Argwuhl shaded his eyes with his slim hand and gazed out over the alien vista. Not so much as a liatkcoc anywhere in sight. This was going to be another of those long, thirsty days that seemed to follow each other endlessly like boxer shorts through a cheese slicer. Argwuhl took a moment to pause and remember how it all began.
After completion of the rigorous training necessary to become a full fledged member of the Drunkenness Through Intoxication Society (DIS), he had gone on a week-long training binge just to get in shape for the upcoming Grand Tourney. He drank as he had never drank before, consuming any kind of intoxicant put before him as he tossed them back like so many aspirin. Things had gone well at first, he had broken things, fallen down, he had even been slapped several times, but then the strain of competitive drinking had taken its toll. The first thing that happened was the lightning quick contraction of the disease Pitcavagism, which insidiously removes the ability to communicate via the written word. Luckily, he had blacked out, but not before having contracted both Kenowism, and Furmanosis.
After blacking out, only bits and pieces of events, awakening to a strange thrumming sound, awakening again to see a grotesque Elvis impersonator standing over him, and over him. Finally he had regained full consciousness to find himself here, wherever here was. awakening yet again to a thrumming Elvis impersonator crooning
Argwuhl shook himself out of his pensive reverie to once again begin his trek. For a lack of a better goal, he had set his feet walking, ever walking, towards a distant glow that always seemed to be just over the horizon.
Argwuhl had a few scant supplies to sustain him. When he had awaken alone, he had only the clothes on his back, a canteen of water, a few meager packages of dehydrated foods, some matches, a jar of anchovies, some olives, and a quart of milk of magnesia. At least he wouldn't be bored.
He had started out in the center of an empty plane. Upon leaving the aircraft, he had found himself in the center of an empty plain. Now the land had begun to gently undulate into small hills that hid treacherous crevices. It was upon reaching the peak of one of the taller hills that Argwuhl was surprised to see before him ...
Joe's Diner. Heralded throughout the universe as having the finest lead-based cuisine ever experienced, the strange disappearance of Joe's Diner from the planet Xorn was legendary. But even stranger was the strangeness of the strange owner and proprietor of Joe's, Ohmblug.
Ohmblug had been a gentle soul until a meteorite had knocked a corner off his squarish head. From that moment on, Ohmblug was susceptible to terrifying fits of violence, which often ended with Ohmblug mixing his own drool with the blood and brains of his victim, forming a ghoulish but surprisingly tasty pastry spread.
Then one morning Joe's was gone, leaving only a circle of charred dirt and rock where Joe's once stood, emitting a radiation so intense that anyone foolish enough to approach had all his skin melt from his body, his organs swell to bursting, and his bones turn to dust. Even more terrifying was the same fate befell all the victim's relatives, no matter how far away they lived. So what was Joe's doing here?
Argwuhl knew intuitively that this was the first of six tests he must pass on his journey. Where his journey led was unknown to him, but discovering the secret of Joe's Diner was the first step. He moved closer cautiously.
The door squeaked as he opened it, and all conversation stopped, as the three occupants turned to gape at him. Instinctively, Argwuhl knew that the creature behind the counter was Ohmblug, and the two seated at the counter were customers. Argwuhl moved to the end of the counter, taking a seat that would keep the three always in his line of sight.
Ohmblug moved closer, put both paws on the counter and asked "what'll it be, Argwuhl?" Argwuhl trembled in fear. "How do you know my name?" "I know much" was the reply. Argwuhl had to think fast. Using all his training, he must phrase the next question in such a way that Ohmblug would be impressed, not driven into one of his rages, which would very likely end in Argwuhl's death, abruptly ending the journey, just as it was getting moderately interesting.
"What do you have that's cold?" asked Argwuhl. When the corner of what appeared to be Ohmblug's mouth curled up, Argwuhl assumed it to be a positive sign, he hardly noticed the low frequency hum which emanated from one of the occupants. Without a word, only that little hint of wry acceptance, Ohmblug headed into the back room. It was a tense four days sitting in the diner before he returned with the Elixir Mixer, but it gave Argwuhl time to size up the other patrons of Joe's.
The one nearest him had to be out of the Tramlev system. In a weird way, he reminded Argwuhl of one time blue's great Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy and his Lonesome Trio. Just by the way he shook his head, you could picture Jimmy up on stage "don't want no mo, don't want no mo, don't want no mo." If Argwuhl only knew how much that comparison would mean in the upcoming tests of his being.
The other "customer" had a more ominous aura about him. It appeared that the room darkened, nay, became absorbed by this creature. It was impossible to distinguish any tell-tale features of the entity. Could it be a link to the disappearance of Joe's from Xorn? Maybe he, or it, was a guardian of Ohmblug's rage. He had heard of forces existing solely on the violent emotions of others, but dismissed this as a myth created by the time lords for their own selfish power struggles.
Now that Ohmblug had returned with the Elixir Mixer, part animal, part Oster Food Master, he looked forward to quenching his parched tongue. "We have specialty, now" uttered Ohmblug as the room dimmed. It had escaped the observation of Argwuhl that another day was about to pass in his quest. Little significance when compared to the whole picture, or the times when entire months slid by unnoticed during his training days. "DIS has no comparison ta this" blurted out Jimmy's impersonator. How could he know of his indoctrination into the Society?
It became increasingly obscure as to his purpose or function in Joe's. Was his awareness fading from his body? He looked down to see he was standing in a pool of fetid liquid. Did it come from him? Or was he careless in his movement about the diner? He struggled to revive his cohesiveness. He must be fully conscious to survive the task before him. He must not allow these distractions to diffuse the gravity of his situation.
Ohmblug had finally prepared something for Argwuhl to drink. He placed it in front of him. It looked inviting. He had never seen such a luminescent drink before. Even the far corner of the diner seemed alive with the excitement contained within the glass. "You must drink now" instructed Ohmblug. Not wanting to instill the anger of the proprietor, Argwuhl raised the glass in a toasting gesture and began to drink. When he approached the bottom, he took one huge last gulp and slammed the glass down on the counter. It wasn't until then that he realized
he had no way of paying for his drink. Argwuhl choked down the last of the drink with a gasp, while reflecting on the fact that it was the finest drink he had ever had. It was then that his DIS training betrayed him. Without a thought and totally as a reflexive action, he said "set me up another".
"Great" he thought to himself. "Having one drink on the arm would have probably cost me my arm, but for two drinks he'll demand my spleen. Without trying to appear to be looking out of the corner of his eye, he looked out the corner of his eye at Ohmblug.
"What are you looking at me out of the corner of your eye for?" he demanded with all the charm of a rabid pit bull. "You can pay for these drinks, can't you?" he said as he leaned closer and clenched his fists. Those fists deserved some further attention. Some called them paws, and others called them hands, but Ohmblug just called them Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It didn't matter which one hit, you'd just better be outside of the blast radius.
It was then that the Jimmy twin piped in, "He's good for it, Ohmblug. You got my word on it." This seemed to be good enough for him, so the proprietor of Joe's Diner went back to his Elixir Mixer and began prodding it into action.
By this time, Argwuhl's mind was reeling from recent events. Finding Joe's Diner here, trying to fathom what the first of his six tests would be, Ohmblug's strange recognition of him, and finally this Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy double who seemed to know everything that was going on and enjoying it immensely. He had to get away for a moment and think so he did the time honored method of escape and said to Ohmblug "which way to the john?"
Ohmblug pointed a painted talon to the patterned portico partitioned partially from the perspective of the patrons. By this time he had to pee so he made haste in that direction. Upon entering the bathroom he was startled to find Heather Locklear handing out towels. She turned to Argwuhl and said
"$35 bucks a half hour, bub. Cash or charge?" smiling sweetly. Always quick with the suggestive line, Argwuhl replied, "
for using you or the toilet?" smiling sweetly. He was enjoying himself for the first time since his journey began. Her reply brought him back to reality in a hurry. "How you use your dick is up to you."
Insight, as painful as a railroad spike driven between his eyes, drove Argwuhl to his knees. This was the test! Surviving a trip to the bathroom. The irony was almost too much. Members of DIS spent half their life worshipping the porcelain god. Argwuhl allowed his mind to drift into free association, one of the most highly developed talents of any true DIS Associate. Heather.....a field of green and yellow.....Locklear..... Lock.....on a safe.....burglars peel a safe.....Lear.....a jet.....peel.....banana.....banana peel.....fast.....what is fast as a Lear jet and looks like a banana peel.....Argwuhl knew. "Captain Potassium" he shrieked, and Captain Potassium appeared with a flash.
"Have a banana. I see you've met Daiquiri?" Captain Potassium said, and looked at Argwuhl with eyes like dandelions, waiting expectantly for the question that would allow him to reveal all.
Argwuhl replayed in his mind all he knew about Captain Potassium. He and Daiquiri always took on the appearance of a person's favorite TV show. Argwuhl's favorite show was T.J. Hooker, and Captain Potassium did look remarkably like Adrian Zmed, standing there in a bright yellow spandex jump suit with a green cape and a large K on his chest. If Argwuhl asked the proper question, which would be obvious if he had been paying attention, Captain Potassium would answer it, and explain how to get out of the mess Argwuhl was in. Argwuhl quickly reviewed the last four pages of the narrative, searching for the all important question. He found it on page three, he hoped, and asked "What about the guy who looks like Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy?" Captain Potassium's smile told Argwuhl that he had asked properly.
"He is your spiritual guide through the six testing zones. There are dark forces trying to prevent your indoctrination into the society. In another time they would be called Prohibitionists. You may have noticed the unpleasant fellow sitting with Jimmy. If you had failed this test, he would have sucked all the fluid from your body and destroyed your soul. Being the first test, he was rather easy to spot. Each step on your journey will be increasingly difficult. After you pass a test, Jimmy will give you a power cube. Six power cubes form an Eye of Fermentation, which allows you to drink in any establishment gratis. Guard the cubes carefully, for a lost cube is lost forever. Remember the old DIS saying "Five power cubes and a quarter will buy you the daily paper." Go to Jimmy, he will pay your bar tab. It was rather paltry for a DIS Associate though, don't you think?" And with that parting rebuke, Captain Potassium and Daiquiri were gone.
Somewhat dazed, Argwuhl returned to the counter, wishing he had remembered to urinate as he had intended. Jimmy held out a small gray cube, mumbled "I be seein' you soon, boy", paid the tab and wandered out the door. Argwuhl felt himself being lifted by an invisible force. He sensed an unknowable, unspeakable being as he was transported through time to
a magical land. "I'm going to Dis(ney)land", Argwuhl exclaimed before he blacked out.
Argwuhl shaded his eyes with his slim hand and gazed out over the alien vista. Not so much as a liatkcoc anywhere in sight. This was going to be another of those long, thirsty days that seemed to follow each other endlessly like boxer shorts through a cheese slicer. Argwuhl took a moment to pause and remember how it all began.
After completion of the rigorous training necessary to become a full fledged member of the Drunkenness Through Intoxication Society (DIS), he had gone on a week-long training binge just to get in shape for the upcoming Grand Tourney. He drank as he had never drank before, consuming any kind of intoxicant put before him as he tossed them back like so many aspirin. Things had gone well at first, he had broken things, fallen down, he had even been slapped several times, but then the strain of competitive drinking had taken its toll. The first thing that happened was the lightning quick contraction of the disease Pitcavagism, which insidiously removes the ability to communicate via the written word. Luckily, he had blacked out, but not before having contracted both Kenowism, and Furmanosis.
No, no, that wasn't the way it happened at all. It all seemed so familiar. He had been through this once before. What the fuck was happening? Now he remembered, it must have been the last side effects of Ohmblug's specialty. He reached into his pouch to confirm that he hadn't lost his latest acquisition. Sure enough, there it was, snuggling next to the milk of magnesia was his cube. Now to determine what his next test would be. He took a quick swig of MOM as he surveyed the land before him, again.
He seemed to be standing in a large depression, maybe 30 meter's square, with slight peninsulas at one end. As always with his back to the blinking sun, he began to waddle to the crater's edge, hoping to scale its barriers. He noticed as he was pawing through the granular composite, a sickly sweet smell, and then he heard it. Like the wind carrying a message before a storm. Like death. Like frightened animals before a seismic event. Like taxes. Like an inevitable Stallone sequel. The ground shook, throwing him back into the crater, with the words still wafting over him ..."oohf ran kee.....oohf ran kee". What the hell kind of test was this?
After what seemed like 3 days in a hell hole, constantly experiencing setbacks for every attempt up the side, Argwuhl finally made it up the glucosy side of the crater. Looking for the highest ground, with the sun at his back, he began his trek. Just a walkin'. Just a walkin'. Just a walkin'. When he reached the nearest summit, contrary to his training, the urge to look back overtook him. Maybe the knowledge of where he had come from would help in his quest. Through the cyclic sun's sintering signal, somehow, somewhere, senseless images of enormous animal tracks perpetrated the horizon. Could they be mouse tracks?
Characteristically the sky grew dark. Uncharacteristically the sky didn't grow light. Maybe he had missed the "on" cycle. Could his eyes be playing tricks on him? No, he hadn't had a drink since Joe's Diner. Great, just what I need now. The damn bulb burn out or what? He looked up only to see
the Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy twin riding the back of an enormous dung beetle large enough to block out the meager moonlight. He landed the insect a few scant yards from Argwuhl's position and then proffered one hand while grasping a perfectly proportioned pommel of a saddle as he perched precariously on the proponderous beast.
"It's about time you got here", Argwuhl mumbled none too graciously. "I was beginning to think you had bailed out on me."
"There is more to heaven and earth Argwuhl than is dreamt of in your philosophy", was the Jimmy^3 clone's only reply.
By this time Argwuhl had completed his ascent of the creature's back (feeling somewhat like Sir Edmund Hilary) and was strapping himself into the vacant saddle on the beetle's broad back. As soon as he had indicated he was secure the beetle unceremoniously began beating its wings and moments later they were hundreds of feet in the air. By this time some of Argwuhl's entomology schooling began to come back to him and he wondered how an insect that couldn't fly was indeed flying. Then again, how could an insect that was supposed to be no larger than a quarter become the size of a Kenworth? I guess if you can't explain the big problems why worry about the little ones, and as the Jimmy^3 progeny didn't seem to be offering any explanations he decided to just relax and study the area around him.
The entire area as far as the eye could see was nothing but scorched desert with small hills breaking the flatness of the plain. It was then he noticed what appeared to be a large tower of some kind standing at the horizon. This tower also seemed to be their goal as they were headed straight towards it. Leaning forward and yelling to be heard over the rushing wind he asked "What is that tower up ahead for?"
"All will be made clear", was the somewhat cryptic reply.
Since the Jimmy^3 doppleganger didn't seem to be ready to offer any information on the subject, Argwuhl decided to try to make some sense of the events of the past few days. But before he could begin his reverie waves of sound roared over him, apparently emanating from the tower ahead. And then he recognized the sound. It was a horribly amplified rendition of Frank Sinatra singing "I've Got The World On A String".
But who the hell was Frank Sinatra? How did he know the voice? Puzzled, he went into a DIS trance—and all was revealed. Frank Sinatra was a minor personality from the same society that produced the two greatest entertainers of all time. Elvis and Dean Martin. So why was Sinatra here? He turned toward Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy, but he had already dismounted and begun striding toward the tower. Argwuhl rushed after Jimmy^3, and caught up just in time to pay the $6 cover charge to enter.
The room was packed. Frank Sinatra was just leaving the stage to hearty applause. Argwuhl glanced around, trying to get an idea of who would appreciate this type of music, and was shocked to realize everyone looked familiar. Mel Torme, Robert Goulet, Florence Henderson—all the have nots from yesteryear. Why were they here? Why was Argwuhl here?
This must be the second test. Thinking of it, Argwuhl reached into his pocket to check for the first cube. It was warm to the touch, almost like it was excited. What shape would this test take? He glanced at Jimmy^3, who only smiled. "I'm on my own", Argwuhl thought, and glanced at the stage, just as Steve and Edie started to croon "Mack the Knife". Argwuhl felt he must solve this puzzle soon, or go mad.
He needed a drink badly, and went off in search of one. As he shouldered through the crowd, he felt someone, or something, following him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the biggest bellhop he'd ever seen. "Your bag, Sir?" the bellhop said as he caught up to Argwuhl, and offered a large pink suitcase to Argwuhl. Should he take it, or was it a trap set by the Dark Ones. And now a dilemma. Was the test the suitcase or the gathering? Or the Elvis impersonator closing in quickly, looking like he wanted his pink suitcase back? Weighing the options, Argwuhl chose
to pummel the bellhop with a barrage of hammer like blows, sending him to the ground. As the crowd watched the handler of the bags spiral downward to the checkerboard linoleum Argwuhl grabbed an unsuspecting Keno runner to use as a body shield against the approaching Elvis impersonator.
"You may release the girl now, Mr. Argwuhl", the King said in a husky, husky burning voice. "You have successfully navigated around the Horrid Suitcase of Polyester. Had you accepted the bellhop's offering, you would have been interned to the Stupendous Tower of Syrupy Lounge Acts for all eternity and then some."
With a gesture to the rubber-necking patrons, he shooed them away like flies on a dead carp and then held out a power cube to be added to the Eye of Fermentation passport. Argwuhl gladly took the geometric symbol of free drinking (which happened to be attached to a coupon for free popcorn) with great ecstasy. Only four more tests, he thought. He popped a couple anchovies into his mouth and followed the Gyrator of Hips into the gambling mecca just past the stage.
What a fantastic collage of people, animals, and poshkinnies everywhere to be seen. Not one inch of ceiling space was left unused. With a 75 cent Heineken and a ˝ lb hot dog of fire, he wandered aimlessly from station to station, watching the multiple variations of the Wegam game. Hypnotized by the glowing game tokens, he sat down to play.
A sudden warm glow at his fingertips when he reached into his pocket for more credits reminded him of his quest. Looking up from his spot at the table, he expected to see Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy and obtain some clue as to his next test. He wasn't there. Not panicking, he studied the dealer. Why was he twitching, blinking, and turning his head to the right all the time? Was this a tip on how to play his hand? Argwuhl glanced over to see a scantily clad hostess with a tray full of drinks, waiting to serve him. He decided to retire from the game to take in some DIS training. He didn't know how long it had been since he had wet his lips and puked on his shoes.
After finishing off the cocktail waitress's tray of kamikazes, he turned to thank the dealer for his timely observation. But another hostess appeared with a tray of Yeagermeisters. Upon completion, he turned again to find another tray of drinks in his face. Everywhere he turned there was another tray of drinks to be drunk. It was like a shooting gallery, only easier. After finishing one tray, he turned to the next, and the next, and the next. He was beginning to wear a hole in the carpet. As he spun from empty to full, he noticed the glasses were getting bigger yet the waitresses and the room were getting smaller.
Finally, at a gargantuan height, he was hit in the temple by the trapeze act, and fell into the safety net, unconscious. When he awoke, he found himself at the top of a deserted Wet and Wild with no running water (which was good—no DIS member could stand the vile liquid) and wearing green plaid. His chronograph told him he had been out for 6 months (or maybe he needed a new battery. Who looks at watches anyway?). The need to get down from the elevated waterway and change his clothes was so great that he had to slide down the tube, in fact there was no other way. A third of the way down, Argwuhl noticed the increasing buildup of heat due from the lack of lubrication. The polyester plaid didn't help much. It was well before the end of the run that Argwuhl passed out from the pain of the friction, but not before he had a vision of...
Roseanne Arnold singing the national anthem, grabbing her crotch, and then spitting. Blessed unconsciousness then swept over him.
Argwuhl awoke to find that he had a horrible pain in his head (the drinks), a searing pain on his backside (the burn from the slide), and a soaked head (from the water that was now coursing down the water slide, the bottom of which he was sitting at). Puzzled that no change in location or cheap plot advancement had taken place while he was unconscious Argwuhl struggled to stand. This was a struggle because it was then he noticed that hundreds of fine fibers had been draped across his body that were anchored on either side of him. Looking more closely he could see that there were hundreds of tiny showgirls with their giant headpieces running about making sure the straps were secure. A bizarre plot twist. This was more like it. Now things were more back to normal. Now onward.
"Where am I, Lilliput?" he asked of the tiny vixens.
The question didn't elicit any response from the hoard. 'Think, Argwuhl, think'. That's what they'd taught him in his DIS training. No, wait. It was 'Drink, Argwuhl, drink'. Thinking hadn't been too highly stressed. Oh well, it couldn't hurt to try.
Either he was still huge and these people were normal sized or he had returned to normal size and these people were extremely small. Which was it? 'God, I'm not trained to do this', he thought. 'Might as well go with what I know'.
"Has anybody got something strong to drink?" he inquired.
This got a response. Two of the tiny tarts tottered over to his trussed head and told him...
without alliteration, it was too early in the morning for that, "The nigger's a cube, captain." and giggled, staring at him expectantly with big doe eyes like Donna Mills. Although if you hadn't seen all the early Donna Mills movies you wouldn't know she had doe eyes.
This was a cryptic message indeed. Was it a reference to the power cubes? To Star Trek, meaning William Shatner also of TJ Hooker Fame? Or to comedian Franklin Ajaye, who was the author of that line. But Argwuhl couldn't concentrate because the two showgirls had crawled onto his cheeks and one was staring into each eye. Gaily they said in stereo, "Are those two power cubes in your pocket, or are you just glad to see us?" and started laughing so hard they rolled off his face and hit the water with a feathered, sequined, showgirl plop.
Argwuhl was ecstatic. Obviously they were referring to Franklin Ajaye. "I was arrested by an L.A. cop for being a nigger on a sunny day," he quoted, and waited for the fibers to loosen. Instead he heard two more feathery plops as the showgirl scaling his sideburns fell back into the water, laughing hysterically. Argwuhl looked around and saw all the other tiny showgirls doubled over with laughter. One would sit up, wipe away a tear, say "Nigger on a sunny day" and collapse again.
A small fist pulling on his eyelashes got his attention. The girl on his forehead stared into his left eye, the girl on his nose into the right. Argwuhl was getting seasick trying to keep them in focus, and focusing on a soggy showgirl was a neat trick. They said in unison "Wrongo, Arg baby, but since you told us a new joke we're giving you a second try. Very much against the rules, but it's worth it." And the Donna on his nose - Argwuhl thought of them as Donna Millses, said "Nigger on a sunny day" again and toppled back into the water. With only one tiny face staring into his eye Argwuhl could think a little clearer. Clearly enough to wonder what would happen if he guessed wrong as he said....
with sudden inspiration, "Who is the Black Dahlia?"
The choice seemed so obvious he berated himself for not seeing it sooner. A movie that starred Donna Mills but also made reference to the color black. Of course it could of also been 'Curse of the Black Widow', but the Black Dahlia also had June Lockhart and Tom Bosley as co-stars.
That did the trick. Immediately the strands began to loosen as they were rapidly pulled away from his body. No. Hold that. Actually the strands were staying in place and he was rapidly shrinking in size. Things went completely black and Argwuhl felt as if a great weight was pressing down on him and that the air had vanished as if displaced my some heinous liquid. The panic which had been keenly observing Argwuhl while awaiting a good opportunity to strike, saw the time was ripe and buried itself firmly in his cerebral cortex.
Never being one to waste a good panic Argwuhl sat back and enjoyed it for a moment while he pondered his situation in a detached manner. 'Let's see,' he thought. 'This all started when things went black. There's something familiar about that. Unexpected motion. Darkness.' Then it hit him. "Of course," he exclaimed. "I closed my eyes at the first sign of strangeness," and saying this he opened his eyes to discover that the unfamiliar liquid was water from the slide covering his face, while the weight on his chest was a no longer tiny Donna Mills like showgirl who was perched on his pectorals proffering him a power cube.
Argwuhl lifted his head enough to clear his face from the water and took a quavering breath. He had very nearly taken a gulp of straight water! Water, was of course anathema to any true member of DIS. How long had it been since he had had a drink? It must have been at least three installments ago! Of course that might mean a matter of just days, but the sinking feeling told him it had probably been years since his last good drinking bout. The agony was almost too much to bear.
By now the Donna Mills on his chest had stood, which allowed Argwuhl to sit up and take stock of his situation. He took the tendered power cube with all the dignity he could muster while sitting in the mud. Then the Donna Mills surprised him with the following statement; "The Black Dahlia awaits your presence. You might also know him as..."
"Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy. I'm sure you've already met", and the Donna Mills flounced out of sight. Yes, flounced, and in such a way that Argwuhl knew he would be seeing her in dreams for years to come, and especially on reruns of Knots Landing. He was so enthralled by the brilliance of her departure that he was knocked unconscious by the large sack Jimmy3 tossed to him. "What the hell's in this thing", Argwuhl muttered when he came to, "sauna rocks?"
"Very perceptive," Jimmy3 said as he opened the bag and started placing the rocks on the sauna heater, "we have to sweat the poison of the fresh water from your system. If you had not answered correctly you would have died a terrible death. Here, drink this, it will ease the pain," and handed Argwuhl a blue drink with an umbrella in it. Damned tasty, too. "I'm not sure if I can explain what is going on but I will try. You see, the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars..."
"Hold it," Argwuhl yelled, "you're just reciting the lyrics to a 5th Dimension song. Try a little harder, and fix me another drink." The twinkle in Jimmy3's eye showed his approval and handed Argwuhl a green drink in a banana peel. "Actually," Jimmy3 said, "that was part of the explanation. There is a parallel universe with a DIS associate named Lhuwgra trying to collect the power cubes, and because of a rift the two universes have partially merged. So there are only six cubes available instead of twelve. Naturally, you both have three, and are both up the proverbial creek. The only significant difference between the two worlds is Lhuwgra's is inhabited by both human and cartoon character. And let me tell you, Wiley Coyote is a lot more durable than an arthritic blues signer. I've already lost two thirds of my trio, and Blue Johnny Blue is getting especially blue," and pointed toward a pencil thin man mumbling something like "freight train of pain."
Argwuhl was beginning to panic again, despite the rapid drinking of a variety of multi-colored concoctions. Maybe it was all a dream, so he closed his eyes and sweated in silence, not even hearing Jimmy3 as he droned on about the sine waves and hyperbolas and infinite planes of magnetic fields. Argwuhl was beginning to doze off as the water was slowly replaced by precious alcohol when suddenly "KABONG" rang out, and Argwuhl turned to see a large white horse hit Blue Johnny Blue over the head with a guitar. Argwuhl had only one option; to run screaming across the desert waving his hands in the air.
It was nighttime when Argwuhl regained his grip on his sanity. Was it wrong to abandon Jimmy3 to the terrible peril of a masked horse and donkey? Or was Argwuhl's quest, and very life for that matter, more important? Stupid question, but it used up a couple lines. Argwuhl was on his own, out of booze, and wearing only a small white towel. "Oh my God, I left the cubes," Argwuhl realized, and looked around in utter despair. There was nothing to see for miles and miles except sand and more sand. And a couple vultures. Make that six vultures. No, twelve. Uh oh. Argwuhl sank to his knees and...
The silence was shattered by a thunderous "KABLAM" as a powerful lightning bolt rent the heavens striking somewhere in the near distance. While the ground still reverberated from the powerful retort Argwuhl was amazed to see that all of the circling vultures had been driven from the sky and were now driven headfirst into the sand in the shape of a double helix. A double helix that was strangely reminiscent of something from Argwuhl's sodden past. Just as he thought that the meaning of the strange symbol might come to him, two blue jumpsuited teems appeared before him without fanfare.
"Nice towel you got there" said the female of the two in knowing tones as she eyed him up and down.
"This old thing? It's just a little something I throw on when I'm not feeling very formal", Argwuhl replied in a dry and sonorous tone. This he could deal with. Things were back on very familiar soil. He had had similar alcohol induced fantasies many times and his life and this just seemed to be a repeat of one of those. How he did hate reruns.
Argwuhl's mental ramblings were interrupted by the two raising there hands towards each other and stating in a loud voice; "Wonder Twin powers Activate" said the pair in unison. Then the male said "Form of .. A bucket" and he was immediately transformed into small wooden bucket. Then the female continued with "Shape of .. Water" and her form was replaced by a stream of water that quickly filled the bucket.
What the hell..? Argwuhl thought. But before he could contemplate this further, Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy stepped out from behind a previously unnoticed British telephone call box he had been hiding behind and proceeded to knock over the bucket. Even while the water was being greedily absorbed by the dry sand, Jimmy3 commenced to stomping the bucket into tiny pieces mumbling "Never could stand those idiots and someone should have done this a long time ago."
As the stompfest continued with the occasional muttering of some phrase that sounded something like "I got your Hall of Justice right here" Argwuhl once again took stock of his situation. Somehow the pieces from this latest puzzle had to add up. What did he have? What were the clues that would explain the happenings around him. He was stuck in the desert with a nameless horse carrying a guitar. No, that wasn't it. An odd pair of kids on a hill and a bucket of water. Closer, but still not quite right. Twelve vultures stuck into the sand in a sort of double helix. Twelve. Twelve. Something about the number twelve. Then it hit him. Of course! The shape the hapless vultures had formed was identical to.....
a bottle of Zima. Next to clear beer, the greatest curse to ever be imposed on a professional drinker like Argwuhl and his kind. But how did Zima tie into what had happened so far? People all over the universe were on the edge of their seats waiting for the answer. "I'll ask Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy," Argwuhl thought, and turned to the J-man with a foolish puppy grin, asking those fateful words, "what's Zima got to do with anything?"
"Aiieee," shrieked Jimmy3, "you have named the one God, He Who Walks Between The Coolers, the only power great enough to thwart my plans!" And Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy began to shrink, as an empty Zima bottle fell out of his hip pocket. His voice became higher as he continued to rave "I will have your souls for this little man, you haven't seen the end of me" and his voice trailed off to nothing as Jimmy shrunk to the size of a grain of sand was blown away by a sudden, omnipotent gust of wind.
Argwuhl remained motionless for hours after that. His skin burned, peeled, and burned again as he wavered back and forth in a daze unlike any he had ever experienced while on a drinking binge. His lips cracked and bled and his eyes shrank into their sockets as every drop of moisture was cooked from his body until finally, a shriveled hush, Argwuhl lapsed into unconsciousness and collapsed into the sand next to the empty bottle.
"Pick me up. Hey dummy, pick me up." The coolness of a nighttime slowly revived Argwuhl. Or was it a greater power? "hey dummy, pick me up." Argwuhl knew he was doomed, but he must at least try to stand, if only to escape the terrible voice in his left ear. "Pick me up, come on, pick me up." So Argwuhl bunched his hands under him for one feeble but valiant effort at survival when his left hand touched something which had no business here in the desert, or anywhere else for that matter, something so evil that many a war had been fought to destroy even the faintest memory of it, something called Zima. Argwuhl's heart nearly stopped as he picked up the horrible object, remembering how it had fallen from Jimmy's pants as he shrank out of existence.
Argwuhl meant to throw the bottle away, even knowing that he hadn't the strength to raise it above his head, when he began to sense the power in the bottle. And the power washed over him. Argwuhl's horribly charred skin became whole again and the agonizing pain of a really bad sunburn went away. Argwuhl wished for a mirror, for he knew he had been transformed somehow into a being greater than before. Taller and more powerful, emitting a faint glow, Argwuhl was prepared for anything. And death to anyone who dared to try to steal his precious bottle. "ZIMA! ZIMA! ZIMA!" the darkness changed, and Argwuhl's army began to form around him. Creatures too horrible to describe, clad in full battle gear, waited expectantly for Argwuhl's first order.
"Follow me" Argwuhl cried, "we march on......"
"Bonerland."
Yes Bonerland. The most magical place in the whole wide world. Or so they claimed. In reality, Bonerland was the headquarters of a fiendish group bent on world domination through the use of brainwashing. It wasn't enough that their entertainment was vapid and senseless, you weren't allowed to drink yourself senseless within their borders, as Argwuhl well knew from personal experience.
"Yes, now we'll show them. Now we'll show them all!", he screamed at his unholy horde. They writhed in an infinite manner of disgusting ways, wrapping themselves in Argwuhl's words and taking the shape of Argwuhl's hatred. Creepies and crawlies and things that go bump in the night filled the plain as only the unspeakable spawn of hell can. Well, them and maybe a couple of thousand FFA'ers.
Now Argwuhl had the chance to take revenge on those that had denied him so long ago. It was if he had been possessed by the soul of a great demon chieftain whose heart was black with foul deeds and a ravenous hatred of all things living. Gruesome knowledge flooded his brain while the tiny corner of him that was still Argwuhl could only sit back in a corner of his soul while saying over and over again, 'This is cool.'
"Come my pretties," Argwuhl cackled into the blackness. "We are off to Bonerland in search of strong drink, power cubes, and something a bit more suitable to wear," and with these words Argwuhl moved his hands in an arcane pattern that described something very like the shape of a Zima bottle in the air.
The very night seemed to coalesce and writhe about Argwuhl as his hideous heathen horde cried out in tongues bestial and cruel. Powerful energies pulsed and with each pulsing Argwuhl felt himself becoming something greater, more powerful, and much more sober than anything he had ever been before.
This wasn't right! Sobriety wasn't even remotely close to what Argwuhl wanted. The demonic presence sensed Argwuhl's doubt and began a battle for control. To the winner would go the right to lead the demonic legions wherever in the universe the victor wished to go. To the loser would be granted banishment to the nethermost regions of hell to wallow in abject misery for all eternity.
Anyway, Argwuhl won the struggle. He then decided he didn't like having the responsibility of leading a demonic horde so he sent them back to from whence they came, and that it was time to find some clothes to wear. Bonerland could wait for another day.
.....so Argwuhl began walking. But it was an uneasy walk, as though something was following beside him, just out of sight. And there was a strange sound, too. Every time his left foot lifted out of the sand there was a sucking noise. SSScchhwweeeeeat. Nothing from the right, only the left. SSScchhweeeeeat. And as he brought the left leg forward, a hissing noise, like his heel was dragging accross the sand. Iiiiiiiiisssssssss. But the right foot remained silent. And whenever Argwuhl planted his left foot back into the sand, something he was quickly becoming reluctant to do, a squishing. An unholy squishing. Pressus. With each step the wind rose, and Argwuhl wanted desperately to stop, to lie down, to sleep, somehow stop the noises. But stopping meant dying, for the scavengers were gathering, and they could smell the fear in his mind and the decay in his body. Argwuhl's heart began to pound, and his pace sped up, with the horrible noise from his left foot getting louder and louder, thundering through the night, through his mind, til Argwuhl felt he would go mad---sscchhweeeat iiissss prresssusss, schhweat iiss pressus, sweat is precious, SWEAT IS PRECIOUS SWEAT IS PRECIOUSSWEATISPRECIOUSSWEATISPRECIOUS---until Argwuhl was running for his life, nay, his sanity, until he ran full tilt into a wooden pole and was knocked unconscious.
When Argwuhl awoke it was daylight and he had a splitting headache with a large knot on his forehead. He looked up to see what he had run into and was shocked to realize it was a roadsign. A roadsign with three wooden boards, shaped like arrows, pointing in three different (naturally) directions. The ancient signs were carved with mystic runes, yet Argwuhl knew what they said--and his heart grew cold. To the right was Bonerland, and shimmering in the heat waves was his demon army. Mirage, or hideous future? To the left was Joe's Diner, and the illusion of a young and vibrant Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy. Was this an opportunity to right the wrong he had done Jimmy and the Lonesome Trio, to chat with Captain Potassium, to visit, perhaps change, the past? And straight ahead, perhaps the most treacherous and hostile choice of all, was the unspeakable, something Argwuhl did not want to face, perhaps did not dare to face, the present? For the roadsign simply read "Plot Advancement, 5 miles".
Argwuhl read the signs over and over. He even sifted through the sand looking for a fourth sign, hoping it had fallen from the pole, and would offer a more pleasing alternative. But to no avail. And the pack of scavengers was getting bolder. Even in the daylight they showed little fear, and would press forward, testing, probing for a weakness, but afraid to come too close to the pole. Then a crow, emboldened by the fear in Argwuhl's eyes, dove at him, clawing at his face. Argwuhl could do little but cradle his head in his arms and weep, accepting his fate, the rending of his flesh and drinking of his blood. But instead of claws tearing at him, Argwuhl heard a solid THUD! and the crow dropped dead at his feet, evidently having struck the pole. Argwuhl picked up the crow, already dead as a turd, and leapt to his feet with new resolve. The animals backed off a step, not liking Argwuhl's sudden confidence, and waited to see what he would do next. The dead crow had given Argwuhl a sudden insight, and he nonchalantly ran his bony fingers through his hair before setting out for.....
Plot Advancement, and hell be damned.
Argwuhl assembled his dignity and towel as well as he could and began the long walk towards Plot Advancement with only a simple lighted path with convenient benches for rest breaks to guide him on his way.
While his feet tattooed their methodical melody on the roadbed his mind wandered. Wandered over his options which at first glance seemed to be somewhat limited. His spirit guide was gone. He had few allies and those allies that had made themselves known were as likely to kill him as help him. There were hordes of unspeakable enemies lurking just out of sight, and these were just the ones that had made their presence known. There was a fair chance that cartoonish sprites were scouring this world in a frantic search for him, and if discovered, he would be kabonged to within an inch of his life. But worst of all there was a strong possibility that Lhuwgra already possessed all of the power cubes and was even now on the bender to end all benders. A bender that should have been his!
These were the melancholy meanderings that occupied his mind while his feet held themselves thoughtlessly to the road.
His mindless reverie was rather rudely interrupted by the intrusion of a huge translucent dome into his personal space. This intrusion took the form of his bumping into the dome nose first as he really wasn't really much of one for multi-tasking. He ran his hands over the huge surface to not only try to try and identify what he had encountered, but more importantly, to convince his feverishly sober brain that this structure really did exist.
"Yup, that's a dome all right. Just like we learned about back in dome school," he muttered to no one in particular. "I guess one direction's as good as another" he announced as he turned to his left and began his search for some indication of what this dome's purpose might be.
He had taken only a few steps when he realized his grievous error and came to a shuddering halt. Lifting his head he howled at the pitiless sky even as he turned to go back the other way, "Big dome at night, drinker turn right. Huge dome in morning, drinker take warning!" Even as he cried these bits of doggerel from his days in dome school he thought he could here a faint chuckling that was somehow reminiscent of dissimilar shot glasses being clinked together, and he knew his escape had been a narrow one.
His mind seemed clearer than it had at any time in the previous 4 installments. His thoughts raced ahead of his feet and he felt he knew what was coming. If his new found clarity wasn't yet another fantasy from the depths of his addled brain he should shortly find - and there it was. An entrance to what he now knew to be not just a dome, but rather a giant sphere. A giant sphere that housed...
The Greatest Thuroughbred Race Track In The Known Universe. It was actually a very low class operation, with plenty of bums searching garbage cans for winning tickets, but the owner thought it sounded good. The GTRT (or gutrot, to its detractors) offered everything a diehard gambler could ask for. Horses with three legs. Six legs. No legs. Two guys dressed in a horse costume. Even animals for jockeys. Hell, legend has it that the best jockey ever to ride at GTRT was a monkey with a parrot with a mouse all wearing eyepatches, who mysteriously disappeared after the big scandal in '36. Unfortunately, Argwuhl wasn't much of a gambler, and besides, he didn't have any money. So he slipped out the door and continued on his way.
As Argwuhl plodded off toward the now-setting sun, he tried to remember how he had gotten into this predicament. But it had been so long, too long, and all he knew was what had happened in the preceding paragraph. So Argwuhl sat down and cried.
"Would you like anything to drink, Sir?" snapped Argwuhl out of his moment of despair, and he reflexively replied "What have you got?" without even looking up. The sound of a beer cooler opening did make him look up, and Argwuhl saw the most beautiful sight in the world. Britney Spears in a bikini offering him an ice cold bottle of beer. The beads of sweat slowly rolling down over those perfect curves, the lovely golden color, the foil label, Argwuhl was speechless. But not stupid. So he graciously accepted the bottle, and wondered how to pay for it, or the second one, which he was already polishing off.
"I'll give you a lift back to the clubhouse if you'd like, Sir" Britney said, and climbed into what Argwuhl now realized was the beer cart from a golf course. He appeared to be somewhere on the back nine, in the left rough of what looked to be a 473 yard par 4 with a dogleg left and two greenside bunkers. "I'd appreciate it", Argwuhl replied, and slid into the cart next to Britney, and helped himself to another tasty beverage.
Between sips, (gulps, actually, of the fourth or seventh beer) Argwuhl tried to discretely ask where he was. Of course, discrete for Argwuhl was brutally direct for everyone else. "Where the hell am I?" Argwuhl discretely asked. But he knew the answer before she could speak. The horrible truth spoke to him from a large sign erected in front of the clubhouse. "Plot Advancement Municipal Golf Course" the sign screamed at him, making Argwuhl flinch, fall out of the cart, and get run over by a foursome wearing Zubas.
Argwuhl awoke with a pounding headache and dried vomit on his chin. Sweet music to an alcoholic who had drank nothing for what seemed like months. Through the closed door he could hear muffled voices arguing. Argwuhl focused his attention on the voices, and was able to catch some of the conversation. "...stupid talking sign...", "...lawsuit...", "...drunken bastard...", but none of it made any sense to him, so Argwuhl went back to sleep. When he awoke.....