Saturday, September 18, 2010

PART LIII - PSSST... WANNA BUY a MONK?

At a little known religious retreat in Peru, a new face had appeared on the scene. A face of caring and unsuppressed compassion. It was Licking Linda Lovelace the... Theologian?

Lawrence looked about the courtyard, then up at the lady on his back. "Look, lady, I've heard of trick riding, but this takes the hay bale."

Linda slid off, a crease of puzzlement the size of the grand canyon marring her forehead. "Where the hell are we."

"Now, now, child, one mustn't blaspheme in the house of the Lord," said a voice behind them.

Linda spun around in surprise. Lawrence turned his head quickly and pulled a muscle in his neck.

"Where are we?" asked Linda.

"Peru."

"Oh... Who are you?"

"I am a man of the cloth."

"Oh... I've heard that can be a nasty addiction."

"Excuse me?"

"What do you use? Lycra?"

"No, no... I'm a religious nut."

"Oh... You're into tapestries?"

"Look, My name is Nick "The Noose" Edwards of the Brothers of Perpetual Strangulation."

"That would explain the tight chain around your neck and the squeeky voice."

"Maybe we oughta look for another space warp," said Lawrence in a low voice.

"Who the he... heck are you, anyway, Mr. Ed?" asked Linda.

"No, Lawrence the Arabian, you?"

"Lickin Linda Lovelace."

"The... what title are you using now, anyway?"

"I don't know, I've lost track."

"So," said Nick, "are you here as disciples?"

"Uh, no," said Linda, eying his noose. "We were just leaving."

Nick looked puzzled. "But... no one leaves. The Lord forbids it."

"Yeah, well," said Linda, "you guys are monks?"

"All of us except our leader."

"Yeah, so I guess you'd have a problem with having a woman around, right."

"Not really. Our leader needs a new mistress."

"Uh, sorry pal, I don't swing that way."

"You will find that the Reverend Rhombus swings many ways," replied Nick.

"I don't swing that way either," said Lawrence.

"Oh? Pity. Anyway, you should at least stay for the evening. The Reverend Rhombus is televising a sermon."

"That's the Reverend Jerry Rhombus?" asked Linda.

"Yes it is."

"C'mon Lawrence. I've heard of this guy. He's got crocodiles and man-eating snakes and... well, I don't want to find out what else."

"You think they eat horses?" asked Lawrence.

"You wanna find out?"

They turned to leave. They turned again. And again. Then they turned back to Nick. "What's the deal?" asked Linda. "You guys don't have a front door?"

"Or even a back one?" put in Lawrence.

"No. I told you no one leaves."

"How do they get in?"

"Those who want to get in can."

"How?"

"Faith."

"Ok, Whatever."

Nick then wandered through an archway and down one of the passages. Lawrence and Linda stood there. They stood a little longer. They stood some more. Linda screamed at the top of her lungs, and Lawrence whinnied.

"Oh shit, let's go Lawrence..."

"Ok."

They started through the archway and down a different passage than the one that Nick had taken. They had hardly gone five paces before encountering a dead end.

"Ok, we'll try another way." That was a dead end too.

They all were.

"You ever get the feeling you're in a Kafka novel?" asked Lawrence.

"Who?"

"He was... never mind. It doesn't look like there's a way out."

"I don't believe that."

Lawrence looked up; Linda thought she could see a light bulb turn on over his head. "What do you believe?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Do you believe there's an entrance?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Where?"

Linda rolled her eyes. "Right at the front."

"Where's that?"

"Right there... holy shit! I don't..."

"Don't say it!" said Lawrence.

In front of them was an arch. Beyond it, they could see a mountain path.

"Lawrence, my friend, you are positively handy to have around."

"Yeah, too bad I don't have any hands. Hop on." They rode out.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

PART LII - LITTLE GREEN MINERS

Nameless One Jr wandered through the tunnels, looking at the rocks and whistling `Download' by Skinny Puppy. He stopped when he saw a group of small green balls bouncing up and down on the rocks, slowly digging a new tunnel.

"Have any of you seen my father?"

The chief ball bounced over to him. "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one."

"No one with no name around here. Get lost, kid." He went back to mining.

"But I already am lost."

The balls just kept bouncing and ignored Nameless jr., so he wandered on down the tunnel and found nothing remarkable, until he came across a small gem sitting on the floor. The gem was foreign to this planet and, yes, even this galaxy. Nameless jr. picked it up, not realizing (because he didn't know), that it was the GEM OF KARNATH.

"Put me down, you greasy air-breather you."

Nameless One jr. dropped the gem and stepped back.

"Obedient, aren't you."

"Have you seen my father?"

"What do I look like, a lost and found? Go find him yourself, you whiney freak."

"Hey... my Dad says... you should be nice to people you meet... you know why?"

"No, why?"

"Because... they might have a gun... and kill you."

"Oh. Do you have a gun?"

Nameless One Jr. pulled out a water pistol.

"Oooh, scary."

"It's a gun."

"Well, I don't have to be nice to creatures of any kind because I'm the GEM OF KARNATH!" (an orchestra played stirring music in the background.)

"You're just a rock."

"Just a rock?! Kid, that's like saying the Dark One is just a dude who doesn't like the lights. I'm a very sophisticated rock."

"Yeah... but you're still a rock."

"Yes... wonderful, isn't it?"

"Well... what do you do?"

"Wha... I'm the GEM OF KARNATH!" (more stirring music) "Isn't that enough?"

"No... in school... if you said that... it would only answer the first blank."

"Hmm, guess I'll have to come up with something more impressive."

"Do you do windows?"

"No, but I have done a water heater... what do my sexual habits have to do with it?"

"Huh?"

"Go away, brat."

"Okay." Nameless One Jr. started walking down the tunnel.

"Hey, where ya goin?"

"You told me to go away."

"That was rhetorical."

"Oh. What's that?"

"Well, it's... never mind. Where are you going?"

"I'm looking for my father, The Nameless One."

"Catchy handle. Well don't just stand there, take me with you."

"But you said..."

"Said schmaid, you think I want to stay here?!"

Nameless One Jr looked around. "Why not?"

"Just pick me up, you snot nosed..."

"I do not have a snotty nose... cause I picked it..."

"I don't want to hear about it."

"I wasn't going to tell you about it anyway."

"Thank god. Are we going now or what?"

"Sure!"

Nameless One jr picked up the gem again, and they became the best of friends, which is coincidental to the conclusion of this part.

Monday, September 6, 2010

PART LI - MY ESCARGOT is STUCK in the FAN BELT

Barreling down an abandoned highway, Bob, Neils, and Beepo could hear their stomachs growling over the lost muffler on their 1957 Nash Rambler. Beepo was glancing over a tourist map and mentioned that a French restaurant was up ahead.

"What's it called?" asked Bob.

"Chez Quickies - Le McDonald's du France."

"Sounds... fast," said Niels. "There it is. Let's check it out."

They pulled into the parking lot and spent five minutes trying to find a space that didn't have a Renault or a Citroen in it. Inside, the servers and cooks were wearing striped shirts and berets with little strings sticking out of the top; they all had penciled in moustaches, too. In the corner, a band with the name, `All Those Bozos' on its drum kit was playing `Feelings' on the accordion, harmonica, and mandolin with a monster-bass-drum-back-beat.

They got in line. Beepo said to the server, "I'll have the Coquil St. Jacques with fries to go."

"Anything to drink?"

"A can of the 1768 vintage Beaujolais."

"That'll be $27.36 please."

"Fast but steep... What are you guys having?"

Bob scanned over the menu. "I'll have the escargot au fromage du Kraft and... a stick of your french bread and... a Perrier."

"That'll be $12.92."

Neils approached the counter, "I'll get the filet mignon on a stick... a side order of frog legs... a bottle of espresso... and a tin of Neapolitan for desert."

"That'll be $17.30."

She packed up all the containers into a plastic picnic basket, periodically referring to the packing instructions stamped on the bottom. She also threw in the napkins, bibs, and plastic packages of imitation béarnaise sauce. After exchanging winks with the Bozoettes in the band, they left the restaurant and piled back into the Rambler to eat their lunch.

Beepo's wine exploded in his face. "Damn... is wine supposed to be carbonated?"

"Not in 1768," said Niels, biting into his filet on a stick and getting béarnaise sauce on his shirt.

Bob was chasing his lunch. "Man, for snails these things sure are quick."

"Must be getting lubrication from the cheese," said Beepo.

They finished the meal and were about to leave when a young lady in a short black dress with white frills came in and started cleaning the slops up.

"Uh, excuse me, but, who are you?" asked Beepo.

"The complementary French maid," said the girl. "Une moment."

"This place isn't bad," said Bob staring at the maid's mamories.

"Do you clean shirts?" asked Neils

"Only when people aren't in them.

All three instantly took their shirts off.

"Mon Dieu, you should all eat more."

Bob said, "What do you expect? We're Quantum Mechanics, not football players."

"Ah, science geeks." She cleaned the shirts and handed them back. "I have to get back inside now. Have a nice day."

"How can we," said Niels as she left. "All food and no lay..."

Bob put his shirt back on and started the Rambler.

Pulling out of the lot, they accidentally bumped a LeCar. Looking around, they screeched out of the parking lot and back to save the universe from quantum destruction.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

PART L - Tax My Soul to the Devil

Franz Kafka, Plato, Bore Us Yeltsin, A Dork Hitler, Muamar Hussein Geddoffme, Karl "Average" Marks, and Jean Jacques Rousseau sat at the round oak table. All had voiced their grievances about the state of current world politics and felt that the future decline of "government" as we know it was imminent. The Dark One and the AI's rejoiced.

Kafka broke into the mutter with "But it's just a senseless pile of bureaucracy and paper work!"

"You can always just burn the paper work and gas the bureaucrats." replied Hitler.

"Not gas, behead in the name of Allah!" put in Geddoffme.

"Granted, methodology aside, that those principles are good ones," said Plato. "The true question is what to do next. Who shall lead? I propose a dictatorship of the philosophers."

Max Weber entered the room with a fresh pot of coffee, "You know, I've rethought all my theories and decided that maybe the world should just go to total anarchy and then see what rises out of it."

The whole room just looked at him and so did the people at the table. The Dark One and the AI's smiled.

"It was just a thought..."

"Let's get serious here. We have to come up with some saving grace plan for world control before the whole structure collapses in on it's corruption manifested core!" called Rousseau.

"Yes, let's. I don't want to be out of a job, after all," said Yeltsin.

"Apropos the dictatorship idea," said Marks, "who decides who leads?"

"I will!" shouted Hitler and Geddoffme in unison. They then glared at one another. Hitler slapped Muamar. Geddoffme uppercut Hitler, and they rolled to the floor in a brawl. They rolled to one side of the room and into the closet opened by Weber, where Steve Arlington had Syd Sliver the penguin in a headlock and was wrestling him to the ground. After closing the door, they resumed.

"Now that the loonies are gone," said Plato, "I would suggest a series of rigorous tests, which would slot people into fields that they were apt to take. Only the best would make it to philosopher status, and they would be the leaders."

"But," said Kafka, "this is an even worse bureaucracy! There is no choice, which is bad enough, but even worse the decisions are made by a test rather than a human!"

"Besides," said Marks, "tests can be skewed."

"It really is too bad we can't go back to a pre-civilized state," put in Rousseau. "Noble savages and all that."

"Right, and they'd be at each others throats in no time," said Weber.

Marks jumped in with, "Greed is the true evil. If everyone were charitable, any system would work..."

"And if wishes were horses, beggars would show jump. Let's stick to reality, folks," said Plato. "Since we can't have perfection, we should concern ourselves with the best method of ruling."

"The problem with your set up," replied Marks, "is that it doesn't take into account direction. Someone could be brilliant, and therefore be the highest authority in your system, but could also be twisted."

Kafka nodded.

"Twisted people are not brilliant enough to pass my tests."

"Really?" asked Kafka. "Could your tests weed out Hannibal Lecter?"

"Well... good point," conceded Plato.

Tom Hobbes and Machiavelli returned from the kitchen. Charles of secondat also came in from the water closet; he was all wet.

"We should just have a base legal system of social laws that will be monitored by a broad number of legal experts and let the people do what they want within that system," Charles of Secondat dripped.

"That's what we have now, in case you were away," said Kafka.

"I was in the washroom, but the government is too involved and controlling all over. There should just be an enforcement group and a prosecution group working together to produce a unified world system."

"This is too adversarial," said Plato. "It assumes that all a government has to do is stop its citizens from breaking its rules. A government must be much more involved, unfortunately. The role of government is to ensure its citizens are physically safe and healthy, which includes laws but also such things as welfare, education, and national defense. I know some of you are attached to the idea of a laisez faire system, but this hardly works; look at the England of the late nineteenth century for an example."

"Then we should have the Christians run the world for everyone," said Hobbes.

"Au contraire, mon amis," said Rousseau. "Christians care too little for this world and too much for the next to be effective and beneficial rulers."

"Yeah and we'd have evangelists on every channel," added Kafka.

"Furthermore," continued Rousseau, "this would bring about a dictatorship of Christianity, with only people of the right sect being allowed to rule, a most unequal situation. Even worse, imagine the infighting between Christians? The Protestants and the Catholics would be at each other's throats; it would be like Ireland had taken over the world."

"Besides," put in Marks, "religion is the opiate of the people; it's sole purpose is to keep the workers enslaved."

Hobbes rose. "Take that back, foul atheist!"

The closet door opened. Syd exited and closed the door, brushed himself off and then left. The party resumed.

"I am not an atheist. Atheism says that you do not believe in a higher being. I simply do not believe in worship," said Marks.

"Heathen! All who do not worship Christ must be damned..."

Plato stepped between them. "Guys, our religious blow out is next week. Let's stick to politics for now. I have an idea on how to solve your problems with my system. What we need is a separate order to administer the tests, one that can see into an applicants very soul."

"Essentially an order of telepathic monks?" asked Kafka.

"Well... yeah, why not?"

"How many telepathic monks do you know?"

"Well, none, but we can talk to the authors and get them to lend us some."

"Let's not get tangential. Now, we don't have any mental monks to speak of and this would throw the world into the control of the Catholics. It won't do at all," uttered Kafka.

"I didn't say they had to be Catholic monks, Franz. That was just the basic structure; a group held separate that was indoctrinated in the beliefs necessary for a philosopher king to be a just ruler. The monk part gets across the separateness of the order, not its agenda."

"The thing is that people in different areas and climates are going to have different tempers, thoughts, and concepts. The laws have to reflect the tempers and concepts of all areas in order to be viable," commented Secondat.

"The thing we must determine," said Weber, "is the degree of differentiation necessary. Are we after freedom or stability? Are these compatible? Bear in mind that with the weapons now available, it is the survival of the species we must be concerned with."

"True," said Kafka. "Have you heard what George Washington is playing with?"

"Yes," said Plato, "I had been meaning to mention that George wouldn't be allowed to take the exams."

"Look, we don't need exams and blood tests.” Blasted CWBorysowich who now appeared in front of them. “We need a world order that everyone can follow not just the Pinkertons or Dan and Marilyn can swallow. Everyone has this narrow minded view of control. That breeds even narrower minded viewpoints and then you have seperatists and distinct society bozos that think they have a better system and that they don't need any of your charity. Damnit give us something solid.”

"Hey, it's a Supreme!" All the philosophers rushed up for autographs. Plato asked, "Can I have some telepathic monks?"

"My god some of the best philosophical and political minds and none of you have a bloody pen? As for telepathic monks... hmm... Catholics that can read your mind... Not!"

"They don't have to be catholic monks..."

"Hmm... any religious radical being able to read my mind... don't think so."

"Why not? Reading your mind isn't difficult."

"I could crush everyone of you in this room as easily as tearing a round of Limburger cheese. Now come up with some potential solutions or suffer the consequences of all society falling into the hands of evil sorcerers and machines."

Kafka leaned over to Rousseau and whispered, "I think he's been reading too many tabloids."

"I'm not about to explain it, but you better do something. Damnit I'm a taxpayer. Now get on with it!" CWBorysowich then disappeared.

Weber looked puzzled. "If he's a Supreme, why doesn't he do it himself? And he hasn't paid any taxes to me..."

"I still think the telepathic monk idea was good," said Plato.

KDAmery wandered in, carrying a remote control. "Have any of you seen the TV Guide?"

"Another Supreme!!!" They all rushed over again for autographs, but still had no pen.

"I need a telepathic monk - just one, to test a theory. Please?" asked Plato sincerely.

"Guys, guys, back off. I can't sign anything, anyway, I've got writer's cramp."

They looked at each other. "Figures."

KDAmery turned to Plato. "The telepaths are all busy, and besides that they're atheists. So what have you guys come up with so far?"

"Not much to speak of," said Hobbes.

"Great. Is that what we're investing all this disk space on? `Not much?' Oh, you guys are great... where are the other two?"

"In the closet."

KDAmery opened the closet and saw Hitler, Geddoffme, and Steve Arlington tied into a pretzel and hanging from the rack. "Ah, Syd's been here." He shut the door again.

"We need more!" demanded Rouseau.

"More what? We gave you a truck full of munchies and fridge full of beer, not to mention a fully stocked bar. What else do you want?"

"Well, yeah, but we only have the knowledge of our works and our times and enough about now to integrate us into society. It's like we're being released from prison. We need to know why."

"You wanna know why? You're the philosophers, you figure it out."

"Yes, but why have we been brought together. What are we really saving the world from and why should it be saved?"

KDAmery looked puzzled a second. "Couldn't tell ya. Now that I think of it, you're here for a really futile (read, `stupid') reason, and, to be frank, you're wasting our time. Sooo..." KDAmery pointed the remote at them and hit the off button.

Friday, August 20, 2010

PART XLIX - VOICE SPEAKS ENDLESSLY

"You were right," said Dark One. "It worked!"

"Who was right?"

"Y... never mind. Now I have him!"

"Not yet. You have to follow through."

"That's in golf, moron."

"Golf, tennis, and life. What moron?"

Dark One growled.

"He'll cut his losses if you don't keep the pressure up."

"How?"

The scene in the casino froze. "Moon Runner knows you're after him now, right?"

"Presumably."

"What will he do next?"

"Run, I imagine."

"How do you stop him?"

"How?"

"Don't ask me. I'm not here."

"Arrggh!"

Moon runner turned to his friends, to see them looking at all the statues

"It's just like the wax museum, Ed" called Wanderer.

"Something is wrong, kimo sabe."

Ed turned around holding an AK47 and a case of hand grenades. The buzz of the gun sawed down several stationary gamblers

"Ed, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry. Got carried away."

"Do I know you from somewhere, kimo sabe?"

"Nah," Ed said, "I just look like some merc on TV."

"Now what?" asked Dark One.

"What shall be shall be, unless it is erased."

"Say what?"

"Okay, `what?'."

Dark One fumed, but said nothing about his guest's sense of humour. "Erased how?"

"A VCR won't do it."

"Get to the point."

"Which one?"

"You... the one about erasing what shall be."

"Ah. In the distant past, time was created. It flowed forth in an even span, and from it came history. The narrative is permanent and constant, and the stream has already been made. But it is vulnerable to the chaos of sentience. Applied properly, thought alone can rewrite time itself."

"Yeah, right."

"Alright, don't believe me. Catch him on your own."

"Okay, do... are any strategies known?"

"By whom?"

"Anyone."

"Of course."

"And they are?"

"Think."

"Impudent voice."

"That isn't a command, it's the answer."

"The answer to what?!?"

"Thinking is the answer to all. Improper solutions would be greatly reduced if proper thought was used from the beginning. Thinking of a solution to erase this will solve the problem."

"Brilliant deduction, Watson."

"Who's Watson?"

"A friend from elementary school."

"Oh. Nice to hear he's brilliant."

In the casino, Moon Runner clapped his hands, and time reasserted itself. The cut up bodies fell, and the guests panicked. The guards converged on Ed.

Wanderer looked at Ed. "Now look what you've done."

"Sorry."

"Observe, that Moon Runner has already started to escape. Unless you can rewrite history, you had best move quickly."

"I've got a plan in place already."

"Oh?"

"Yes," the Dark One snickered. "That's the Secret Assassin. He works for me."

"Convenient."

"Unlike some people I could mention."

"Oh? Who?"

"Never mind."

"Not a problem, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Were you considering something?"

"NO! forget it! Come on Ed... Kill 'im! What is he waiting for?"

"You talk to the TV during movies and sports, don't you?"

"Of course I... Shut up!"

"Who are you talking to?"

"An annoyance that keeps speaking and doesn't exist."

"Considering your views, that might be a responsible government."

"No it's a friggin' conscience or something."

"Really? Where?"

"You keep speaking and yet claim you don't exist. How is that possible?"

"It isn't, at least the way you put it. Are you hearing voices again?"

"Only yours..."

"Whose?"

"The words that respond to all of my statements."

"Oh. So you are hearing a response, then?"

"Every time I say something, yes."

"Hmmm. And what are these responses like?"

"Exactly what you are saying."

"Who?"

"There is another one."

"Where?"

"And again."

"I detect a note of repetition in your responses. This indicates repression. What are you hiding?"

"Look... If you don't exist, how do you respond to my statements?"

"This argument is going in circles. You're evading the issue."

"I know, it's like watching 60 Minutes. What is the damn issue?"

"What are you hiding?"

Dark One checked his pockets... "I don't know, what am I hiding?"

"But you do know. You're hiding it from yourself - that's the nature of repression."

"How do I find this repression?"

"A concerted campaign of questioning helps. You must dig into your deepest thoughts and fears. Analysts can help direct the questioning, but ultimately, the answer comes from within."

"Hmm.. My deepest thought is a fantasy about whipping Brooke Shields into a fit of ecstasy and my greatest fear is that Dan Quayle will run for President and morons like Chucky Manson will campaign for him."

"Those came out too quickly. This indicates they're actually surface thoughts, not deep at all. Very disappointing..."

"What should I do, hypnotize myself?"

"There's that hostility again. What makes you angry?"

"An empty box of Corn Flakes."

"Flippancy doesn't help."

"I have a lot on my mind. There is this court case coming up with the Queen, and then there's Moon Run... Oh Jeez... They're going into the Smith house - I'll never get him out of there!"

If the Voice had existed - it would have smiled. As it was, it just felt highly amused in a vacuum.