The Galgravolt, a fearsome beast created while (Name deleted) was had reverted to a maker after his splunders had been depleted and he was trapped in the 21st century, was a beast that when born believed it was an Otter. The galgravolt was a slave to preconceptions; which was its strength. As such, if it ever realized it was a Galgravolt, it would behave as people expected a galgravolt to act; it would act as the most fearsome animal ever created by the makers. naturally, it spent most of its time crushing clams on its belly in shallow water, the stereotypical otter’s behaviour. Sometimes they could be convinced that they were Matthieu Mconnaughoise, the french Matthew McConnaughey clone from 2854. He was exactly the same as the first Matthew, only he spoke french and ate yeast deposits he grew on his incarnate ethnicity. (in those days, a person’s ethnicity lived as a discreet organism, walking beside them in the body of a polar bear. And on that bear grew yeast all over itself to feed people. This was a result of the presupposition that ethnicity sustained a person, defining “where they came from”, if you can believe it, and a person became totally dependent on their ethnicity for survival. They were also dependent on Yamtalkers for survival, but we’ll deal with that later.) At this very moment, our friend from the hyper-future, Tyra Banks, was fleeing to the hospital to have his bullet wound treated. Would he make it before the Galgravolt devoured Toronto?
I raced to the hospital to have my wound treated. Would i make it before the galgravolt devoured toronto? There was little time to smear inquisitive pastes on my legs to ask the question in paste form; i had to get this lead out of me. lead was to Galgravolts what goats were to chupacabras, or keys were to O’Brien, the Lock Man. Fortunately, i was close by Mt. Sinai, and as I rushed over the cement plateau outside a building that my suit identified as the medical science building, I felt the warm wind behind me sweeping out of the 37 degree body heated breasts.
The chestmaker was a tool created to do good, not evil, and yet the titan breasts were no doubt sending out nippulary signals to voyeurs everywhere in the galaxy. By god, what if Peter Frampton found out? You might notice that some of the names in the future resembled names here, in the distant past. Basically, don’t think about that. There’s an explanation, but, dont’ worry about it.
I skidded into the doors of Mt. Sinai, past the security guard stationed at the door to prevent hopeful doctors from sneaking in and testing out their theories on people. THere were few people, and so i took it upon myself to let myself into the hospital, my suit fabricating a chart with my medical history and placing it in my hand. What kind of illnessed did people have in this time, i wondered. Strange primitive viruses, naked bacteria, perhaps auto immune issues. It was bizzare to think about such things, yet somehow comforting, imbuing me with a kind of pride that our species had evolved so far that our diseases were made to evolve to keep up with us. Bacteria had their own civilizations now, homes, and cars, and credit cards, and a debt based economy. Their debt was a debt of sleeves though, as the vest boys had ravaged the sweaters of the great bacteriological sweater turrets and denim keeps, proud bastions of sleeved garments, themselves civilized. They were in a medieval age, if you want a clear mental image of what it was like, while the bacteria were in a 21st century kind of thing. I mean in case you need a reference point. Don’t even get me started about memes. They were had been infected with their own memes, and were forced to relive “Meet the Parents” with Ben Stiller eternally. TI turned out that that movie was the most life sustaining entitiy of your time, full of rich textures of thought and ineffible conceptual complexity.
Entering an empty room, I lay down and waited for a doctor, who to my surprise entered quickly. he was an elderly man, brown skinned indian, with prickly looking eyebrows and salt and pepper hair that reminded one of a dad kind of deal. He spoke in a smooth ayurvedic tone but with the weight of real medicine behind it.
‘So lets deal with you, alright? We have to get you totally into a mega surgery now, guy. It’s mondo readical that you got had by a gat, bromagnon man. But with mad repsect, things are getting dank, and we have to slice into ya’lls.’
I agreed, and told him so via a sympatikiss.
Moments later i was wheeled through the toothpaste green hallways into the bleeping surgery. Can you believe how fast that was? The puttering of nurses and anesthesiologists covered the muted sound of soft whimpering coming from the tear speckled surgeon whose froggy little face was thankfully coated with a surgical mast. or mask. Were masts facial things yet?
Down came the gas mask and up came the tingling sensation in my hands and legs. I barely felt the prick of the IV go in, or the cold river of anesthetic chilling my consciousness to a hibernating crawl. What i did sense, however, was the tell-tale shriek of the galgravolt. It was here, just as I slid into the gravest slumber.
To be continued….
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