Somewhere, hanging onto the hands of a clock bound for the eastern side of midnight, Igor had managed to complete the device Melvin of the Jhew Alliance had offered to him -an exceptionally sophisticated set of explosives that not only scrambled and nullified the unique communications link that existed between the consumers, employers, victims and proponents of Adolph Industries' Conversation-Makey products and technologies, it also managed to be an old-fashioned explosive in a new fangled manner.
And now, the sun was rising. Solar illumination crept into Igor's bedroom, and shone into his eyes, which forced Igor, drearily, out of bed. He sat upright, leaned forward to put on the extra plush, navy blue slippers and immediately fell forward and hit the floor.
"Igor need coffee," he grumbled as the new day continued to slowly age.
* * * * *
As dawn continued breaking in the eastern skies, the early morning light that had risen Igor from his bed was close to shining down upon the rival temples of which Igor worked and Missy often screeched about.
Outside the Temple of Scienceology, Alejandro skittered back and forth nervously, waiting for Igor. An automotive hum was expected, but the approach of Missy on her bicycle, complete with wicker basket, was what was arriving. And she wasn't headed for the adjacent temple as she usually was.
Missy pedaled, and came to a stop outside, the Temple of Scienceology's front glass doors. Alejandro, fearing Missy's busybody nature might get her into a whole new world of trouble, attempted to intervene, and he skittered up to her as she dismounted her bicycle, marched neighborly to the glass, and stuck her face up against the doors to see what she could see. If there'd been a doorbell, she would've worn it out in less than three minutes.
ARF!
Hands on her hips, Missy then turned away from the Temple's doors and looked down upon Alejandro.
"Well, hello. Greetings from the Savior of the Cult of the Lowercase T." She then leaned down to pet Alejandro, and he bit her with as much force as he could manage.
"Ow! You little monster, I should have you put down! Come here!" Missy then began chasing Alejandro, who kept running between Missy's legs, to avoid her clutches.
"Alejandro. Igor here."
Missy's hands reached out one last time and again missed as Alejandro managed to stop on a dime, turn, and lunge again through Missy's legs. He then ran and pretended to hide behind Igor.
"Young man, is this animal yours?"
"Alejandro is," Igor lied.
"And has Allie Hand Ro had all of her shots?"
Alejandro then barked in protest at the butchering of its name and sex, to which Igor smiled a sleepy smile, knowing full well the dog had just called this woman a bitch. Coughing an oncoming chuckle back down, Igor casually replied "Yes, he has."
ARF!
Igor, incapable of holding it back, laughed briefly, which only caused further irritation from Missy.
"Do you think this is funny young man?"
"Alejandro suggests Missy pray the rabies away."
Frowning, Missy took to her bicycle, shook a warning finger at the tiny dog, said "Next time he
bites me, he's going to the pound." She then pedaled off in a huff.
Igor, unable to resist, offered in response "Missy'll get Igor, and Igor's little dog, too!"
ARF?
"Igor explain later."
* * * * *
Today, it seemed, was "Convert Your Kids Day" at the Temple of Scienceology, because the lobby, corridors, and rooms devoted to S-Meter analysis were teaming with youths from the age of newborns, who were believed to be guilty of things their bakery fresh brains couldn't yet understand, to the rowdy teenaged guys Igor's age who were more interested in the pelvic dance than they were in this crackpot gathering of believers.
Some of these rowdy guys, however, were aspiring scientists not unlike Igor, but where Igor had simply been interested in electronics and such, these rebellious teens had taken their fundamental belief there was no god and their close encounters with the neighborly Missy to heart, and so began the minor holy war between the adjacent cults.
Missy would stand outside with her congregation, praying as loudly as they could while the guys would take up cans of spray paint in the middle of the night and write proclamations across the Lowercase T's temples front doors proclaiming "Jesus Was A Monkey Before He Was A Messiah."
Unable to come up with a humorous response, Missy and the rest of the temples followers kept handing out gifts of food and drink (at the appropriate price, mind you), offered prayers, and maintained their assumed superiority while the boys of the Scienceology temple offered up the actual history of their church and how most of it was stolen from other religions, mainly paganism, and they were too stupid to realize the difference.
Being too stupid to realize the difference, the prayers and gifts kept coming.
And then the Grand High Mystic arrived for work. Ever perceptive of the goings and comings of the neighboring temple's population, Missy was the first to notice who was approaching the building.
"GET HIM! HE DOESN'T BELIEVE IN THE SAVIOR OF THE CULT OF THE LOWERCASE T!" shouted Missy.
Fast on his feet, the Mystic just barely managed to avoid the clutches of the Lowercase T'ians self appointed representatives this fine morning and let the front doors slam behind him as he made for the elevator. If he had looked back, he would've seen Missy pressed up against the glass doors staring inside, demanding at the top of her lungs to know what was going on in there, proclaiming why it most likely wasn't approved of by the Savior of the Cult of the Lowercase T, declaring how she was going to pray for them (whether they liked it or not) and remained pressed hard up against the glass to see it all.
* * * * *
For the past several years, the ongoing Hollywood careers of the likes of Jay Jay Abraham, Roland Emery, and Mikey Bay have given to the film going population some of the most expensive, most popular, high concept pieces of shit that had absolutely no storytelling merit.
Jay Jay himself had recently dedicated himself to destroying an intelligent and noble science fiction franchise that had grown stagnant within the last decade due, mostly, to the incompetencey of its own show runners and demands for more, more, more from the studio that ran it so hard, they successfully ran it into the ground and buried it in a shallow grave down by the water front so that, eventually vultures could peck at its bones.
Roland Emery and Mikey Bay weren't much better, creating cinematic piles of crap dedicated to doomsday scenarios which usually involved threats from outer space, but at least they weren't grave robbing corpse rapists. Even Dr. Nefarious wouldn't stoop that low.
Many have wondered how this trio of incompetent directors became so highly successful in the modern world. You'll find yourself the answer in the basement in the temple of Scienceology, as Igor had been instructed to keep their mind numbing cinematic talents going by giving their respective brains a simultaneous wash.
"Scrub a dub dub, three nuts in a tub..." Igor sang to himself as he added more Brain-O.
"Keep them sanitized, Igor," said the Grand High Mystic when he introduced the directorial stooges to Igor earlier this morning. "They are our greatest collaborators, and will help usher in the new age."
"Yes, master" said Igor. The Mystic then patted Igor on the head, for less than fatherly reasons , and headed back to the elevator to check on the goings on upstairs.
And when he was alone, as the trio of brains were resting in their own jars alongside the walls, A Communication came through. Igor pulled out his Spartan flip phone, and was informed of how Jay Jay, Roland and Mikey were important to Adolph Industries master plan.
Numbing the minds through advanced, expensive conversation-makeys had been the primary means of iDumbing down the home world population, but with the Hollywood alliance becoming stronger every day, the Jhew Alliance knew they would have to strike soon. Jay Jay, Roland and Mikey's finished products always seem to have the same cinematic shine and sheen the Adolph Industries perfected in its stores back home.
And now, here the directors were, scrubbed and shined, hooked up once again into the high speed communications relay that was jacked into the main console Katie had once shown Igor. Every so often, Igor would override the security programs, and raise Almighty Steve from his hidden alcove and witness for himself the horrors the Jhews were so concerned with.
Steve's health was continuing to regenerate.
Not good.
* * * * *
Outside the Temple of Scienceology, Alejandro of the Cheewahwah race, sat shaking at the temple doors, had been quietly waiting evacuating the Evolved Ones from the Temple of Scienceology. As they still had aluminum hats on their heads, and were still simple, submissive creatures that did what the descendants of Steve asked of them, Alejandro had to be creative in getting the Evolved One's attention, and so had resorted to dressing up as a bottle as a bottle of Tequila. In groups of five, Alejandro had been leading his charges from the building into the relative safety of the real world.
Now, as the tiny Cheewahwah rested, it amused itself with the ongoing arguments from the rowdy Scienceologist teens and the highly pious Cult of the Lowercase T's. The argument was one concerning the actual fossil histories and evolutionary process of the planet, plus the superiority of scientific investigation over being a parrot, spouting the same old views of invisible men in the sky that, although claims to love you, also has His finger hovering over the button which controls the celestial trap door which will open up any minute and drop the infidels into the eternal furnace below.
Missy continued praying for the lost souls as loudly as she could, and the Scienceologist retaliated with their prized creation: Jojo The Monkey Christ*.
* Sometimes science is like a game of Truth Or Dare. The unwilling atheistic initiates to the Temple had decided that spray painting slogans wasn't getting the job done, so they staged a midnight raid on the nearest public zoo, kidnapped their prized member of the simian setup, spent weeks running gene sequence analyses, and performed humiliating experiments such as dressing JoJo in a red thong while teaching him to sing "Viva Las Vegas."
"Blasphemy," shouted the tiny Missy.
"Worship him," cried the teens! "You wanna walk on water, Jojo?"
"OOOH AAAH AAAH AHH! OOOH AAAH AAAH!" howled Jojo, and he monkeyed his way to a child's inflatable pool that was filled to the brim. Jojo jumped in, landed softly, rose and fell slightly with the water underneath him, and stayed afloat. Jojo brought his hairy hands together, and hung his head in prayer.
It only took a moment for the Lowercase T'ians to scramble to get a look at their new messiah, fell hard to their knees, and began praising the simian.
"Oh lord it is a miracle!" cried Missy.
"...of science, bitches!"
* * * * *
When lunchtime rolled around, Igor took the gleaming brains from the sanitizing wash, placed them in their appropriate containers along the walls, and made his way to the upper levels where lunch would most assuredly be underway.
On ground level, the elevator swung open and let The Mystic in, who smiled an unreadable smile at Igor, and motioned for some guests to enter into the lift. Filed in they, these unshaven, odorous, and cerebrally deficient business partners of The Mystic.
"Oh, hello Igor, let me introduce you to some great potential for our organization's growth. This is Harry, this is Larry, this fellow here is Gary, followed by Barry and, last but not least, Mary."
Uncertain, Igor asked "Mary?" and a gruff, bearded voice came from amongst the other unshaven individuals. "That's me, ain't it. I done reckon it's a pleasure to make yer acquaintance."
Mary was a woman of a certain presence - it certainly presented itself and Igor wished it would back the hell off, take a damned shower, apply a few pounds of deodorant, perfume, toothpaste, mouthwash, and copious amounts of shaving cream. But the same could be said for the other entrants into Igor's elevator bound for the cafeteria still a few levels away.
Igor, wanting not to give a further line of questioning due to the fact it would require inhaling the now polluted atmosphere, simply nodded and half smiled at the remaining occupants, as The Mystic eyed the illuminated button Igor had pressed.
"Lunchtime I see," he said turning back to Igor and smiling. "I do hope there's pistachio ice cream today for dessert. A man can't get enough pistachio ice cream, right Igor?"
"Yes, master." Igor replied out of force of habit, and swallowed a mouthful of redneck aroma. It nearly caused immediate unconsciousness.
With the press of a button, The Mystic then allowed the elevator to rise again to its original destination, and The Mystic continued his conversation with the newcomers. They, Igor learned, were members of a family from the backwoods negotiating their contracts for an upcoming reality show they felt they deserved, because they were white, eccentric, stupid, and loud.
Being white, eccentric, stupid, and loud was the now the go to formula in reality television, and The Mystic took advantage of it immediately. Through his connections with Hollywood, The Mystic had arranged a multitude of brain draining sources of entertainment that now clogged the American television viewing habit.
It'd started off simply, with a fat comedian called "Larry The Idiot Boy." His first appearance on stage was coupled with his famous self introduction: "I'm Larry The Idiot Boy, And I'm Here To Be Fat, Loud, And Obnoxious! Because I'm Larry The Idiot Boy."
And Larry was an immediate success.
Then came Honey Baby, the tale of a backwater child the size of a prized hog who acted as such. And she was an even bigger success.
Then came the antics of Wild Bucks, which consisted of idiots at play in an often dangerous fashion which would ultimately take the lives of half the cast, proving Darwin's theories wholly accurate yet again.
And now, here Igor was overhearing the latest venture into reality television, and it filled him with a new sense of horror and a profound loss of appetite.
* * * * *
Later that afternoon, just outside the Temple's front doors, the street corner holy war continued, while inside the messages continued to come through Igor's phone.
We're receiving increased levels in Radioactive Stupidity in your vicinity. What's going on there, Igor?
And Igor spoke aloud his message to his phone, which automatically shunted said message back to the Jhews.
"Local crazies having theological discussion. It normal. Oh, and new reality TV show being planned. Plus monkey singing Elvis' greatest hits. Igor not know why though."
Has The Cheewahwah Representative Evacuated His People?
ARF!
Good. We Must Act Quickly. Your Society Is Doomed. Tie Up Whatever Loose Ends You
May Have, And Signal Us When You Are Ready. You Are The Galaxy's Only Hope, Igor.
Igor closed up his phone, turned to the corner where, perfectly concealed in the far
reaching shadows, Igor's only benevolent contact on Earth came skittering up to the
hunchback on shaking legs and let out a small, but declarative, ARF!
"Igor understand. Get fellow Cheewahwah's home, Alejandro."
ARF! and away went the tiny brown dog.
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