In any case, the trap was set. And who better to trip it than the man himself - the one whom all those years before had
lost himself in fantasy and lost sight of his true self.
Yes, years ago, this man had woven together an elaborate narrative in which he himself had posed as various characters, including a Panda, Beady Eyes, Chairman George Bush CXXVIII, George Bush CXXIX, Ran-tan-tan, the sexy nurse from pokemon, Franz Kafka, Lord "Cat Fanny" Catfannerkins, Robopa, Deequn, Clonepa, Grandpa, Arf, the great sky loli, Tristan, Claire, Reimu, Marisa, Gerald Jay Sussman, Roger Ebert, Dr. Robotnik, Snorlax, Sonic the Hedgehog, Knuckles the Echidna, Phil Collins, Takakazu Abe, Masaki Michishita, Porky Pig, Captain Gay Sparkle, Doctor Fujiwara, Mr. DQN Short Novel, DQN-kun, Woll Smoth, Wool Smooth, Sean Connery, Charles, Daddy Cool, Smug Fathead, PenPen, IsIs, Mike, the terminator, Richard M. Stallman, St. Shii DCLXVI, Marie Antoinette, Ms. Cho, a young man of Nordic descent, Aphrodite, Super Mario, the neko-android, Eddie the elbow, and of course, Mr. Gray himself.
But now Mr. Gray was about finally realize the madness in which he had been living. In his final dying moments after stumbling upon his own trap, all would become clear: he and these characters had been one and the same all along.
But just as Mr. Gray was about to stumble into his own trap,
his evil twin brother
wished him a happy St. Patrick's Day. Momentarily distracted, Mr. Gray
took a run for it and
somehow ended up in Timbuktu. The
Malian Empire had waned, but the Timbuktu-to-Bamako rail line was
the same it had always been. That is to say; shitty and in terrible condition.
It wasn't the only thing that was shitty and in terrible condition, as
Mr Gray's mental health was in a similar state. Without a
parasol to keep him from the rain, the drops smacking his bald head through the roofless train brought back terrible memories of
his young life on the pigeon farm, where
his parents raised him as a pigeon, keeping him in a tiny cage and feeding him breadcrumbs. Even today, he occasionally
ate stale bread from a stainless steel bowl, while feeling rather self-conscious. Alas, said bowl\a family heirloom\was nowhere to be found among his luggage.
Suddenly, accompanied by wailing and gnashing of teeth, the train screeched to a halt
as the driver had nodded off at the controls and slumped forward at an unfortunate angle.
The passengers slowly looked up from the personal worlds into which they had each retreated and wearily eyed each other warily. Nobody moved, all waiting for somebody else to do their thinking for them. Finally a rugged man on his way to the Bamako salt mines stood up and said,
"I'm tired of these motherfucking people on this motherfucking train!" He then proceeded to
go back to doing his sudoku, looking somewhat self-concious. His outcry prompted
Mr. Gray to open the emergency window
, which caused a rogue stream of wind to whisk his sunglasses straight into the sky.
"Penis!" he swore.
His sunglasses flew away unheeding. They were about to begin a voyage of discovery, in which
the not-so-glorious god of
lolis in the sky would battle
with her own feelings of inadequacy. You see, even though she successfully annexed Poland,
she still secretly wished to have breasts. Thus, upon discovering Mr. Gray's sunglasses,
she took out her frustration on them by
Mr Gray was not aware of these events transpiring; he was
a penis.
connoisseur, well known for
the lengthy reviews of not-so-lengthy phalluses he regularly publishes on his tumblr.
Eventually, everyone's
thoughts and train carriages simultaneously derailed and everything floated off into space, causing
Mr Gray to wonder what had happened to gravity.
He poked his head out the window to investigate, and saw that the cause of this madness was
the great sky loli, whose bold fashion statement of twisted sunglassery had thrown the universe into chaos.
"Oh no!" lamented
the Bamakonian salt miner, "I've been doing this sudoku upside-down!"
Naturally, the
rest of Mr. Gray's night proceeded in rather the same manner as always.
That is to say, he began by pouring himself a glass of
piss
-poor quality Latvian wine and
was emanating strongly from between Dr. Robotnik's buttocks, along with a peculiar sound.
These were - of course - obvious signs of an upcoming momentous GET. However unlikely it may seem,
( E-E) 700GE-- well, poo.
said Beady Eyes, narrowly missing the GET and leaving it open for none other than the mysterious masked assassin Arf, who said,
before returning to his master: none other than
a subordinate of Honourable Chairman George Bush CXXVIII, who had been subversively gathering GETs in preparation for a nefarious plot involving
the Big Book Of DQN Mad-Libs, half a ton of rancid yak butter, and a very depraved
Quake player.
I cannot make sense of this story anymore.
- interrupted Grandpa, "You, kids, got youself quite a vivid fantasy. When I was a young lad like you... and trust me I was..."
Without a word, the author stopped typing. He took the last two chapters, crumpled them up and threw them in the bin. Casually, with a practised motion, he then took out a lighter, poured a healthy dose of lighter fluid over it and set them on fire.
Chapter 3 Version II:
Nobody Cares About Venice
After the invasion of the Penis People of the planet Uranus,
was defeated by the One-Eyed, One-Horned Flying Purple People Eaters,
the last remaining
big fat butt.
"frrrrrrrrrp."
Shrouded in silent twilight, the Danube river took on an ethereal gleam, its silver surface reflecting the
her lost cat. The feline in question had died long ago,
in a tragic teleporter accident that Prof. Kleiner still refuses to admit happened, but the great loli in the sky was OK with the idea of recovering her pet in a gaseous state, just as long as she got it back at all.
Little did she know that light years away, her cat had just been farted out the last remaining big fat butt. This cat, whose name was
Alistair Xavier Chang-Mortensen III
, had been an integral part of the
East Prague Underground Democratic Movement
; a group aiming to eradicate
democracy, which everyone thought was kind of odd except for
Prof. Kleiner, who was rather sober about the dichotomous shift.
Without the guidance of Alistair Xavier Chang-Mortensen III, the EPUDM
stooped as low as accepting the application of one big fat butt, despite the clearly visible Snidely Whiplash moustache whenever you squinted at its shadow from just the right angle. This could not possibly end well, and few were surprised when, exactly seventeen days and one hour later,
devilish acts of sodomy transpired in the catacombs.
After all, the EPUDM was well-known for its fondness of devilish acts of sodomy.
What did surprise everybody was that during the sodomistic confusion, the moustached big fat butt had managed to infiltrate the depths of EPUDM headquarters.
You see, the teleportation incident had been no accident. The BFB had carefully engineered Alistair's transfer into his body, in order to orchestrate this very infiltration. The accidental flatulence of said leader had not been part of the plan, but the BFB wasn't too worried - he had already stolen Alistair's DNA and passwords, which was enough to make it through EPUDM security. He hardly imagined that a gaseous cat floating through space would be able to stop him now.
Now at the center of EPUDM and armed with full administrative power over their systems, the BFB rubbed his cheeks together with joy and prepared to finally enact his dastardly plan:
swapping all their coffee with decaf, leaving their milk unrefridgerated, and, when nobody was expecting it, detonating the on-site emergency nuclear warhead.
His plan
was surely flawless. Unfortunately for BFB, the great sky loli
loved drinking lukewarm milk (if you know what I mean), and in fact had stored several small milk containers hidden underneath the detonation button. Thus, when it was pressed, the only thing to detonate was the console containing the button, with a pungent sour smell that would surely end up getting blamed on BFB.
Without warning, a squadron of armed soldiers wearing the Second Prussian Alliance Natural Killers insignia burst through the doors. In a rugged manly voice, the squadron leader shouted "You
VIOLATED THE LAW! STOP RIGHT THERE, CRIMINAL SCUM!"
But then BFB ran into a dark alley and removed his Gray Fox mask, and everyone was cool again.
Chapter 4: A gaseous cat in the knee
Three nights ago, before the whole incident with the Great Sky Loli (whom everyone, might it be said, believed to have exited the story forever), a man by the name of Polymer Pete had completed his greatest invention. It was
rather unimpressive, to be honest. It didn't even
permanently eliminate world hunger, or make peace between warring nations. Still, as Polymer Pete's inventions went, it was the best he was likely to come up with in a long time. Maybe this one would make his mother acknowledge his existence once more, and Polymer Pete had never desired any better outcome.
His invention had been perfected - however,
the most unfortunate event would transpire precisely three days later, shortly after Polymer Pete's invention was unveiled. You see, he was never much of an engineer to begin with. But the EPUDM needed him, for he was in fact the only capable engineer supportive of their cause. Thus when they contracted him to invent the console which would control the launch of their nuclear warhead, they had no idea how faulty it would turn out to be.
Hence, when the BFB pushed the button, an
entire squadron of Imperial Guardsmen swarmed out of the portal that had appeared instead of the expected launched nuke.
They looked around and saw all of this heresy and were disgusted. "Hail the Emprah!", they shouted, and immediately began to
glance at each other nervously, unsure of exactly what to do. You see, this particular squadron
had a habit of going into battle completely unarmed. As a consequence, they went through new recruits like a chainsword through warm butter, but that's no reason to break with a perfectly fine regimental tradition.
"Does the 750th post even count as a GET these days?" inquired