The man from the hyper-future, Tyra Banks, stands amazed at the chest unleashed by his powerful super-suit’s chestmaker. With him are the nerd he recently met, and soeone who looks remarkably simlar to (name deleted). But it can’t be him, can it? (name deleted) is sleeping, dreaming, even now inside the frown of the universe… then who is this man? What is his plan? And his span? Fan.

The dials and knobs on my suit dialed down and knobbed down to the minimum. I was again allowed to utilize my own bodily limbs to control my directions and motions. how pleasing it was to regain that lost control.

The night air swelled with the rush if heat of the heaving breasts on the now breathing chest, and with the cries and yelps of the hapless Torontonians who had, understandably, not predicted this occurance. Torontonians are notably terrible at predicting the emergence of body parts in the middle of their city, as their future history would bear out time and time again. Old Shafty-Cocks of 2140 really springs to mind.

I turned my gaze proportionatly, following the golden ratio, towards the man who, until only an hour ago, had been my trusted companion. And yet, after vanishing into thin air at the hospital, and returning without much ado, he had seemed to be like another man who just looked like my friend. What had hapened to him? It was like taking the orange out of the orange skin and then putting some rags in the orange skin, and then saying ‘this is an orange, OR IS IT?” I’m saying this is my friend, or IS IT? You feel me?

I ji-HAD no time to find out (had no time to find out), as the blood pooling up in my suit from my recent interaction with bullets meant i had to gather my mind and hurl my body onward. Why had my friend shot into my body with his gun? It wasnt’ even a malicious gun, it was a kind looking gun. one of those little stubby guns, that you imagined the big guns always teased and that you just wanted to buy when you saw it at the gun shelter. In the age in which i come from, guns were large wooly creatures, barely resembling the primitive guns of today, but in that stubby little fellow I saw the Grintaur, the gun I had growing up. Not actually growing up, obviously, as I blinked into existence all at once due to m suit’s conclusion that it was inevitable, but nevertheless, i blinked into existence with a full life’s memory set. With a bonus expansion pack of half remembered possible victimizations.

“You’re a real dink for some reason,” i shouted, as i turned and hopped away. My suit’s inflective screens corrected my clearly pained intonations into those of a tough urban fellow. While i said “you’re a real dink for some reason”, what (name deleted) and the nerd heard was “Yo, ya’ll is total douche machine, white honkey ghost!” Cool, right? That’s pretty cool.

The suit’s wound augmenter kicked in, and my bullet wound began to feel like a scorpion bite in my hand. It wouldn’t interfere with me running, though my leg now liberated from pain, i was running awfully hard on it, and I could feel blood glooshing out. It was without a doubt the wettest my jeans had ever been thus far. I made amental note to add it to the big wet jeans scroll in the year 249,493 when i was next visiting that time.

In the dim light of king’s college circle, surrounded on all sides by venerable old buildings, universty College, a vast victorian edifice with tasteful ivy growing on every side, i could make out the nerd leaping on (name deleted) and wrestling away the gun. The starlit sky arched overhead like a threadbare shroud, permeated with vague light from beyond. There was something remarkably peaceful about this epoch, no lip-chives, scenting the night with their spicy salivas, no gontules, lobing your legs with their lobes. No scrimshaw pipes hanging from everyone’s hoary beards, drizzling out smoke into the blustering new england autumn nights. All three of the worst things in time were absent.

In the distance now echoed the sound of sirens, emergency vehicles rushing to disruptions in the city’s life. Probably the giant breasts, I’d imagine. I’d be willing to bet that that ws, by far, the biggest disruption. However, though i didn’t know it at the time… I mean, though i dno’t know it at the time, i don’t know what i’m about to say, the galgravolt had realized it was a galgravolt. The city, and everyone in it, was doomed. I dont’ know that yet though. I’m saying it with my fingers poked into my ears so i don’t’ hear myself say it.

To be continued.

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.

I scanned the waiting-room for anyone presenting signs of even minor shame. Numb faces and bored bodies slumped in uncomfortable chairs, ocasionally reaching up to distract a nurse long enough to find out where some loved one was on the Ronson-Hildegaard Wellness-Sickness scale. “Like, mondo a 4.8,” one of the nurses intoned. Poor bastard. No shame here. The nurses seemed totally inured to their own laziness and lack of quality customer service; making them embarassed for their shoddy work was unlikely. Think, man, think. What would a normal man of the past, such as yourself, do that would make them feel ashamed?

my answer came in, escorted by two copofficers, urban blue-men, soldiers of the local constabulary. “We utterly ravaged this bro while he throttled up the rage-jets to extreme Gs. He’s gotta get mega checked out, doctoroids.” Moments later, a rolling flatty came in with a lady all over its face. She was practicing blood spurting i guess. but the suit knew better. “she’s been injured by the captured man, the captured man.” Guilt?

I walked over to the two police misters and introduced myself cordially, bowing and curtsying. “How do? My name is Ms. Tyra Banks, and i want to shame your captive so that I can.. err…” I needed a plausible excuse; these men had no concept of deterministic time suits, set aside form the recent Spielberg film “Deterministic Time Suit Friends”, apparently quite a jolly romp. “I need to shame him in order to fill certain ambiguous power packs. Certain FUTURISTIC power packs.”

From my cell in the mental illness prison, in the west wing of the hospital, I was able to reevaluate my strategy. Apparently, officers of the law did not like power packs. Nuts to them. Still, now myself an inmate, my mood began its meteoric rise into sadness. One might even say, its Mesotoric Rise, the great rise of Mesotor’s mood. The mood that makes us sad, though not sadness. It’s an external mood, one we feel in the faces of other people, and allow ourselves to feel nothing. that way, everyone’s face is messed up. It’s a win win win win win win win situation.

“Hey guys of the hospital. It’s me, i’m in here. I was just thinking about how nice it would be to be let out of here.” The approach of a burly endoctored fellow proved that my strategems-bulb was full to “le maxe” with noble strategems, contained with in the strati-gems of the ruby raspberry i wore around my neck. What a lovely gift! Love had its benefits. i was in love, if i didnt’ mentoin that. In love with my ruby raspberry, in which i placed my strati-gems. Did i not mention that?

As the doctor came into the cell, i reminded him that he was under oath, and then that he was hypnotized. Whether or not he believed me is irrelevant, because he believed my fist when it said that it had hit him in the face. Belief is a funny thing, it can LITERALLY change you rbody. if you believe you dont’ ahve cancer, then the cancer doesn’t kill you, instead, it takes out a lot of loans and ruins your credit. but that’s better than dying. In this case, the doctor was convinced he had been punched upon a face, not just any face, his face. All because my first told him so, in fist-speak. Of course, fists speak by every so roughly rapping upon a face, so again, it was a win^6 situation. It was even a f(x)=2x^3 situation. “Line around” i said, to the function i was contemplating.

Scooping out my body from the inside of the cell, i sauntered jauntily through the halls, using my jaunters to saunt about, in a most casual and unsuspicious way. Perhaps it was my sauntiness that didn’t arouse suspicion, or perhaps it was the magic coat i took from the sleeping doctor in my former cell. Ah, at last, a nice white coat, with the power to tame the minds of even the great scrutinizers of the Outer Outer Outer Hebrides, in space (the outer outer Hebrides were the ones in the Earth’s core, whence, a few millenia from now, the Lava-Boys would launch their devastating PR campaign against the Rubik’s Empire (yes, an empire that was basically unsolvable, even by the Will Smith armada!)).

“Grant me your leave!” i entreated the doctors. And they genearlly granted it, as a kind of silent consensus. With that leave i begin my exit from the clutches of this primitive medical drome, sauntily jauntering my way doorwise, considering the dissapearance of old (name deleted), the friend i have in the world. Though, not technically in the world anymore. I guess he’s my only friend not in the world. Scooping out the main way, i heard a noisy boy shouting his noisy boy shouts. “Stop, one of the mental patients has blown the roost! He’s like, waaaay escaping!”

“i’m not that guy!” I shouted into a police, and then walked by, chuffed to the core with my declamation of my former life as a mental patient. i was a changed man, and awarded myself a trophy. But when a police began to say “hey what? What a minute!” i jumped into what can only be described as a room. And there, before me, sat someone I was to recognize for the rest of my life.

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

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

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to be continued….