Toronto Breakfast Vestments

Sent back in time to provide a preview of the adventures yet to come, I began assuming that this would be part of what was going to happen.

There, before us, stood Michael Hitler, also known as Double-Hitler, and in some drought-ridden worlds where vowels are fruit, dbl=htlr. (on those worlds, typically, hyphens undergo mitosis while being typed, causing them to appear like equals signs). He threw his head back and laughed, in a haw haw haw style, not unlike that of his namesake, Mister Hitler, of the 1930s and 40s. Hesitating no longer, we both creaked our bland whips at him, but could make no mark on his pallid Austrian face. It seemed he was a mere projection, with no substance, like an Ayn Rand novel, or a surfer.

“Fools! And related Folly-based lifeforms!” he mocked. “Don’t you know you can’t fiddle with DOUBLE-HITLER!”

Again the cruel laughter occurred. And again we laughed along, so he didn’t’ feel embarrassed. There we were, the three of us laughing with each other, brothers, in a family where one of the brothers is Double-Hitler.

“Why have you appeared to us in this form?” i asked, strontiumly.

“I exist only as this projection of what might be. There’s an interesting story about it.” And so he began. “I was just existing in my mother’s womb, as a little fetus, no bigger than a maniac’s idea of the things that are watching him. And along came some man, who claimed to be from the future. He punched my mother in her kidney guts, and her womb. Out i zipped, a red mess. At his trial, he said that he was a time traveler, who had traveled back in time to prevent the birth of the galaxy’s greatest tyrant, Double-Hitler. And so here i am. He just kept repeating it was a “real miscarriage of justice”, and then folding his hands behind his head and leaning back, smiling. He seemed quite pleased.”

“How have you survived?”

“Oh, actually, every aborted fetus survives. That’s one thing that those damned Interphase Dis-Imperialists don’t tell you in their family values this and no queers on Kelbraltior 9 that. No fetus ever dies.”

“You mean, abortion isn’t killing a person?”

“Well, you can’t abort a person. So no abortion can be murder, you see?”

‘Why not?”

“Well, if you get aborted, its because you had no soul. Actually, one of the symptoms of having a fetus inside you that has no soul is the overwhelming desire to undergo a life altering and traumatic surgery to have it removed. It’s a kind of instinct.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Let’s watch, actually. See this gun?”

“Sure.”

“Its a replica of the one that god uses to suck the souls of the people who clean his office after he goes home. Let’s zeleport over to the clinic.”

And a zeleporting we went.

“Woah, what a crazy ride that zeleporting was! Now watch. I’m going to be a doctor.”

He transformed, before our very eyes, into a greedier version of himself with less regard for human life and dignity than even Double-Hitler had had.

“Greetings ma’am, what seems to be the problem?”

“Oh, no problem. I am going to have a baby!”

“Let’s just get you an abortion, shall we?”

He forcefully grabbed her arms and pinned her down on a gurney. We wouldn’t have helped him, except it would be rude not to after he’d spent so much time grabbing her arms and pinning her down on a gurney. Within moments we were in an operating room, and he was sticking a bunch of stuff into her trying to grab that little scamp. Nevertheless, he failed on each attempt. He also made several indicative nods and winks each time, in a conveying way which hearkened back to a simpler time, when people conveyed things meaningfully, and not just over strings tied between people’s faces.

“Now, watch this,” he said over the woman’s surprisingly endurant and violent protestations. He pointed his funny gun at her, and after a brief dimming of lights by myself for effect, and some sound effects produced by Michael Winslow, from Police Academy 1 and 6 and all the other ones, a puff of white steam escaped through the woman’s belly. The meter on the gun that said “soul” now read “micro-hitler 2099″.

“Looks like we got a good one here. Now watch this. Ma’am? Ma’am?”

“yes?”

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. I don’t’ have a job, and my husband is kind of a drinker.”

‘Did you have a job this morning?”
“Yes”
“And now?”
“Now suddenly i don’t. Also, I’m rich and young and stupid and don’t want to mess up my life and a bunch of things.”
“Well, why don’t’ we just go on and grab that little tyke and give ‘er a yank?”
“yes please!” she said, rubbing her hands together like she was contemplating all the ice cream she’d get after the procedure was done.

Within moments, the tubes extracted a little red bean. Easily accomplished, considering the great difficulty and violence with which we had penetrated the woman and failed t achieve our aim earlier.

He zeleported us back to where we had been, leaving the woman to contemplate all the ice cream she’d be getting, and all the fetuses she’d be losing. “You see? You can’t kill a person by abortion. It’s impossible. If something get’s aborted, that’s is actually conclusive prof it was never human at all. Just like micro-hitler 2099, I, Double-Hitler, am not human. I’m technically a monster. And all monsters never die, we just turn into projections of our potential lives, and haunt the galaxy, starting world war 2s everywhere. I’m starting one right now. In my pants.

Again, we laughed along, as we were still feeling the effects of the delightful-fellows ray we had been struck with at his Majesty’s masquerade ball. Once all the tittering had died down some hours later, we concluded that we were quite naive about abortions, and had a lot of growing up to do, unlike Micro-Hitler 2099, who had no growing up to do, because he already knew everything. And because we aborted him earlier today. So wise. So wise.