AA: is that a nerfsword in your pocket, or...
strange days indeed
don't think you should be doing this?"
"We have to," the Swede said, as he grabbed a handful of orange and
black crepe paper and festooned it festively atop the Man's Met's cap.
"Because the Mad Planarian left the Author's Altiverse, he is no longer
eligible to be one of the five."
"There can be only five!" Sabre bellowed. Everyone looked at him oddly.
"Sorry," Sabre added. "Reflex." He added cupcake sprinkles to the crepe
paper.
"So what does that have to do with this?" the Man asked.
"Well," Pickle said, "in the case of authors like General Chaos, Brendan
LeFebvre, Rick Rechowicz and so on, they're not in this because they haven't
entered the Author's Altiverse yet."
"Neither have I," Dr. Deranged noted. "Yet here I am." He paused.
"Wait a minute. This is not my beautiful house. This is not my... hmmm."
Then, he shrugged. "I must have entered off-camera."
"As I was SAYING," Pickle continued, as he added silly string to the
crepe paper and cupcake sprinkles, "those authors who haven't entered the
Author's Altiverse yet aren't in this. But once they *do*, they'll be in the
running for the Five like everyone else."
"But..." the Man said, wearily.
"But," the Swede said, "the Mad Planarian *was* in here, but left. That
leaves a bit of a hole in the standings, kind of like if the New York Mets
never showed up for a game."
"In other words," the Man said, "no difference."
"Therefore, to correct this," the Swede said, "you'll be pinch-
nerflandering for the Mad Planarian while he's gone."
"I see," the Man said. "And the purpose of your decorations is?"
"To make you look like a Planarian," Sabre explained, as he dropped
raisinettes atop the silly string.
"Guys," the Man replied, "a Planarian is a flatworm of the order
Tricladida, having a broad, ciliated body and a three-branched digestive
cavity." (This sentence verified by the American Heritage Dictionary of the
English Language, 1980 edition.)
They paused.
"He has a point," Dr. Deranged said. "His body isn't broad or ciliated,
and doesn't possess any sort of digestive cavity. For that matter, his body
doesn't possess a body."
"Hurm," Pickle said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a
flatworm. With great ceremony, he dumped the dead worm atop the raisinettes.
"That should camouflage him."
"That does it," the Man said. "I'm going to destroy all of you."
"I don't think so," the Swede said, smugly. "Why do you think we
chose *you* to pinch-nerflander for the Mad Planarian, anyway? You'll be
an easy victory for one of us, much like Jason Baldwin and Clay Evans were
for me."
"Or Randy Wolz and Jim Stoner for me," Sabre added.
"Or Adam Harrison and Jerome Grimmer for me," Pickle noted.
"Or the Not-So-Repressed Author for Shadowywriter," Dr. Deranged said.
"And T.M. Neeck and ST1937@SIUCVMB for me."
"Or... does that clear up the remaining no-longer-active-Authors-who-
once-posted-to-the-Author's-Altiverse list?" Pickle asked.
"It does," the Swede said. "I checked."
"I can't help but think you're forgetting someone," Sabre said.
"Well, never mind that," the Swede said, handing the Faux Planarian
his sword. The Man grabbed it with his teeth.
"Thayah ca ee ohwee fiiii!" he yelled.
NERFLANDER III: THE FINAL DEMENTIA
a tale of the Author's Altiverse
by
the Swede
based on a grant by the Ford Foundation
"There, all taken care of," Elmo said, as he exited the Men's Room of
the Chapterhouse, drenched in Nestea (tm) Iced Tea. Ken Cooney trudged out
of the Men's room, glared at Elmo, and threw his now-useless nerf sword into
the equipment closet.
"That's okay," Rob said. "We're fine."
"Couldn't be better," Ben added.
"You sure?" Elmo asked. "You've been drinking for a while."
"Hey, we're Authors," Ben pointed out. "We can deal."
"Suit yourself," Elmo said. "I'm going out to get some more tasty
power."
"I'll stay here and have another Cheerwine," Rob said.
"Time for more Cheerwine?" Tor, the bartender, asked. Rob nodded and
Tor poured another can of the beverage into a glass and set it on the bar.
Elmo sauntered out the front door, and all was quiet for a moment. Until...
You just knew there was going to be an "until," didn't you?
...until Mason Kramer appeared in a flash of edit and started running
about the Chapterhouse looking for somewhere to hide.
"Hello," Rob said, thoughtfully.
"No time to chat," Mason said. "Remember, you never saw me!"
"Got it," Ben said, nodding. "We never saw you."
Mason edited himself into the shape of a cue ball and dove onto the
nearest pool table, dropping the machete onto the floor in the process.
Moments later, Robotech_Master, the Artiste, and CHAOS Engineer appeared via
the public transporter.
"Did he come this way?" the Artiste asked.
"Who?" Rob asked.
"Mason," CHAOS explained. "He just beheaded Thelma, Queen of the Bobs."
"Um, guys," Thelma's head, which CHAOS was holding, interjected, "I
don't remember *who* it was who wielded the machete."
"We saw Mason standing over you holding the machete at the end of
Nerflander #2," Robotech_Master noted.
"In any case," Ben said, "we most definitely did not see him come in
here, run about, then edit himself into the shape of a cue ball and jump onto
a pool table."
"Well, in that case," CHAOS said, "we'll just... waiiiiiit a minute."
Mason re-edited himself into his human form and dashed out the door.
"After him!" the Artiste yelled.
From outside, some rather loud Queen music started playing.
"Well, maybe not right away," the Artiste said.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
The Reverend Sabre prowled the dark corridors of the Noj, nerf sword at
the ready. He had parted from the Swede, Pickle, and the others almost
immediately upon leaving the Chapterhouse, as if looking for a fight.
An Author was approaching. Queen music started playing.
"So, Greg," Sabre said, looking about. "I knew it would come down to
this. There can be only five!"
He waited. The authorial presence was getting closer. The Queen music
got louder.
"I can't heeear youuuuu," Sabre hissed. "Come out, Mr. Greg Fishbone
of the Clan Fishbone. Let us begin the duel! There can be--"
"Har!" a voice from above yelled. An author dropped down from a
ventilation shaft and landed in front of Sabre, nerfsword in hand. Before
Sabre could react, the other combatant had hit the first of Sabre's targets.
"Jeff!" Sabre exclaimed, recognizing Jeff Pruitt. "I *knew* I was
forgetting somebody!"
"Just the way I wanted it," Jeff said. "There can be only five!"
And lo, the battle was engaged.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
Deep within the Noj, something was happening...
Subprocesses long dead were revived by the Edit that had gotten into the
Woman's Scorn Projector from the fight of the mysterious, machete-wielding
Author against the Man With Two First Names. Long hidden air tanks were
being primed, valves were being clean.
A second test note was issued.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
"Ah hoo shoo ee av hoo do sis?" the Man, from where he rested atop a
T-ball tee, asked.
"Absolutely," the Swede said, as tense Queen music started to play.
"This will only take a second, then I promise to remove all that stuff from
you. Except the Mets Cap, of course. Now, have at you!"
The Swede slashed quickly, striking the first target on the Man's nerf
sword. The blow also knocked the head off the T-ball tee, causing it to
bounce off the base of the tee and roll away. The Swede chased after it,
while Pickle and Dr. Deranged watched, both snarling at the Queen music as
it played.
The Man's head hit a bump in the ground and bounced up, striking a
nearby tree. It arced toward the ground again, but the Man, twisting the
nerf sword around with his teeth, managed to get the tip of said sword to
strike the ground first. He whirled in the air and came down again, striking
the Swede's first target.
"Hey!" the Swede said, as the Man rolled to a stop in a nearby grassy
knoll. He charged after the Man, who was trying to maneuver the sword so
that it pointed vaguely upward. Just then, a weasel popped out of a hole
in the ground, causing the Swede to trip. The Man's sword struck the second
target and the third target.
"Ha," he said. "I wih eefee hyoo afah aw."
"No fair!" the Swede claimed. "Constructs can't interfere in the
battle!"
"Sorry, Swede," Pickle said. "But according to the rules, woodland
mammals aren't constructs. They're varmints."
"Damn," the Swede said, rolling away and picking up his sword. Deftly,
he struck the Man's second target before the Man could roll away. "Still,
I should be able to catch up quickly!" He lunged again.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
"You know," Ben said, "I just realized something."
"Pray tell," Rob replied, "what?"
"There's still an epidemic of silliness going on in the Author's
Altiverse," Ben noted. "And some of it is leaking into 000SUPERGUY. If
we don't get cracking and get onto fixing the mess, well..."
"Well what?"
"It could get messy."
"How messy?"
Ben whispered how messy it could get into Rob's ear.
"Ook," Rob replied. "That's messy."
Just then, another note began to play, along the whole of the Noj.
"Hmmm," mused Ben. "That was an F Sharp, I think."
"What does it mean?"
"It means we'd best get moving," Ben said. "Quickly!"
"Ook!" Rob yelled, picking up his nerfsword and brandishing it. He
and Ben charged out of the Chapterhouse and down Nerf Mountain, only to pull
up short upon reaching the base.
"Hi," Mason's head said, looking up at them. "Did you guys happen
to see...?"
"Afraid not," Rob said, picking up Mason by the hair with the tip of his
nerf sword and flipping him jauntily into the air. Ben caught Mason's head
on the way down. "Guess this means the killer isn't you."
"That's what I've been trying to tell everyone!" Mason protested.
"Where did RM, the Artiste, and CHAOS go?" Rob asked.
"They didn't find me," Mason said. "I think they split up and went
to different sections of the ship. I was going to go back to the Chapter-
house when boom!"
"And you don't remember who it was, either," Ben said.
"Au contraire, I do," Mason replied.
"Who, then?" Rob asked.
Mason told them.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
Somewhere, far out in front of the Noj, a man who was lying on a hillside
looked up.
"Hmmm," he said. "I know that F Sharp."
With his mind, he reached out, beckoning.
Somewhere, far away from the planet the man was on, the Noj's engines
reacted, and the Noj changed course.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
"Hai kiba!" Sabre yelled, striking Jeff's fourth target. Jeff Pruitt
groaned and sagged to the ground.
"There can be only five!" Sabre exclaimed, before bringing his nerfsword
down upon the fifth target. Immediately, purple and gold electricity lanced
out of Jeff's form and into the surroundings. It built, and then exploded
into streams and tendrils of pure Single Malt Scotch, which proceeded to
slam into Sabre, filling him up.
"Ow," Jeff commented, sitting up. "That sucked."
"Well, for you, anyway," Sabre said. "Care to go back to the
Chapterhouse for a beer? I need time to recover, anyway."
Just then, Greg Fishbone burst in and advanced, menacingly. He paused
when the Queen music failed to start up.
"Just finished, huh?" Greg asked.
"Yep," Jeff said. "He won."
"Damn," Greg said. "Still, I get the feeling there's someone else
nearby...."
Suddenly and without warning, Queen music started playing, and Ergh
jumped into the corridor. Greg spun, brandishing his nerfsword.
"There can only be five!" Ergh yelled.
"You want to watch?" Sabre asked.
"Nah," Jeff said. "Beer."
"Beer it is," Sabre said, as he edited himself and Jeff to the
Chapterhouse.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
"Freddie Mercury?" Rob asked.
"Freddie Mercury," Mason confirmed.
"Freddie Mercury," Ben said. "Why would he be here? And since when
is he an Author?"
"Well, it could have been a mask," Mason allowed. "Still, I don't
see why I remembered the face while Thelma and the Man didn't."
"He said something about royalties and the Writers Guild," Mason replied.
"I didn't catch all of it."
"It could be part of the Silly Season," Ben said. "We have to stop it!"
"Hey, there's something going on, just beyond that Glenn," Rob noticed.
The Authors watched as purple and gold flashed in the air.
"Let's go!" Ben exclaimed. Ben (carrying Mason's head) and Rob ran
around Glenn Close (who shrugged, and kept walking) and gasped with shock,
surprise, and disbelief.
"Shock!" Ben gasped.
"Surprise!" Rob gasped.
"Disbelief!" Mason gasped.
"Hardly," the head of the Man with Two First Names said, from the ground.
"There can be only five, after all."
"Argh," the Swede said, from where he was sprawled, drained of his edit.
"Where did he learn to swordfight like that?"
"I'm self-taught," the Man replied. "And Eurydice has been helping me
strengthen my tongue." He paused and licked some yoo-hoo from his mustache.
"It also helped that you were overconfident."
"Argh argh argh," the Swede added.
The Man, who had gained, in the course of absorbing the yoo-hoo, feet,
waddled forward and picked up his nerfsword with his teeth.
"I don't think this is what we're looking for," Rob opined, as Pickle
and Dr. Deranged advanced, nerfswords at ready, on himself and Mason.
"Here, catch!" Ben yelled, tossing Mason's head at Pickle. He and Rob
edited themselves away as Pickle dodged.
"Argh," the Swede said.
---~~~___|||___~~~---
In the Amigoid's biodome, the Amigoid puttered about, wishing he had
thought of editing up a cribmobile *before* his edit had been taken away.
His wife and muse, Dr. Sheri Brown, was sleeping, while, in his crib,
Christopher Brown was waving his dad's nerfsword around and burbling.
Lawrence smiled and continued working.
Just then, the transporter hummed, and Robotech_Master appeared.
"Is he here?" he asked.
"Is who here?" the Amigoid asked.
"Mason!" Robotech_Master said. "He's the killer!"
"Killer?" the Amigoid asked. "When was this?"
Robotech_Master sighed.
"I see Shari finally had her baby," he said.
"That's Sheri," Lawrence corrected.
"Isn't that what I said?"
"No, you said Shari."
"But I meant Sheri."
"That doesn't change that you said Sheri..."
The exchange was interrupted by a loud roaring sound that was rather a
lot like a Spike Jones record played backwards at high speed. The Amigoid
and Robotech_Master ran into her bedroom to find her sitting up, in her
nightgown, wide-eyed.
"What happened?" the Amigoid asked.
"D'nt knw," she said. "Jst wk p nd hrd y tw tlkng n thn, sddnly nd
wtht wrnng, thr ws ths ns."
"What?" Robotech_Master asked.
"I think I know what happened," Lawrence said. "It must be part of
the Silliness that's infecting the Author's Altiverse."
"S wht hppnd?"
"You've been disemvoweled," the Amigoid informed her.
Dr. Shr Brwn sighed and glared at Robotech_Master. Outside, there was
the hum of the transporter. Ben and Rob looked in and frowned.
"We wuz... too late," Rob said, snapping his fingers. They ran out
again, and, a transport later, were gone.
WILL AMIGOID BE ABLE TO REEMVOWEL HIS WIFE AND MUSE?
WILL GREG FISHBONE TRIUMPH OVER ERGH, OR WILL ERGH TRIUMPH OVER GREG?
IS FREDDIE MERCURY THE KILLER, OR IS IT ONE OF THE AUTHORS WEARING A MASK?
WHAT IS THE NOJ DOING?
WHO IS THE MAN ON THE PLANET WHO CHANGED THE NOJ'S COURSE?
WILL THE SWEDE GET OVER HIS DEFEAT AT THE HAND... ER, THE TEETH... OF THE
MAN WITH TWO FIRST NAMES/FAUX PLANARIAN?
WILL THE REAL MAD PLANARIAN EVER FIND OUT THE FAUX PLANARIAN HAS TAKEN HIS
PLACE?
Some of these questions may or may not be answered by Rob Furr, next time,
on the Author's Altiverse!
SPECIAL BONUS! THE SCORECARD:
Still in the running:
Pickle, the Man with Two First Names (pinch-nerflandering for the Mad
Planarian), the Rev. Sabre, Rob Furr, Shadowywriter, Van, Ben Brown, the
Girl with a Catbunny, Greg Fishbone, Ergh, Dr. Deranged, Elmo, and
Bookwyrm/Pen Dragon.
Taken out of the running:
the Artiste, the Amigoid, Shadownman, the Man with Two First Names (pre-Faux-
Planarian version), Creeper, Ken Kadet, Michael Brazier, the Large Manly
Man in Wet Clothing, Thelma (Queen of Bobs), CHAOS Engineer, Gadge, Frobozz,
Robotech_Master, Mason Kramer, Tad Simmons, the Mad Planarian (being subbed
for by the Man With Two First Names), Ken Cooney, Jeff Pruitt, the Swede,
Jason Baldwin, Clay Evans, Randy Wolz, Jim Stoner, Adam Harrison, Jerome
Grimmer, T.M. Neeck, J. McLaughlan, and ST1937@SIUCVMB.
Not yet entered the running:
Anyone else.
--
Gary W. Olson sw...@sojourn1.sojourn.com sw...@drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede