Wednesday, October 18, 2017

I'm officially a published author now...

...kinda. Online. The point is, somebody I don't know read something I wrote and liked it enough to publish it for me.

Click that link, right there under these words. I wrote that article. Man, I sure crack myself up.

Everything I Hate About My Favorite Movie, Frozen

You went too far. Click the link above these words.

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Mortal agony

Oh wow. Oh man... oh boy, did that ever SUCK. Tonight I suffered a mortal stomach agony for the very first time while I was up and motile, and not lying prone after having just awakened. Before tonight, they've always crept up on me early in the morning, waking me up with increasing nausea that finally transmogrifies into a mortal agony. I've always felt safe and shielded, knowing that mortal agonies only have power during one very narrow slice of my temporal physiology. Not anymore, I guess.

I was walking home from WinCo, listening to really, really loud music, when the nausea began to come on. That's not necessarily unusual, but it's definitely unpleasant and inconvenient. I was crossing the Baptist Church parking lot on Malone when it started. I stopped near the baseball field near the high school and tried to throw up, and that's when the pain began to creep up. I was still a quarter mile from home. I tried to throw up so that I'd get that little burst of feeling ok in order to brace me for the remainder of the walk home, but I couldn't make it happen. I stood up and hurried on my way.

Oh, it just got worse and worse, exactly like I was terrified that it would. I started to sweat. Nothing makes you sweat in rivulets like mortal agony, and nothing makes you pray out loud in desperation like some more mortal agony piled on top of mortal agony. As I staggered and lurched, I passed Friday night party goers here and there, and I wondered with a small, sequestered piece of my awareness what they must have thought of this man struggling along and doubled over, moaning 'Oh God it hurts so bad, Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy', over and over.

I finally reached my compartment complex and somehow made it up the stairs. When I got inside, I collapsed onto my mattress. The pain immediately began to relent. Oh man, I just cried myself to sleep with tears of relief.

That was about three hours ago. When I woke up, the stench of stale sweat was ubiquitous. I was actually hungry, which was hard to believe. I nuked a TV dinner and here I am. I think it's time to sleep again, now. I hope I don't wake up again to mortal agony, part 2.

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Oh, it's just a... sad, pathetic tale of whoa.

Preface - lots of cussing coming up. I've cooled off a little since all this shit happened (whoops, pardon my Klingon) and I'm now a teensy bit more, less, emotional. Thus my presence of mind to include this warning. So. On with the shitshow.
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Man am I pissed off... oh, so pissed off! Mighty pissed off! You'd be pissed off too, if you had to inhabit this creaky, rotten, son-of-a-bitchin wretched miserable corrupted and fucked up meat machine that I have wrapped around me 24/7!

Is that not clear enough? Is my meaning not seeping through in a satisfactory manner, like some kind of putrid osmosis? Well then, let me get more concise! I can do that, yeah!

Here's what happened. Just about 30 minutes ago, I was walking along and singing a song. Just the happiest bird in the world, tooling along down the avenue, not bothering anybody. Content for a rare couple of seconds. I almost felt like skipping! Isn't that fucking stupid? Yeah! I actually almost felt like skipping!

Ash... you retarded idiot! You teensy weensy, tiny whiney, pee-waddling little man!  An instant of bliss is EXPENSIVE, DUMBASS!

Anyway.

Then you wanna know what happened next? Huh? Do you? Huh? Do ya do ya do ya? Are you hanging onto the edge of your seat, waiting for the other shoe to drop, right square on top of my gonads? Right there, in the middle of my testes? Are you ready for that great big merciless stomp that completely smashes my nuts? That's what you're waiting to hear, aren't you? I know, I know! That's all you wanna hear about! You just want to fast-forward to the part where my balls get demolished! You wanna fast forward to that part? To where my testicles get pulverized?

Who wants to get to the good part? I do! Let's go! Yee-Haw! Okay, let's fast forward to the part where I get sterilized by a jackboot!

Like I said awhile ago, I was just walking along, singing a song, thinking about nothing in particular. I probably had a stupid little grin plastered across my face, and my eyes were probably rolled up in this vague little gesture of contemplation about nothing in particular. Why, I might have been scratching my butt. Maybe I was smelling my finger. I could have been picking my nose. It's possible that a little drool could have been escaping my jaw. It was one of those almost perfect existential moments, you know? It was too good to be allowed to exist, because, fuck you, Ash! And that's when my right ankle decided to just up and say YAWN! ::: stretch::: g'nite, asshole, and then it just went BPPPHHTHHBBBTTHHHH!!!

I'm talking about my pristine, uninjured right ankle, not my recently recovered from a twist left ankle! That's my RIGHT ankle, just up and deciding to fuck off to the Blue Hills because it's funny! Tell me that's not premeditated.

Well, I shouldn't have to say that I of course went tumbling, ass over teakettle, and pain was involved. Pain, which quickly transmogrified into blinding white rage. Rage at the injustice. Rage at the scheming. Rage at the mutiny. Rage at the distrust of my body of the captainship of my own mind. Rage at the rage of the rage toward the rage at the rage from the rage of the rage. RAGE! Rage at the word rage because it sounds retarded!

Ok, I'm getting sidetracked by the pure, seething, retarded rage. Whatever, who cares. I survived the tumble and nothing expensive got broken! Fuck you, me! You hear you, me? Fuck me, you!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!?!!

And now everything is all okay again.

:)

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

An introduction to The Nonplussed by Anon

The Nonplussed

An Introduction
by
Anon
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     Hi! I don't have a name, but you can think of me as Storyteller, because that's what I do. What kind of stories do I tell, you might be wondering? Well, true stories would probably be the most basic way to describe them. Whoops... hold that thought! I know what you're probably thinking, and the most basic way to describe the stories I tell would be, ah... biographies. Kinda. I don't tell the stories of single individuals, though. I tell the stories of entire civilizations. Maybe 'historical accounts' would be more accurate?

     Ok, here it is... the purpose I've tasked myself with is the preservation of the memory of Universal Civilization, which means learning the stories of every civilization that exists or has ever existed, and recording those stories for posterity. But as stories, as opposed to a simple recitation of facts.

     Now you're probably wondering where I get my source material. Right? Mostly I just take what a civilization has already recorded as their own history and use my own words to turn it into a story that's way more interesting. Don't worry, nobody cares. A lot of these civilizations are already dead, you know.

     Ok, now that that's been explained... first things first. What follows is the true story of a recently discovered civilization of uniquely intelligent creatures, known to themselves (mostly) as humans. That's just the most common word they use for self reference as a species... there are many, many, many more, a few of which are: humankind, human beings, humanity, homo sapiens, terrans, earthlings, dirtlings, earthmen, man, men, mankind, the people, the folk, the fallen, all God's children, children of Adam, children of Cain, children of Abraham, children of Sol, children of the sun, the Earth's gonads, hairless apes, cro-magnons, troglodytes, super simians, mighty mammals, carbon units, ugly bags of mostly water, mostly harmless, the Nonplussed, and dozens more names for their collective selves in even more dozens of different languages. Isn't that strange? Well, they're a strange race, as you'll soon discover for yourself, if you choose to continue reading.

     By the way. This is a story about humans, of humans, and for humans, so If you're reading this and you're not human then it probably won't make any sense to you at all. You can still read it if you want to, though. Maybe you'll like it, who knows... but I doubt it. You'll probably just want to file it away somewhere and get on with your totally gross and disgusting alien business. That's probably what a human would say.

     However! If you're human, and I really hope that you are, then I recommend that you continue reading because this is YOUR story! It's all about human beings, just like you - smart, retarded, hilarious, insane, evil, benevolent, funny looking, socially inept, miserable, deliriously happy, beautiful, disgusting people - plus a few really exceptional ones thrown in here and there. Statistical anomalies, you know.

     You may be wondering (if you're human)... what right do I have to tell your story? If you're that disgusting alien again, this isn't your story so shut up. I've read your story and it's disgusting. Go bother what's his face - he's the one who had the stomach and the will to actually write your disgusting story. If I were a human, I mean, that's what I would have said.

     Anyway, sorry about that, human sir or miss. The reason why I have a right to tell your story is because I discovered it, and having been the one of my kind who discovered it, I'm now obligated to tell it, because a story exists to be told, and I'm a storyteller. Logical, no? Plus, it's just a stroke of luck that your story happens to suit my preferred telling style, because I'm naturally inclined to look at things from an angle of absurdity. And you guys... well. What can I say? I love you guys.

     I really hope there are some humans around to hear this, your story. It would be a crying shame if it turned out that, after all of this, your civilization never made it across the threshold, because your species is truly a rare gem - an idiot savant civilization, to borrow one of your metaphors - and a brightly shining diamond in a galaxy filled mostly with toys and trinkets. I often wonder if a species like yours can ever truly understand its worth as it takes that purposeful step over the threshold and into oblivion, laughing all the way... you know, I just can't stress it enough, how rare a phenomenon it is that you and yours represent. I truly hope you've survived, and I say that with all seriousness and against my better judgement.

     You're also probably wondering (if you're human) just what the heck is up with that threshold I've mentioned two or three times now. To all of the disgusting aliens following along with my narrative - stop interrupting! Everybody knows that you all survived your own disgusting thresholds, and I'm not sorry to say that I'm sorry that you did! So either shut up and listen, or go fuck off and die! That's the last time I'm gonna tell you all. I'm sorry, humans, for cursing. Those damn aliens...

     My apologies again for the interruption, senors and senoras. Please allow me to continue. You see, the thing with the threshold is... well, it's like a... a point of no return, or more like a line of no return. No... well. I mean, yeah. Those are metaphors, the point and the line, meaning a crucial place in your own story where the collective mentality of your entire species loses its mind. Don't worry, it happens to every intelligent species throughout the universe that develops a technological civilization. It's natural, see. It's just that it's so... odd, that you guys actually made it that far as a civilization... that you became capable of going insane. It's rare, as I've said, and even rarer with an idiot savant civilization, like yours. The rarest of civilizations. Do you understand now how you make the galaxy shine? We all love you and we're rooting for you! We just hope you didn't fuck it all up at the threshold.

     So! Are you (if you're human) ready to embark upon a fast and furious adventure filled with action and intrigue, festooned with heroic deeds of derring-do, performed by the common man against withering odds? An adventure that's going to end in tears for everyone? If you're human, then the culmination of your story either begins here or ends here - at the threshold. If you're still that disgusting alien, just go away already.

     Once again, please accept my apologies. If you've survived to read this, then hopefully you'll understand that the universe is filled mostly with disgusting aliens. So sayeth would the human.


****rough summary follows****

     Anyway, here I've compiled a quick rundown of the global events which comprise the story describing the deterioration of your collective mental condition as a global civilization. Revisions may be necessary, but please accept this rough draft, for now.

     In 2019 North Korea nukes Antarctica to destroy American morale by taking out Santa Claus (based on faulty intelligence) which triggers a larger nuclear skirmish involving the entire Middle East and parts of Asia, with everybody calling dibs on the batters box at the same time. It only took four days to transform Mumbai, New Delhi, Karachi, Islamabad, Mecca, Cairo, Damascus, Tehran, Baghdad, Pyongyang, Seoul, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem into a bunch of radioactive, crater shaped mirrors smoking in the desert. With most Muslims somewhere in the upper atmosphere, the United States declares an end to The War on Terror, and immediately starts sniffing around for something else to wage war upon.

     Since it's long been established that when the United States wages war on something, that it absolutely does not go to war on that thing, but instead just spends billions of dollars to make it look like it it did, so it also was that after winning the War on Terror, the United States declared a new war - the War on Nuclear War. The defense budget was immediately quintupled and spent on fast tracking the development, production and immediate dismantling of 50,000 brand new, 500 megaton PlanetBuster bombs, which really, really pissed off the state of Georgia when the other 49 States just kind of chucked the bill for all of it onto Atlanta's doorstep.

     The world-wide cold snap resulting from the nuclear skirmish of 2021 effectively negates global warming - which is finally revealed simply to have been an elaborate SNL skit concocted by AL Franken that had 'gotten out of hand'. Sea levels rise by five meters, as nuking Antarctica causes the Western Antarctic ice shelf to fall into the ocean. Figuring that the worst effects of global warming went ahead and happened anyway, the carbon footprint is quadrupled by a world no longer concerned with greenhouse gas emissions. After almost two decades it's becoming clear that global warming is a thing again, and this time it's for realsies.

     In 2034 the Goolsby administration declares a War on Global Warming and orders the development and construction of a freeze ray to freeze the moon in order to halt the effects of moonlight on global warming at a cost of trillions of dollars. It's referred to secretly as 'The Two Dog Night Light Project'.

     Do you see what I mean about you guys going insane?

     Georgia refuses to foot the bill for the freeze ray and secedes as the Confederate State of Soviet Georgia in 2041.

     See?

     In 2041 the aircraft carrier carrier USS Donald Trump is launched, carrying an arsenal of aircraft carriers and 1000 planetbusters to make a statement to Georgia.

     See? See?

     The Flying Turtle is launched, the first interplanetary space vessel with a practical EM drive.

     The Two Dog Night Light is launched aboard the Flying Turtle.

     Civil war ensues between the US and the CSSG in 2042.

     Russia allies with the CSSG.

     WWIII is imminent, until Bobby Kay Rudolph, an American physicist working at The Larger Hadron Collider, opens a rift to the Eleventeenth dimension of the Far Flung Hunger by smashing martini molecules together at light speed.

     Emperor Cannibalus the Starvling invades the solar system.

     Isn't that funny?

                           *****************

The events of The Nonplussed occur as the human race approaches a critical threshold of social and technological development and population density as a civilization. Upon crossing this threshold, Mankind collectively goes insane as a species, and will either survive the inevitable trauma of the ensuing chaos or destroy itself; if not as a species, then as a civilization. This is a natural occurrence in the development of all intelligent races throughout the universe which achieve a technological civilization - some survive; most do not. North Korea is the first example of the collective insanity taking hold as Mankind crosses over the threshold. By the time Trump is elected president of the United States in 2016, the entire world is joining in, and by 2041, Humanity as a surviving species is well on its way to hell in a hand basket.

CANNIBALUS THE STARVLING

Then the truly unexpected and impossible improbable occurs. An American particle physicist and drunken alcoholic without any shits left to give proves the pseudoscientific theory which ruined her career by openening a gateway to a parallel universe, purely by accident, and at billions to one odds by slamming the hair of the dog into itself at light speed using the Largest Hadron Collider, a particle accelerator which spans the globe at the equator. An entity known to itself as Cannibalus the Starvling emerges through the gateway from its own realm, which it calls The Far Flung Hunger, and into our universe. It takes the form of a petulant child, about eight years of age, and declares to all information processing systems, machine and organic - from a virus to a thermostat to a termite to an 8 bit game console to a supercomputer to a dog to the advanced AI imbedded in the global internet, and finally to humanity - in an all reaching, all demanding, all encompassing, supremely peurile, infinitely self absorbed, ear splitting, mind shattering declaration - that it is STARVLING, and that it expects LUNCHEON, and it's looking to US to provide it.

THE METHOD

My brain hasn't discovered this part yet.

The Nonplussed - a timeline of Trump's War

The Long Madness gestates.

2016 - Donald Trump is elected President.

2017 - Tensions escalate between North Korea and the US as North Korea successfully detonates a hydrogen bomb.

2018 - Trump uses Twitter to provoke Kim Jong Un (see attachment).

2018 - Kim Jong Un promises to 'utterly destroy' the United States (see attachment).

2018 - Trump orders the Navy to steal back the USS Pueblo and leaves one of his personal yachts in its place (see attachment).

2018 - North Korea declares war on the United States and threatens to 'utterly destroy the heart and soul of America' if the United States doesn't surrender immediately.

2018 - Trump orders a surgical strike on the Pyong Yang Hotel and destroys it.

2018, December 25th - Kim Jong Un launches a nuclear strike on the South Pole and threatens to destroy Easter Island next unless the United States surrenders immediately.

2019, January 1st - Trump informs Kim Jong Un via Twitter that Santa Claus lives at the North Pole, not the South Pole, and that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are children's myths that never existed to begin with.

2019 - Dennis Rodman is assassinated by North Korean agents for providing faulty intelligence.

2019 - Trump fires Kim Jong Un, declares North Korea null and void, and replaces the entire nation with Virtual North Korea, on online reality show with the winner at the end of the season becoming the new Dear Leader of North Korea. Trump urges all nations to participate under pain of nuclear annihilation.

2019 - The United Nations Security Council declares President Trump insane and urges worldwide sanctions against the United States until somebody does something about Donald Trump.

2020 - Donald Trump declares himself King of the World.

2020 - Lieutenant Colonel Dempsey Witt and Staff Sargent Ferlin Goolsby, United States Army, orchestrate a coup to oust President Trump. Ferlin betrays Dempsey. Dempsey chooses to abandon an almost certainly successful coup, at the cost of his own life, to save his skin. He regrets it... oh how he regrets it.

2020 - The West Antarctic Ice Sheet, weakened by the thermonuclear attack by North Korea in 2018, falls into the ocean, causing worldwide sea levels to rise by five meters. All coastal cities are destroyed and hundreds of millions of people die.

2021 - The Mediterranean Sea floods several Middle East Nations. Nuclear war inevitably breaks out due to widespread confusion, panic, and lack of communication. The entire Middle East, including 90% of the world Muslim population, is destroyed. The entire world now officially hates North Korea more than Donald Trump.

2021 - King Donald Trump abdicates the throne to himself as President Trump and declares Kim Jong Un as the winner of the reality show thing, and the brand new Dear Leader of North Korea. North Korea digs underground.

2021 - President Trump declares and end to the War on Terror, due to the practical death of Islam via nuclear annihilation, and immediately declares a new War on Nuclear War and orders the production of 50,000 brand new 500 megaton thermoquantum planetbuster bombs, and then presents Georgia with the 6 trillion dollar bill as forced restitution for hosting the attempted coup. He then orders the immediate dismantling of 49,000 of the new 500 megaton thermoquantum planetbusters, in accordance with the War on Nuclear War disarmament treaty, in accordance with the entire world.

2022 - Global warming is revealed to have been a hoax all along by Al Franken, who says the whole thing began with a Saturday Night Live skit that 'kinda got outta hand', as he put it.

2023 - Al Gore commits suicide.

The Long Madness begins.

2041 - This is where the book starts, officially. Everything before this is just introductory exposition.

Attachment

Donald Trump provokes Kim Jong Un
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Trump tweets: 'What was that noise? Oh. Just boys playing with toys. Be careful Kim, you could put an eye out with that thing!'

Kim Jong Un promises swift retribution upon the United States.

Trump tweets: '@ Kim - You say swift, but could you please hurry it up a little? Our aircraft carriers and nuclear attack subs and AEGIS equiped destroyers and dozens of nuclear armed Predator drones are getting tired of lollygagging right off of your coastline with impunity, month after month.'

Kim Jong Un threatens the United States with total annihilation.

Trump tweets: 'lol Good luck with that, Kimberly.'

Kim Jong Un promises to visit a nuclear hellfire upon the United States.

Trump tweets: '@ Kim - Go ahead, gourd head.'

Kim Jong Un promises to unleash such devastation upon the United States as to wipe it utterly from the surface of the Earth.

Trump tweets: '@ Kim - Uh, were you homeschooled or something?'

Kim Jong Un's cyber warfare department hacks President Trump's Twitter account and deletes it.

President Trump retaliates by stealing the USS Pueblo while North Korea is asleep, leaving a fully loaded, 50 foot cabin cruiser in its place.

Monday, July 17, 2017

The Nonplussed - an excerpt



Dreyfuss struggled to stay upright despite the agonizing withdrawals wracking his body. It had been ten days since his last shot of the demon's special brand of heroin, and the withdrawals weren't letting up... if anything they were getting worse. He hadn't believed it when Ignatius told him that withdrawals from demon dust were permanent and only got worse until you died from the pain, but now he was beginning to wonder.

Pain had long since become the status quo, and it was a simple thing for Dreyfuss to imagine the restructuring of his own perceptions of joy and misery by simply bumping his current level of misery up to baseline. Not great, not bad... just ok. He would be ok if he just believed hard enough that he was. He chanted it like a prayer as he walked... I'm ok (step), I'm ok (step), I'm ok (step)... over and over, until the hours and the miles and the steps all blurred together into a long, gray smear.

It was inside that interminable gray mantra that Dreyfuss became aware of a kind of slowing down of his misery. It wasn't decreasing; it was just slowing down, way down, like it was winding down until it finally just stopped. It hadn't disappeared; it was still there, but it wasn't coursing through him anymore. It had become a thing of apathy as well as misery, and Dreyfuss was able to be still inside of it and almost... comfortable.

Dreyfuss experienced a dim kind of surprise to understand that he really had redefined the status quo, as pain had apparently been promoted from a hated enemy to a merely unpleasant roommate. He stumbled mentally at the sudden realization and then fell across a brand new epiphany... everything grew out of the good. The good was the foundation which supported the universe, and nothing could survive without the good, and nothing could exist without the good. Everything relied upon the good - even the bad. No matter how hidden or obscured or seemingly nonexistent, the good was still there. The simple fact of even a miniscule presence of the good, if looked at and concentrated on hard enough, made for such a laughingly, obviously unfair game for the bad, that Dreyfuss almost felt sorry for Ignatius.

The sudden realization of such a simple truth was so funny that Dreyfuss laughed out loud... and then immediately dropped to his knees, felled by the worst pain of his life, right at the bottom of his guts. It was far worse than a mortal agony - it was an immortal agony, a never ending agony meant to inspire infinite despair, but he couldn't stop laughing,.. and with each involuntary guffaw the incredible, indescribably mind blowing torment increased by an order of magnitude, over and over... and over, again. And again. And again...

In the throes of such torment, everything outside of it had become meaningless. There was no awareness, not of himself or of the passage of time. The all encompassing agony had reduced him to something less than human; less even than an animal. A totality of pain had thoroughly sequestered his awareness and cast him, trussed and tied with heavy, white hot iron chains, into an ocean of suffering. Dreyfuss had one last cogent thought, followed by a swell of empathy, before the ocean swallowed him... Ignatius. Why does it always piss him off when I can't stop laughing at something? Poor Ignatius, poor Ignatius, poor Ignatius...

The ocean vomited him back up like a bad oyster. For an instant, Dreyfuss could feel it with all of his senses, the jerking away of it from him in all directions leaving a smoking, carbonized Dreyfuss-shaped husk that shattered into dust and then blew away. For an instant he was pain free, long enough to feel a brief moment of simple joy, before the pain came rushing back in to fill the vacuum. The return of pain was nothing compared to that brief joyful feeling, and with it came another epiphany. Dreyfuss suddenly understood that the purpose of his existence was to witness the universe, and the the universe existed to be witnessed. Nothing more. His suffering was a part of that circle of acknowledgement, merely necessary as a thing to be witnessed. It was his part. It was that simple. He thought:

'I'm just a sensory apparatus, evolved inside of a universe that wanted to get a look at itself... and in my case, a feel for itself. My opposite is out there somewhere too, my other experience... my joy is out there.'

With a new understanding came a brief lucidity, and Dreyfuss was able to isolate a small portion of his limited awareness and separate it from the agony, which had returned with a vengeance. With a tremendous effort, Dreyfuss PULLED his attention away from the pain, and toward the source of it... and what he discovered was such a shocking surprise that he almost lost the tenuous grip he'd gotten on himself, which very nearly sent him spinning back into the totality.

The shock was... the endless agony he was experiencing... it wasn't in his gut at all. It was in his balls! And it didn't even belong to him, it wasn't his pain, it belonged to that... demonic drug dealer, that... that motherfucker! Ignatius!

Suddenly Dreyfuss felt no more pain. Only pure relief. On his knees, he wept tears of joy and understood, with a clarity of understanding that only comes from viewing the structure of the universe through the eyes of the universe, that even if that little shit Cannibalus the Starvling pulled off his magick trick and crammed the Earth into a gaping, transdimensional maw of ever unsatisfied hunger, that it wouldn't matter because the opposite of an eternal starvation had been and always would be an eternal contentment! Dreyfuss knew that to be a truth, more than he'd ever known anything, ever. He knew it... he knew it!

Then Dreyfuss felt the pathetic remains of his physical withdrawals begin to finally break apart, like a thin coating of congealed bacon grease after a couple of seconds in the microwave. Underneath it he could see in his minds eye a vast ocean of clear, transparent water... clear, but somehow still a vibrant blue, and a glimpse of the eternity underneath. He was confused for a bare naked second until he realized that he wasn't looking down into the water. He was looking up through it, and into a pristine blue sky.

Beautiful.

Joy suffused his being, and Dreyfuss felt the essence of his self rising like an express elevator, up and up and up, impossibly fast... and on the way up, he caught a glimpse of Ignatius, as quick as a still-frame but as clear as a photograph. Ignatius was clutching his crotch, his face contorted in agony. Dreyfuss could even hear a faint, diminutive scream that dopplered away into quick oblivion as the demon fell, way way down and into hell, which sounded exactly like...

"OW, MY BAAAAAAALLS....... . .  .   .     ."

As he rose, faster and faster, Dreyfuss felt his awareness begin to shatter quietly as it fell upward and into a vast, gray bliss. He was surprised to experience no fear at all, only peace... and as he was finally near the end of his coming apart, the last thing Dreyfuss perceived was the voice of Purl Ashblaque, the gun-slinging grunge wizard, whispering an old Pearl Jam tune that used to be, way back when from before, and maybe after, too...

"I... Ooooh, I'm still ALIVE."

Then Dreyfuss felt the soft volumes of infinity enclose him, and a final memory of the pain that killed his body was what finally returned him to his his spirit, like an old friend coming home from the war.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

In search of the storm

Tonight, I went out in search of the storm, I guess, because that's all I had. Never mind... it's true.

Well, I sure as hell found it. Boy, did I ever get pounded. I got tangled up in a barbed wire fence trying to make it into the sparse shelter of a loose copse of trees, just as all hell was breaking loose.

I finally got all huddled down with my umbrella, down in there amongst the wet things and the fertile things and the rich things. How I huddled, for about 30 minutes. It was almost like being indoors, under those trees. But man, wasn't it hell raging outside.

Finally it started to let up, and I crept out from my enclosure, into an adjacent field. It was like a meadow in moonlight, except it was cloudlight. You know. Lowlight. Lowglow. Light bouncing around from cloud to ground and back up and down again.

It lit up everything. I could see the trees, right over there, where I'd been crouching. And I could see lightning flashing beyond the trees, through and behind them, with the intricate limbs and leaves of the copse outlined as black shapes in silver-blue fire, for an instant. That sight alone made getting drenched totally worth it, ten times over.

But now. I can't help but wonder... who all, if anyone, has ever seen a grassy field come back to life after a violent storm? I never have, or had, until tonight. What I'm talking about is the slow but increasing movement of a few bugs. One or two.  Then shake it up a little. Just shake it up, until it gets back to normal. The storm is over.

It was one of the most amazing things I've ever stopped purposefully to witness the happening of.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Ow

Today was a singularly unique day and probably the most interesting day of my entire life, as far as brand new experiences go. It began pretty much the same way as any other day. Wake up sleep deprived and a couple of hours away from work with lots of cussing, then unpause last nights aloneliness distraction (Scent of a Woman, Al Pacino and Chris O'Donnel, 1992), then light a cigarette, walk to Kroger, the bank, blah blah blah, etc etc etc. I was happy to discover that I'd begun singing to myself almost exactly after I'd finished with the cussing, which was a good sign that my brain probably wasn't going to spend the day trying to choke the joy and hope out of me with its fresh, malignant tendrils of coiled and blackened hatred. So, yeah, today began on a promising note. I was only seven minutes late to work, and I felt like I was on a pretty good roll until 3:30 rolled around and then this started to happen:

The usual walnut sized knot of dull pain in the lower left portion of my back came awake,
yawned, stretched, and immediately began to twist and tighten into itself while at the same time growing its borders up to regulation baseball size, as if it were attempting to squeeze that part of my back into an infinitely dense singularity of pain. This process took place over the course of about thirty minutes, so by 4:00 a dark gray lump of unrelenting agony, about the size of a grapefruit, was nestled snugly, deep inside the natural bowl-shaped declivity of my pelvis and taking up so much new real estate that it actually felt closer to my guts than my back. What it was doing in there was pushing forward against the wall of my abdomen while twisting in all directions at once, especially inward, as if it were striving for a critical pain threshold which, if crossed, would cause the entirety of me to implode into that grapefruit-shaped region of my lower left abdomen, leaving a 155 pound bloody gobbet, approximately seven inches in diameter, twitching and pulsing behind register 1 in a rude and grotesque manner until it finally collapsed into an extremely dense oblate spheroid of bone, meat, blood, guts and brains, all pulped together into something with about the same consistency of vulcanized rubber.

By 4:30 the pain had become magnificent in its intensity. That's really the only word that comes close to describing those brand new heights of never before experienced agony - magnificent. Its quality was pure, its purpose unwavering, and its delivery was just... relentless, unbroken, and absolutely without mercy. It was an onslaught of mortal agony that just kept going and going and going and going and GOING. I couldn't even think because the experience of it completely devoured my attention, blurring my vision, and holding me in a kind of hellish thrall. For almost two hours I gripped the edge of the counter before me with white knuckles and shook uncontrollably, sweating like a lunatic, with absolutely every muscle in my body clenched up to maximum tension. I was lucky that during the entire happening of it business was extremely slow, and I only had to think above that unending wave of agony a mere handful of times, because doing that was simply... exhausting.

At about 5:45 it started to diminish, and by 6:00 it had become blissfully tolerable again. Still there, of course... but what a blessed relief it was, to experience regular old familiar pain. Good old just pain... never leave me again, please.

Friday, June 9, 2017

A skeleton of a story

I'm still thinking about this story that keeps evolving in my noggin, which I've named 'The Nonplussed'. 

A skeleton of a story is emerging slowly, from which I'll hopefully be able to hang all the fleshy bits that will give it a grotesque yet functional semblance of a thing which I'm hoping will possess the minimal amount of feeling required to support at least a vaguely accurate description of a narrative fired by the pulse of life absurd.

Here's the basic, bare bones skeleton.

Part 1 - The Nonplussed

This first part details the burgeoning insanity of mankind, beginning in 2016 with the election of Donald Trump as the leader of the free world, and culminating in 2021 when North Korea initiates a limited nuclear conflagration, resulting in the complete annihilation of the Middle East, plus the South Pole, causing the Western Antarctic Ice Shelf to fall into the worlds' oceans, and detailing the madness of mankind's collective reaction to the resulting worldwide devastation as sea levels rise by five meters.

Part 2 - Insanity Interrupted

This next part picks up twenty years after the nuclear skirmish of 2021. Earth is devastated by environmental collapse, the state of Georgia has seceded from the Union, Civil war erupts in America, Russia wants to get in on the action, and it looks like a full scale nuclear world war is imminent... until a drunken particle physicist opens a trans-dimensional doorway to another universe by smashing anti-martini molecules together at relativistic speeds with the Larger Hadron Collider - a particle accelerator which encircles the Earth at the equator. Cannibalus the Starvling of The Far Flung Hunger emerges from the resulting stable wormhole connecting our two universes, demanding LUNCHEON. After being subjected to several of its devastating tantrums, a totally pissed off and not entirely mentally stable Humanity goes to war with an extra-universal alien that manifests itself as a petulant 8 year old boy with god-like powers and an insatiable need to devour EVERYTHING.

Part 3 - This will all end in tears...

This final part describes how mankind - gripped in the throes of collective madness - utterly, and without mercy destroys the childlike alien demigod, Emperor Cannibalus the Starvling of The Far Flung Hunger, thereby saving the Infinite Multiverse from being consumed once and for all. And how it all ends in tears anyway, for everybody and everything, everywhere.

That's the skeleton of it. You know, it was way way WAY more of a pain in the ass than I ever thought it would be, just to come up with that vague outline. I think it could be a really kick-ass book though, if I actually wind up knowing how to do it.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Wednesday
May 24th, 2017
12:45 AM
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Dearest David...

Wulp, I guess you've fucked off for good, and I'm not a bit sorry to see you go, you slimy two-faced bastard.

Here's a fun fact:

Every time anyone ever talked disparagingly about you in front of me, do you know what I would always say? Here's what I always said, and I quote myself:

"Yeah, I can see where you're coming from, but I like David." - Ash

That's what I always said, and it was true, because despite everything I really did like you. It was hard NOT to like you. Sharing your lottery wins with me, working a double shift when I was sleep deprived so that I wouldn't have to work ANOTHER one, giving me neurontins, counting my drawer and taking out the cardboard boxes and even offering to work the entire shift by yourself because I was in so much pain... you actually had me feeling genuine gratitude toward you on multiple occasions. To think that there was this evil side to you!

I never would have suspected that the real reason you wanted truck nights was simply because you didn't want to work with me. I mean, that never even would have crossed my mind! What a surprise it was, to learn that.

I was also completely flabbergasted to understand that you could actually think that I'm faking this back pain. You fucker, I hope you catch a good dose of sciatica one day so that you can personally experience how excruciating it is.

Oh, and this next one was a bona-fide sucker punch... that you would suggest something so underhanded, so despicable, so downright sinister as a group conspiracy in the form of anonymous, slanderous letters to corporate in order to have me fired. Insidious! Anonymous letters consisting of what, by the way? You mean how I always gave you the benefit of the doubt after enduring every one of your tantrums? How I continually strove, again and again, to expand my tolerance of your... uh, ways... into a genuine sense of likability? Oh, wait. Was it the nerve, the audacity, the unmitigated GALL I demonstrated that one time when I apologized to you - that you refused to accept - and after which you proceeded to throw that grand mal tantrum? Or was it the time that you threw that neck-vein popping tantrum because I wouldn't submit to your opinion regarding abortion? Or were you just planning to make up a bunch of lies? Or...

Oh. Yeah, of course.

It was that one, single time that I pulled rank on you by telling you not to sell tobacco to that dude after I'd already refused to sell it to him and then you threw that capillary-shattering tantrum, wasn't it? That was it, right? Yeah, that was it, I'm sure of it. That's exactly the kind of mortal offense that your ginormous ego would have no choice but to judge as Unforgivable - being forced to occupy a subordinate role to my position of seniority. I guess the only appropriate response to such an egregious offense (including whatever other infantile grudges you might be nursing) - according to your warped little mind - is revenge, pure and evil.

There are a lot of ways to describe a coward who presents a benign facade to someone, while at the same time contriving to plan a sneak attack from a safe distance:

Scum
Bottom feeder
Sleazy
Rotten
Lowlife
Reptilian
The bad guy
The villain...
In other words, one evil sonofabitch.

I wonder how well liked you'd be if everyone knew what a shit-talking, back-stabbing, petty-minded, conniving little snake you are.

Here's another thing... you weren't the second shift supervisor, by the way. Ever. Maybe you never understood what I'm about to tell you because I never lorded it over you, but I'm the second shift supervisor. Surprise! That's the title that Chiy gave me when he hired me seven years ago. Not that it really means all that much to anyone except you. So riddle me this - if you really were the second shift supervisor, and not just under that impression, then how could you have just up and fucked off from your job like you did after agreeing to see out the month? Huh? Riddle me that!

Here's a tidbit of wisdom for future reference... supervisors are expected to handle a difficult situation maturely and professionally, and not by throwing a tantrum like a little girl.

Now, with all of that having been said...

You've got a lot of good qualities, David. You're friendly, hard working, responsible, generous, and (mostly) reliable. However, at the same time you suck a big fat slimy green donkey dick, which pretty much takes a steaming Jolly Green Giant shit all over your good qualities and makes them worthless. I hope for your sake that someday you can get a handle on that, the giant green, donkey sucking, shit dicking thing, because if you ever did...

Well! Then you might actually qualify as a genuinely good person, instead of just coming off as one.

- Ash
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p.s. If you care anything at all about NOT being a giant douche bag, then you should take everything I've just said to heart. All of it is nothing less than the truth.

p.p.s. Oh, and about me being lazy... if that's what you really believe, then fuck you.

p.p.p.s. Good luck.

Monday, May 15, 2017

The Nonplussed - a complete outline!

Here it is, the complete simple outline of The Nonplussed, in its entirety.
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I. In the year 2041, human civilization is going to hell in a handbasket.
   
II. Cannibalus the Starveling invades the solar system from the 11teenth dimension.

III. As a byproduct of the ensuing conflict, the true nature and purpose of the universe is accidentally discovered and disseminated.

IV. Cosmic forehead slap right before the universe reboots.

V. Ok, let's try this again... LET THERE BE A LUKEWARM SLIMY TEXTURE COATED WITH AN ALMOST IMPERCEPTIBLE LAYER OF DRY FUZZINESS! ... Yeah. It's gonna work this time.

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Meat machine

I'd forgotten how much I hate my ankle. My stupid, treacherous, Benedict Arnold ankle... ankles, actually. There's no telling which one of these treasonous little bastards is apt to pull a shenanigan. Just now it was the left one.

It's been about 3 months since one of these little turd knockers up and said, "Surprise! Did you miss me? Oh, and by the way, ef you, Ash! Enjoy some undeserved excruciation as I abandon my duties as a crucial load-bearing structure and just ef off to the Blue Hills, for absolutely no reason at all! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!"

I'm pretty much powerless here. I can't punish my ankles, because then I'd just be doing their job for them. Same goes for my brain. I can't just put a bullet through it when it's torturing me with sleep deprivation, because my brain knows that it's the pimp and I'm the ho, and that the ho cannot survive without the pimp.

Oh. And now the back has decided to join leagues with the brain and the ankles. WTF, back? What did I ever do to you to deserve this betrayal?

And since the back pretty much has jurisdiction over the sciatic nerve, the sciatic nerve has no choice but to go along with the back, whether it wants to or not... and with the sciatic nerve comes the hip, the butt, the thigh, the knee - pretty much the entire drumstick.

It's like, more and more every day I'm coming to realize that I'm this alive awareness imbedded inside of this really fascinating universe, and I'm allowed to witness and think about and marvel at all of the astonishing things that surround me... but because of some cruel, twisted and powerful outside determination, I have to be slaved to this... meat machine... and forced to rely on it as a means for my continued existence here.

It's not even a quality meat machine. It's a bargain bin meat machine, a flea market meat machine, a meat machine of low quality and prone to failure.

This is all somebody's idea of a practical joke, I'm sure that it is... and it ain't right, man. It just ain't right.

Thursday, May 11, 2017

The Burrito Thing - a comprehensive review

The Burrito Thing
A Comprehensive Review
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Almost exactly 30 minutes ago from  now, I opened the door to my microwave oven to discover it lying there on the glass plate rotater, still wrapped in wax paper - the burrito thing.

Logic insists that I must have put it there, but I simply do not remember anything about this burrito thing or where it came from. I know that my tolerance for alcohol precludes blackouts nowadays, so just how did this burrito thing emerge here, and now?

After examining the label on the wax paper, I understand that the burrito thing obviously comes from where I work, somehow... but how did it get here, all the way from the trash dumpster at my workplace, to the inside of my microwave oven?

That's the mystery! I'm too tired to solve it right now, and I was too tired to solve it when I ate it 10 minutes ago... so please enjoy this review of the mystery steak and egg wrapped in a flour tortilla burrito thing from the write-off pit where I work.

Firstly, I was somewhat trepidatious upon discovering this burrito thing sitting there inside my microwave oven, when all I wanted to do was warm up my 4-Loko so it didn't hurt my throat so much when I chugged it. It was a combination of frustrated bafflement at the stymieing of my objective, overlaid on top of the sudden remembrance of hunger which I'd forgotten about, about an hour ago, that frustrated me so.

Secondly, I was just a little bit deeply concerned that I had no memory of this burrito thing, or how it had gotten there on my microwave plate inside my microwave, because surely I had placed it there... unless... someone else had placed it there, for their own nefarious reasons. Whatev.

I quickly decided that a minute and 30 seconds would be enough time to nuke the poison to death, so I nuked it for a minute and 30 seconds and then I ate it.

My conclusion is that it wasn't very good. It was all breakfasty, and not enough like dinner when you're in the mood for dinner. Plus the ever-present thought of the possibility of dying with every bite helped to make it less enjoyable.

All in all I'd rate the burrito thing as adequate as emergency sustenance for Russians in the event of a nuclear attack.

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

A dream - the end

A dream - the end
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I peeked out my window, expecting to see a clear sky, but thunderheads roiled menacingly on the horizon. I hurried outside for a better look. The sky above was still clear, and directly above I saw four parallel contrails racing across the sky, far faster than jets... re-entry trails, like meteors but persistent. There was a series of four loud concussions - their sonic booms - as they disappeared behind the thunderheads, and then a flash erupted, disrupting the storm system and blowing it away. I watched as the flash faded over the course of about five seconds, and a mushroom cloud hurled into the sky. About thirty seconds later there was a deafening KA-POW that became a thunderous rumble, followed a few seconds later by a blast of hot air that knocked me to the ground. I got up in time to see three flashes in quick succession light up the horizon beyond the still rising form of the mushroom cloud.

Those were aimed at Dallas, I thought to myself. The first one missed.

I ran across the pasture to the nearby lake to check my water farm, a system of dozens of long organic tubers rooted to the lake bottom and held bouyant on the surface by air filled sacks. It was a system for drawing fresh water from underground reservoirs, and I would need it to survive. When I arrived I found the entire length of it, about twenty meters, coiled up and floating on the surface of the lake, dead. Someone had uprooted it, for what purpose, I had no idea. I drew it from the lake and held the large, round bulbous roots in my arms and cried. I pierced the air sacks and let it float to the bottom.

It was growing dark when the sky lit up with dozens of popcorn flashes, like rapid fireworks - some seemingly random, and some forming lines that spanned the horizons. Satellite killers, I thought. This is it, then.

To the northeast another flash engulfed the horizon, followed by another, more distant mushroom cloud.

That's the Red River army depot...

Monday, May 8, 2017

Dempsey Witt

70 years old. The sheriff of Podunk county, Georgia. Suicidal.

Dempsey Witt, the only child of Vera and Hank Witt, was born on December 31st, 1971 in the small town of Fireworks, Georgia. His parents divorced in 1987 when he was 15, and his mother remarried in 1988 to Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade of the United States Army.

His father Hank was a bootlegger and moonshine runner, known for his specific brand of moonshine, Smokin' Hank's Double Rectified. As a boy, Dempsey spent summers with his father, who taught him everything about distilling spirits, as he expected the boy to take over 'the family business' when he turned 16.

Dempsey graduated from Paul Pewitt High School in June, 1989 and attended Southeast Georgia Community College in nearby Mt. Tolerance, Georgia and studied basic curriculum until 1992. He then went to work at the local fireworks factory, which employed about half of the residents of Fireworks. It was there that he developed a fascination for explosives and, with the enthusiastic help of his stepfather, became quite adept at creating his own explosive devices, from small scale firecrackers to full blown hand grenades.

In1993 Frank Slade, Dempsey's stepfather, was demonstrating an exercise in hand-eye coordination to a group of new recruits by juggling six live hand grenades and taking shots of Smokin' Hank's Double Rectified for each grenade that he dropped (Frank was a long time customer of Hank Witt).  Unbeknownst to Frank at the time, one of the six grenades he was juggling had lost its pin, and it exploded when it was at the height of its arc, about fifteen feet above his head. Luckily for Frank, most of the shrapnel exploded outward and not downward, but as he had been looking up when it happened, the shock liquefied his eyeballs, blinding him instantly. Frank had believed that teaching hand-eye coordination to new recruits was an invaluable lesson, and that his drunken grenade juggling method of instruction was superior - the reason being that if you could learn to juggle hand grenades while drunk, just think how good you'd be if you were sober.

When Dempsey learned of his stepfathers drunk grenade juggling accident, he thought it was the funniest and most bad-ass thing he'd ever heard, especially after Frank had wiggled out of a court martial and was honorably discharged. Dempsey began to consider joining the army as a result of his admiration for his stepfather, and a growing feeling of obligation as a stepson.

It was due to an encounter with recruiters at a McDonalds in Atlanta, where Dempsey was recognized by the two recruiters as being the stepson of Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade and belittled with questions and assumptions of whether or not he planned on continuing the step-family tradition of drunkerds juggling explosives, that made up his mind. He gave both recruiters the double bird and headed to the nearest recruiting office and joined, right then and there.

He scored in the top tenth of a percent on his ASVAB and was fast-tracked through college for his bachelor's degree and placed in officer training school.

Blah blah blah something else happens.

Geez I gotta do this shit for another dozen characters.

Dickjackson Jones

Dickjackson Jones -

This is the essence of his character, or the nucleus.

* He's a socially high-functioning autistic
* He's a genius with an IQ of 200
* His focus, his passion, his obsession, is everything to do with air and space flight
* He's had no formal schooling beyond the 5th grade
* He's a self-taught aerospace engineer
* He's a self-taught freelance test pilot
* He's the commander of the Flying Turtle
* He began to have recurring dreams about Mars in 1996 when Pathfinder landed on Mars and, he believed, immediately began beaming signals directly into his brain
* He has since suffered with frequent cycles of cluster headaches
* He has a recurring dream of Olympus Mons, a volcano on Mars, erupting and blowing gentle smoke signals of peace into space from its dormant caldera
* He's certain that his dreams of Mars are somehow related to what he believes to be the signal from Pathfinder but he doesn't know why or how
* When he dreams of Olympus Mons it triggers a new cycle of cluster headaches
* After each cluster cycle his dream of Olympus Mons becomes more frequent and vivid
* Each time he dreams, he is on the cusp of discovering the meaning of his dream, and a new and even more intense cluster cycle is triggered, which shatters his burgeoning understanding
* The repeating cycles of almost comprehension followed by agonized confusion is surely driving him insane
* During his brief periods of lucidity between dream/cluster cycles he feels a growing certainty that his dream is telling him that he has to travel to Mars to find an answer for... something, and that his headaches are inflicted upon him by... something, in order to prevent him from taking action against... something
* He understands and takes seriously the possibility that his entire life is merely an insane hallucination resulting from the mental breakdown of a self-stranger with whom he feels no connection or identity whatsoever
* He is capable of displaying absolutely no outward signs of pain when experiencing the Mortal Agony of a cluster headache, which effectively hides his condition from everyone

WHAT HE WANTS

* Dickjackson Jones wants relief from his cluster headaches, so that...
* He can be rid of the pain, so that...
* He'll be able to think clearly, so that...
* He can finally understand what his recurring dream of Olympus Mons is trying to tell him, so that...
* He can FLY.

WHY HE WANTS IT

* He's terrified of an infinite universe that exists without a meaning or purpose
* He's desperate to discover a meaning, a purpose, or simply a reason for why anything even exists at all
* He's fundamentally afraid that his joy of flying and everything to do with flight, which he believes comprises the sole reason for his existence, might be as meaningless as a dung beetle pushing a ball of shit
* He wants to be comforted with the knowledge of something larger than himself

HOW HE'S GETTING IT

* He steals the Flying Turtle mid-mission and sets course to Mars, to follow his dream.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

dramatis personae non grata

Dramatis Personae Non Grata
* denotes point of view character
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* DickJackson Jones - First half Aborigine/half Irish Inuit astronaut, commander of The Flying Turtle, an advanced SSTO spaceplane prototype based on the X-33 VentureStar, equipped with the first practical EM drive

Roger Dodger - Kiss ass white boy and pilot of The Flying Turtle, first white boy left on Mars

Ramona Tostada - First female Mexican astronaut (later remanded to zeroth) and mission specialist aboard The Flying Turtle, Two Dog Night Light operator

Charles 'Charlie' Caoutchouc-Jambes - French Vietnamese rubber tycoon and astronaut tourist aboard The Flying Turtle

Pinot Noir - Chinese peasant and homebrew inventor of the Long March Bottlerocket

* Skyler Montgomery - American physicist and inventor of the Two Dog Night Light, aka moonbeam, brrr-beam, lunar laser, looneybeam, crazylaser, ice box beam, a lasing heat sink aka freeze ray

Mung Bean - British physicist and winner of the Nobel Food Prize for splitting the ham-burger

Thaddeus Thomas - Amish inventor of the Pulverizorator, the ultimate farming implement

Sabathius Malachi - Amish usurper of the Pulverizorator, repurposed as the Ultimate Death Dealer for the SCSG

* Bobbie Kay Rudolph - American theoretical physicist at CERN, responsible for creating the dimensional rift into the Infinite Realm of The Far Flung Hunger by colliding anti-martinis molecules at light speed with the Great Big Giant Hadron Collider while shitfaced

Sir Ferlin Goolsby - President of the United States of America and Baja, California

Terri Peterson - Secretary of Defense

Terd Burgleson - White House press secretary

John 'Rocketman'  Elton - NASA administrator

Sargent Schneider Schnitzkies - drill sargeant, US Army

* Captain Killian Gore - Captain of the USS Donald Trump aircraft carrier carrier, US Navy

Little Big Junior - American AM radio talk show personality, founder of the Little Big Brother Tea Party party

Walks Carefully On Eggshells Like A Bear - Russian double agent adopted by Navajos at birth

Pyotor the Awesome - Tsar of the Soviet Confederate State of Georgia, aka Ivan the Awful

* Generalissimus Nathanial Warbottom - reluctant Lord Marshal of the SCSG armed forces

Olivier Bustier - Engagé Volontaire in the French Foreign Legion and sole survivor of the Gay Bomb

* Dempsey 'Dim' Witt - moonshine bootlegger and Commissar General of the SCSG Coordinated Information Apparatus

* Svetlana 'SuperSvet' Hicks - special agent of the Apparatchik Chicks

Apparatchik Chicks - elite all-female SCSG battalion of the Coordinated Information Apparatus

Stardog - lead singer for Stardog Champion, a Seattle based band from American annexed Baja, California

* Dreyfus Marlowe - convenience store clerk and heroin addict with a heart of gold from Austin, Texas

Todd Trilby - Pothead psychonaut, Dreyfus's best friend, aka Toddmonsah, Monstah Boy, Monstobulous

Ignatius - demon from hell and Dreyfus Marlowe's heroin dealer and tormentor

Bad Friday - shipwrecked Rapa Nui serial killer

* Purl Ashblaque  - gunslinging grunge wizard, summoned via DMT by Toddmonsah to battle Ignatius

Charnala - former gunslinger turned witch and Purl Asheblaque's sworn enemy

Mrs. Bojangles - Canadian high school algebra teacher and cast iron bitch

Ricardo 'Dick' Cabeza de Queso - Mexican cheese smuggler and Ramona Tostada's older brother

* Twit and Twat - two highly intelligent African Grey Parrots constantly bumbling into Deus ex Machinas

Phuc Sum Yun Gy - South Korean internet troll, grammar Nazi and Best Paladin WOW gamer

Emperor Cannibalus the Starvling - Dark Lord and Emperor of the Infinite Realm of the Far Flung Hunger

* Ash - Praetor to Cannibalus the Starvling

Xdfhitef - 'The Stupidest Genius', an alien demigod exiled from the 13th dimension, aka the devil, Lucifer, Satan

God - God the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth and of all things visible and invisible, aka Yaweh, Jehovah, Yeshua, Joshua, Jesus, The Father, The Son, The Holy Spirit, The Holy Ghost, The Holy Trinity

Ball - just the cutest kitten, ever.

screaming eyeballs

Dreyfus patted himself down and located his cigarettes in his right front hip pocket, then did it again to locate his lighter. He stopped walking and pulled a smoke from the pack and cupped it up to his face with both hands to shield it from the wind. After a couple of faulty flicks, he turned around, away from the wind, so that he was facing the direction from which he'd just been walking. * flick, flick * Then there was a sudden flame, well shielded from the wind by the brunt of his back and by his little two-handed cave. The lighter flame was brilliant to Dreyfus's dark adjusted eyes and left a stark, orange afterimage imprinted upon his retinas. It took about half a minute for the afterimage to fade, and when it finally did, Dreyfus was just about to spin aroud and resume his walk when he thought he saw a shadow of something just barely beyond the floating blue gauze left behind by the brilliant orange. Something... unfriendly, was the only word he could think to describe it. Something that was moving toward him.

Suddenly Dreyfus was flat out terrified, and the thought of looking up to see what was moving toward him rendered him completely paralyzed and unable to move. Instead, he just stared at the bright cherry of his cigarette and tried to take a small measure of comfort from the light of it. As he stared, it seemed as through the cherry was shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller, but also brighter and brighter. As it shrunk, the surrounding blackness collapsed into it, making it ever smaller but ever brighter, until all he could see was one excruciatingly brilliant pinpoint of orange, surrounded by a thick, suffocating darkness that pulsated, like a reverse ripple effect, moving inward and collapsing in shrinking waves toward him at the center.

This is what it feels like to play hide and seek with the devil, Dreyfus thought to himself. Or was it tag? Playing tag with the devil? Was that the game he was playing? Had been playing, for the last fifteen years? With the devil? Was that really what he'd been doing? He could hardly credit the thought...

Suddenly it felt to Dreyfus as though he'd been torpedoed, right in the gut and just below the belly button. It was like a dense, liquid compression wave that expanded, but instead of moving outward, it went DOWN. Not down as in toward his feet or the ground, but into another direction of down that went deep inside of him. Down through a dimension where local gravity is expressed in units of pain, and altitude is measured in painful increments. Down down down went the compression wave, compressing and liquifying and squeezing his guts ever downward toward some hard, flat surface of smooth, limitless agony that lay waiting below. Dreyfus felt it all in exquisite detail as it happened, and it even seemed to him as though he could hear it... a rumbling deepness that vibrated like a subwoofer, going lower and louder until it passed beyond hearing and crossed over entirely into pain. Dreyfus's world had suddenly collapsed into a singularity of simple feeling. No need for fancy grammar, parts of speech, sentence structure, or complex rules of rhetoric. The language of this place consisted of just one word-like concept... suffering.

Terrible. It just terrible. The awfulest... jst the worst, the very worst, ever. Just acknowledging the reality of the vague shape that he'd actually seen which precipitated this dip into tangible agony made his eyeballs want to scream forever. Yet despite the reality of actually being inside of such an impossible horror, the thought of his eyeballs screaming for eternity - two eternally pissed off eyeballs inside of his sleep deprived head, constantly bitching inward at his shriveled, unslept brain, for eternity - made Dreyfus chuckle under the ocean of pain, just a little. Suddenly it was the funniest thing he'd ever known, and simply because it was all wrapped inside the absurdity of this evil, insidious, unrelenting suffering. Dreyfus laughed out loud! Why? Because it was hilarious to him, and just the funniest thing, ever.

That's when Ignatius realized that things were starting to go not exactly the way he had expected. So it was that the demon made his first fully fledged, fully physical, fully stereotypically demonic appearance, in the flesh, fully real and fully there, and pulled forcibly into physical reality by the insipid yet undeniable laughter of the object of his torture.

early outline

Scenes, in order, and appearances of characters

1.
Dim Witt and Buckeye. Somewhere in south Georgia. Dempsey 'Dim' Witt is dropping off a barrel of hooch for Sheriff Buckeye Buck at the local whorehouse/saloon. Lots of smalltalk. Maybe some largetalk. There's an old fashioned CRT behind the bar, with a news guy talking about President Goolsby's weapons of war program for the war on global warming, and the upcoming launches of the unprecedentedly expensive 250 billion dollar cooling laser aboard the absurdly expensive 750 billion dollar Flying Turtle, a prototype launch vehicle equipped with the first practical EM drive, and in other news the brand new retarded expensive 1 trillion dollar aircraft carrier carrier, a floating city ten miles from fore to aft, five miles from starboard to port, with a mile high superstructure, a carrier for carrying aircraft carriers, makes its maiden voyage. As an afterthought, the reporter mentions how Georgia once again graciously volunteered to foot the 2 trillion dollar bill, reminiscent of their generosity by volunteering to foot the bill for the New Clear Nuclear Deterrent program of the previous generation. Dim and Buckeye, upon hearing the news, lose their shit (later on when things have developed beyond the point of no return they present a single, very fancily printed 2 trillion dollar bill to President Goolsby, absolving Georgia from all debt and backed up by the Space Bank. Eventually... when Space Banks become a real thing, that is, so just hold onto that 2 trillion dollar bill until then, President Goolsby, because it's... it's like a railroad bond. It'll be worth quintillions someday when there's a such a thing as Space Banks. And then the unanimous middle fingers go up and Georgia officially secedes)

2.
Walks Carefully On Eggshells Like A Bear. A Navajo Indian who flunked out of secret agent school. He is drunk in the corner of the saloon and lifts his head when Dim and Buckeye start yelling about the news on the CRTV. He thinks about a lot of stuff in his drunken stupor (dunno what yet. His back story probably). He makes a decision, gets up, staggers over to the bar, and is the first to suggest the secession of Georgia from the US, and proposes a new Navajo Confederacy. He's smart, but the more he talks, the more his upbringing influences his drunken speech, until the Navajo lifestyle he's describing sounds like a communist state. He's laughed off and thrown roughly out of the saloon.

3.
Peter. Another drunk in another corner of the saloon has been paying attention with half an ear ever since Dim and Buckeye came in. This is Peter, and he's a secret true communist. An autistic outcast, extremely intelligent, but almost a psychopath in his inability to read and understand the emotions of others. He's not without empathy though, he just doesn't perceive what other people are feeling. His thoughts reflect this. He has been treated cruelty his entire life because southern country hicks can be cruel assholes. Therefore, and because he's autistic, he has a black and white idea of wrong and right, and he gets an idea... just a pipe dream, really... for the perfect utopia, with him as the new Tsar. Better than Marx's. A true equality, in black and white. Pure. Nobody has ever listened to him before about anything because he's an asshole. He doesn't know this about himself. But the time is ripe for a revolution in Georgia, and folks are just about ready to listen to anyone and consider anything. Peter gets up and discretely follows Walks On Eggshells etc. out of the saloon.

4.
Susanna 'SuperSuze' Hicks. Adopted as a baby, her origins are unclear. Fourteen years old and completely naive and with no idea at all that she's just grown into the hottest woman who has ever lived, EVER. She's just started high school in podunk south Georgia. Through elementary and junior high she's gathered a reputation as a tattle tale, only because she has a knack for finding things out. What to do with the info? Tell, tell, tell! She's got the genes of a secret agent, because unbeknownst to her, her REAL mom was/is? one (a Russian one), like Beatrice Kiddo in Kill Bill. There's a story there... Susanna is following a couple of kids in her class who wanna get it on. Susanna doesn't realize this, she takes all clues and cues out of context. She's innocent. She's playing spy, she's SuperSuze. She's gonna report to headquarters on these naughty kiddos. Then she sees them just about to have sex. She doesn't understand, but she knows that the game just got serious! She blackmails the couple into giving her information pertaining to her mission. Flustered and discombobulated by this, the guy shouts out this thing (dunno what yet) that he saw, and that's the secret info, please don't tell on us, and SuperSuze leaves them alone, satisfied with a mission well completed. (The info she has seems innocuous, but it's something important. Dunno what yet. When she tattles it though, that's what gets her noticed. Her path to the Apparatchik. She eventually gets baptized and becomes Svetlana, the SuperSvet. The Awesomest of All Apparatchik Chicks. Lots more about her, she's a main character.

5.
Something going on in the fucking White House, with President Goolsby and the press secretary and the secretary of defense. Some preliminary shit about pissed off Georgia. A small item,Mr President, about one Thaddeus Thomas, an Amish inventor, and a14 year old girl from South Georgia named Susanna Hicks, possibly something of import, but most likely just blown out of proportion. Oh yeah, there's also this  issue of pissed off Georgia, speaking of Georgia. They're talking about seceding? Heh. Appease them with a fortieth mortgage on the air they breathe, that'll shut em up. A press conference about the launch of the Flying Turtle, stopping global warming by freezing the moon with the cooling laser, the insane genius of it, because sunlit surface of the moon is 200 degrees F, and all reflecting down onto the Earth. Terd Burgleson, the press secretary, handles it. Terri Peterson, secretary of defense, realized something possibly maybe important concerning the Amish guys and the Georgian girl... Nah.

6.
Dickjackson Jones, astronaut and Commander of the Flying Turtle. He suffers with the awfullest cluster headaches. He's Big, he's Black, and he's Tough, so he's able to hide it when he's suffering with suicide headaches. It's actually a superhuman ability, but he doesn't know that about himself, that his ability to mask agony that would have absolutely everybody else writhing on the floor and screaming like an animal isn't normal. He copes because he has hope, hope that comes from a recurring dream about Mars. About Olympus Mons, an inactive volcano for billions of years, erupting very gently and blowing 'smoke signals of peace' out into space from the caldera. Walks On Eggshells has similar dreams, later on. For now though, the Flying Turtle is on the launch pad, counting down, and Dickjackson is in command cool as a cucumber, and right in the middle of the worst headache of his life, ever. It's the mildest of a new category of headaches to come, though. This poor guy... he's gonna be the most tortured character in the entire story... but he's Dickjackson Jones, and he's one cool negro. Aborigine, actually. Half Aborigine actually, and half Inuit/Black Irish/pure blood Aryan. There's a lot going on here, with Roger and Ramona and Charles that I'll figure out later. For now It's the widely publicized launch of the Two Dog Night Light. A lot more shit about this...

7.
Dreyfus Marlowe.


old notes

DISCLAIMER THING

If you're reading this, then know that here is a story that I'm willing to tell you, and it's a real humdinger if you're a human being. If you're some far future alien life form who happened to get hold of this by some clusterfuck of probability, then it probably won't make hardly any sense to you at all. You can go ahead and read it though, if you want. Maybe you'll like it, who knows... but I doubt it, so you might just wanna file it somewhere and get on with your totally alien and probably totally gross and disgusting alien business. Hey, no harm, no foul.

However... if you're human, then I'd advise that you continue reading, because this is YOUR story! It's all about people... human beings, just like you. Stupid, smart, retarded, insane, evil, benevolent, funny looking, socially inept, miserable, deliriously happy, bright shiny and dusty people, plus a few really exceptional ones thrown in here and there. Statistical anomalies.

So, I might ask myself... how do I know all of this, and why should you trust me to continue reading any of it? Because I'm the book, I'm the storyteller, and I'm telling you this. So, you can trust me to know what I'm going about! Ok?

Ok! On with it then.

Firstly. Let's see... um. Dang, there's so many to choose from. So many points of view! It's hard to decide which ones should take precedence. Ok, lemme back up. Let's see... um, um, um, um... Ok! Here we go, this guy looks interesting, and there's a lot of interesting folks around him, too. Huh... WHOA! Oh yeah, this guy is connected, he's a major focal point! Cool. We'll start with him. His name is... hang on... Dempsey Witt. From... Georgia, Podunk county, United States of America plus Baja California, the year 2060 AD.

Ok. We'll start with him.

Dempsey Witt - Dem to folks who knew him, Dim to his friends - was taking the scenic route to work today. It was a fine, almost spring morning in southern Georgia in January. The January dandelions were letting go, the January honeysuckle was in the air, and the smell of springtime in January was almost blowing in the wind, as fine as nostril wine, in the back country of southern Georgia.

'Almost is all you need,' Dim sang out loud to the tune of a hundred year old Beatles song that was squeaking out of the old dashboard sat-radio. 'Oh, and you know what else?' Dim continued out loud, 'Almost only counts in horseshoes, thermonuclear war, and 180 proof distilled spirits!' The proof - no pun intended - was the almost full load of almost 100% pure grain alcohol in the bed of the pickup, and also proof that Dim was in a pretty good mood that morning, for a dilapidated old bootlegger. He hardly even noticed any of the potholes as he bullied the old Ford Electric down the well neglected oil roads of southern Georgia, Podunk county, USA - well neglected in the upkeep, but well familiar in the driving of. That's the way that the oil roads of back country USA had been for the last hundred years, and Dem was sixty-six years old and could vouch personally for a bunch of those years. 'Oil roads were made for runnin' moonshine,' his dad used to say. They were the arteries and veins of it - and right now, Dim was the beating heart that was pumping the vital hooch to the vital organs. If Dim was the heart that pumped the hooch (or mule kick, as his dad used to to call it), then Sheriff Buckeye Buck was definitely the liver that did the processing. Sheriff Buck was the organ that filtered the 'lectric honey (as his mom used to call it) - that Dim delivered, so that it was provisioned fairly and according to the Law of the Land (county), according to Buckeye Buck that is, who was the hooch accountant... no, the County Liver...

Yeah, there ya go! That's the analogy I was looking for!

That's what Dempsey Witt was thinking that morning as he trundled over those ragged oil road potholes. In case you hadn't already figured it out, work for Dempsey Witt was running moonshine, and the running of it was work for Dempsey Witt. Dim, as he was known to his friends; Dem to just folks, and for the last 25 years, he'd almost forgotten a life that had ever been any different. Later on he'd maybe  think about how strange all of that seemed in retrospect, once understood from a point of view outside of his world of rural Georgia and right after the universe had exploded in his face; but whatever future that was gonna be, Dempsey Witt had no idea of it right then. He had hooch to deliver today, and not some time hence.

So! As I was telling, it was a fine, spring-like January morning in Southern Georgia that Dempsey Witt, Dim to his friends, Dem to just folks - he always liked to make that clear - pulled his old hooch laden Ford 'Lectric into the front yard of Madame Maybell's House of Well Repute and Oasis, at right about 7:00 AM. Dim cut the juice, then reached under the dashboard and fumbled around until he'd found the heavy toggle that switched the Ford's power from 'battery' to 'solar'. That was a rigged up feature, not common to that particular model, by the way. Nobody in economically devastated Georgia could afford a charge at a fillin station since 2041, when
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Etc Exposition, history
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After a medium-sized while, the front door of Madame Maybell's cracked open by just a smidge, and an amplified caterwaul issued forth -

"BEELZEBUB IS A PRETTY GOOD GUY!"

(this is their secret back n forth)

Dim rolled down his window and hollered back -

"AS FAR AS DEMONS GO!"

And again, from the crack in the door -

"BUT HIS BROTHER BAAL..."

"LORD DON'T HE WAIL!" Dim yelled, close to cracking up. And again, from the crack in the door -

"AND BAPHOMET..."

And then both of them together, "IS JUST PLAIN PSYCHO!"

The front door to Madame Maybell's House of Well Repute and Oasis slammed open and half a dozen shotgun barrels poked out, pointing in all directions, like some kind of Looney Tunes ensemble.

"We gotcher dead to rights!" came the challenge.

Dim stepped out of the cab of the truck and walked around to the back. "Dead to rights?" he yelled, as he fiddled with the tailgate latch. "You don't even know what that means, you asshole!" Dim yanked the latch up and down furiously about a dozen times, but it wouldn't open. He slapped the tailgate in frustration and yelled to Sheriff Buck. "Gitcher fat ass down here and help me unload these kegs of moonshine!"

Sheriff Buckeye Buck of Podunk county, state of Georgia, USA, lumbered out onto the front porch of Madame Maybell's. "Shut up you dimwit," he hissed, his eyes shifting left and right as he leveraged his considerable bulk down the front porch steps. "What if I was posing as myself as an undercover cop? You don't know who might be hollerin' out the door, hiding in the nooks and crannies and alcoves! Great Godahmighty, son!"

Dim gave the latch of the tailgate one last, exasperated yank and decided to just skip the damn thing. He clambered up over it and into the bed of the pickup and shouted back, "First off, I'm old enough to be YOUR pappy, SON!" Heh, Dim chuckled and thought, I sure get a kick out of myself, don't I? "And nextly, concerning your cornfed paranoia, well... there wouldn't never be no problem of an undercover cop to begin with, would there, you thick country bumpkin! Because you'da  justa been POSING as one!" Dim manhandled one of the big aluminum kegs toward the back of the truck. "Kinda like how you're constantly posing as the Sheriff of Podunk county," he added, "when you're really just the Hooch Man for every back-woods whore house and broken down saloon in all of southern Georgia!" Oh boy, Dim laughed down into his chin, he was sure hot today.

Suddenly six girls with shotguns, ranging from about ten to fourteen years of age, burst out of the open door of Madame Maybell's and went charging around where Sherrif Buckeye stood on the steps, like rapids around a boulder, and very nearly sending him tumbling. "You girls... you girls! Dammit, you girls!" blubbered the Sheriff.

Dim looked up from wrestling with the aluminum keg, just as one of the older girls - about thirteen years old, by the look of her - leapt up effortlessly into the bed of his pickup and offered him her shotgun. "Sir, would you mind keepin' a hold of this for me, just for a bit, til me and the girls is done here?" She said.

Dim stared wordlessly at the girl with his mouth hanging open. In all of his sixty-six years, this was probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was about 5' without an inch to spare, with dark brown hair that went down to her unusually broad shoulders. She was wearing a tank top, on the front of which was printed the image of a fur covered monster that was lifting up the fur fom it's midsection and pointing to a set of well chiseled abs. 'THE ABDOMINAL SNOWMAN' was printed underneath, in large letters. A long, brown summer skirt decorated with paisleys and flowers flowed down from her waist to her ankles, almost covering the pair of well worn sandals that she wore on her small feet. The girl was obviously in great shape, Dim could tell; simply by observing her arms and shoulders, which were smooth and well defined. She was simply the epitome of youthful exuberance.

"Sir, please? Time's a-runnin' out, and we gotta get this evidence to... to..." The girl looked around frantically for a second, as if she were trying to locate... " to where it's supposed to be!" she suddenly shouted. "And right quick! Please, zillions of lives are at stake!" She gave the outstretched shotgun an impatient shake, and Dim took it from her. Then the girl smiled a smile that could have gone down in history, if history had been paying attention. History was busy somewhere else though apparently, so only Dim saw that smile... that heart wrecking, ship breaking smile.

"Thank you sir!" she said, and then to the others waiting below...

"Girls! Let's get to it! You know what to do!" And with a tchika-tchika THUNK, one of em had jimmied the tailgate latch that Dim had been struggling with, and then it was down, and all six of the shotgun girls immediately began unloading the barrels of moonshine and rolling them up to the front porch of Madame Maybe's. "Were rollin' over and turnin' states evidence!" shouted one of the younger girls amidst the flurry of activity. Another, older girl shouted, "Shut UP! This is a black op, STUPID," to the younger one who had just blabbed about turning states evidence, whatever that meant.

Dim watched it all with his jaw hanging open. What the heck had just happened? he thought to himself. That smile, from that girl, the beautiful girl... It had poleaxed him! Suddenly Dim was overcome with a feeling of paternal love for her, whoever she was. He knew right then and there that he would die to save her, to protect her... What the heck is happening, Dim stuttered inside his own head. That girl had smiled the most perfectest smile in all of the history of the human race, and... she'd had no idea! How could she have? She was still existing inside of the perfect naivety of unspoilt innocence!

Dim was sure, more sure than he'd ever been in his life about anything, that this girl, who had just smiled that miraculous smile, had no idea that she was the most beautiful newborn woman who had ever just crossed over from childhood, through puberty, and into young adulthood. She just didn't know it. Amazing!

"Lookit em go," commented Buckeye Buck with a smile, as he finally made his way over to where Dim stood stupidly in the bed of the old electric Ford pickup, now empty of 7 and a half barrels of the bestest moonshine in all of southern Georgia. "They're something, ain't they?" Buckeye laughed. "A tad excitable though, but that's youth. Didja see how I almost broke my neck, with all of them tadpoles scurrying past me down the steps? Lordamercy! Dim? Dim, you awake in there?"

Dim came to with a start. "Uh... yeah." He dug around in his pocket for a second, as if he'd lost something, and then his hand just kind of settled there.

Sheriff Buck's eyes narrowed. "Now, Dim, you ain't been at the hooch this early on a Sunday morning, I know you ain't, cause you and me both know that I'd hafta... heh." He'd meant it as a joke, but after he'd said it, it didn't seem like one. Sheriff Buck glanced down furtively at his dusty boots, then up again at Dim, waiting to see how he'd take it.

Dim shook his head in annoyance, as if he were trying to rid it of an infestation of fleas. "What?" he barked, and then noticed Sheriff Buckeye standing right there, leaning against the side of the truck, and looking up at him with the most retarded look of questioning suspicion that Dim had ever seen. It was the look of an ignorant hick, stupid and glazed, Dim thought. For a couple of seconds as he looked down at the Sheriff, he was filled with disgust at the sight of him - 'What a stupid bottom feeder... how do I even know this backwoods inbred hillbilly?' -  And then he'd snapped out of it, and saw his friend Bucky again. Sheriff Buckeye Buck. Dim called him Bucky. Young and dumb, yeah, but with a lot more smarts than anyone would ever know, unless they knew him as a friend. Dim felt ashamed for thinking those things about his friend. He'd been discombobulated by the girl's smile, that's all.

Dim recovered his composure and resumed his pocket digging, producing a pack of smokes and a lighter. He casually popped a cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips, then cupped the lighter flame with both hands and inhaled deeply. "That's real funny," - cough, chuckle - "I guess Boss Hog just caught me red handed being human," Dim said as he exhaled a lungful of smoke.

The import of the moment hadn't been lost on Sheriff Buckeye, though. He'd seen that look of contempt cross over his friend's features, just for a second. With all of the years that they'd known each other and run hooch together, he'd always known that Dim had looked down on him with a certain measure of contempt... an ashamed and we'll hidden contempt, but still there, nevertheless. It's why Buckeye Buck had maneuvered himself in the lofty position of Sheriff of Podunk county, after all. He'd done it for the good opinion of Dempsey Witt, because Dempsey and Buck's dear departed dad, Billy Buck, went way back... back to a time when the Sheriff's name was Witt, and when Buckeye was what you hollered at the scamp that always getting under his dad's heels...

"Was that a gaggle of gun toting girlies I just seen blow through here and carry off a truckload of South Georgia White Lightning, slicker'n goose shit?" Dim suddenly blurted, in an attempt to preempt the gathering mood.

Sheriff Buck relaxed visibly and laughed. "Heh! That's my secret service in training. Ain't they somethin'? A tad bit rambunctious, but that's just young'uns being young and playin' purtend, as young'uns ought ta."

Dim suddenly remembered the shotgun that he'd been holding the whole time, that the girl with the bedazzling smile had asked him to hang onto. He lifted it up for a closer examination. He tested the heft. He released the pump action and opened the chamber, revealing a bona fide12 gauge slug resting within. He turned it over and examined the stock, which had 'Mossberg' printed on one side, and 'SuperSuze', in very stylized, curlicue letters on the other. He stared at incredulously as he realized that he was holding it as a favor, just for a bit, for a 13 year old girl with a bedazzling smile playing secret agent with a half dozen prepubescent girls, also armed with shotguns, who had, for all he really knew at all, just made off with eight kegs of South Georgia White Lightning!


"Say, what the hell..."

"Sir! Commandant... I mean, commander, I mean... I mean, sir!"

Dim spun around and there she was, standing right there in the bed of the pickup and saluting smartly, and smiling a smile that could crack the Earth in two, if it wanted. Dim just stood there, held captive by that smile. He was alarmed... extremely alarmed, and also completely discombobulated. How the hell had she done that? How had she clambered up into the bed of the pickup like that without making a sound? How had she just appeared like that? And how long had she been standing there? And why the hell had she called him Commandant?? Just how the hell could she have known that...

"Mission accomplished, sir!"
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"Thanks for holding onto my gun, sir! Oh.. and, mission accomplished! I'm special agent Susanna 'SuperSuze' Hicks, by the way! Nice to meetcha, and thanks again for holding my Mossberg for me! Bye!" She saluted crisply, then leapt from the bed of the truck and was gone.








intro.2

The Nonplussed

An Introduction
by
Anon
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Hi!

Are you ready to embark upon a fast and furious, laugh-a-minute adventure, filled with action and intrigue? An epic tale of good versus evil, festooned with heroic deeds of derring-do performed by the common man against withering odds? Are you ready to be literally poleaxed when you suddenly realize that it's all gonna end in tears anyway, no matter what, for everybody, even the bad guys, and how that's just the shittiest, most cynical, most realistic ending to every story that you've never read or heard, EVER?! Great! Then let me tell you about Mankind, and a planet called Earth.

Surprise! I'll bet you didn't see that coming. Heh! This story is about you.

Your story begins more or less right after the middle of, and during, the early second half and third quarter of the late 21st century, more or less. The year 2060, in other words. However, before diving face-first into the action, a little exposition might be helpful for understanding the finer points of how everything got chucked into a handbasket and tossed onto the Old Express Bus to Hell.

Ok, let's get into it.

First we gotta backtrack all the way to January of 2018, where it all began, when somebody, either accidentally or on purpose, knocked over Pakistan's bucket of fuck-its... probably India. Somebody said, 'Aw, fuck it!' and during the next twenty or so minutes a dozen 50 kiloton tactical nukes were airburst at 5000 feet directly over Mumbai, at a rate of about one per minute. I remember watching as the drama unfolded on the flatscreen behind the bar, and hearing some college yokel, fresh off the boat from East Texas and a couple of stools down from me, declaring, "Hot dayum, it's towel heads versus diaper heads, and 20 million diapers just got slaughtered like a sacred cow! Didja see that? Holy Sheee-IT!" I almost fell off of my stool, I was laughing so hard. Hilarious, yes, and extremely inappropriate... still, though. Hilarious!

New Delhi was next, and after that the towel heads - I mean the Pakistanis (heh, sorry) got THIS close to landing the entirety of their remaining nuclear arsenal, about 75 low yield tactical nukes, right onto the Ganges and into the big-ass middle of Laundry Day, which would have effectively won Pakistan the war. However, and luckily for India, those 75 nukes were accidentally intercepted by a slew of MRBM's, automatically and simultaneously launched by Dead Man Switches from both Turkey to Russia and from Russia to Turkey, and with every single one of those missiles from both sides just happening to slam at the same exact instant right into those 75 Pakistani SRBM's aimed directly at 850,000,000 Indians doing their laundry in the Ganges. The resulting nuclear clusterfuck that day was definitely the awesomest thing that has EVER happened about a hundred miles above somewhere in Eastern Europe or Russia or possibly the Middle East, or maybe India. Nobody really knows anymore.

You can probably guess most of what happened next, as a bevy of high ranking Indian middle fingers all punched down onto a corresponding bevy of Big Red Buttons labeled 'Fuck Pakistan!', and before anybody knew what the heck was happening, a backyard nuclear brawl had expanded into an international nuclear skirmish, as North and South Korea and parts of the Middle East all called dibs on the batters box at the same time. It only took four days, starting with Mumbai, until New Delhi, Karachi, Islamabad, Mecca, Cairo, Damascus, Tehran, Baghdad, Pyongyang, Seoul, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem were all just a bunch of radioactive, crater shaped mirrors smoking in the desert.

At this point you might be wondering what the West had to say about all of this nuclear bullying that'd been going on in the Middle East for the past several days. It was immediately downplayed as 'just a little nuclear dodge ball' by the right wing media... because those Turkish MRBM's that wound up saving 850 million Indians instead of killing a corresponding number of Russians were NATO missiles. What a scandal... LOL.

And so the entire event is generally remembered today as just the Falkland Islands Part 2, but with nukes, and in the desert Instead, and minus the British. Calling it that was an obvious cover up in 2020, even to the common retard... but forty years later, hardly anyone except for me actually believes that the sequel to the Holocaust that killed another six million Jews plus or minus a few million Muslims back in 2018 really happened. And the saddest thing is, nobody today misses or knows about or even gives a shit at all about any of those Jews and/or Muslims, or if they ever even existed or were wiped from existence at all.

Here's an interesting side note... All of this is straight from a history book, by the way. It was immediately following the nuclear skirmish of 2018 that the United States declared absolute victory over The War on Terror, after confirming that Mecca had been vaporized, along with a shit ton of Muslims. It's too bad that almost all of the actual, bona-fide hippies were either dead or incontinent by that time, because what followed was their long sought after No Nukes War on Nukes. It was this twist of fate that probably saved the entire planet from being engulfed in a full blown, worldwide nuclear holocaust, because... and here's the irony. It's long been established that when the United States wages war on something, that it absolutely does not go to war on that thing, but instead just spends trillions of dollars to make it look like it it did. So it was that in 2019 the United States initiated a new nuclear deterrent strategy, touted as 'The New Nuclear Deterent, for a New, Clear, Nuclear Age!'  The defense budget was immediately quintupled and spent on fast tracking the development, production and immediate dismantling of 50,000 brand new, 500 megaton thermo-quantum PlanetBuster bombs, which really, really pissed off the state of Georgia when the other 49 States just kind of chucked the bill for all of it onto Atlanta's doorstep at 2:00 AM that Sunday morning.

But there's good news! As it turns out, the whole global warming thing was just a practical joke cooked up by Al Franken as an SNL skit that kinda got outta hand, so the liberals just ran with it. What a relief!

Here's the bad news, though... I mean, the other bad news. Kim Kan Kook, the latest cult of personality fad in North Korea, was totally serious when he ordered a nuclear sneak attack upon Antarctica to take out the Anti-Santa Clause, once and for good. Of course the West Antarctic Ice Sheet collapsed immediately, resulting in a three meter rise in sea levels everywhere. Many coastal cities around the United States were flooded, such as New York City, New Orleans, Seattle, Houston, Miami, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Rio, Greece, Plymouth Rock, and Mobile Alabama... etc.

The liberals referred to the following nuclear cold snap as 'The Big Ass Winter Of Your Discontent', referring to the GOP, of course. In response, the GOP merely laughed it off as 'just a wimpy ice age'. When the clouds finally broke in 2025 for the first time in almost seven years, survivors of planet Earth unanimously voted that the almost extinction level event would henceforth be referred to as 'The Almost Only Counts in Horseshoes and Global Thermonuclear Wars Ice Age' event, and so it's been recorded in this history book ever since. The GOP ran with that, touting it as the final nail in the coffin against the liberal scare tactic of global warming.

However, it was the liberals who had the last laugh when, in 2040, almost 750,000,000 people around the world died of skin cancer simultaneously. That was when it was discovered that the average 22 year gestation period of a skin cancer directly correlated with the decimation of a good portion of the ozone layer almost exactly 22 years previously, and right around the time of the Falkland Islands skirmish of 2018. The entire world immediately lumped the blame on Britain and Venezuela of course, and that's why those two countries simultaneously ceased to exist in 2041. Don't question it... just accept it, ok? It's people on planet Earth that we're talking about here.

Fast forward to 2050. Since thethe massive influx of ultraviolet rays that the ozone layer totally used to have a handle on... until the GOP murdered it, according to the Dems. Nobody understands the logic of those politics anymore by the way, and nobody really cares. Politics signed a 10 billion year contract with the Liberal Media and Fox News back in 2016, and it's been the Prime Time Reality Show ever since, and number one in its time slot now for almost 50 years running.

Now it's 2060, and after all of THAT, the whole world is just sick and tired of camping out under a tent like a bunch of cub scouts. Enter the new weapon for the new War on Antarctica - the brand spanking new 6 trillion dollar Two Dog Night Light, and the absolute last fucking straw for Georgia.

That's a good place to start, huh? Let's begin our story there, in pissed off rural Georgia, on February the somethingth or another, 2060.