A Brief Stumble Down Paradise Street by R.K.Galvez
THE END: PART 1: LIBRI DOS NON RETOURNIZ:
A brief interlude with the past/present/future time[s] of VeeCee and his long-lost companion, Von RapArd, despite both having conventional backgrounds, we get a confused pictorial-oral history[awfully semi-auto-biographical] and various predictable facets of timely dysfunction.
Professor Gavreau secretly stated [filed in a mind somewhere at the U.R.S.O.M.A.D.]: Bring on the trumped-pets; the death-trumpet sounded [75ft long, a radius of several miles, it can produce sound waves of up to 3.5 hertz]. It was at this point CBS dropped Von RapArd. He was now considered some sort of worthless antique, despite his stubborn attitude towards change, which kept him subversively fresh. Von RapArd's cool period had left him in a state of non-creative frustration - pre-post-menstrually speaking [his empathy was going off all radar-phases]. This left him kind of blue and living in a weird brew of bitchy-Sphinx-ESP-babes in some awful bedsit in Clapham. It was all going to the dogs...It was heady then: you just went with anyone and made it up as you went along [oh how I wish those days would be here again! IT BURNS! IT BURNS! Hyperbaric oxygen can help, plus human energy to move mountains, in addition to a balanced diet]. He tried to establish himself within The Illustre, and thought copulating with each one of the struggling, rich, family-members would help him control their middle-class "performance" company; this was his way "in". Within every rich kid there was a slum kid doing the dog inside them.
Everyone [inc. "society"+ all worlds of the best/worse wordy-worlds] hated him - he became a philosopher-clown-wright-swinger [it was old, of course, but very new to him; something noveau niche - just for the elites; his real work was all moonlighted via part-time hours. His interests remained to be lyrical assassination and conceptual neurology, despite being completely unqualified in all fields. He was hoping to be the "right face" to keep the Established Powers-That-Be happy]. The role-play-job-function his parents had purchased for Von RapArd, from some mystics in Ulan Bator [containing the remnants of the normally Persian-based Yezidis], was thrown back at them in disgust. His Parent-Gods immediately hated him, and planted more obedient en-vitro entities. Von RapArd wanted no part of this weird competition; everything should be balanced and levelled[including instant access to all sites]. He wanted to make it up himself, anyway [as the Great Saavedra had advised him - at the time Saavedra was already a failed, unestablished, artist in many fields; though remained high-spirited and a trustworthy pirate - with the hand wound to prove it. His tomes are now famous in numerous world-spaces, though heavily ignored]. Luckily, Von RapArd wanted to be born again in 1622[it was the first numbers in his Chaucerean head, his futuro-lottery engineering was not winning him any real rewards; the wheel of fortune was always a queer device]. And this was where[end now?]
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Agents Goodnow and Goodmann entered Z.F.Galvez's office. It was like any other day, despite feeling very different. The office was across 110th Street and near Pimlico Underground Station[minus further Mothership connections]. It wasn't bad, as the rent was practically nothing now - though it was going through the roof at various intervals. It was all being given away because the times were so bad and good in cycles and, in some cases, nothing ever really changed; it was just things that were the same occasionally cost more.
Despite factoring these vital expenses in, Galvez found a willing benefactor in Madame Petrovna Helena Vabaltsky [from the Secret Social Club, which was once unknowingly chaired by Enid Blyton]. It was finely furnished with plastic furniture, covered in gold-film[to ease the cleaning stress, obviously]. It was the only way to live and travel lightly in between realm-states. Galvez was having a "Wilbur" moment.
He liked to be a runt...[maybe that was the wrong word, as this is my pre-post-dyslexic-psycho-astral translation; regrettably mistakes will be made. But the [p]science is always improving to support every endeavour that we try to make within this field, Galvez reassured himself, rocking backwards and forwards for a long time...]. It was a very odd feeling. He felt like a child around the severely dressed Agents[there was no theme tune...]. It should have been more stylish[substance relagation post-21st century blues]. Hear the tranquil, but heavily distorted, feedback: oh no - not again, thought[censored].Galvez needed some downtime.
The unreliable Agents were dressed in dark metallic suits. They had been both been Daytime T.V. "psychics" and wanted to break into other fields[including the life-coach-roaching, "media", after seeing the success of such supernatural public projects]. This was natural after both Agents had been referred to Galvez by their Doctors [Dr E.D.Coetzee and Dr B."Benwai" Burrows]. It was lucky they had connected peers - there were numerous croking quacks around, despite both Agents ignoring their medical advice. They were determined to be unbranded mavericks. Both of the Agents were eager to learn and wanted to know something about the hidden city and the hidden space vessel. Galvez smiled. He had heard it all before[think of anything, go on...]. He filled them in about all the lost works, and gave them the wrong number for Skoob books. But it wasn't enough[at the time, the platform was non-existent]. The Mindtherapist was automatically activated[probably by accident]. Here's the break down:
Here's the secretly buried real-Time-theory based upon semi-theoretical evidence: The real C.I.A. needed to break the cartel down some more; they needed to buy it without the public knowing, so they left out a mutant virus not many had heard of, it might've been a mind-viral, or a new batch[gomwai reflux] for instant hysteria...The popularized info-brain-washer was being a tool; it was hysterical, though; but it helped to damage and boost some sectors of the world economy. It was a strategic unifying attempt, and it avoided legalizing everything and put off Utopian attempts at making a more "CraftedLoveState"[Love~Peace~Oneness...feel free to vomit on this, if unrealistic...]. The Agents were interested in looking for further astral implications; these intrepid Agents had an idea not all of this scheme was down to classified and advanced hi-phys-bio-psy-chemo-military testing. Some of it had to be real [maybe none of it was, really... they rememebered the man in the mirror? Where's the change? Pan always materialized instead] They were worried about secrets getting out and the increasing interest in the Dogon tribe [soon to tour, more info available]. It was getting out of hand.
Galvez had only been to see the Dogon tribe twice [once with Bombay Cid and the other time with the wily Professor Norkgrub]. It was no good trying to explain how the Ordo Templi Orienti would try to use them. They already had previous government-supported espionage experience[training provided to the right people - join the club]. It was all tax deductable now, all loopholes relayed and replayed for benefits. They were all in the hoop-looking-loop[quik-e-spin, cold wash]. They already had encounters with The Phoenix and other such entities. Telepathic espionage was their real trick. Galvez couldn't fight it, it was making him feel useless again, as his decescendants were also destined to feel like this eternally. Goodmann then suggested something: Goodmann decided that if they travelled as amphibious creatures, Galvez could sneak them in to the "projection schematic" and help them out. Galvez was baffled, but didn't say[It's much easier - try living like it, spake Moses]. Galvez thought it was a good idea, though he had always secretly feared amphibious creatures [he could not explain why, as he was afraid of water]. He, also, didn't tell them that. He whisked them off to Greek Street, for a quick longish tipple.
This was a huge mistake in Galvez's therapeutic practices - regardless of past/future practices. It would've happened anyway, even if descendants of Z.F.Galvez had tried to prevent it. In the long run it didn't really matter; these mishaps always happened spontaneously and defy all efforts of the cosmically balanced triggers. Galvez decided upon extreme action: He thoughtfully fondled his chukras and he looked at the Agents: Goodnow was tall and handsome with long flowing golden-locks, slightly tanned skin and well-maintained fangs. Goodnow looked dandified, everything was immaculate; even Goodnow's fingernails were painted clear-silver[it reminded some of clear blue]. Goodmann, however, was jaundiced and emaciated; his demonic green eyes, shining brightly, not caring that his dark metallic suit hang off his skeletal frame. Goodmann was full of power, he could feel it burning his mind-receptors[Galvez's were like the tongue-feelers of spring-tails.] This is a chance to catch a quick thought:
This was the name that Galvez gave to the new mission [the new clean-up operation]: they were to go into the space-zone-realm and find an abandoned alien space craft called 'Zn-oT Vallee'. It was left to rot by those strange band of Phoenix-Followers, although it's first pilot was the Galacto-anthropologist, Billy Eel. An unfortunate academic, who vanished quite suddenly with the lost Bogey-Fuo-fighter, Tommy Tellman. The Phoenix-Followers needed to find out what the deal was with it and were unsure how to control it. It would never get to the Cash and Carry like this... Like some fateful curio, they worshipped it and performed inbred orgies [for they were all strangers and had already posted their fetishes to each other millions of years in advance; it was coded within them by now]. They were unsure where it would go, although they strangely all thought [quite childishly really]:
This is what eventually prompted Galvez to read Goodnow and Goodmann's case file: it was classified, there was nothing in it. Galvez was sure he had already seen it anyway. He silently had heard them discussing their pasts carelessly over a quick tipple. While the tipples flowed, they flowed para-psychically. It was natural. They were getting on. It was a grand time. The grand facilitation was nigh...
Galvez then remembered he had given them their last mission: it was a sensitive case involving how to clean up the mess left in all times, by various time wasters and Tyme-Pyres. He felt compelled to stop this rot and had projected himself as an impartial observer called Johnny Quagga. This didn't make sense, as time was too precious to spread yourself too thinly among too many people. Goodmann eventually handed Galvez the data, encrypted within a psychic dossier, while Goodnow constructed a loose memo to their superiors. They were now selling sundries and other commercial cleaning products at reasonable rates. They had struck the microfibre boom too late, but with so much O.C.D. spreading it was logical the sales would pick up. There was room for everyone. They explained the best clients were two Agency cleaners called VeeCee and Von RapArd.
Galvez didn't recognize the names, being only the names of boring cleaners[and possible alter-egos in various times/realities]. But when Goodnow sneered and suggested they didn't really clean, Galvez was convinced he had found the Wasters Of Time. The tipple continued for sometime and Galvez's office was used for the afterparty [truly "banging" - thank you, Mr Coxy]. It went smoothly, though the fliers didn't get out in time, so remained a secret. Here is a more detailed view of the case file[attached]:
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That was too close[it was a good(e)]; almost gone then. Galvez had to stop mixing too much. Galvez looked shattered, his sweat stuck to him like glue. The Agents were unflinching [just another drive-in-day for any old grinning trans-soul - they were vets]. Goodmann explained more about VeeCee and Von RapArd. In his long briefing, it turned out they had cleaning devices which didn't clean and they just flitted about time, like the typical aimless lost souls. They had no purpose or real mission now. Someone must've cut them off. But it sounded like they were looking for one clue to their existence; they just were a bit lost. This was natural in an unnatural way: Galvez empathized, as he felt he was both of them. [He was an Aquarian from Polaris, so he was prone to getting a bit mushy and if he were an animal he would be a free-loving Quagga or a soul-funked Moa]. Galvez felt he could get them on the right tracks.
VeeCee seemed to help hurt souls and feast off various emotions linked with being useless and trodden on by all types of powers. Von RapArd was able to take care of himself from the sounds of it, and Galvez was unsure of his branding. Galvez had encountered his type before. Why did these wasters also visit the Dogon tribe? Goodmann was concerned that the Dogon tribe had showed them the plans to the ship. It was all there. They could then go intergalatic and really get out of it all for a while. Goodnow remarked the Pyramids of Mars were nice this time of year, but Goodmann and Galvez ignored him, as they heard such banal cliches before. Ol' Rice-Burroughs had sent a mind-card a long time ago, despite them drinking in the sounds of Watered Space[no Walt Mitty inc]. The system was too randomized now. Galvez accepted the job. It was only out of politeness, really.
Goodnow showed Galvez another invisible file: it contained pictures of VeeCee and Von RapArd's associates, including my former-self, Johnny Quagga, Mr Cheevers [a.k.a "Chief Crazy Quagga" or Jonny/Ernst Quagga], "Buggo Ravoo", "Jenny Jones", Maurice, and Ms Petrovna Helena Vabaltsky. The Agents' secretary was also my secretary, who goes by the name of Ms Dukaki; and my intern was also present - Miss Zoe "Zip" Gregano. Zip [as she prefers to be called, as it is her "performance" name] was sponspored by the government and was once a prominent pornographic academic [her new monograph, 'Spanking Paglia: What Women Might Want Is Not What They Really Want' is soon to be unpublished]. They had all been seen in various realms - from Putney to Petra and back to Anchorage O'Groats via Tanis. People down there really like to get it [cut to:] Goodmann and Goodnow were impressed by Galvez's pzionik-recon-renaissance-reflux-lapse. It was as if he had done this all before. It was cosmically flukey [being a slightly celestial commuter of various trans-terrestrial-space-states], but all serendipity was necessary at this early stage of the process.
Goodnow found the lander-slings. These would project them to where the Zn-oT Vallee was waiting for them. Hopefully, near the dogged star, but any orbit pleased them. It was a rogue ship, but the possibilities were too tempting; piracy never went away, but moved along with the times[leaving little merch available; all swag re-bootyed-up]. They had to leave the office to find out about this new old world. It had been right there all this time.
The trio debated for a few years if going outside the office-world was safe or not. It was dragging them down now, they needed to cut the taped reddened-bondage in situ [cue: No more tags, rpt, tag/in/it]. VeeCee and Von RapArd might have been there and already done it - they would be chasing shadows forever! And Galvez needed to go to the supermarket; how could he face a new fear now? He hated all markets. The urge to purge them of capitalist beliefs swelled within in. But he decided against another "magick moment"[or "magi moment" to avoid offending any Galactic copyrights]. Thank goodness for the fecal mask was Galvez's final lament. Galvez felt useless, but Goodmann signalled that the lander-slings were handy for re-entry. The Zn-oT Vallee was ready for spatial-penetration; all systems had been extra-terrestrially well-lubricated. Goodnow steadied a telescopic-endoscope. The review had been reviewed; the committee selected. And they all zoomed in.
That was quick![But, also, a bit too long and uncomfortable!] One might call that particular transition "Hard".
Time lost meaning again[gradient-grinding, as some non-experts say], as they were aboard the vessel Zn-oT Vallee [think of anything in your mind, don't tell anyone, though; it looked just like THAT, whatever your thinking, you know/I know/we know...]...However, the grimy walls were well maintained with the latest cosmetic advances; Galvez was impressed - his high standards were higher than normal, despite remaining accessibly laissez-faire. Over the loud-speaker was this sometime hit and continually over-played, commercially frothy, aural/oral/phonetically phonic/sonic[poly]onslaught:
It was too much for them all; the room was spinning, fading in and out of reality.The mix was awful, despite being re-classified[minus quality-controls]; it was badly cut as usual...The controls were accidentally activated. The cleaners hadn't cleaned up - it was all still very messy. Von RapArd's gig must've been so secret no-one was able to find the venue...The weird world[s] zapped past them [the stun was already set in full force, despite no Gees]. Luckily, it didn't last long, but it might have been longer than I first thought. It was hard to tell. It wasn't the end, but near the end of a new beginning. The confusion had fuzzed all senses [which were fuzzed in the first place, despite all the necessary vaccinations]. We defied many laws that day, but it was hard to tell what was "Sin" and what was restrictive[L.I.T.L.L.O.L - so say the Order Templi Orienti: we know, they know, you know...]. I suppose it didn't really matter - the responsibilty was shared by us all.
The two Agents and Galvez had all landed on a planet [though we took the wrong steps some years ago]. These non-cleaning wastrels, VeeCee and Von RapArd, would not be here[N.B. The German-American time-fluffer, Veontugg, had also been here and left his gibberish graffiti for all to contend with; but someone else messed it all up, neutralizing his original ideas for populist consumption and other fluffy aims, removing the sting as is the nature of the times which are mostly timeless]. It was inevitable it would happen in such controlled times - though the fragmented anti-moral fable about a strange world being made of toilet paper was very touching and was a successful "romantic-comedy"[...See data...See me...Class dismissed...No Class... ATTENTION!...]. They all knew it...The negativity was infectious; positivity was in great abundance - up Slam Glam Street - but full of rubbish that orbited all realms.
Maybe the non-cleaning cleaners were watching - waiting to clean up again. Galvez thought about it, and during this time, he had found some organic mushy-beet-caps. He gorged himself for quite a while [as his five-a-day were quickly turning into a junk-filled promise, his lips flaming, no longer sonically youthful]; but then he had reems of archives that had never been touched, or even read - some even burnt or discarded[most had been backed up in his titanium-bound expose]. Some were crudely written on slate, vellum or papyrus; most were written in crayon. He was not bothered; they were just nice to look at - it was style over substance as always. Imagine all the lost useful information the world might have been graced with...Luckily, for humanity, these archives were close to useless, as they were heavily flawed and awfully out-of-date[and of no particular value to any time anyway]. Goodmann and Goodnow had sweated it out, both were looking relaxed, though somewhat shaken by the power of the non-cleaning cleaners they had been retained to capture. They were looking dishevelled - they wanted more than a party in a pipeline.We already knew everybody counts, but these Agents wanted to add to the general feeling that one gets when walking in one's shoes.
This was where they had landed: it was called [classified] and they had to make sure they grasped all local customs properly. The Sumerians had first discovered this realm. It was a peaceful land full of huge mutated inbred beings. This is what was destroying them, of course. They wanted to find space and break on through [to wherever] and hopefully start again; but with the old fashioned new systems and complex regulations and useless regulatory systems. It was still being reviewed, despite the motion was carried[o lucky, man!]. It was all so cumbersome, but some felt very necessary. And the new "ISM" state that had been recently imposed was now controlling all output, paying all creatures for their political theories. No-one starved, despite the fact that these creatures had to live in small containment fields and constantly watch everything on giant monitors that connected into all eyes and orifices. They were watching each other, frightened that something might "happen". At least they were connected. It was a gory sight, as Galvez watched the events occur with the Agents. It was pay-per-view, but Galvez got most of it on demand...
Galvez felt like vomiting, but was scared to get the vomit clogged in the Zn-oT Vallee. It was an antique after all. Galvez swallowed hard, as he vanished back to the doomed planet-realms surface. It was not pzi-tele-trans-portation. This was the tame adaptation to the clapped-out spacecraft's cerebral pollutant solution. Goodmann and Goodnow wanted to defend the realm and take siege for eternity. Galvez thought this was very drastic and slightly reactionary of them to commit to such a flawed policy. Despite the millions of protesters, the Agents assumed they were democratic and ignored them. They had the wisdom: they knew what they knew and they believed it to be right. That is some strange feeling only gods get now and again...They felt powerful on this doomed any realm-space[s]. The planet was turning into a bad imitation of everything; the Hurrah Club even closed down here[although the Ministry remanined superficially intact]. DON'T PANIC; THINK ONLY OF:[WHATEVER YOU WANT/ WHATEVER...DON'T PANIC; THINK ONLY OF...] RPT x5 - please refer to "back-story" to 'Lost Johnny'...WORD JUST IN! Word was out that Von RapArd was last seen at Whisky-A-Go-Go, while VeeCee was chilling with Buggo Ravoo, though they didn't really get on, sadly, though they both greatly respected each other. They were close to a loving hatred of each other. It was bliss. It was going [whatever, whatever...]. Some information was handy now - but quite useless to get the truly lateral visual-deposition; the gaps in all history remained way too large.
It was useless, as they all quietly supped their native beverages in the Christchild and Vonderpump. They were served by the normally docile Old Ones - Mezkal-Roi and Cacq-Cap-Jacq [our unknown superiors, of course]. They had seen it all, the secrets of all times; it was nothing to them, and they mainly observed for fun. They were more concerned they were not getting enough hits [what ever that meant]; they were desperate for them. But MorphieR - they're muto-robo-toaster friend - had gone to collect some supplies from them all; it was well "connected". Galvez felt like throwing in the towel - he always gave up easily, it was becoming his trademark. He felt useless again [a familiar feeling that haunted all of the Galvez line]. Then the Agents got reports they feared: they loved the dead, of course, but that only applied to dead people - not to re-animated Dodos. The quarantine had been activated.
These zombified Dodos that were rampaging across the vile realm-spaces, inspired by supposedly anarchic cartoon frolics and other mutated virals, were taking no prisioners. They were in genocidal payback and behaving very human, in a reactionary jerkish wounded knee way. They had set up their own extinction industry to force the remaining humans to buy there useless wares, mainly feathers and pegs. The Dodos were very backward and trapped in their own time, which they wanted to enforce upon others. Every female was oppressed and every male was treated like a potential threat. They wanted to gig with lesser Gods, just to look "in touch"; they pestered the likes of The Astral Gurus, USA For LSD, and Bill Bungus - they would have settled to support the Oh-So-Fashionably-Peachy-Girl-Who-Felt-Cream. Times moved too quickly for these vile Dodos, so any real action was hopelessly useless, as more time slipped away yet again. Evasive action was required [as duly prescribed and recommended by the expert panel; see review of the review, or ignore it...] See here:
The team needed to be assembled to attack the answers to the Lies of Hysteria [it flew, like a swine-like bird.] The team was this: Galvez tele-prompted Ms Dukaki and his intern, Zip. And, despite being too scared of them, he realized he needed their combined Weberian love of Rationality. Meanwhile, Goodnow and Goodmann had recruited the very leafy zoophyte and award-winning refuser of awards, Professor Norkgrub and the Tao-Bogey-Fu pilot Tommy Tellman. Both of these good souls were worthwhile, though Goodmann was becoming very odd [his new pink mullet wasn't working]. He was starting to pleasure himself more openly - possibly for attention. Goodmann really got going seeing the best snuff films ever by watching charity adverts. This was a real turn on for Goodmann and the closest thing he had come to real-life defining excitement in a long time. Galvez was disgusted to discover that Goodmann found beheadings quite arousing - though he couldn't quite follow through and usually lost his own head.
Despite only two mainstream complaints, Goodmann got what he wanted in the end. Time's fly and it's handy that they do! Goodmann covered the controls in his blue sludge-like secretions; he was feeding the zombie Dodos with his demonically secreted alien-seed-sludge. Goodmann had hidden agendas, obviously as the Dodos attacked us all, upon his orders [mis-dis-info-hypo-hysteria-frenzy: refer to "hypnotizing chickens" by Magus-i-Pop; this might be some weirdly lustful fun-time-sin for some]. Goodmann was getting more connected and rubbing their noses into it. The demonic Dodos surged onwards, intent upon unleashing their barbaric onslaught to sate their previous extinction.
Issue 12, Vol. III: Thee basic meth[O.D.]...
Agent Goodnow was the first to perish, getting ripped apart by the vicious zombie Dodos; their greasy beaks left no morsel of the dandyfied Agent Goodnow[only his memo was left...]. Which was a shame, but Galvez begged to the ghastly Dodos of Doom. Luckily for Galvez, Ms Dukaki was there to save him again. Ms Dukaki powered tough punches and a complicated sequence of various combination defence-techniques through the Zombie Dodos decaying heads, breaking a lot beak. Green-brain detritus showered upon the useless Galvez. In addition to the blackened clots of blood and decomposed flesh, which clung to Ms Dukaki's heavily tanned, baked-bean coloured skin, there was the problem of spiky, matted feathers. Ms Dukaki was, slowly, getting tired after slaying almost million of them without respite. Ms Dukaki performed a variety of backflips and somersaults to evade the ghastly Dodos' beak-talon grip. Luckily, despite the moistness of Ms Dukaki's mirkin, the Dodos' were slowly sensing they had met their match. It was turning into a realtime - yet slightly over-stylized, but extremely gritty - cull.
Agent Goodmann, however, had escaped to resurrect more Dodos, as the sweat and putrified gore continued to glisten on Ms Dukaki's baked-bean coloured skin; Ms Dukaki's athletic, Amazonian, frame dwarfed the demonic Dodos. Ms Dukaki joked it was easier than getting rid of mutated Grey Squirrels on ice[Galvez had never encountered such absurdities, but was sure that existed somewhere]. Galvez was hiding behind Dukaki's bulk, hoping it would all end,as he was doused in the discoloured Dodo blood. Ms Dukaki's bright white teeth grinded together loudly - blinding the dazed decomposing Dodos - as Ms Dukaki removed a broken flip-flop to continue to fight bare-footed, as the Dodos onslaught continued. Galvez tried not to cry out loud, and resisted the urge to power-nap[and other forms of micro-sleep-status]. Galvez needed to use some of his transient astral arts. He started to think...hard[no, not that hard]. It was a tough state to be in.
Luckily[a ball of bonus-time-spliced-delight], it was at this very juncture that Zip staggered into the office-world/awful planet realm-simulation. It was all a mess, as blood gushed in various politically correct colours[there was many zero- FX]. Zip had been caught by these foul Dodos pleasuring herself, but - unknown to these foolishy Ghoulish Dodos - she was prepared with her dildo-discharge-blunderbuss[easily strapped on for solid gold easy action; Zip was a true slider]. It was a crucial weapon that filtered Zip's acidic discharge, from her repressed sexual urges, at the on-coming Dodos. It rotted the Dodos flesh quicker than usual, and released some pressure on the relentless Ms Dukaki. Galvez always knew he would be helped by a grateful masturbator, although he had always adhered to strict asexual behaviours [his last "encounter" was a million or so years ago with an alien stick insect-entity called Buck-Fonq-Lee-Shoot-U]. Zip sprayed her heavenly acidic discharge over the Dodos, as Ms Dukaki defended all offensive movements, crushing more Dodo beak and skull. It went on [on and on, we don't stop, till the break of dawn, rpt x5]. It was jamming it all in that was starting to get problematic; Time, as always, remained an oddity of all spaces.
For the i-e-record: Here is the Zombified-Mutated-Alien-Dodo casuality/death-list so far:
[N.B. Imagine: Flashybackflash[now]-en-scene-tage-stylized combination moves, mise-en-scene with CGI+PPP and other agencies of slightly defected and readily defacated Sub-Coolness, which is now defunct.]
Bombay Cid[down injured, eye-play disrupted, blurred for life.]
Agent Goodnow[deceased, memo intact...see Project Silly Boy Blue Book]
Veontugg[Agent Goodmann has taken him as a Personal P.O.W. Assistant, though this is possibly unfounded]
Professor Norkgrub[A.W.O.L. - last seen at The Pillars Of Hercules/The White Horse/The Christchild & Vonderpump - delete as appropriate.]
Tommy Tellman[now embarking upon his well-deserved permanent vacation in Frinton-On-Sea, teaching Bogey-Fu-Fighting in Life Skills Classes to over-worked Pensioners.]
VeeCee[still being some kind of pretentiously arty-farty Tyme-Pyre, swooning around space/time/etc., arrogantly convinced of his greatness outside of his own life-time. Trying to find Rachel, to hear her out again.]
VonRapArd[unknown information, despite continuing in his capacity as a part-time lyrical assassin and conceptual neurologist, he remained superficial; please wait and report back or make something up...]
Buggo Ravoo[unknown information, despite still being a constant loser with his jelee-rich-zombified-Homo-Erectus-tramp-gringo-comrade, Doggo; please wait and report back or make something up...]
Johnny Quagga[apparently in some form of secret stasis; reports show he is"chilling" with a Lost Johnny and his guitar with slightly suicidal Sal - it's a life thing, and they're "having" it.]
Goodmann[now taking solace with his new mission; a full-time breeder of newly modified Mutated-Zombified-Alien-Demon-Dodos; the breeds kept breeding, which made Goodmann cross. Some of these beasts can be reared on Soya-based products, but Goodmann refused to tell them that.]
Everyone else, apart from Galvez, had minor cuts and bruises. Galvez was attempting to clean himself with a matted clump of Dodo feathers, but it proved to be very unhygienic[including the hits "Muto-Bacto-Virals" [or Soopurr-Booging], and "Hand To Mouth", and the remix of "Catch It, Bin It, Kill It"[C.B.K.]. This series is now available for mass production; see[classified; intercepted by classified] for all known cures.]. And Galvez was scared of such feathery fiends off-loading subliminally subversive parasites onto him. He had enough trouble trying to avoid such life-forms. Galvez just wanted to give VeeCee and Von RapArd their cleaning jobs back and that he wants them to be happy- wherever they go [predictably blame Time again]. It was easier to just hope...
Postscript: Sorry for all my mistakes, it's due to my lack of sleep [as I normally black out ] or sleep in stasis mode in bi-monthly cycles, and tend to forget things very quickly. I have now started to meditate for long periods of time, which is great as I can be "awake" with my eyes closed. It's brilliant that. I even drink water now - which is something new for my diet. I am unsure how long I can hack it - I don't think I can last more than a fortnight. Hopefully, I will remember my fours, but don't double-dose with my fives[by five???]. Thank you for your patience and for tolerance regarding my continually bad dysfunclexiconically-challenged ways; it prevented me from a real "big" school but, hopefully, not from comrades. R.K.Galvez, Islington, 1995.
IMPORTANT NEWS: NEWS JUST IN: NEWS IN BRIEF:NEWS YOU NEED TO KNOW TO KNOW THINGS ABOUT THINGS YOU DON'T REALLY NEED TO KNOW [NOT INCLUDED: THE REAL THINGS YOU REALLY NEED TO KNOW]:
HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII----
[Cue: Manga-fied-hen-anime-tai-claymation-creature-feature-action scenario with weird real-life-time CGI- animation mix: avoid crafty war and other such scrapes with runes. It may lead to electro-conditioning; and other boring burnt cut-up's via some ripped "rip-off" style, using a recycled idea that never properly existed. Cue: another Cue. Cue: "Please come back and save....with our new connection offer" ]YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
PART TENcont.: STEP[OFF]2!3!4!...SURRENDER THY SACRIFICIAL BEETS...
"O world-egg, hear me.
I am Horus of millions of years.
I am lord and master of the throne.
Freed from evil, I traverse the ages
and spaces that are endless." [well-known ditty from some random Egyptian Book of the Dead; now down to last earlybird tickets for the last ever new world tour...]
"HOW MANY GOATS CAN A GOATSUCKER SUCK?" Fortean Times, August 1996
"You always look like [word lost in the revised edition]"...code: PROJECT EXCALIBUR; see ALTERNATIVE 3 re-run programme on now!
A new bit just fresh off the ye olde i-e-press and recently added for posterity of archive continuum and other weird facets of [a]historical [in]accurracy.[missing parts lost in tachyon-thought-transportation, please see Dr. Benford]:
or: A Slight Discussion on 'How Many Goats Can a Goat-Sucker Suck?' from the unpublished memoirs of Z.F.Galvez [1750-1820] expressively excreted within the mind of R.K.Galvez.
