400k wds, some neologisms. Story of a young bohemian bawn and bred in the briar patch that lay between the borders of St. Elvis Era and the Eleusinian Feels of alternity.
The Highland Strip Battle Between the Archive Geeks and the Toryans
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Preface
This may originally have been a cattle raid one tribe made on the other. Storytellers over the centuries couldn't resist embellishing it, though, until it appeared in its present form. --O.C.
Disk VI
From Lin Baeder 'twas they first heard news of the GMC, the Giant Monolithic Computer from Jupiter which came to Earth so long ago and self-subsumed right under the spot where Memphis Snake U now lay. Its tendrils (both physical and meta-) sputtlering fear and wyrd beneath the college, meandering evoen past campus borders and on to further reaches: the Wasterwarfs, the Gasworbs, the Kirkeon Deribber, City Howl and the well-fed Bill Dang.
Then, for the first time in this three-dame mansion hellplain, came the Terror, and it no longer mattered whether they tripped or flipped or simply lay ripped, for the monad-mist was everywhere, as werebitten as Holyward any day (apologies to Firesign Theater). Mirage verberations whipped up from the nutterworld.
And that, as all good schizniks knew, was the work of the Giant Monolithic Computer, sending ectoplasmic murmurings to mesmerize the unwary. The freebarders had to keep their starry yods up real rowdy to drown out the utterings of the anal-log(ical) psyche-sucker!
But hope there was, or so said Lin Baeder, for the GMC had enemies, champions of the human ilk, namely: himself, Wight E., the Phantom Light Fucker, and the Giant Armadillo, along with some unnamely Gentry. Which side would they join, the two freebreeders, the faunaflur and faerwine brooders?
"You'll know them by the jingos they swing. But hist! Ere ye say witch side ye'll jine, for Hebe wise who recalls what lists from yon ditch and the eyes that have walls!" cautioned Master Baeder.
So Fleebus and Bubba wussly sealed their lips, then nodded a Knossostic nod, leying their fingers astride of their gnus, with looks in their eyes that said "YUP!"s, and verbosely eyed the sod.
"Away with thee, then," quoth Master Baeder, "out into the unwalked ways where ye shall find the agents of the malevolent lubehydra! Throw sand in his cogs and agitate his waters with the ripples of Chaos!"
"But, can you be more specific?" Fleebus asked.
"No need. When the proper interstices of time and space arrive at the doors of your perception, you will know."
So late one Elfhellos Eve they dropped El Lucid Luce and set out, tripping westward to the Kirk chapel on the moody Misip. Slipping through the twilit portals between worlds, they pierced the vales and scoped the plains, Indus skies of Doc Ness. The first clue they were no longer in Kansas was the sight of little gold-glowing pentangles strewn about on the ground. They stooped to pick up some of those glittery fritteries, in vain.
