he hated it, but what could he do? he was trapped ...
Options were considered one by one, and sequentially discarded. The zeppelin rose higher, through the low mists of Kem and on towards the full moon... undoubtedly where the loathsome creatures, even now, having recovered from their route by the cats, prepared their noxious rites anew. Rudy looked about, feeling the tendrils of helplessness slowly beginning to pull his spirit into the nether regions of despair... no escape! The bass rumble of the mighty engines, the gibbering of the hideous crew, the evil stares his frog-like captors gave him... it was small wonder when Rudy finally lapsed into unconscienceness. He woke to the sounds of alarm... mad piping of the airship's whistles, frantic bubbling and slopping of the crew. And a new sound, that of baleful growls and sharp hisses. One of the frog-madnesses loped past him, shrieking and clamoring, batting with its forelimbs at the furry attacker on its back. A cat! More of the frog-beasts screamed and flailed about frantically on the deck, wailing and gibbering, attempting without success to free themselves from their minature foes. Within minutes, the hanger was free of the moon beasts, although the sounds of battle raged elsewhere in the ship. Several of the feline troopers took notice of him, and approached cautiously, eyes alert for foes who may have taken refuge amongst the crates and barrels stored in the dark recesses of the hanger. Rudy called out to them, in that language of cats understood by so few, identifying himself as an ally, and pleading for assistance in escape. At once the ears of the captain perked up, for he knew that name, and the name of the mentor Carter. Orders were given to free the captive, which the cats accomplished quickly through so much gnawing and scatching at the heavy cords. Freed from the bindings of the moon creatures, Rudy humbly thanked his rescuers, his slight bow being returned with a salute by the captain. The only sounds to be heard above the engines now were the warls of the different squads reporting in. Knowing little of the feline battle language, Rudy relaxed only after the captain explained the ship was now free of its loathsome crew, and that the detachment was prepared to aide Rudy in his return to Kem.
*CLICK* Morglewart Haffniff removed the VR headset. He was getting sickeningly tired of the Randolph Carter program. Much too sappy. He switched all the computers off and looked around the cramped lab. There was absolutely nothing left to do; Morglewart had run through all the VR scenario-programs at least a million times; he had figured Pi to at least 500 places (discovering, by coincidence, his phone number amongst the digits, as well as the number of the Mawratt Pizza Parlour nearest him); he had written every word of the Galactic Constitution on his fingernails and toenails (a feat of immense skill, if he didn't say so himself). We could go on enumerating everything Morglewart did to pass time, but that would only delay us, and besides, some of the things would be far too private for us to talk about, it being none of our business, and Morglewart being of a timid disposition and embarrasing easily.
Anyway, we must continue, for every good story has something going on in it, other than just the senseless, pretensious chatter of the omnipresent, omnipotent narrator trying to be clever. Hmm. Well. On then.
Morglewart's unfortunate job was Monitor of Existance Checkpoint #5. Morglewart's home planet, a rich populous planet in the Moog system, was governed by a particularly solipsistic group of philosopher kings. They found themselves constantly in doubt that there existed anything else but what they could see. And yet, they all suffered the nagging notion that perhaps there was something more to just perception. Perhaps things did exist even if noone looked at them, the thought fearfully. In order to test this theory, they set up close to a million "Existance Checkpoints". Each checkpoint would be manned by a person, the idea being that as long as someone was there to look, there would be more things existing. The second benefit to these checkpoints were that the Philosopher-Leaders could call into any checkpoint to reassure himself that something he wasn't looking at was still existing of its own accord (or at least the accord of the Appointed Perceiver who manned each station). So there were near to a million of these checkpoints spread all over the surface of the planet, as well as in various points in orbit and beyond. (All for the peace of mind for a bunch of solipsists who had never heard of Jean-Paul Sartre, who, in a quiet galaxy millions of light years away, had resolved the problem of solipsism somewhat comfortably).
Morglewart had the painfully tedious job of Appointed Perceiver at one of the Existance Checkpoints located in orbit around his home planet Cassada. At first it seemed like a good job, you know, just sitting around getting paid for existing. He bragged to all his friends before finally taking the job that he would have it better than they ever would. Now, sitting and looking blankly out the viewport at the mocking void of space, he realized what a monumental ASS he was. "Fuck," he cursed, rubbing his nose. The communicator bleeped, and a strangely bovine face blinked into existence on the communicator's screen. Morglewart groaned involuntarily at the sight of King Mooshnooshpooshawoosh. "Perceiver Haffniff, are you there???" Keying the communication controls, Morglewart entertained the notion of just not answering, but realized he was already to sensorily deprived to give up an actual conversation with another sentient being (if indeed the Philosopher Kings of Cassada could indeed be considered sentient). "This is Perceiver Haffniff here. Yes, Your Majesty?" The irony in Morglewart's voice as he breathed the last two words were completely lost on the King, as usual. "Haffniff, present location in orbit would put you in the best place to see the moon. It's day here, and I was wondering if you can see the moon." Morglewart looked glanced briefly out the viewport at the big grey sphere and nodded. "Yep. It's still here." A look of relief washed over the king's face. "Describe it to me." Morglewart looked at the moon again, drifting like the pitted face of some collosal halfwit. He started to process some metaphors in his mind, then gave up disgusted. I'm not a fucking poet, he thought to himself. "Umm...I can't here you, O Great King. The signal is breaking up...I think I'm losing you..." He killed the connection and turned off the comminicator. He rested his aching head on his plush seatback and heaved a sigh big enough for the entire contemptible universe. "Bugger it all."
Suddenly, Morgelwart the Nimrod or whatever the fuck his name is got a brilliant idea. "I know what I shall do!" said Morgelwart. "I shall run into traffic naked while furiously masturbating!" And so Morgelwart the Douchebag did thus, and God looked at Morgelwart, and God said, "That's Good." And Morgelwart of Galilee looked at God, and Morgelwart said, "That's God."
As Morglewart looked up at God, he was quickly dispatched by a gigantic hand swooping down and crushing him. God smiled, and went back to reading his favorite book, Bonfire of the Vanities.
Now, it just so happened that Morgelwart's ejaculatory demise while in VR was witnessed by King Mooshnooshpooshawoosh, as poor Morgelwart never realised that the communicator could never really be turned off. For alas, the Existence Checkpoints served not as existence checkpoints (a rather silly notion, considering the existence of the universe is within One's Self, or rather, the Self of the Philosopher Kuing-Mind), but rather as instruments of torture for the common folk who would presume to fill roles of pseudo-import. And of course, torture for the common folk is but amusement for the Kuing-Mind. Hah!
"Good death! Good death!" lauded Prince Pu, a comely sicophant of the K-M. The King turned one distainful eye upon the prince, while searching for another being to torture. 636 suicides in the past hourmak; how would the two of them ever get through all of the remaining checkpoints before the end of Zumtide?
At last, 32 seconds later, he had locked on to another victim, this time a young female part-time computer programmer, who spend the other part-time reading trashy works such as Bonfire of the Vanities. Licking the King's ass in anticipation, Prince Pu trembled excitedly with the thought of another good death so soon.
But in response to the King's summons for pointless drivel, the lithe figure, with a curiously blank expression, reached impossibly through the viewscreen of the communicator, shoved the prince's head into the King's behind, and then reached within the King's screaming mouth to pull the prince entirely through the once-powerful monarch. "Pysch! Stoke! Ah... God," she said, and, as she was in fact God, she then smiled, and said, "That IS good." And then went to the next chapter.
Then suddenly they went into a sex frenzy... First it was just a little frenching... but then they got totally naked and fucked right then and there. Oh my god this is the best sex I've ever had she told him. All you could hear after that was intense groaning...
mostly on the part of the audience though. the screening was almost over, and even this dedicated cast had to admit their film was in serious jeopardy. The sheer audacity of the project had been daunting, but with a director of such stature, anything seemed possible. However, that sense of reckless abandon had given way to a more realistic sense of doom. There was one ray of hope though...
"Was that not brilliant?" praddled Eisenstein. "A masterpiece! My masterpiece! Capitalist decadence at its highest level... er, form!"
Vaslov attempted to smile, but failed. "Ah, Sergei... one might notice the general LACK of enthusiastic applause... excepting, of course, Comrade Stalin." Ivanovich Vaslov was clearly uncomfortable with his role in breaking news of the defeat to the famous producer. "Perhaps it would be more effective, given the limited culture" - Eisenstein's eyes flashed fury at this - "ah, EDUCATION, yes, education of our general viewing public, to keep this tale on a consistent thread, perhaps, ah, more accessible to the mentality of the masses."
Sergei Eisenstein removed his pinchnez, and began to absentmindedly clean the lenses with his shirt tales. "Gulbec... Gulbec, you may have a point. While such brilliance is easily understood by the likes of you and me... and our great Comrade Stalin... perhaps a simpler storyline would be more appropriate." He finished cleaning the lenses, and began stuffing his shirt back into his pants. "Well...?"
Gulbec Ivanovich Vaslov did smile, now. "Ah, Sergei, my friend. The film we have cut is good, is good. But here is what I would suggest as an improvement..."
For the next three hours, in the oppressive heat of the over-thermalized theatre, Vaslov sketched out his ideas of damage control to the grand master. Eisenstein listened attentively, nodding frequently but uttering few words. At the end of the session, the both had agreed upon a plan to put the project back on track (as the Amerikansy would say), and salvage it for the viewing public. The sex scenes would be expanded, and the references to Rudy Falgheim and Morglewart Halfniff would be eliminated. Instead, the plot would revolve around a dark 1920's noir of incest, secrets, betrayal and finally servant uprisings against the decadent. A damnable affirmation of Western society, all of its free-wheeling ideas of irresponsibility, and lack of obligation to society. As it was a state-funded project, there would be little difficulty in getting the required finances to continue the work. The stage was truly set for success...
"A-HAH!" - Exclaimed Dr. Dodovitch as he swiftly lifted his head from the deluge of paper work he had been engrossed with. "I have finally found the final answer to the secret of the universe and life itself!!!!!" he paused and drew a deep breath and.... PUM! PUM! PUM! PUM! '"The Energizer Bunny.....it keeps going and going and going....and going...'" Dr Dodovitch (and you the reader) drew a sigh of relief from that instant horror before you realized that it was just the stupid TV which had been left on all this time and the commercial seeped into the stupid dialog. Once again, Dr. Dodovitch drews his breath in preparation into divulging his findings. "Uh...what was I talking about...???"
Dr. Dodovitch read the past paragraph and somehow sense a feeling of dejavu. But it was too late. He now realized his mistake and forgot to turn off the reality echolizer and decided to call it a fucking day.
A bright light / Creation / Nuclear blast... the audience cringes from the screen. Is there no escape from this chaos?
"Morglewart!" the crowd chanted, "Morglewart! Morglewart!"