A Symphony unto Oneself

Chapter 4

The Story The Authors

Meanwhile... Deep in the Level IV Control Room beneath the Vatican, the Pope dismounted from his 1/2 hour excercise romp on the special "My Prettty Pony". Towelled off, he turned to Cardinal Ratfinger who waited nervously in front of the World Wide bank of Patent-Leather Shoe-Cam Monitors blinking out their dismal assessment of affairs in 438 Countries and 7 miscellaneous Cities and Protectorates. "What about the Cargo Crate, Ratty?", he inquired. "The Bozo-Meters have been off our charts for 24 hours now!" Tom L.

Meanwhile... Deep in the Level IV Control Room beneath the Vatican, the Pope dismounted from his 1/2 hour excercise romp on the special "My Prettty Pony". Towelled off, he turned to Cardinal Ratfinger who waited nervously in front of the World Wide bank of Patent-Leather Shoe-Cam Monitors blinking out their dismal assessment of affairs in 438 Countries and 7 miscellaneous Cities and Protectorates. "What about the Cargo Crate, Ratty?", he inquired. "The Bozo-Meters have been off our charts for 24 hours now!" Tom L.

All the way on the other side of the Universe, Schlong is watching. Watching, and waiting. For what, you may ask. Only Schlong holds this knowledge, only Schlong knows what he wants with us. Some say he wants to control all beings and is monitoring the patterns of civilization and will strike when the time is right. The real reason is.. kim

he is psychotic and should die right away. John

he is psychotic and should die right away. John

he is psychotic and should die right away!!! John

fart in his face. jorN

fart in his face. jorN

Which is what he'd always dreamed of. vanblah

Mr. Tickles regarded the Nun coldly, "Your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me, Sister." He reached behind him and selected a ten-inch butcher knife. Unfortunately, while he had been under the influence of Sister M.'s considerable space-time altering capabilites during the previous twenty seven seconds Jenna had rearraranged his cutlery. Subtly, to be sure, but enough that when he was positive that he was holding the butcher knife it turned out that he was, in fact, holding a twelve inch soup ladel. It's blade had been dulled by years of love and use, in fact it was so careworn that it didn't really have much of a blade left (since it was really a soup ladel). It occurred to Mr. Tickles that he was now entirely fucked. vanblah

But bad words wouldn't help. Mr. Tickles now. He searched through his cutlery for his ten-inch butcher knife. While his back was turned Jenna snuck out of the house, safe at last. When Mr. Tickles had finally found his butcher knife, he turned around - and found himself locked in place by Sister Mary's steely gaze. "Say 'Im a Decxyutuyroisd now, Sister BNMLatruy.'" said Sister Mary. "I'm a Decxyutuyroisd now, Sister BNMLatruy," said Mr. Tickles without thinking. Then he realized what he had just said. "No!" he screamed, "No! I;'vnm not a SDecxtroisd! I'm Mtr, . Tichjkles!! NLooooooooo!!!!" But it was toolate. Mr. Tickles was a Dextroid! He was so shocked that he killed himself with his own butcher knife. Sister Mary went off to join Jenna, who had collapsed with releif under the monkey bars. Carolyn

"Jenna?" Sister Mary prodded the young girl's ribcage with her iron tipped boot, "I have one question for you, child." Jenna regarded the nun coolly, "What is it now, Sis M?" The nun reached down and grabbing a fistful of hair yanked the girl to her feet, "HOW DO YOU SPELL RELIEF?" vanblah

It was eleven thirty in the afternoon and three days later that Mr Tickles regained conciousness clad only in a sticky pair of Power Ranger underoos and one brown sock. He'd soiled himself. There was a loud ringing in his ears and his eyeballs felt as dry and salty a pair of old olives he'd found behind his stove one time. His entire diminuative body ached. His hair hurt. He tried to swallow as gently as he could. Even that hurt him. There was an evil taste in his mouth like he'd been frenching a camel. "God " he thought to himself, "I've got to lay off of those damn Dextroid tabs, the hallucinations are even worse than that homemade PCP I made in high school chemistry." Gingerly picking himself up from the wadded pile of newspapers where he'd made an uneasy drug addled bed he stumbled over to the window. Bright sunshine knifed its way into Mr Tickles still dilated pupils. He pulled the shade. A shower and a shave and he'd feel right as rain. Mostly. Then maybe a snack.
The gleeful sound of playing children made his stomach rumble. Lanark

The Story	The Authors
Meanwhile... Deep in the Level IV Control Room beneath the Vatican, the Pope dismounted from his 1/2 hour excercise romp on the special "My Prettty Pony". Towelled off, he turned to Cardinal Ratfinger who waited nervously in front of the World Wide bank of Patent-Leather Shoe-Cam Monitors blinking out their dismal assessment of affairs in 438 Countries and 7 miscellaneous Cities and Protectorates. "What about the Cargo Crate, Ratty?", he inquired. "The Bozo-Meters have been off our charts for 24 hours now!"	Tom L.
Meanwhile... Deep in the Level IV Control Room beneath the Vatican, the Pope dismounted from his 1/2 hour excercise romp on the special "My Prettty Pony". Towelled off, he turned to Cardinal Ratfinger who waited nervously in front of the World Wide bank of Patent-Leather Shoe-Cam Monitors blinking out their dismal assessment of affairs in 438 Countries and 7 miscellaneous Cities and Protectorates. "What about the Cargo Crate, Ratty?", he inquired. "The Bozo-Meters have been off our charts for 24 hours now!"	Tom L.
All the way on the other side of the Universe, Schlong is watching. Watching, and waiting. For what, you may ask. Only Schlong holds this knowledge, only Schlong knows what he wants with us. Some say he wants to control all beings and is monitoring the patterns of civilization and will strike when the time is right. The real reason is..	kim
he is psychotic and should die right away.	John
he is psychotic and should die right away.	John
he is psychotic and should die right away!!!	John
fart in his face.	jorN
fart in his face.	jorN
Which is what he'd always dreamed of.	vanblah
Mr. Tickles regarded the Nun coldly, "Your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me, Sister." He reached behind him and selected a ten-inch butcher knife. Unfortunately, while he had been under the influence of Sister M.'s considerable space-time altering capabilites during the previous twenty seven seconds Jenna had rearraranged his cutlery. Subtly, to be sure, but enough that when he was positive that he was holding the butcher knife it turned out that he was, in fact, holding a twelve inch soup ladel. It's blade had been dulled by years of love and use, in fact it was so careworn that it didn't really have much of a blade left (since it was really a soup ladel). It occurred to Mr. Tickles that he was now entirely fucked.	vanblah
But bad words wouldn't help. Mr. Tickles now. He searched through his cutlery for his ten-inch butcher knife. While his back was turned Jenna snuck out of the house, safe at last. When Mr. Tickles had finally found his butcher knife, he turned around - and found himself locked in place by Sister Mary's steely gaze. "Say 'Im a Decxyutuyroisd now, Sister BNMLatruy.'" said Sister Mary. "I'm a Decxyutuyroisd now, Sister BNMLatruy," said Mr. Tickles without thinking. Then he realized what he had just said. "No!" he screamed, "No! I;'vnm not a SDecxtroisd! I'm Mtr, . Tichjkles!! NLooooooooo!!!!" But it was toolate. Mr. Tickles was a Dextroid! He was so shocked that he killed himself with his own butcher knife. Sister Mary went off to join Jenna, who had collapsed with releif under the monkey bars.	Carolyn
"Jenna?" Sister Mary prodded the young girl's ribcage with her iron tipped boot, "I have one question for you, child." Jenna regarded the nun coolly, "What is it now, Sis M?" The nun reached down and grabbing a fistful of hair yanked the girl to her feet, "HOW DO YOU SPELL RELIEF?"	vanblah
It was eleven thirty in the afternoon and three days later that Mr Tickles regained conciousness clad only in a sticky pair of Power Ranger underoos and one brown sock. He'd soiled himself. There was a loud ringing in his ears and his eyeballs felt as dry and salty a pair of old olives he'd found behind his stove one time. His entire diminuative body ached. His hair hurt. He tried to swallow as gently as he could. Even that hurt him. There was an evil taste in his mouth like he'd been frenching a camel. "God " he thought to himself, "I've got to lay off of those damn Dextroid tabs, the hallucinations are even worse than that homemade PCP I made in high school chemistry." Gingerly picking himself up from the wadded pile of newspapers where he'd made an uneasy drug addled bed he stumbled over to the window. Bright sunshine knifed its way into Mr Tickles still dilated pupils. He pulled the shade. A shower and a shave and he'd feel right as rain. Mostly. Then maybe a snack. The gleeful sound of playing children made his stomach rumble.	Lanark

Library | Contents | Next Page