ROGER GETS ANTIMOONY
One fine afternoon in Nantwich next to the mid Marches of Jehovahill the Incumbent, when the paragraphs were all spun together with cat words and horse glue, and the ceilings were well waxed and fawning with liquid trepidation, Roger stood alone in the doorway of the Runted Bush Wellsbody and Gown Whistler, free drinks for those who arrive when its closed (open mouth and look up to accept rain).
It had been raining and the drinks, while having been well accepted, were no replacement for what was available when the doors opened and service was begun, as it now was about to be. Roger moved to the bar, his spurs digging into the genuine Chinese plastic floor cladding made with real walrus warts and thought crumbs as he stomped his way in his 20 pound Western style Eastern made snot skin and lama dung hand stitched recycling boots.
He sat on a bar stool and moved his left eye 4 degrees to the left, then the right. The right eye followed soon after, and in no time they danced to a tune of mindful turning left and right respectively under Roger’ s damp and dripping cardboard cowpre-pubescenthumanmale hat. The barman, named Fidelio Comparse Mentus as it said on his I.D. lapel, watched the sole customer’s eye movement, with some- oh- about 7 degrees of interest; but better than standing looking at the wall, waiting for something to happen; in a narrow expectation of a hard drinks order becoming imminent, for which- as was his posted duty- he intended to provide with no joy, some fulfillment of salary, and complete quality of a single slice of toilet paper in entertainment by substitution.
There followed an exchange between the two in MM-MM language, the result of which was the deposition of a large whiskey in a tall, cheap glass on the bar, with a bucket of ice and long handled spoon, and a payment in exchange of 12 sugar frosted male lemmings gonads in a sealed recycled jam jar.
Fidelio, the sub-human with the average brain power of the self-righteous snowflake, equal to an evolved snail and as useful as a pomegranate in a tornado, deposited the jar next to a mixture of others on the bar back, and stuck a note on it with a price displayed in universally accepted standard iguana teeth.
Slow day today,
Mentioned Roger to the barman in old English.
Yep. Slow and looking to stay that way.
Fidelio responded in older English.
There was a pause filled with several breaths, the noise of sheep herding along the street outside, and the smell of toxic pollution leading to several myotatic cancers well known, some of which were prized and collectable for their artistic refinement. It may have been pregnant or not: There was no time to find out, as the pause finished along with Roger’s drink, and he said,
Going next door now.
To the philanthropy museum?
Asked the barman.
Yep. Need to check some things out there.
But its closed until next week for the local heat’s Regional Uneventful Bear Tug contest and Cod Boasting Algorithms.
Not to me,
Replied Roger, as he turned to leave, trying to keep his heavy boots on without falling over.
Good luck with that then,
Fidelio answered, not giving any kind of hoot at all, and watching the wall for more well rounded entertainment.
You’ll need this I think,
Roger stopped and wondered if he had a gun drawn on his left buttock. Quickly, he got out a pocket mirror from his gagging bag without moving his feet, and checked both cheeks. No gun was there printed or drawn on either. A relief of a smiling Great Uncle Findus waving wildly, tattooed in red ink; but that was old and made upon him by that uncle as a joke when he was young and in a drunken sleep. He felt relieved as he turned back to face Fidelio, who was showing signs of coveting Roger’s handy cheek checking mirror.
Fidelio had in his hand by the tail a single smoked anchovy that he was holding out and up for inspection; lifted from one of the various jars of items on the bar back. His reasoning explained, and a deal concluded, Roger booted out of the bar and turned right towards the museum next door, wading through the sheep that filled the street aided by his heavy boots, with the anchovy in a small bag.
Roger leapt the grills minus his heavy boots and dropped easily the 20 feet to the basement floor at the back of the museum. He tapped on the staff entrance door, thankfully dipping the anchovy into the guard piranha’s mouth in satiation.
He said remembering the codes and forgetting how an evolved guard piranha can live out of water, he tapped 3-9-9 on the door with a pause in between the phrases.
There was a return tap of 4-1-1-1 from inside.
You have the beauty, breath and brains of a donkey from the stone ages,
He said, giving the password.
The door opened, and Marmalade the evolved crocodile let him in, saying,
And you are less than a chug of maple syrup yourself.
A warning horn sounded similar to a ship in a fog from the security system that marmalade switched to 'manual over ride'.
Roger went in as Marmalade closed the door behind him and reset the gridlocks to nothing plus something.
I’ll show you the way,
Marmalade said, putting his tail on a trolley and proceeding along the dark empty corridor in an orderly fashion, M16 assault rifle slung playfully on his back.
Thanks for sanding my floors by the way. My arms are too short to handle the machinery and who uses robotics when a friend will do it for you, eh?
Marmalade winked. Roger smiled and nodded a welcome in response. They went up a lift four floors.
Passing a room marked LAB, Roger enquired why a museum would need a lab anyway, from which the odor of roasting flesh could be smelt.
It’s the kitchen. We um… need to eat during these long shifts at security, you know,
Ah. So your specimen deliveries of failed lives get the royal treatment when they get canned here…very good,
Said Roger in approval.
Yes. Before they get stuffed. And put on display. We get some very fine frozen carcasses delivered here in the museum…shame to waste all that lovely interdimensional flesh,
Continued Marmalade, salivating slightly.
We get most from the authorities. Personnel who overstepped or failed their duties mainly. They disappear here. To be inspected by the public as fine, robust specimens of their species. All sorts. But with small brains. Very tasty, too. Ah… I mean, the public are interested in the biodiversity; the differences of scale and extremes of ecology. We reproduce local environments here that are realistic and well, stunning. So the public get quite an eyeful, without travelling to climates beyond their comfort zones and entering a Dangerfield. No good for the kiddies, you now. Used to be too many accidents before,
Finished a crocodilian smiling Marmalade as he took a rat from his pocket, opened the wrapper and biting its head off, sucked out its brains with his hollow snake tongue.
Oh, very nice. All makes sense to me. And you get biodiverse dinners without the hassle of travel AND a salary for security. That’s pretty much the tip of the top in any man’s err... crocodile's book for me,
Roger said as he kept up alongside Marmalade enjoying the nature of the place in all its meaning.
So what’s this then?
Asked Roger of a particular display case scene they were passing by.
That’s The Realm of Closet Philanthropy. You know- where there are a donor’s who say they give but just use that as a ploy in some negotiation, and then don’t follow through. There’s a whole floor of those. Different environments, all the way from ethereal to ephemeral. Some at zero Kelvin, and others in the eighth dimension. And pretty much all in between. Crime punishable by energy removal everywhere.
What- even in the eighth dimension? You cant even have a decent conversation there I mean- come on. I can understand a snowflake getting angry about the colour of Marmite but in the eighth dimension, I don’t know. Is it even calculable?
Said Marmalade, continuing
They use obscurity ergonomics to relate judgement. Relative cause and effect. The dogma of preventative logic over the need for a good dinner. Like that.
Is that the version of truth with Tintin?
No. The one with Ugandan cultural affairs and rusty nails.
After a cascade of different staged scenes and varied environments, they finally arrived at the one Roger wanted to get at.
This is Professor Epilogue,
Marmalade introduced Roger to the Prof.
Hello Prof. Nice to meet you,
…And that’s how it began to bring you to this ending then. You are Roger, the evolved cat, yes?
Answered the Prof. in introduction, who was wearing brown brogues that were extended to his armpits, and huge curling tongs on heated rubber arm covers, giving the effect of a man under pressure and inconvenience but serious never the less, which is why no one was inclined to shake his hand in greeting.
Here. Hold this in your hand. Like that, yes. Now, you come with me, yes?
Continued the Prof.
Answered Roger. Holding a Fielder that activated on contact, they flipped through a vortex and arrived in a space within a space within a space within a space. A dimension far removed from their point in space time of travel. Roger looked around. It was all an amorphous mist of slightly green tint, without a floor. They were floating.
This is Iliminitisol 8-47D. It’s a 5th dimension environment. With walls just like you have in yours but totally different,
Explained the Prof.
Been here before?
No. No I haven’t and can’t see any reason to want to. Is there something here or is this for show?
Said the Prof, pressing a button on his large vortex tablet about the same size as a laptop computer.
Roger had used automatic Fielders before. They were useful for making a safety field around a person that kept them all well in any environment, such as politics or dimensions at any pressure, temperature, or mix of elements. And fed the wearer with fashionable quantities of breathable air in an impregnable energy field of cross referenced amorphic instantaneous frequencies just right to prevent any harm coming to the wearer, while giving the sense of seeing and hearing whatever there was to hear by antimatter to matter looped translation. They enclosed the person just above their molecular presence, which was useful except if you wanted to use a sense of touch. Gravity could also be adjusted manually although advised to be left on automatic. On the whole, a useful aid to travel. The down side was that it made the wearer thirsty quickly, so it was always a good idea to carry a few bottles with you as liquid alone would get rejected by a Fielder. It had to have sold matter contact with your self to work.
Roger put away his bottle as the Prof said something was coming he would like. The mist slowly coalesced to form three beings from all around them. What could only be described as Light Spirits, in a roughly human form.
Inside his head, Roger felt them enter and present themselves.
Ah, good. Roger the cat and the Prof. Been expecting you. And you want something don’t you, Roger?
Said Roger inside his head slowly finding his way.
At The Canyon of Darkness on Latviation 2, in the Gobadah Galaxy of your universe, you will find what you seek. In a small glass bottle marked LAMB TODAY. Here are the coordinates. Anything else?
Asked a voice in his head, and Roger answered
Oh no. In that match, it was a foul for sure,
The apparent deity answered.
Ah. Really. Well that solves that one then. Thanks very much.
Then the mist dissolved and it became a bar in a pub of the Tenuous Thistle and Wet Engineer, in Ealing in 2017. They were stood rather strangely at the bar with a tinge of lilac sheen from the Fielder clinging to them. The barman said,
There we are, gentlemen. Two Murphy’s served to perfection. On the house.
And he placed the dinks as he was talking with a big smile, carefully on the bar in front of them.
The Prof and Roger drank quickly from the open flower pot mugs, the best stout any man ever tasted across all time.
Yes it is, isn’t it?
Said the voice in Rogers head, and he and the Prof answered together,
I think you’ll be needing this, Roger,
said the barman, whose name Roger knew to be Bill Somehow, and he put a bottle of salad dressing in Roger’s one empty paw.
From the restaurant here. Our gift.... Ah ok,
A spare as well too. Welcome,
Putting another bottle in Roger’s hand he could just about hold; so he put them both in his gagging bag, all just as Roger thought about taking a second bottle.
Then they were back in the mist. And the Light Spirits wished them well and a fond goodbye with a return opener for the next Wednesday afternoon at 4pm, New York time, as they were a bit busy these days.
Then, they were standing back in the museum with Marmalade who had been waiting and chewing rats heads quietly.
Yes. Brilliant. Perfect,
Replied Roger, turning to the Prof, and asking,
Can I get one of those machines you just used?
Yes. But not in your lifetime. The next one,
answered the Prof, recalibrating his machine with the end of a curling tong and making excuses that he had specially come directly from his lab there and the upset of travel was great and so on, making a case for some compensation to Roger for his services.
Why did we have to do all that here then, just as a matter of interest?
Look around. It’s a vortex enhanced stabilizer field that we are standing in. Embedded in the displays so carefully arranged on this floor. One of three on this planet and I am late for my tea now, yes please,
Replied the Prof.
Roger said, getting a copy of Movel number one, Iron Boy Takes Chunks out of the Honk for a Vegetarian Lunch and Sails to Poland, June 1968 edition in mint condition with only some peanut butter on page 14, and handing it to the Prof in its cellophane wrapper.
Excellent. I haven’t read this one yet. It will be a treat with tea, yes,
And laughed a laugh that would move anyone hearing it at least three steps back towards the nearest exit.
With that, he left by his special Extra Strength Super Pro Enchilada (ESSPE or S.P.) travel portal, and Marmalade and Roger were alone in a vast hall of displays reaching into the distance.
Roger looked at Marmalade who shrugged his shoulders.
Yes thanks. Very good. Mad news about that foul though. Highly contested…
Yes I suppose so. This place…
Added Marmalade, ignoring Roger's comment about the foul and gesticulating with half a rat held in a claw,
Its in its own in-between vortex permanently. Goes on for three miles along. From the stairs by the lift, automated travel in and out. All the public floors are like that. that's why we have to walk back to the lift. Field dampening. Your Fiery is no where near powereful enough unless I disable a window from... here,
He added by way of explanation as they stopped at a sort of electric panel on the wall near a lift.
Answered Roger, thinking it might be better to bite the head off a rat just now.
Well, thanks very much. I will be in touch about the game of pool contest on Friday evening at the over 80’s seasonal fox hoaxing and hornet stabbing society annual dinner dance for the still alive. Can you open an exit portal for me please?
Roger asked Marmalade, who answered,
One minute… I will be at that contest anyway. Lots of old crocs there. Ok. Its open. Now you can bypass the security and exit. See you Friday night then.
Said Roger, flipping and appearing at the table in his personal highly prized and top quality first class carboard box with the hole in the roof slightly South of Basingstoke city centre. Getting a bottle of alien salad dressing from his gagging bag, he handed it to Delilah.
Oh. What you got there then?
She enquired as he put it in her hand.
I think you’ll like this. A lot,
Stated Roger with confidence.
Roger. You are a good boy. I’ve heard of this brand but never tasted it. Just in time for dinner too. Toasted cauliflower, with diced fresh limes, peas, lettuce, carrots and chutney. And a half a roasted rat for you. Other half tomorrow…if you are good,
Delilah smirked, holding Roger’s chin in her hand and giving him a peck.
Wow. I see what the Light People meant now. its been a great day all told,
He said as he pushed his other bottle of salad dressing and a note with the match result definitely confirmed as a foul and address of the item sought provided by the Light People to the BOSS in Moronococoa through the Fiery travel portal, and sat down to eat.
We must get this table sorted out,
he said to Delilah, who answered,
Well, someday I suppose you might. In the meantime, its nice to have a mystery in our very own cardboard box. More than most have that’s for sure,
She finished with a lump of cauliflower head between her teeth. and went on to say,
Wow. This dressing is utterly fantastic. It tastes of…all things good. Its unbelievably good! No recipe on the bottle though, I see.
replied Roger biting down on a well roasted half a rat, with his eyes going bright.
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GET RID OF WHAT YOU NEED.
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