FNORD IS THE BEGINNING AND THE END! THE ALPHA AND OMEGA! IT IS THE CRUCIBLE WHERE ALL IS FORGED AND THE INFERNO WHERE ALL IS CONSUMED! SPLIT A PIECE OF WOOD, AND YOU WILL FIND IT! BUILD A TOWER TO RIVAL THE HEAVENS, AND IT IS THERE! IT IS IN THE FIRST TEAR OF EVERY CHILD AND IN THE LAST, PAINED GROAN OF THE LAST GOD AT THE END OF ETERNITY AS THE STARS GUTTER OUT AND ALL IS DIM!
:bans The Beast of London: Oh, you want to know why?
Chunder Mall: Ernst Blofeld seeks to wreak havoc on American commerce by spreading tainted meat to shopping centers around the American heartland. Doctor Po: A Korean culinary billionaire has put addictive chemicals in his food to cause people to crave it fortnightly in an attempt to corner the dried food market. Yo! Only Live Twice!: Don't bogart the controller during this game of Super Mario, man. Let the rest of us have a turn! The Man with the Golden Bun: A sinister southern-fried cooking impresario plans to rob Fort Knox by pulling a switcheroo, replacing gold bullion with ingots of chicken bouillon. The Man with the Golden Gunk: Newly minted double-O secret agent Tony Gunk is on the case (many of you will not get this joke).
In a word... CHAOS. Why do you ask?
I have the perfect venue in mind: some time ago, a very interesting and undeniably huge creature emerged from the darkest and most squamous depths to lay waste to the populous. Some sort of curse set upon the kingdom by some sorcerer or another. At any rate, this proved inconvenient, as I was the the middle of posing for a portrait featuring myself (nude of course) and some strategically placed fruit and wildlife. One well placed obelisk later and the creature was pithed, immobilize in a sea cave nearby. It has not been allowed to die, but the centuries have wrought upon it a slow deterioration which has been perfectly scrumptious in the degree of agony and dread inflicted upon the erstwhile destroyer. I would wager that with the right lighting and perhaps a curtain or two, it's chest cavity would make a most delightful venue for all manner of goings on. As a conversation piece, its heart looms above, as big as a cottage, still beating intermittently, pulsing unwanted life to the creature's tormented brainmeats. I'll send a palanquin over to bring you to inspect it. The right hirelings could do wonders with the space. Yours within... Uncle GoatToucher
If I had a nickel...
Ah. A Carnivorous Lawn. I've seen them a hundred times. The statuary draws you in to examine it (usually with come "inscription" of gobbeldy-g@!$ on the dais). Then is rolls up on you, quick as a flash, while you neighbors are none the wiser, assuming that you are preparing to lay down sod. There are two ways to do about this, the first is the good old Rot-Grub. A million household uses, and high in protein! The second is cleansing flame. You might tame it, now that I think on it, with the proper incentives and enough patience (particularly if you don't care for your neighbors). Yours in need of a trim, Uncle GoatToucher
For a truly invigorating time, I recommend the Probe-Pits of the Tienish people. "Leave no hole unturned!" is their motto! They consider it wholistic medicine (no pun intended). Your senses will never feel so alive! What a way to begin your journey: better able to see, hear, smell, and taste the places your journey takes you! Yours dilated, Uncle GoatToucher
I'll never tell, but I will say that little Mika could hold her breath like a manatee.
You need a Euro! I'm holding out for a Euro 'til the end of the night!
You have to let them steep for a while. Until just before they stop wriggling. :tiny pleas for mercy:
Ah! There he is! :takes up T-QIJ and places him in a steaming silver teapot. Cries of torment ensue: I must say, they do make for a most refreshing brew. I like mine with a twist of lemon! :tiny, agonized screams:
:is gradually eaten:
Indeed! I would never tolerate an elf with fewer than seven penises.
They are too absorbed in their own business to give a passing thought to an ochre behemoth. Sad really. Sign of the times.
Goodness yes! And what a story: fraught with intrigue, adventure, and childlike wonder! I count myself lucky to know the tale. Now don't forget to seek your joy in hobbies in between lumbering about, my friend. Yours, Uncle GoatToucher
:wraps himself in a flag of an indeterminable country as an indeterminable anthem plays from an indeterminable source: :sniffs: Truly: Nothing eternal can truly perish from the world...
:does not carve so much as dissect the turkey with an expert hand, each cut of meat separated from bone perfectly, and the skin coming off in one intact piece: Bon Appetit!
Take my advice: burn that envelope unopened. You shan't profit from the knowledge. Indeed, the knowing might be your undoing. For... reasons. You might consider relocating to another plane as well. Yours in unwholesome knowledge, Uncle GoatToucher
Hm. Interesting. Allow me to retort. :pulls on a tasseled cord, beginning a series of clunks and whirrs in the walls and ceiling, followed by a faint jingling. A soft noise at first, but building into a roar: :a chute opens directly above Carlin, and thousands of gold pieces crash down on to him, gradually crushing him: :the flood abates to a trickle, and then a final -ping- as the last coin drops: I imagine that should cover it. Jambi? Call the front desk and tell them we shall be staying through the week. Then call housekeeping: we'll be needing more linens.
I keep it marinated in fine, aged liqueurs and just a hint of nutmeg. P.S. I hope that you are not inconvenienced by my actions. Quite all right, my friend. You see... ...I have been eating your brain as well! Uncle GoatToucher
It is a caterpillar, emerging from its own ravaged anus to become a butterfly! When it does so, put a pin through it and mount it in your collection. Uncle GoatToucher
1: Freeze it and use it as a bladed weapon. 2: Superheat it and use it as an incendiary. 3: Poison it for consumption by humans. 3: Poison it for consumption by livestock. 5: Fees it to local birds, where the laxative effects of all the oils in the food will cause explosive evacuation while in flight over your enemies. Stay well. Uncle GoatToucher
The longer a franchise runs, the more precipitous the decline in quality as the central premises have to be stretch out to the point of breaking. Look for it in all forms of media. We need to let properties die, or perhaps entertain the British model of skipping several years between "series" of a show. If I recall, there is a show involving Dame Hellen Mirren as a crime solving lawyer that has eight seasons across fourteen years, or some such. Uncle GoatToucher
Well, I'll hardly give it all away, but I will tell you the first two steps: 1: Discover my . 2: Avoid being driven to insensate madness by the knowledge of my . Consider what kind of information would be considered a by me. I will warn you ahead of time that the knowledge has a corrosive effect on most types of brainmeats. Hope this helps. Jambi, be a dear and put him in the wheelbarrow and dump him out behind the shed. Uncle GoatToucher.
:pulls out platinum and silver pocket watch: Hm. That beast should be arriving at that orphanage for the blind any minute now...
Sorry to interrupt, but can anyone tell me how I came back to life?! A wizard did it.
:jingling of bells: Hear that, Jambi? Every time a bell rings a non-biological extraplanar entity goes through an agonizing process to develop an anus!
"Squat" is a very satisfying word to say. Squat. SQUAT. Tee hee! Yours, Uncle GoatToucher
:sighs wistfully: :gestures behind and above his desk at a picture of a majestic black goat with shining horns of carved obsidian: :below, a small placard reads "Lord Ridgeway": :GT takes out a small satin handkerchief and wipes away a tear: Never Forget. Uncle GoatToucher
Conceive --Conceive
Combined
Positive
Uncle
The Prince of Wales (later George IV) from "Beau Brummel" is The Money The Ghost of Blackbeard from "Blackbeard's Ghost" uses his supernatural powers to become The Inside Man and gather information on the security system and the habits of the guards. Hercule Poirot from "Death on the Nile" uses his powers of perception and deduction to check for holes in the plan. Batiatus from "Spartacus" provides The Muscle in the form or highly trained men. Give Sir Peter my regards, Uncle GoatToucher
*While all those shenanigans are going on, is still in GoatToucher's workroom waiting in fearful trepidation.* :Jambi pulls in a 32' tube television on a cart, plugs it in, and plays a VHS tape of Neil Gaiman's Masterclass on storytelling: :you are unsure of how this recent production is on VHS: :Jambi shows you a note on monogrammed paper: Develop. A. Theme. GT
:nods: Quite. Uncle GoatToucher
Well aren't you a fun little fellow! And such a theme! MArvelous! So: --1. He-Man, how do I beat him once and for all? Lay down intersecting fields of suppressive fire with two emplaced M2 .50 caliber machine guns and then call in a fire mission of three HE rounds set to proximity detonation from your 80mm mortar platoon. This will result in 24 explosions, each with a 40m blast radius. Nothing living will survive. --2. The power of Greyskull, what do I need to do to get it? Assuming you have already accomplished #1, send an assassin to hit The Sorceress with a blow dart tipped with Amazonian Blue-Footed Frog poison. She'll be dead in moments, and, due to the toxin's nature as a nerve agent, she will be unable to strike out with a Death Curse. Then just pull the U-Haul up to the mouth-drawbridge and move in! --3. Mordak, your recommendations for getting rid of him forever? I assume you mean Hordak, erstwhile nemesis of Adam of Eternia's sister Adora and your competitor. See #1. I have seen these people work, and they clearly have no head for tactical operations. --4. Eternia, I want it, so how do I get it? Well, complete operations 1-3 and then use your preferred methods of subjugation of the masses. Nobody will be able to put up a defense with He-Man and the Sorceress gone and you in possession of both the might of Greyskull and the Sword of Power. --5. Buffoons for henchmen, tell me how to diminish their foolishness! Oh stop you silly goose! Watching henchmen bumble about is half the fun! How else will you entertain yourself after your dominance is secured? I recommend a good valet, though. I'll send you a card for the service I use. Tell them I sent you (though admittedly this might be alarming for them. You'll work it out, I am sure.) Happy hunting! Uncle GoatToucher
Ugh. Darling, don't make it work. Sigh. Earth: Mao Zedong - A people and a political philosophy that stretches wide and reaches deep. Slow moving but unrelenting. That which the soil nourishes, thrives. That which stands in the way of the tumbling boulder is crushed. It hears no pleas for mercy. It brooks no argument. It will crack, but it takes either tremendous force or tremendous patience. Air: Donald Trump - Full of Bluster, but, ultimately, empty. A cultural and financial leader in the 80s and 90s. His expansion into politics in the 21st century was merely a broadening of scope. He is the same as he ever was: venal, faithless, and utterly corrupt. He has built nothing of value, and has destroyed a great deal in his passing. Like a hurricane, his passing was terrible, but he will be remembered only for the damage he caused. Wood: Dame Margaret Thatcher - Alive, but insensate. Unfeeling. Cares only for expansion. It drinks deep from the lowly and gives fruit to those on high. As with many wooden implements, she was a useful tool for those who wielded her. Metal: Josef Stalin - Hard and cold. An unrelenting weight. Unbroken by pressure. Unsoftened by emotion. He is the ferryman's scythe sweeping and the brute's truncheon bearing down. Much of what he built stands, even if his face and name have been scrubbed away. Fire: That Guy - Pride, like fire, can be useful when applied in a controlled fashion. More likely (and more often) it can rage out of control if left unattended, and rush to destroy not only your own home, but those of your neighbors. Inclined to leave the innocent in the wake of it's all consuming passion. The pain it deals is excruciating. The scars it leaves are horrible. Water: Neville Chamberlin - Could have doused the fire, had he the will. Ultimately, rather than firm resolve, he proved malleable to those disinclined to the dirty work the moment required. They paid for their indolence later, along with millions of others. Void: Kim Il Sung - Where he goes, no hope, no truth, no love, no light can exist. All are consumed, wiped away, replaced with tools that serve him. He dies, but his legacy of fear is reconstituted again and again. Hundreds of millions live in the shadow of his madness. Spirit/Life/Thought: Tenzin Gyatso: 14th Dalai Lama - The opposite number of the Void. He brings hope, and truth, and love, and light to the world. He serves Spirit Life and Thought with a singularity of purpose and lack of ego that set him, more than any leader of the age, as an example of how to treat one's fellows. Phew! This calls for a beverage! Oh Jambi! XOXOXO, Uncle GoatToucher
My durable friend, I'm afraid I don't smoke. Bad habit, don't you know. Good luck, though. Uncle GoatToucher
My hidden friend, In order: Mao, Trump, Thatcher, Stalin (obviously), the little Austrian fellow, Chamberlin, Kim Il Sun, and the 14th Dalai Lama. Yours, waiting with bated breath, Uncle GoatToucher
Please shriek into this microphone. For posterity, of course.
What other end? What goes in, doesn't come back out. I think you'll find that once suffering passes through you, it will make an exit. Not to worry: anuses are wonderful things, and the... shall we say, profound evacuation you will have is an important part of the experience. Particularly if you have never evacuated before. This will be terrible. I'm very excited for you!
Oh no. When prepared properly, suffering has a marvelous flavor.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archive_of_Our_Own Cheers! Uncle GoatToucher Jambi, I have darkness all over my fingers. Be a lamb and get me a moist towelette or something, would you?
Well, first and foremost, all of my facilities run on a mixture of despair, shame, and revulsion. We only use the electric for the night watchman's little television. :motions to Jambi, who goes to a wall, opens a panel, and flicks a switch, causing GT's operations to adjust to the switch in the polarity of its power source: You think I do not have contingencies for the power of Love being used against me? Come now. I'd hardly have lasted against the first assault of the Unicorn Brigade... the delicious... delicious Unicorn Brigade. :sighs: At any rate: find a -theme-. A gadfly is not a theme: it is just troublesome. Have some flair! Something people can admire even while you trouble them. Keep trying! We all believe in you! Uncle GoatToucher
Returns to aimlessly wandering across the land, mind blank to the results of the gladiatorial pit, choosing to be in uninhabited areas to limit the amount of interaction with others. Seeking nothing but eternal rest. :a squad of well muscled, scantily clad, and heavily oiled men rush out and pile onto the beast, wrestling it to the floor. While the assembled buck and writhe, Jambi emerges, approaches the beast, and reaches out to pluck a faintly glowing green bulb the size of a grapefruit. This is excruciatingly painful for the beast, who begins to flail about, dashing the men against the ground, against walls, and high into the air as Jambi approaches GoatToucher: :takes the bulb in a hand, examining it: Ah. The Suffering Gland. It distills the physical and existential agonies in to a useable form. :to Jambi: It will regrow. We'll harvest again next month. For now, release it back out into the world. Make sure it is seen. :hands Jambi the gland: Put this with the others. :licks his fingers absently:
Well, first and foremost, all of my facilities run on a mixture of despair, shame, and revulsion. We only use the electric for the night watchman's little television. If you are interested in standing out, I recommend developing an original theme and pursuing it to it's logical end. Yours in benign depravity, Uncle GoatToucher.
:resting on chez-lounge, sipping tea and reading from a small book: :sighs, sets tea and book down on a platter borne by Jambi, and removes spectacles: Assorted Disney Villains, This obsequiousness is unseemly, and I have indulged it long enough. Do what pleases you and corresponds to your individual idiom, theme, or milieu. You are each (to various degrees of stylishness and quality) iconic in your own right. Do what you do. If it entertains me, delightful. If it does not, I will visit my ministrations upon you in such a way as to entertain myself. Either way, it will be more pleasing to me than :gestures vaguely at the assembled: this. This is, in the end, the one thing Mr. Crowley had right. :dons glasses, takes up tea and book once more: Hope this helps. :waves you away: Ta! Uncle GoatToucher
:strolls by, languidly tracing a finger along the length of the ribbon as he passes. The ribbon quickly dissolves: :strolls away, sipping a small goblet of something:
:sniffs, dabbing the corners of his eyes with a lace handkerchief from his cuff: And so a new child takes its first steps into a world with so many delightful holes to plunder... :he turns to Jambi, standing at his usual position, none the worse for wear: Be a lamb and clean up here, Jambi. There's a good lad. :minces off into the night:
:considers the assembled Disney villains, frowning thoughtfully: Well, I suppose it would be bad form to hold your origins and the backwater dimension you hail from against you. After all: you had the wit to effect an escape. :taps his fingers against his lips: Very well! :he sits, his attendants placing a gold filigree and red velvet lounge beneath him as he sits. He reclines, extending one hand to have a small crystal goblet placed in it, and the other to take an ivory cigarette holder: You have my attention, such as it is. :takes a drag and speaks, smoke curling from his lips: Please me!
:As you slit them open, the Gothic Fairy Sousaphone players look up to you with something akin to gratitude, gurgling as their life spills out with the burbling purple ichor. You look down at the dark blood smeared on your arms and apron, and, satisfying a bit of curiosity, sniff. It is a quite pleasant aroma of lilac and some sort of citrus liqueur: :You look upon the still forms of the fairies, given a peace long denied them: :one of the bodies spasms: :and another: :and another: :Soon, all the corpses are convulsing, spraying their fluids from every hole. The bodies begin to slither together and their flesh melds, every pair of fairies becoming a hideous amalgam in order to seal the wounds you delivered upon them. A face emerges from a neck here, and arm from a belly there. Extra legs flail and extra hands curl in mute agony: :The fairy that looked to you with gratitude now bears a wide eyed look of horror and betrayal: :You look on, feeling a combination or revulsion and professional curiosity, when the lilac smell fills your nostrils with increased potency. You look down to see the ichor dissolving your clothes. You hasten to tear them away, but the blood on your hands and arms penetrates your flesh. You feel yourself...Changing: :a sousaphone grows out of your body and into your hands:
:they stare: :they collectively, and in unison, soil themselves: :they begin to weep, silently:
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