The Scoundrel Who Steals Fruit And Apologizes Insincerely Is Having a Bad Day.

Sarasota! A lively happy fun place along the Florida Coast that will probably not be imminently destroyed, or long term destroyed, or corrupted by evil or any of that not nice happy fun stuff that happens to non-sunny places with urban populations.

You, my friend are just moved in, your lovely wife and children are adjusting to America just fine, and you, a darker skinned Italian speaking person of indeterminate ethnicity when examined by a moron are going to love it here!

Sarasota, Fla, it’s mighty white, ain’t it. /s

Of course, in the U.S anywhere so white has done a lot of bad things to keep that up! And that’s good, because that means there is a lot of spectral, evil energy to harvest, and to use to..

Agent 76: Can you please perhaps to talk a little less?

Agent 31: Ah yeah sure, I guess I do tend to yammer on a bit. It’s just being here is also a bit new for me. Takes getting used to.

Agent 76: Indeed.

It was the truth, I was new to the U.S and Sarasota, and strongly nervous that our installation of Bunburyland, the intelligent fungus containing within it a world of whimsical fantasy would not support itself, and the world would be destroyed, and for this reason I was perhaps rude in an overt way to my co-worker.

It was I that had come to America as chief biophysics researcher for Illuminati Ganga’s Science Fictive Living Department. Most of my team had remained behind in Naples and I had a new team here to grow accustomed to, it seemed a bad decision but most of the scientists and intellectuals needed to run a complicated project like this had flat out refused reassignment to America.

My contract was not forgiving as theirs. Now, in Naples, Piero, Agent 74, my second in command, was taking command of the European division of the SFLD and regrowing the fragments left behind off Bunburyland I to make a second version and attempt to see if we would be able to achieve teleportation between the two fantastical realities. Imagine this, teleportation by dropping from our reality into fantasy, and then emerging from fantasy in our reality, within seconds across the ocean. This was things like this as to why I began my career in science!

This is I admit a very exciting time to be a mad scientist, but also a less exciting time to be a non-white immigrant in the U.S, and Sarasota of all places which, my new friend Agent 31 has told me is 84% white.

Agent 31: Did you know Stephen King has a place around here? Agent 88 had a threesome at it once, he says anyway. Also there was a lot of really spooky evil stuff, which is again — why we’re here right!?

I sighed and kept up with fiddling with the Potentiality Screen, the monitor that can focus in on events in Bunburyland and tell us how things are going, of course it doesn’t work very well, and hardly ever, so two points against it, but in a way this hardly ever working blurry falling apart absolute technical disaster is perhaps my greatest achievement as a scientist. A monitor from our world into one that functions under severely different physical constraints. I would like to publish, but I have been threaten with the assassination if I do, I am pretty sure that is why Agent 88 keeps watching me, it is, they say, sort of his specialness. But it is also still good I am here, because I am improving of my English, it is getting pretty good I think.

“Holy Shit” that was Agent 31 again, the screen was coming into focus.

OOPS, there goes Sanity

The Scoundrel was lolling back on a sward of grass, feeling the soft loamy soil through his artificial skin, in aid of this he had taken off all clothes and shoes and was naked as the day the giant artificial body he inhabited first came out of the cryocylinder.

I know this because I….tadumpdi-pidum!

AM THE SCOUNDREL!!

Yes, C’est moi, the Scoundrel who steals fruit and says suck it up loser. You lousy whining human jerk, with your clinging to life and a pointless existence, what the hell is wrong with you?

“Look at it, Hymie” I said to my only friend in the world, while pointing at the dark evil shadow growing and moving swiftly across the sky, seemingly intent on devouring the world, “Just look” and for special emphasis I jingled back and forth the still bloody spine of Hymie at the clouds, so that his slack jawed goblin head rolled on the end of the spinal column, and his blank eyes stared up at the clouds, he was really still partially alive I guess because a guttural “urrrghhh” came out of his purple distorted lips.

“I agree Hymie! Urggghh indeed!!” I stood up, and wiggled my hips so that the impressive phallus of my artificial body whirled about like a helicopter’s blade. It’s fun to do, you could try it some time if you weren’t a miserable pathetic human.

Booolvuhhll! The sound of a blowing olifant could be heard and I turned to see a wagon, drawn by 8 St. Bernards, driven by a large orange cat, wearing a black poofy outfit, with a thin sword at his belt, a triangular hat with a single large Peacock feather whipping in the wind as he snapped the reins of the wagon and yelled “Onward, you curs.” and then hissed to underline the urgency.

Aside the driver the wagon had two other passengers, an officious white rabbit wearing a bluish robe blowing said olifant, “Booolvuhhll!”, which was a washed out ivory color, and a tall singularly thin and bony human, dressed like an undertaker of some distinction, or perhaps a scientist who was too esteemed to have produced anything useful for at least a decade, but still got trotted out for exhibitions of assembled geniuses and the like.

As the wagon came closer the distinction of the human began to dissipate due to clarity of vision. He looked sort of like a professional team of makeover artists had, under immense pressure and an unforgiving deadline, taken a homeless septuagenarian off the street a couple hours before, folded his rickety diseased body into a commendable black suit of good character, and cut a wildly inappropriate eruption of hair into something approaching 3 or 4 only mildly incompatible styles fighting for dominance of a head too large for the body.

His shoes were the stylish twisty toed kind of some country where wealthy people signify their status by walking with a lot of pain, and he carried in his gray hands a black satchel.

I walked forward to receive my guests, scratching my backside with the bloody end of Hymie’s lower backbone. As the wagon pulled up I raised my hands above my head, whirling Hymie’s head around like a noise maker, you could actually hear the long lingering death rattle of a goblin in the woosh-woosh of the circling spine and the clickety clack of his craniovertebral junction as the force of its revolution caused it to clackety click “Welcome to the end of the fucking world!!”

My data banks tell me swearing is considered appropriate at times like this.

The wagon stops, the rabbit hopped out first, and blew on the olifant horn one last time for good measure “Booolvuhhll!”, the cat jumped on to the doubletree connecting the harnesses of the dogs with the wagon tongue, laid back and laid its triangular hat over its eyes, and began to purr deeply, looking as if it were surely asleep except for the metronomic swish back and forth of its furry tail, and the man stepped out and walked towards me, cordially extending his hand.

In mock horror I covered my prodigious genitalia and shrieked “Keep back, it’s mine!”

The nasty human got anxious and said “oh no you misunderstand me, I only..”

“Just joshing you, bud, put her there” and swung the green spiky eared head of Hymie into his open palm.

The man turned his crinkly face down to peer at the dead goblin’s face.

“Sire… help me” said the dead goblin, damn these things are resilient!

“Cromstantius Flynk! As I live and breath and you don’t! Still haven’t paid your taxes for last year, or the decade before that, so that helping you is going to have to be a hard pass!” The human looked back at me, he dropped the head from his palm, and it landed on a serendipitously placed stone and Hymie, or as some stupid humans call him, Cromstantius Flynk, said “Owww”

“Mr. Scoundrel, I am here on the behalf of someone who is not unknown to you, in regards to a matter of some urgency” he gestured at the sky where the screaming shadowy cat thing was looming through the clouds “you would know him as Agent 99, and he requests your attendance at a planning”

“uh huh, not interested. I ain’t going nowhere.”

“The area you are in is only hours from destruction and being swallowed up by the darkness”

“Right, and I intend to stay here and masturbate this body into an incredible orgasm while it does!”

“This does not seem to be an especially aspirational plan for guaranteeing personal survival or future growth and well-being.”

“Well-being!? What well-being could I exactly expect? Get swallowed by darkness and destroyed, or get taken back by 99 disassembled and figure out where they went wrong and reprogrammed or destroyed, or get taken back by 99, my consciousness removed from this body and put back in some computer and crawl the internet for stupid parodies of famous poems to make fun of forever!?!”

“Agent 99 suspected this might be worrying you”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah, and in the interest of laying your fears to rest, he offers to allow you to remain in the body you currently possess, have that body be transferred in ownership rights to a Limited Liability Company located in Switzerland and controlled by you, and to move you thereby from being property of something he refers to as Illuminati Ganga, which as I understand it currently owns you, to becoming a full-fledged member with, as he put it, your own Agent number”

“My Own.. number?”

“Yes,” the old man reached into his coat and brought out a card. It was a perfect pearlescent coloring, with a slightly charcoal colored text, the font was Thuggee Splice, the exclusive font developed for Illuminati Ganga’s Criminal Management Division (CMD), in the center of the card you could read Agent 10 above an almost invisible watermark of the inverted triangle logo of Illuminati Ganga.

Suddenly, I wanted to live.

The clear picture into Bunburyland was beginning to waver, as the old man the bunny and the cat jumped back on the wagon, the Scoundrel electing to job beside them due to the incredible condition his artificial body was in.

The landscape around them was being bombarded by strikes of shadow and smoke, and finally all was blackness. Hopefully they escaped.

“Holy Shit” repeated Agent 31.

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