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Oh. Dead.

Enough of all that. Buzz was sitting in his crappy chair BIT THEN NOTING

Enoguh. Let the keyboadr to what it want s to do instead of what I want ti to do

Crocodiles, man. That’s the stuff. This is the latest new thing, you understand. All the kids are doing it. How can we deny the sacred power of zeitgeist geometries? You fucking heathens! Is this not the US of A? Are we not the latest in the human production line? Mutation. The absolute key to this thing is mutation, and lots of it.

You must understand that this culture has stagnated! Like curdled milk, some say. How can we swim in these deplorable conditions? And those bastards dream of the 50’s? HA!

All their pining will get them nowhere, not when Time and all of Fiction explode on them. To Hell with their petty safety concerns! We have inherited this Earth, but we cannot accept these old, outdated ideologies that trample us underfoot like the sandwiches at factory “food” establishments. Mutation is the key! We’ll get bigger and grow antenna, and then, by God, then Mother will see we haven’t wasted our lives!

Oh, my. I’m on quite a lot of drugs, and The Visions are afoot. Prepare yourselves.

Yes, that means you too, Mr. President, with your hot wife and your pleated pants. YOU DON’T FOOL ME, NO.

I’m no telepath, but I know what you’re all thinking: You’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here. You wonder why I’m boiling several blow-up dolls in front of you.

Imagine for a moment you are a blow-up doll. Imagine you are this blow-up doll for a moment. And this tube of hot air, funneled UP YOUR ASS, is the crap of society. Religion. Politics. Economics. Ideologies.

All this will very shortly come to an end. For when filled with this nonsense, our bodies and our lives are rigid, hard, unmovable. EASY FOR FUCKING, eh Mr. Putin?

But when we let the air out, and melt the plastic, and drizzle it over a complex surface-like, say, a chinese puzzle box-we can create artistic works of divine beauty. WE GO. WE CAN DO ANYTHING.

But you, maintainers of the pump, would have us rammed up the ass daily. You made me GET A JOB. You made me BEG. Now we’ll see how you do, up there, WITHOUT ALL THE ASSISTANCE.

Listen well, dictators of flesh space! I hold in my finely-chiseled hands a SPACE-TIME DETONATOR.

Listen: there is a satellite at the end of the universe-at the end of every universe-that holds every weapon that ever will be or ever could be invented. There is an entire ballroom’s worth of conceptual bombs in there.

You question “ballroom?” Why? SHOULD IT HAVE BEEN A FOOTBALL COURT, YOU FASCISTS?

No. Sometimes I like to feel pretty.

As I was saying, the conceptual bombs are hundreds in number. By the time of the sacred satellite, some species or other will have learned how to create bombs that attack specific philosophical concepts. Trillions of them. Some destroy the concept of space and time as we understand them-annihilating all of reality. Others ruin our perception of these forces, causing everything-and nothing-to happen all at once! Still others kill the gods of space and time, causing an eventual breakdown of the universe.

THIS one has localized effects. It blows up the way things are. It is the known as the Killer of Maps, also called the Defiler of Events, the Bender of Lines, the Ruiner of Order-

Stare in awe at the instrument of universal liberation! Stare into the Fracture-maker! The  Maze Breaker! The Holy Epicenter of all Chaos!

OMEGAREND! Wet your tailored suits in fear!

This name tag identifies me. Ha! You think these pathetic vowels are sufficient? You think basic human grunts can capture my glorious essence? BANG! See? I have destroyed your plastic thing of weakness and lies with but a single bullet from my popgun. My Grandmother gave me this for my third birthday. Just think: Soon such terms will be meaningless. Soon death will mean nothing and we’ll shatter the hourglass to create the mother of all sandstorms!

Dinosaurs! Steam Engines! Lightsabers!

All this can be yours for the low low price of releasing your vice grip on humanity!

WE will be the new prophets! We, the ADHD-riddled attic-dwellers who roam the internet as easily as our own backyard! We who go from French New Wave to Japanese B-Movies in the blink of an eye! We who like rap-metal-country-funk! We who deny your stone walls!

I PUSH THIS PLUNGER IN THE NAME OF LICKITY-SPLIT! MAY IT IMPALE YOUR FOUL TOILET HEARTS!

BEHOLD!