PART LXV - "GOOD GOD!" - A DEBATABLE POINT

The New Messiah puzzled long and hard about how to produce a religion that would liberate humanity rather than enslave it. As time went by, he grew desperate, for he could find no solution, and his existence depended on success - after all, being a Messiah would be meaningless without having something to save the faithful for.

But he could find nothing.

Finally, before despair could take him away to oblivion, he resorted to seeking outside help.

KDAmery picked up the phone. "`Lo?"

"Your Supremeness? It's the New Messiah."

"Hey, Kiddo, how's it hangin’?"

"It's not. That's the problem: I need a new faith."

"I... see.... Is this for personal or professional use?"

"Professional. Personal, too."

"Uh huh. Well, all right, come on over." KDAmery reached into the phone and pulled the New Messiah through.

"So, what exactly is the problem?"

"What I need is a religion that won't deceive people, yet will give them a sense of purpose and meaning."

"Jeez, why dontcha ask for something easy, like world peace or stable computer standards."

"Hey, if it was easy I would have done it myself."

"Alright, alright, lessee what we can whip up here."

CWBorysowich wandered through the room, glancing through the pages of The Egyptian Book Of The Dead. CWBorysowich stopped. His face warped for a second. He dropped the book on the floor, "Who the hell needs religion, anyway?" and promptly exited.

"Don't mind him," said KDAmery. "He's just feeling PO'd cause somebody created the universe and forgot to invite him. Anyway, let's take a look at the basics. The real source of religion is the unknown forces in the mind."

"Huh?" asked the New Messiah.

"Sure. What, you never read Jung? Get with it, kid. Anyway, the whole idea was to explain these frightening occurrences. Later (like, later that week) it was used to explain external shit, like thunder storms and fire and pimples. The third development, and this is the bit that really pisses CW and myself off to no end, is the addition of morality to the mix. Now, rather than asking the village elder `what's dat?' and being told his understanding of what it was, you also got some BS about how it should be a lesson to you to always believe in the Great Cockroach and hate the Wicker People."

"Ohhhh... kay.," said the New Messiah. "So, I need a story that is non-judgmental, right?"

"Yeah, that's a start. But, more importantly, it's got to be something that won't be proved wrong, and it has to resonate."

"Huh?"

"Okay, listen. If the tenets of your system can be disproved, you're going to have a real problem keeping the faithful. Self evident, right?"

"Sure, look at the Church of Scientology..."

"Okay. But the story can be true as a government scandal and it won't make a lick of difference unless it resonates. Your story has to grab the imagination of a great many people. They have to believe it as soon as they hear it."

"Kinda like propaganda?"

"Hmmm, you learn a little too quick. Be careful with that shit, it'll blow up on you. Oh yeah, one more thing. Deep six the worship thing."

"Wha... why?!"

"Cuz us deities really don't care about all the mortal slavering that goes on. We think it's demeaning and boring. I mean, look at this: you got people bowing their heads and begging for forgiveness for something someone they don't even know did. That isn't there to help us, it's there for the priests. It makes them feel powerful to see all these people on their knees."

"So what do you want?"

"Me? Leave me outta this, pal. I don't have time to pay attention to the whole world on Sunday morning: I'm still recovering from Saturday night."

CWBorysowich re-entered the room holding a calculator. "You know, if that bozo that wrote the bible came back to life right now, we'd owe him a heck of a lot of back royalties."

"True," said KDAmery. "Except it wasn't one guy, it was a few hundred. The Bible was the world's first Committee Art. There wouldn't be royalties to the guys, it would be to their marketing firm."

"Well, thank the lord we had that company go under and recycled into a microwave."

"Is that what you did with your half? I turned mine into Harry."

PART LXIV - THE SAC FIGHTS BACK

Sacman sat in his office, with his feet up on the desk so that his shoes were visible. Surrounding him were some of his most trusted men, many of them with 95% or more of their body already embroidered.

"Well boys, VelcroVice and HomeSpun Homicide have teamed up to try and strike hard into our territory," stated Sacman.

The thugs started to laugh, but a hush fell over the room as Sacman's shoes disappeared behind his desk, and they were faced with the meanest looking burlap bag this side of Ireland.

"We can't take this too lightly, boys. They're out to hurt us. So I've called in the evilest of villains known - BOB!"

Several gasps escaped from Sacman's men. The door pushed open and in strolled a dark figure, munching on some Fritos. He looked up. "Tho, what'th up folkth? Hey, Thacman, nithe thoes!"

The gang considered gasping again, but decided to hold out for a better contract and benefits.

Sacman stood. "BOB, glad to have you aboard. Boys, those ISO morons'll be screaming for mercy in no time at all."

"I didn't know we dealt in mercy..." said one of the men.

Sacman reached over and yanked a yard of lycra out of the man's left arm.

"Arrghhh, withdrawal!!!" The man keeled over and died.

"Anyway, I said they would scream for mercy. I didn't say they would get it. Is that clear?"

The rest of the room nodded.

"And BOB, can you explain just what will happen to these ISO agents that try to hurt our organization?"

"Yeth. They will thuffer the motht heinuth of deathth."

"And what might that be?" asked one of the braver - or stupider, depending on how charitable one felt - men.

BOB just smiled. "Wait and thee. Right, Gulliver?"

PART LXIII - SURE, a SATANIC BAND, BUT WAIT'LL HE MEETS MUFFY!

Rob Smith peeked around the corner. Good, the coast was clear. He ran down the hall, spine tingling as if it expected to be hit with... Rob didn't want to think about what.

Ever since those two morons stopped trying to drive each other batty and fixated on him as the cause of all their little irritations, Rob's life had been a living hell. It had seemed like a neat idea at the time. Introducing KDAmery and CWBorysowich had certainly gotten them out of his hair for a while. But that time was most definitely over.

Now he was trapped in a house that seemed to go on forever being chased by the weirdest things the Markham Madmen could think of. Sweat still rolled from his armpits after escaping the Superstitious Killer Mosquitos in some gargantuan dining room.

A noise! Quickly Rob ran to a door and rushed into... a sound studio. In the midst of it was a heavy metal band, one so blatantly bestial, even KDAmery hadn't gotten around to listening to them. The masked faces turned towards him, and Rob Smith stood in the mercy of... Gwar!

The Satanic ritualists looked him up and down. They seemed to smirk at his outlandishly plain dressing style. The lead singer dropped an axe on the neck of a muskrat and the band proceeded to envelop Rob's presence. Putting their arms around him, they hauled him over to an antique water wheel, and proceeded to lash his ankles and wrists to the spokes. Upon releasing the water, the wheel began to spin around. Then, as a prelude to the ritual sacrifice, they began to tune up.

Rob screamed.

The vocalist listened, then copied the scream exactly. He brought the microphone up to Rob's lips just as the guitarist experimented with a few scales. This time, the scream was recorded for sampling purposes; Gwar had been taking a few lessons from Skinny Puppy.

But the vocalist stopped. Thinking for a very brief second, he wondered. 'Why use the sampler if they've got the real thing?' A sadistic grin crossed his face but before it reached the other side, the vocalist ate it.

Rob paused between screams to look puzzled.

Suddenly, the amps were silent. The band looked about in rage for the reason. There, in the production booth, was the answer.

KDAmery grabbed the mic and said, "Guys, I know you're having fun, but we're going to have cut in."

Gwar released a cacophony of growls.

"Because if you kill him now it'll be over too soon," said CWBorysowich. "We haven't even filled half a videotape yet."

The vocalist rasped into his mic, "We don't want to kill him, we just want to torture him for a while."

"I know, guys," said KDAmery. "But you know how it goes. First a little torture, then some heavy mutilation, next thing you know, it's Zip Lock time. Sorry dudes. We'll get him back to you for your next tour, honest."

"Can we just get one more sample?"

CWBorysowich looked over at KDAmery with a grin and said, "Sure."

Then the drummer jumped up from behind a kettle drum, yanked out what looked like a gun and fired a flare right into Rob's chest. Rob's face contorted into writhing expressions of pain as the screams were recorded by a smiling band.

Cut loose, Rob took off, still trying to put out the flames on his clothes.

KDAmery picked up the Handi-Cam. "C'mon, we don't want to miss this. He's headed towards Muffy."

PART LXII - THE DOOR is a JAR.

Raquel and the Phoenix just stood there, glaring at Ed's after image in the casino of the Burning Sands Hotel. "God Damn, we almost had him!" she screamed.

"Screaming was a reasonably inappropriate reaction to that, don't you think Raquel?" questioned the Phoenix.

"So, what do you care?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm planning on living for quite some time, and I figured it would be kinda nice to have hearing in both ears."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, just don't let it happen again."

"Let's get outta here."

"I'm all for that - there seems to be a bunch of dead people in the bar and I don't think this is a fun place to hang out, considering the mess."

"How about that door over there?"

"Sounds good."

Both Raquel and the Phoenix pulled on the heavy lead door, which opened to reveal... a small room with two guys typing on a computer.

CWBorysowich looked up and asked, "What are you guys doing here?"

"Looking for Moon Runner Hendrix."

"Try the second door on the left," said KDAmery.

"Thanks." They went through the room.

After they'd left, CWBorysowich asked KDAmery, "I thought Moon Runner was in the library?"

"Yeah, he is. I didn't say they'd FIND him there, I just said they should look there."

"Jeeze, we're writing this thing and even we don't know where the heck he is!"

"Yeah, well, we could beep him."

They looked at one another. "Nah."

Raquel and Phoenix wandered down the hall. It twisted this way and that for about thirty klicks, then they found two doors on the left while the passage took a sharp turn uphill.

Looking uphill, Raquel said, "I guess we should try one of these doors."

"Sure, but which one?"

"The second one like the Author said?"

"Oh, right."

Touching the handle, it was extremely cold. Raquel tried to push on it and it wouldn't budge. Phoenix grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

Raquel looked at him and said, "Show off."

They stepped in. The room was dark and cold. In the distance, they could hear glass tinkling. Raquel reached sideways and flicked on the lights.

Arc lights hummed into life far above, revealing a snow covered mountain slope. Down the slope was a cozy ski lodge. Skiers began stumbling out, complaining, "Ya mean we hafta hit the slopes again!? Bummer Dude."

The slope descended about 800 meters and turned right a bit, where it dropped into a valley far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far,... you get the idea - below.

"This is one hell of a house!"

Raquel looked around, "Yeah, but the architect must have really been into physical fitness. Lets grab some skis."

"I've never skied before."

"Don't worry, just put these on your feet and slide down the hill."

"Ahh, Sure... (sounds like a good way to get launched into orbit...)"

Donning their skis, they started down the slope, towards the lodge. As they gained speed, the Phoenix started to gain altitude. Raquel whizzed around the bend, past the lodge, and down into the valley. Phoenix ditched the two-by-fours and glided down. At the base of the mountain was a 200 store plaza and a couple of restaurants in front of the drive-in theatre.

Past the plaza, which still went by rather quickly, was a door set into a lump of rock, where Raquel finally fell over. Phoenix landed beside her.

"I honestly prefer flying."

"After that mess, so do I," exclaimed Raquel, picking herself up from the snow. "Let's try this door."

The door asked, "Try me at what?"

Raquel jumped back. Phoenix said, "We were going to walk through you. Why, what did you have in mind?"

"Well, a few after dinner mints, some aperitifs, and maybe, if the mood was right... never mind. Anyway, so you want to use me as a door, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," said Raquel.

"Okay." The door swung open. "Remember to turn off the lights; otherwise the skiers get cranky."

A roughly carved rock passage lead away from the ski area. Raquel and Phoenix slammed the door behind them and grabbed the torch off the wall. Water drops could be heard from far down the hallway, and they continued a slow trek for several hours as the smell became worse.

PART LXI - VENTRILIQUISM for an ATTORNEY

It was the big day. The Dark One was Finally to go to court for one of his teenage pranks as a wizard. Skippy nervously sat at the head of the prosecution desk, representing the Queen as a kitten and wondering what he might get turned into for crossing the Dark One, whose power had greatly increased since last week.

In the defense chair sat the Dark One, sucking up all the light from that side of the court room. Even through the gloom, it was obvious no one was sitting in the Defense counsel seat.

Judge Guido, Disciple of one or another of the Messiahs - the first Disciple, and the reason for needing sixteen, now fifteen, others, as well as proprietor of Ten Three Words on the Starship USS Unlimited Inc. - was presiding in small claims court part 667.5, room 802.3, having just arrived back from Skuppernung's funeral and a quick stop off to tell Ms. Petunia Vickers, the woman with so many morals she has to catalogue them with the Dewey Decimal system, to stop praying on his lawn, and a quick change out of his casual wear (deep breath). He banged the gavel three times. "Ahright, folks, let's getta down ta bidness. Dark One, I see you've decided ta forgo legal assistance."

"I am represented, your honour."

"Oh. Isa da guy late?"

"My representation is not present."

"We can see dat. Isa dis guy gonna be here today?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't exist."

"Huh?"

"Just get on with the case, you imbecile."

"'Ey, dat'sa contempta court! Take ita back or else!"

"He's right," a voice said. "You'll have to apologize."

Everyone except the Dark One looked about the room, trying to find the speaker. "Who said dat?" asked Guido.

"My counsel, your honour. Incidentally, my aspersion on your intelligence was uncalled for."

Skippy, smelling positively horrid and looking puzzled, stood up, causing Liz and Geeves to recoil while plugging their noses and the Dark One to wrinkle his infinitely dark schnoz. "Your Honour, we the plaintiff accuse the defendant of willfully changing Elizabeth, the Queen of England, into a kitten, and move for restitution."

"You've hearda da charge, Dark One. How d'ya plead?"

"Not guilty, your honour."

The one person who sat in the court room to hear the case gasped, but then that was his job.

"Ahright, mistah Prosecutah, da ball's your's."

"Thank you, your honour. We ask a simple question. How did Queen Elizabeth, the monarch beloved by millions, become a kitten if not by sorcery?"

"How do we know that fur ball is the Queen?" asked the Voice.

"Uh, who else would she be?"

"A cat, of course."

"You realize that calling her a fur ball is also Treason!"

"Firstly, this assumes the feline is truly royalty, which has yet to be established. Secondly, even if she were the Queen, it would only be treason if we were currently in England. Thirdly, who are you going to charge with treason?"

"I am the Queen damn it! I am!" screamed the kitten stamping it's feet and slipping off the chair into a ball on the floor.

Geeves bent down to pick her up as Guido banged his gavel on the bench screaming, "Ordah, Ordah in da court!"

The gasper gasped again.

"Your Honour," the Voice asked, "what kind of a court of law accepts testimony from a cat?"

"How many cats do you know that can give testimony?" piped in Skippy.

"Well, Well, Oh just get on wif da case, call your first witness to da stand."

"Your honour, I call Geeves to the stand."

Geeves scuffing his ancient slippers made his way to the witness stand and was sworn in. He sat down comfortably - adjusted his bow tie - cleared his throat and was ready.

"Would you state your name and occupation for the court please."

"My name is Geeves and I'm the head butler at Buckingham Palace."

"Good, and how long have you known her Majesty the Queen?"

"Well, ever since she was a little girl."

"And is Her majesty in this court room today?"

"Why, yes, she's sitting right there on the chair." Geeves pointed to the kitten sitting pertly behind the prosecution table.

The gasper gasped once again.

"No further questions your honour."

Skippy returned to his chair, patted the Queen, and started to shuffle papers around officiously.

"Da dafence may question now."

The court was silent a moment. Then deep voice asked, "Why did you do it, Geeves?"

Skippy got a paper cut and was suppressing a scream.

"Did what?"

"I'll tell you why. He wanted the money!!!"

"What money?"

"Your honour, it is painfully obvious that Geeves is in fact ventriloquizing the voice of the alleged Queen into this kitten and accusing my client of transmogrification in order to collect a hefty settlement. Fraud, pure and simple."

The gasper gasped again - a long hard gasp and started to turn blue.

"Yis, and I'm ventriloquizing the defense attorney too."

"If you say so."

"I refuse to argue with my self over it."

"Alright. A moment ago Geeves agreed to the hypothesis put forth, and now refuses to deny it. Therefore, I move that the charges against my client be dropped and Geeves be arrested for fraud."

The kitten jumped on the desk screaming, "Damn it, this is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, he didn't do it! That, light sucker over there did!"

"And how do you explain the erratic motions of the kitten with my so called ventriloquism?"

"All sorts of things could do it. Perhaps the kitten is a robot. Perhaps its on drugs. Perhaps its mindwashed. The point is, of course, that that is not the Queen. I have proof." A newspaper fell to the center of the court room. "Today's Star clearly has Queen Elizabeth vacationing in Jamaica with Elvis."

"I object your honour, that is purely hear say and a bit of doctored photographs." said Skippy still in official mode and occasionally nursing his finger.

"That is the Queen and I know she is because I saw the Dark One change her her into a kitten!"

The gasper was about to gasp again when the court room doors flung open and in stepped Lovely Lumpy Linda with Balldrip the Assassin in tow and sporting her ring of Tuth the Whako.

"No she's not, I'm the Queen," yelled Linda

The gasper had a heart attack and fell under the benches.

The Dark One broke into one of his pleasantly sunny smiles that probably would have glowed if it wasn't for all the light he was sucking in.

"You see, your honour, there is the Queen with Elvis. As you can see, she looks much more like Elizabeth than this furniture shredder here. The appearance isn't exact, of course, otherwise you wouldn't be able to fit all the security in the court room."

"'As Elvis bina remodeled or sumthin?" questioned the judge.

"It's his way of remaining incognito. The King and the Queen are very busy, of course, so they must be running along soon. One question only."

"You call this a King?" complained Linda.

"Nevah mind. Da case is dismissed, I'm outah 'ere."

The kitten lunged from behind the prosecution desk and started to shred Guido's robes screaming profanities amongst loud, high pitched, really annoying meows.

The Dark One disappeared in a puff of smoke that was only noticed after he was completely gone. The voice was nowhere to be heard. Linda dragged Balldrip to the airport, to head for England and their new home in Buckingham Palace. Geeves and the Kitten stormed out of the courtroom, leaving Guido with a lot of razor nicks, and all was back to the pleasant life that we all lead, except for the presence of Skippy and the dead gasper, who gasped his final gasp during one of the most horrendous cases in the history of Mongolian small claims court ever to be known.