Posted by NL on March 12, 2005 at 16:04:06:
Revelations-- Part 3
I had to stop prematurely because this comic book has been pissed on, it seems, and all the pictures have run together into blobs, and the text is muddled. I swear to you, I am NOT the one who pissed on it. I will do the best I can to continue...
What the blobs have to say:
When was it that the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place? I can't really recall exactly. Of course, the bits fell together all wrong but that was OK because I merely needed to know that there WAS a puzzle, and that there were pieces, and that knowledge in itself was the crucial ingredient. There was a pattern in my simple life, and there were worlds available to me, of which I had had no prior knowledge. I ask myself now how could I have ever lived without the celestial vision of a knife sticking in a woman's sexy belly, and all the drama and blood and lust that comes with it, to lure me on to greater and greater emotional peaks, like a cynosure from Heckville, down the road a mile or two? I'd fallen asleep in front of the TV, groggy with beer and glue fumes. I awoke in a state of mild confusion and reached automatically for my beer, but my clumsy fingers knocked it over. The can of YakPiss bounced against the rug, the beer swirled and foamed, my wife, Humdinga, scolded me, and the dog, my good and gentle mutt, Slobber, ran for cover. An interesting pattern, made by the wetness, formed in the rug. Could I read it? I tried to tell Humdinga not to swab it out, it might be important. No use. People misunderstand, even those closest to you, even those who hate you so much, you fully expect them to try to kill you someday, like my wife Humdinga. Yes, she certainly did hate me.
It was a funny thing, but when those UFOs started flying around, I got a notion to build one. Oh, not a real one, but a sort of prototype free-flight model, McCoy .60 Redhead powered, that I could fly Sunday afternoons on the grounds of the High School. The inspiration came to me in a dream. I saw myself building and flying a saucer-shaped craft. I got up in the middle of the night, causing Humdinga to groan and grumble and unleash one of the vicious nauseating farts with which she sometimes tormented me, and wrote it all down in my dream notebook.
My UFO turned out to be sort of oval-shaped. It was three feet long. I had to put a vertical fin on it, and even then it wobbled a lot, with a falling leaf type motion, but I realized that many UFOs were described by witnesses as wobbling in flight, and I thought I must be on to something. First outing, it flew up and away in big lazy spirals on thirty seconds worth of fuel. Power off, it glided back down in similar spirals until it vanished on top of the gym. But the caretaker was an old friend of mine. I knew he would not mind if I climbed up to the roof via the rickety metal stairs stapled to the bricks. I found my friend on the roof, admiring my work, and we had a wonderful intellectual discussion together about science and religion and the truth and beauty that must surely dwell above our heads, among the stars.
When I got home that evening it was after dark, and I found my next door neighbor, Mr. Foooms, sitting with my wife in the living room, watching a sitcom together. They were both drinking from cans of the YakPiss I had placed in the Amana earlier. Look at this! I said, holding aloft my flying saucer model. I showed them the dent in it, where it hit a ventilator stack on the gym roof, and described how it flew, making engine noises and swirling the model around the room-- It went VROOM, I said, and ZOOOOM, ZOOOOM. Up and away! Great!, Mr. Foooms said, You're a real genius, pal! Hey, have a beer! That sounded so good, I put the damaged UFO in our bedroom, in my closet, and got a cold YakPiss for myself. Humdinga and Mr. Foooms sat close together on the living room sofa, leaving no room for me, so I took a seat in my reading chair. Really, Mr. Foooms was not such a bad neighbor, even though he sweated profusely, smelled strongly of BO, and had the most peculiar false teeth I had ever seen, though Humdinga professed to find them "interesting". Oh well! Look at him, my wife said. He's so happy with his little model airplane. What's he want me for, I wonder. And she snuggled closer to Mr. Foooms, though he smelled even worse than usual, of something like jockstraps that need to be burnt. Mr. Foooms good naturedly chuckled, heh, heh, and I grinned a big wide grin. My life seemed pretty fine. Humdinga knew very well what I needed her for, and that was to cook me my nourishing meals, and keep a neat house and darn my socks. My small engine repair shop, that my father started before the war, made me a tidy income, and I had my Mom's modest savings stashed away in the bank against a rainy day. Everything seemed to be in its place. I was very happy, that night, thinking of these things, and the wonderful way my flying saucer took to the air, and in my mind I replayed its spiraling flight and got a sudden urge then and got up abruptly and went to the garage, where I build my model airplanes, and took a good long whiff from one of the extra giant sized tubes of Ambroid cement I keep handy. UMMMMM! Then things were really great! I relived my adventue of climbing to the roof of the gym, and felt how good it had been to talk to my old friend Mr. Stoat again. My wife called him a foul-mouthed geek and a likely child-molester, and she hated it when we got together, but we talked a long time up on that roof while the first stars came out. It was a nice fall evening, and Venus was the evening star, brilliant on the horizon. We kept our eyes peeled for Satellites or for Flying Saucers, or rather, I did. Because of my friend's deep religious convictions he always seemed to be on the lookout for an apparition of the Virgin Mary. He admired my UFO and expressed a wish to see me fly it again. I told him how I came to build it. Why, he said, you ought to take out a patent! The Air Force would love to have something like that! I so seldom get any recognition for my efforts, it felt good to hear such things. Of course, women aren't interested in technical intellectual stuff, so I couldn't expect much from Humdinga. There was always Mr. Foooms, but, though he was certainly around the house a lot, he didn't take much of an interest in my ideas either. I sometimes wondered just what did interest him.
That night, as we all watched TV together, something very strange happened. First, I seemed to see Mr. Foooms' false teeth vibrating. Humdinga curled her legs up under her and snuggled very close to our neighbor. I just wondered how she could stand the smell. Mr. Foooms asked me, did I mind, and the vibrating teeth made him sound something like a man with a joy buzzer in his mouth. My wife said, oh, no, he doesn't mind, and rolled her eyes. I really didn't mind, and told them so. I had the feeling that something wonderful was about to happen, so I got up and got another cold, frosty, can of YakPiss but before I applied the can opener I took a detour to the garage and wet a shop rag in banana oil and put it over my face for a moment. OHHHHH! YEEEEES! Something wonderful surely was about to happen! Mr. Foooms called out, Hey, get one for me while you're at it! I was just about to get him a rag full of banana oil, when I realized that he probably meant he wanted a beer. His voice buzzed so loudly at that point, it's like he had a vibro-massager down his throat or something. Why couldn't the man afford a decent set of false teeth, I wondered. As I stood in front of the Amana, trying to remember what it was I was supposed to do there, the trusty old appliance started going waaaaah waaaaah waaaaah as the compressor speeded up and slowed down. The hairs rose on the back of my neck! I had a feeling I knew what would happen next, and sure enough, the lights started dimming! I rushed into the living room and briefly imagined that my wife's breasts were uncovered, but what with the beer, the banana oil and the tremendous power surges passing through my brain, I just added that to the list of anomalies-- a growing list! Look at the TV! Look at the TV! I screamed at the top of my lungs! It was classic, the way the lines of interference shot across the screen! Wholly alien! Fucking Jesus Christ, Mr. Foooms said, get a grip on yourself, man! Almost, almost, I thought I saw something through the static, something that had nothing to do with mere interference. We were picking up a broadcast that had nothing in common with anything that ever originated on this planet, of that I was certain. POP! Gone! All the lights were out, and as the TV screen faded, darned if I didn't catch a glimpse of the most beautiful scantily clad lady I had ever seen! She seemed to beckon to me, pointing an elegant finger at her bellybutton! All the lights were out, all over town! With the streetlights out, it was very dark suddenly. Mr. Foooms said, what the hell? What the hell? Hah! They were afraid! I think we should all step outside, I said, calmly. What the fuck have you done, my wife asked. I'm not going outside! No way! I noticed that her breasts had gotten covered again, with her blouse, though I caught sight of the bra stuffed partly behind a cushion. Easy, easy, Mr. Foooms said. It's not what you think, buddy... I began to shout then, OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE, NOW! Rushing for the door, I shouted for them to move it, move it! I'm sure they never heard me use that tone of voice before! It was so very important to get outside. I was sure we would see something wonderful.