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BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The door rattled violently upon its hinges and then burst open. A gigantic eye, encompassing the entire doorway peered through. J freaked it and leapt through the French windows, crashing onto the rose bed outside. He ran into the shrubbery and turned to see a pair of twelve-foot (in diameter) eyes peering from a thirty foot tall head with a tiny beret on it.
It was Pierre. He had scored some quality Mono.
“Whoah trippy,” said J.
Pierre’s body was a giant multi-coloured serpent that writhed behind the giant head; a hundred feet long and very thick.
“Now what would Freud have said?” pondered J.
“Hey! Don’t you hate that stupid cover Kylie did back in the eighties?” asked Pierre, “the pronunciation’s all wrong.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said J whilst pulling on a very snazzy tuxedo, “I might just grab that Morpho-Saddle I saw lying around and lick it for a while.”
“Why don’t you put it on me so I can take you for a magical ride?” asked Pierre.
“Oh, that’s a much better idea. Yes. Much better. And by the way, what sort of dosage did you take?”
“I took two hundred trips.”
“Wow... You do know you’re going to die don’t you?”
“I’d prefer not to think about that. Do you like granny pussy?”
Without answering, J set up the saddle and leapt onto Pierre’s back in a yee-ha sort of way and zipped into the stars at light speed. Pierre’s head morphed into a metallic skull with headlights for eyes. The Mono, in the form of an ooze coming from the serpent, seeped into J’s skin and transformed his head into a Kafe Gavani that glowed green. They travelled through a flashing, rainbow-sodden dimension that defied all laws of time and space. Images of flying cherubs, severed limbs, giant mosquitoes, walking hammers, hockey sticks, household appliances and disabled stand-up comedians whizzed past J’s eye.
Suddenly the surroundings transformed into a deep red cylinder and only time lapse-like lights flew by occasionally. J felt himself travelling down, down, down, down, down... down.
Pierre-cum-thingy was slithering his way through a hot desert, a red dome in the distance. When they came to, two guards in black with sci-fi helmets allowed them in. They found themselves in a huge plush red lounge room. It was the residential suite at Club Bathos.
Standing in the middle, holding scotches and dressed very stylishly were Troy, Benedict and CAN: the three demons. Behind them, on all fours was (of all people) Mary Sinthasomphone, naked and bound in studded bondage straps.
“What the fuck is a giant snake and some fucking thing in a tux doing in our lounge?” asked CAN.
“Beats the absolute fuck out of me,” responded Troy.
This answer confounded Benedict as he quickly pointed out that Troy was literally beating the fuck out of Mary.
“Oh that felt mighty fine. I’ve got a hard-on now,” said a smiling Troy.
“So why are we given the displeasure of your presence?” enquired Benedict.
“The CD’s are frowning at me!” yelled CAN, completely out of context.
J, suddenly realising where he was, quickly began, “I am after the ultimate trip. I need to score some Mono19.”
“Why would you be after the Mono?” asked Troy.
“I’m not sure... it just seems logical thing to do. I know this sounds weird... but I’ve searched all my life for it.”
“Well... We can help you with this and with other matters that may be of interest to you.... However, we need you to complete a mission,” stated CAN.
“Yes. A very interesting mission,” continued Troy.
“What is it you need then?” asked J, wary of what they may request.
“Well...” began CAN, “I require a bottle of Ouzo. Top shelf variety.”
“Also...” said Troy, “We require an agent to operate in Germy Urine’s stronghold. Word has it that some biochemist has isolated the compound Mono100. One trip will turn you into the entity that encompasses the known universe. No competition. All powerful. Urine wants that power. You know of Urine?”
J shrugged and said: “Heard of him.”
“He is a man who has obtained a vast amount of power. He rules Psychoville with a limp-wristed iron fist. The fact he is riddled with syphilitic halitosis does not help. He will rule the world in his own demented Mr Squiggle fashion if we don’t stop him.”
“Aaahh... you’ve noticed the resemblance too?”
The three demons introduced J to Nathaniel Lohmez that night. He was the demons’ main supplier. He was to train J in measured doses of Mono17 to act as a malevolent subversive in Germy’s elite piggy police corps, the Bowel Tactics Commission.
“GAR’N - GET THIS DOWN YOUR THROAT... FAARRKKEENNN HELL YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME A CORONARY? GET THAT FISH OFF THERE! THE ANIMAL LIBERATIONISTS WOULD LOVE YOU... TRY AND GET BACK INTO NORMAL SHAPE AND KEEP YOURSELF UNDER CONTROL.”
Lohmez’s instruction continued under the watchful eye of the three demons.
“Her face turned into a werewolf, man,” said Troy irrelevantly.
“I really really need some better drugs. This hillbilly stick really bites,” said Benedict.
“Kill... everyone... now,” said CAN.
J became covered in a milky plasma that thickened and became what appeared to be a cocoon of sorts. He fell into a deep hibernation that lasted a sticky three weeks. Lohmez and the three demons returned to the cocoon when the morphing period had been completed. The demons had taken to golf, but spent most of the time hitting each other with the clubs. They were wearing black pinstriped suits that day. They witnessed the cocoon as it bubbled and gurgled and glowed green. A small opening popped open at one end like a little slug arsehole and shot J out across the floor, leaving a trail of white slime.
“Ouch,” he said as he hit the wall.
He stood up, dressed in black army fatigues tucked into big black kicker boots. His hair was short and Jungian-like. His face was now sterner and paler.
“You are now agent Tom Milkytoast,” said one of them.
“You are now a member of the Bowel Tactics Commission.”
“Yes I am,” said J with a powerful, evil glint in his eyes, the centres of the pupils of which had become chrome pinheads.
“We know you’re a toaster.”
“Infiltrate the left wing Toaster Rights Guild of Psychoville Heights. There you will move up the ranks, infiltrate Urine’s empire, score the Mono100 and bring it to us so we can ultimately destroy the empire.”
The strength of Troy’s orders reinforced the need of the mission’s success into J.
“Also,” continued Benedict, “we have been informed that you had previously attempted to assassinate Germy. We have the same natural desires. If you bring us the Mono100, we will anoint you the fourth demon and give you the honour of eviscerating Germy Urine using salad forks. Therefore you have double the reason to complete this mission.”
“But how will I infiltrate the Toaster Rights Guild?” asked J.
“That should not be difficult...” started CAN.
“There is a toaster rights demonstration on the Boulevard of Big Breasted Boys tonight,” interrupted Troy.
CAN broke in: “There you can forge your first links with this subversive whilst quite friendly and pleasant organisation.”
“We also have information that a number of employees in the Bowel Tactics Commission have links to this group,” said Troy, interrupting CAN again.
“Would you stop fucking interrupting me Troy, you wanker.”
“No! Fuck you, you Casual Act of Nosophobia.”
This play on his name visibly hurt CAN.
“You cunt Troy! I’m gonna fucking destroy your Burt Kocain poster!”
CAN promptly did this.
“Fuck you CAN! I’m going to burn your Playfreak magazine with the Jemima Suckworthy centrefold.”
J, feeling out of place in this outpouring of emotions, turned and left for the Boulevard of Big Breasted Boys.
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
  
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