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J awoke and wiped the mucus from his eyes. Huge yellow crystals stuck under his nails and stared back at him unblinking, the colour of jaundice. He wondered how long he’d been asleep for.
“Was it all a dream?” he thought.
“No, J,” came an unfamiliar voice from across the chessboard that had appeared out of nowhere.
“You have been in deep slumber for one year and one day. Things got too confusing there for a while so we decided we must interfere.”
“Who are you? What place is it of yours to interfere?”
“I am not anybody,” replied the voice amiably, “we have no names here and we are not anybody. I am a chess player.”
“Well chess bores me shitless,” said J, “and quite frankly my dear, so do you.”
Saying so, he reached across the chessboard and smashed the nose of the old man who sat there with the heel of his hand. After kicking the crap out of him, J rushed into the corridor from the room. Still excited from the violence he had wreaked upon the old wanker, J looked around.
Everywhere on countless doors were alluring inscriptions:
YOU EXIST IN A PERMANENT STATE OF HALLUCINATION
RODRIGO TESTICO HAS KNOWLEDGE OF THE FUTURE
THIS ROOM IS NOT FULL OF SEVERED PENISES
AUTOEROTIC TUPPERWARE FATALITIES
TEA COSY NITRATE BURLAP PRODIGY
NONE OF THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING
STANLEY KNIFE CIRCUMCISION
BEN LEE IS A MUSICAL GENIUS
VAGINAL FLUID WASH
GET FUCKED CUNT
1953
MEET THE STUPIDS
BEANS BEANS BEANS
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?
GARGLE THE SEMEN STICK BABY
THE UTTER ANNIHILATION OF GERMY
THE WISDOM OF THE FIFTH IMMORTALS
CAFFEINE INDUCED BOWEL MOVEMENTS
STARE AT YOUR TOE AND LAUGH AS YOU GO
DESTRUCTION AND THE INSEMINATION OF DEATH
THE PSYCHOTROPIC SHITTING MONKS OF DIMENSION NINE
He opened one with the signage: “THIS ROOM IS NOT FULL OF SEVERED PENISES” and sure enough, it was a room full of severed penises. They tumbled out onto the floor and some fell directly into J’s mouth, which made him gag slightly. Maggots. Pus. Hair. He then opened “THE UTTER ANNIHILATION OF GERMY” door. This was to be perhaps a pivotal moment in his quest. He was met by an aging man in an old black robe in a wooden chair.
The room was pure white and seated next to the man on either side were two foetuses sitting on small wooden stools. They were smoking pipes. Behind him was a well stocked book shelf.
“Los ticka toe rest,” said the old man.
“What?” asked the befuddled J.
“Mind like a penalty,” he said.
“What?”
“Searchin’ for a Ree-land. A Ree-land.”
“What thefuckyouonaboutyaoldcunt?”
“Dance forty on paper, baby. Alvin and The Chipmonks, hockey sticks, backward messages. The taste of infinity as it melts on your tongue. The rise and fall of an empire. It’s all here and yet it ain’t.”
The old man turned and disappeared from the room, walking through a wall.
J couldn’t help but think about the old man. “Searchin’ for a Ree-land. A Ree-Land.” Where or what was a Ree-Land? That single word circled in his head. He checked an atlas. No Ree-Land. J began wondering what had occurred; the cherry, The Bizarre Taxation Accountant. Did these events in fact occur or were they figments of his perpetual state of hallucination? Dictionary maybe? He took a dictionary from the bookshelf and turned the pages hurriedly. Then he found it in the dictionary:
Ree-Land. (Noun)
1. State of being, total and undeniable hatred for an entity.
2. A small cuddly animal from Peru.
3. The attempt of self-immolation (Armchair version).
4. The attempt to kill Germy.
5. Some place in the desert.
J left the room and returned to the corridor. This time he chose the door with the inscription “MEET THE STUPIDS.”
Walking through the door he looked up to find his old band mates Jimmy and Plato standing there looking at J, their faces painted with stupid grins. This was the sheltered workshop where they worked and they lacked the intelligence required to question why on earth J was there.
J had pondered about his recent past. Perhaps some of the things that he had experienced were true. He conferred with his two fat retarded friends, Jimmy and Plato and convinced them to join him in his quest to track down Germy. Both drooled and wore very thick glasses. One of them had accidentally burnt a hole through his retina once because he had caught the glint of the sun in his lens. They talked with stumbling stupidity and had those appalling stripy tops that were in around the eighties.
The plan was to go to the astroport and have Plato fake a spastic fit so J could disarm the guards and blast their way to an astropod, where they would hot-wire the thing and get to Planet Whoop Whoop for supplies, heavy drugs, booze and deformed women.
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
  
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