A Symphony unto Oneself

Chapter 6

The Story The Authors

It had been a long time since Dick had taken that semester of Italian in college but he managed to ask the woman, with improper tense, badly conjugated verbs and the wrong gender, if she required any assistance. It was at this point that the woman tore off her disguise and revealed herself to be not a woman, not even the Bull-Dyke of Brooklyn, but the notorious Jake and the cigar smoking baby revealed himself to be the even more notorious Mr. Tickles. "Ha Ha!" they shouted in unison. Dick Deltoid fell back in terror and the crowd that had been waiting in line scattered like ants under a magnifying glass. "Now that Pencilthinmoustache is out of the picture, there is no one in the world who can stop us!" Jake laughed a maniacal laugh and Mr. Tickles fired his submachine gun into the air. cuddles

...Injun Joe always loved to watch these little tantrums among the ousted settlers with an impassive, twinkling eye -- the white man was so dramatic! No discipline, no purety of soul and purpose, no outlet for his fear. Instead, it festered in him and in his women and made them all stink with the sourness of the decaying. He let them go on for a few minutes, then nodded at his chief lieutenant, Squatted-In-Many-Pastures. "Cook em all three," he said, and the two shared a chuckle. "We gone eatum white man tonight!" So the whole tribe was laughing along with them, dancing in circles, shrieking, howling, beating the sacred war-drums. Their roars rose up over Trenton and the wax Badlands like a migration of ravens, darkening and almost blotting out what little remained of the thinning afternoon sunlight. Philip

Meanwhile... Tom L.

Deep in the rapturous depths of the silvery reflective virtual lake where he had first crouched in breathtaking wonder to revel in the rippling narcissitic grip of his own splendid reflection, Gurn lay moaning and writhing under the weight of the 4 and 1/2 tons of rose petals that had smashed him into semi-oblivion. Tom L.

Caught in the silicone depths of endless loops of repetition, his malignant limited capacity for fantasy was spinning out of control, generating endless myriads of 19th. Century hoakum, and male hoakum at that. The death of 10,000 Masks had been planned with the utmost care and now was being tapped by the Bull Dyke of Brooklyn for the enjoyment of her minions. Tom L.

But then Old Man Coyote came and just ate him up. That was how the old staory went, Old Man Coyote ate up Gurn and what he didn't eat up, he sold to Turtle, to Beaver, and to Rabbit. It was Injun Joe's favorite story; had been so since he was a boy. Philip

As Gurn spiralled deeper into the pond.... They returned from their floral traipsing weak with laughter at the many tiered spectacles on their banks of monitors. "Go Gurn, go!", they chanted, as they watched this latest repeat of their favorite show, "Injun Joe"! They fell all over themselves cackling at the sight of a virtual beeswax confection hovering 400 miles off the mark over southern New Jersey. Alas, Gurn's "feel good" California education had tripped him up in a thousand unknown ways, now Geography was stimulating their very nerve endings to the heights of orgiastic amusement. Indeed they had linked the Dallas Cowboy's cheerleading squad into one of the complicated hook-ups that was their specialty, just to cheer the latest side-bar on Injun Joe! Women squatting in Guatamalan villages were having some difficulty getting some of the imagistic overlays they were downloading, but still hugging each other in delight as the Cheerleaders mimed and mugged around behind Joe's savages bent on raping and pillaging. It was restoring some of their shattered faith in 'women helping women'. Whether they "understood" it or not, much healing was taking place. Several servers in the Northern Hemisphere were down temporarily due to the over-load of congratulations pouring into Brooklyn. When they captured poor Gurn, the ladies had caught a Big Fish indeed! Tom L.

Sadly, this explosion of peace, harmony and globally conscious empowerment was cut short by a titanic blast of Bad Vibes from Mr. Tickles' patented Evil Bad Vibes generator. A single touch of the blinking red button was enough to throw society back into the Dark Ages indefinitely. Pow!, then -- a black cloud circled the earth and made all human beings reexperience the deadly cloud of comet-dust which had caused the extinction of most of the dinosaurs. Mothers made love to their sons' girlfriends, sons copulated with their fathers' grandmothers, boy scouts rolled in an autocthonic frenzy with girl scouts across lawns festooned with crushed boxes of girl scout cookies, and the airwaves rang with the tinny vocal harmonies of Whitesnake. In his secret command post, Mr. Tickles whinnied, and through another unbaptised infant on the fire. Philip

The Story	The Authors
It had been a long time since Dick had taken that semester of Italian in college but he managed to ask the woman, with improper tense, badly conjugated verbs and the wrong gender, if she required any assistance. It was at this point that the woman tore off her disguise and revealed herself to be not a woman, not even the Bull-Dyke of Brooklyn, but the notorious Jake and the cigar smoking baby revealed himself to be the even more notorious Mr. Tickles. "Ha Ha!" they shouted in unison. Dick Deltoid fell back in terror and the crowd that had been waiting in line scattered like ants under a magnifying glass. "Now that Pencilthinmoustache is out of the picture, there is no one in the world who can stop us!" Jake laughed a maniacal laugh and Mr. Tickles fired his submachine gun into the air.	cuddles
...Injun Joe always loved to watch these little tantrums among the ousted settlers with an impassive, twinkling eye -- the white man was so dramatic! No discipline, no purety of soul and purpose, no outlet for his fear. Instead, it festered in him and in his women and made them all stink with the sourness of the decaying. He let them go on for a few minutes, then nodded at his chief lieutenant, Squatted-In-Many-Pastures. "Cook em all three," he said, and the two shared a chuckle. "We gone eatum white man tonight!" So the whole tribe was laughing along with them, dancing in circles, shrieking, howling, beating the sacred war-drums. Their roars rose up over Trenton and the wax Badlands like a migration of ravens, darkening and almost blotting out what little remained of the thinning afternoon sunlight.	Philip
Meanwhile...	Tom L.
Deep in the rapturous depths of the silvery reflective virtual lake where he had first crouched in breathtaking wonder to revel in the rippling narcissitic grip of his own splendid reflection, Gurn lay moaning and writhing under the weight of the 4 and 1/2 tons of rose petals that had smashed him into semi-oblivion.	Tom L.
Caught in the silicone depths of endless loops of repetition, his malignant limited capacity for fantasy was spinning out of control, generating endless myriads of 19th. Century hoakum, and male hoakum at that. The death of 10,000 Masks had been planned with the utmost care and now was being tapped by the Bull Dyke of Brooklyn for the enjoyment of her minions.	Tom L.
But then Old Man Coyote came and just ate him up. That was how the old staory went, Old Man Coyote ate up Gurn and what he didn't eat up, he sold to Turtle, to Beaver, and to Rabbit. It was Injun Joe's favorite story; had been so since he was a boy.	Philip
As Gurn spiralled deeper into the pond.... They returned from their floral traipsing weak with laughter at the many tiered spectacles on their banks of monitors. "Go Gurn, go!", they chanted, as they watched this latest repeat of their favorite show, "Injun Joe"! They fell all over themselves cackling at the sight of a virtual beeswax confection hovering 400 miles off the mark over southern New Jersey. Alas, Gurn's "feel good" California education had tripped him up in a thousand unknown ways, now Geography was stimulating their very nerve endings to the heights of orgiastic amusement. Indeed they had linked the Dallas Cowboy's cheerleading squad into one of the complicated hook-ups that was their specialty, just to cheer the latest side-bar on Injun Joe! Women squatting in Guatamalan villages were having some difficulty getting some of the imagistic overlays they were downloading, but still hugging each other in delight as the Cheerleaders mimed and mugged around behind Joe's savages bent on raping and pillaging. It was restoring some of their shattered faith in 'women helping women'. Whether they "understood" it or not, much healing was taking place. Several servers in the Northern Hemisphere were down temporarily due to the over-load of congratulations pouring into Brooklyn. When they captured poor Gurn, the ladies had caught a Big Fish indeed!	Tom L.
Sadly, this explosion of peace, harmony and globally conscious empowerment was cut short by a titanic blast of Bad Vibes from Mr. Tickles' patented Evil Bad Vibes generator. A single touch of the blinking red button was enough to throw society back into the Dark Ages indefinitely. Pow!, then -- a black cloud circled the earth and made all human beings reexperience the deadly cloud of comet-dust which had caused the extinction of most of the dinosaurs. Mothers made love to their sons' girlfriends, sons copulated with their fathers' grandmothers, boy scouts rolled in an autocthonic frenzy with girl scouts across lawns festooned with crushed boxes of girl scout cookies, and the airwaves rang with the tinny vocal harmonies of Whitesnake. In his secret command post, Mr. Tickles whinnied, and through another unbaptised infant on the fire.	Philip

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