The Eighth Plague: A Narrative of Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll

Chapter 3: I exit, but I stand still. What am I?

It was 6 o'clock. Bastable Bumppo exited the shower. He had washed himself thoroughly of what physical evidence remained of the night's fun, and was now drying himself with a rag.

Once dry, he perfumed himself with some vials from the belt of his uniform. He now smelled of plums and quiet, militaristic dignity. It beat the stench of sex, anyway, in his opinion.

Silently, he walked out of the bathroom and back into the master bedroom in which it was located. He smiled as he looked upon the sleeping forms of freakish Major Collins, sickly Colonel Van Bach, and plump little Ms. Daker.

He dressed, and, gracefully, pulled a tiny trumpet from his uniform's breast pocket. He lifted the delicate tin instrument to his mouth, and blew a quick raspberry.

What followed was the worst sound imaginable. It was like dozens of rabbits trapped in bags of ice shrieking as a massive duck crushed them underfoot. It was like the entire British parliament let out a burp in unison as pitchers of sand and shards of glass were funneled into their esophagi. It was like the casual speaking voice of the typical Norwegian blasted full volume on an off-brand Arab speaker system trapped inside a giant birth canal filled with buckeyes. It was like the total and complete physical and conceptual obliteration of the very firmament of Earth as Yahweh, fetishistically and with passion, vomited the entire angelic host down the throat of Lord Vishnu. It was a real ugly sound.

People all over the city woke up with a start.

Mayor Ruby Jimbelushi woke up at her desk in a puddle of her own drool, just in time to spot and catch in her hands a bullet that was scarce inches from her head.

Visiting Cymradian delegate Yandor Smith awoke inside his cryogenic pod in the U.N. building, and was driven quite insane by the experience, having never before been conscious inside the thing.

Obese printing magnate Harry Cranston suffered a fatal heart attack upon hearing the sound, having gorged himself on a large meal the night previous. Acquaintances alleged his last words were "the perfect taco." Some said this was a nickname for his wife's intimate parts, others said it was the name of his childhood sled, and still others said he was quoting novelist Tom Robbins (who himself was just using the phrase to reference womens' intimate parts.) In actuality it was just what Cranston had had for dinner.

Back at the apartment, Spade Newhouse awoke from the sound naked (apart from the Punchinello shirt) in his armchair, feeling a sense of supreme vitality. Margie, who had fallen asleep curled in his lap; and Martie, who had not felt very tired and thus had not slept; were of a similar disposition.

In the kitchen, Barry "Shaky" Daker-Mukharji-Parker-Almond-Little-Richard-Tennyson's ears had begun to bleed. This had, in fact, begun before the Hussar had sounded the trumpet, but was nonetheless exacerbated by it. As the blaring further ruptured an already inflamed inner ear, the blood began to mist out, totally covering a very surprised and frightened Confederate and Chinese.

Nobody knew what happened to the "Beckmans," except that, when everyone went into the laundry room to check in on them later, all that was found were two empty hazmat suits, which were red and green and labeled with the name "Pickford", which thoroughly confused everyone present.

Doris, the Colonel, and the Major all fell flailing out of bed, each accidentally pushing the other. Naked, they landed, and looked up at Hussar Bastable Bumppo. He smirked and cleared his throat.

"Rise and shine, campers! We've ourselves a space station to recapture! The early bird plucketh you all from the ground! Let's get going! Hut-hoo, hut-hoo, slugabeds! No lazing the days-ing aways-ing while I'm in charge! Get to the kitchen and let's all eat a hearty meal before we get on the go! Hoo-ha!"

Make no mistake, those words above are not what Hussar Bastable Bumppo said. They are what he would have said. For, at that moment, seeking to comfort the Arab and the Swede as they shook in fear of the noise they had heard and its unknown origins, the Samoan jumped out of the bedroom closet, and before he knew what he was doing, tackled Bumppo to the floor and stabbed him through the head with a hunting knife.

Accidents happen.