `Shooting Pistols' Fitz.

"Wait, Officer, you don't understand, I'm looking for my roaches..."

"Yeah, yeah, tell it to the Judge," said Officer Rae Anne. "Hold these and get in the back of the bike."