Toronto Breakfast Vestments

When last we encountered our hero, he was dead, in the sparsely populated afterlife of frown ejecta.  The Grand Frown of The Universe has realized that he could not digest our protagonist because he was unable to give up his personality to become banal.  Or so he thought!  In actualityville, the mayor recently decreed that much of this is actually only perception, caused by the distant human descendant’s matrix of understanding, his paradigm, created by his socialization, and his various lamps which imbue young human descendants with the necessary social constructs to be totally useless to themselves and society, as Barhalluu the Wise intended.  Due to these measures, one such socially integral force imbued by blaser (bland laser) was the force of self-doubt, or Doublington’s Force, named after Chauncey Doublington, the world’s first human descendant without self-doubt.  His irritatingly self confident poncery caused his extensively planned murder, and in memory of this horrid blitheness, the very thing he most lacked was burdened with his name (as at the time, people’s names were vast megalithic monumental structures, akin to the first Earth Layer’s Pyramids of Giza, only seeping nomenclaturational greases and oils.)

Meanwhile, inside the Frowning Lad of Time and Space….

So this is what it was like to be dead.  It wasn’t that bad actually.  It was basically the same as being at a billy joel concert.  Actually, since billy joel was a musician from 9 trillion or so years in my past, i had no idea whether that reference was amusing, but in my short stint in the 21st century i’m pretty sure i heard basically 30 or so people say that, and everyone around them laughed in the manner of the era, violently, through the lone oral cavity of the face.  Imagine, laughing and eating in the same place.  disgusting.

Meanwhile, in another part of house…

“I’m calling from inside the house!”, said the voice. Just then, the operator broke in on the conversation.

Meanwhile, the exact moment that Tyra Bank teleported away from (Name Deleted)’s bullet…

Somehow, the suit had saved me, in a flash I had seen the world around me dissolve into an ambigious cloud. Swirls of color filled my vision and sense not unlike being asked to help your friend move from one house to another flooded my body. Why had (name deleted) decided to kill me? Did it have something to do with my confidence?

Meanwhile, back at the stuff …

Before me stood a white labcoat encrusted vision of awesomeness. His ignorance of my vanishing and my return meant he had no idea, no idea at all. He had walked directly into what clutches a man such as myself possessed, leathery and moist, and with gentle palpatations, fate was rubbing my facial features into a more pleased arrangement. If he thought me myself from an earlier time, then he would trust me, and i could isolate him, and slay him. This was too good to be true. Oh Tyra Banks, you are going to die. But how will that death affect me, and where was my Tyra Banks?

meanwhile, our friendly companion in his invisible shame-powered destiny-based suit searches for his missing friend, our protagonist (name deleted).

Shame. Shame. I had to find someone to shame. The suit’s power was running low, and if it ran out in its present invisible state, it would be stuck invisible forever. IT was not entirely a terrible proespect, but it meant that people would probably never understand how it was i was able to do all the marvellous things i could do, as they could not see the apparent explanation of the suit. Needless to say, taking credit for the work of a funny sci fi type suit was essentially one of the worst Sharms.

Meanwhile, back at the hospital, the two strangers who crashed into the clock tower on old city hall had just arrived…

Having waited for some time in the oubliet where the families of patients were abandoned, I decided to sing some more tunes to my fellow inmates. Numerous professionals of the hospital attempted to crush my burgeoning musical spirit, but I was resolute. I flashed my index finger and told them that they didn’t own me, that I was my own man, that I could do what I liked, and that I was a being composed of elements no heavier than iron. They were aware of all those facts, they told me, and wanted to see me in private. This was good news. I had probably won a prize.

I walked with two large men, both named Security Man (as far as i was concerned) to a small enclave near the emergency entrance of the hospital. I knew i recognized this hospital, i’d seen it before. THe torpidscraller I was using to track down my victims had it displayed on the packaging actually, as an indication of the kind of flashy memory you might be able to read if only you purchased this brand of torpidscraller.

There, at the entrance, I was enthroned in a regal chair with stately handcuffs attached to an imperious metal clasp. Restrained in grandeur befitting my status, I was again abandoned by lesser primitives of this backward world to consider my own nutrients in private. Good old Glucose, master of the blood.

The truth was that nomatter how many nutrients I considered, (excluding ghost-calcium) I could only think about my buddy. Somewhere inside the hospital he lay, vomiting and asking for change, deep in his flashback to his time spent in hobo-nam. Ye shall be avenged, I pretended. They were probably tubing him up and down with their primitive tubes. And where was I? In some little office spot, with all the nutrients i coudl think of, just mentally enjoying the cycles and rhythms of my body (and any lady’s body too, you know what I mean?).

The waiting was killing me. I took invintory of the items i could see with my eyes wide open, visually scanning with actual real working eyes. I saw the table, the cuffs, the clasp. the clock on the wall that looked like the face of Sir Numberface, who sold me the magic cloak that let me pass through wisconsin undetected. But based on my knowledge of this time period, i knew that the security boys were probably calling the police boys. They woudl totally bust me! Nats!

This was the kind of situation where ordinarily i might give up hope, but ordinarily, I didn’t have exactly the person i was waiting for come into the room i was in, dressed as a doctor, and hugging my body and kissing my face.

“Hey, buddy, what happened to you? did they give you those new clothes?”

“Who cares about my clothes,” he replied in this room with me, “I just cant’ beelive you are here. they think you’ve vanished. i should have known you’d be okay.”

“Vanished? Vanished? OOOH NO.” It was the kind of meaningful realization that I get to have where you dont’ get to know the details until later in the book. It was that kind of realization that only happens to me, and then later, you know, you go back and say “OF COURSE”. Suffice it to say, I “magically got out of my handcuffs and zapped the guy and escaped”.

to be continued…

Meanwihle, inside the Pale Frown of the Universe…

“I think Obama’s honey-moon is over.”

The firmament arched like a vast emptiness like the emptiness between Matrimonions, the married onions that act as surrogate married couples for people in love who dont’ want to ruin that good feeling. My plan wasn’t working. banality might be insufficient, like a clown with an egg. Yet I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Meanwhile, back at the hospital.

Deprived of my descendant and his torpidscraller, I am resorting to the old means of storing information. I held in my hand several 8 inch floppy disks which I magnetized variously to retain what words I could think of to describe my situation, or sitch, as I called it. You could basically do that to any word. Or, you cou bas d th t an wo. This is the method used by the Chadfolk in their Fratlands.

As i lay contemplating my ingestion at the hands of Ye Lad of Fort Frown, Pallid Lamb of Frown Pasture, I realized that I was alone. The lad handers of my recent sand handing salmon hand, sand in hand astride we strode, by the sea, he and I, that lake of common blindungsroman we swam, swam handing our salmondary hand lands. He was gone. Tyra Banks was gone. These bland hands now were blaming my glands for handling themselves so poorly. By passing out, or phase-grazing on the green grass of frowning space faces, my heart was sliced by those garden variety blades.