fantasy

The Oz Exception: Part Eighteen

The gang marched onward and soon encountered a field that contained a giant poppyseed themed buffet. Daisy went for the poppyseed muffins, Beezer and Barkevious both devoured the poppyseed pizza and even Promo wasn’t finicky enough to bypass the poppyseed herring (although he had been told about the “trap”).

The poppyseed laden food caused the breathing creatures to fall asleep. They were snoring under the azure sky and when they awoke they’d forget all about the mission and go home. Or so that was how the spell was set up.

But all spells have their loopholes and being that Peety is unaffected by poppyseeds and wouldn’t eat any unless there was poppyseed PDQ (which HeXy overlooked), he remained conscious, well, at least in his version of such a state.

He flitted to each of the sleepers and poured a swallow of PDQ in their mouths, at the same time sharing quotes from his favorite films, because those are as close to magic words he knows.

Daisy heard: “‘I’ll be back,’ thuh Arnold, The Terminator.”

Promo was informed: “‘When you’re Jewish, you either learn to fight or take a lotta shit. I don’t take shit.’ Schwartz, Porky’s.”

For Beezer: “‘Thank you sir, may I please have another?’ Sir Kevin Bacon, Animal House.”

And Barkevious: “‘Don’t be obsessed with your desires, Danny. The Zen philosopher, Basho, once wrote “a flute without holes is not a flute, a donut without a hole is a Danish.”’ The late Chevy Chase, CaddyShack.”

“Chevy Chase is still alive,” Barkevious said as he awoke.

“Tell that to his career,” said Daisy.

Naturally, the Baws went back to the buffet before anyone could stop them. But it was all right, with his Google-like mind, Peety is never out of magic words.

End part eighteen

The Oz Exception: Part Seventeen

(As Told, partly, by the Great HeXopatha)

So many peasants are needlessly afraid of Witches. As long as you do as told and do not become curious about events that do not concern you, all will be well under your tiny thatched rooftops.

And yet from my point on the astral plane, I saw a little Goat in a blue gingham dress, that strange Pigeon that I’d dearly love to collect and two Dogs with more personality than brain power, all bent on interfering with one of my projects. Fortunately, I had a minion embedded amongst them, Professor Moriarty. Black Cats are born into the dark service, no matter “who” thinks they own them.

I magically placed a transponder in “Promo’s” collar, which let my Legion of Lambs know where the imps were at, therefore freeing me from always having to be on the astral plane. Still, it is always good to rattle the bowels of do-gooding seekers. On cue, four carefully hidden Lambs tossed green smoke bombs into the path, and I appeared in the haze.

Alas, not all went as planned, but rest assured I will remedy the situation….

I, Leila, returned to the astral plane and took back the wheel of the narrative because HeXy is loath to recount her backfired attempt at scaring the infidels.

Upon her “incorporation” in the green smoke, both Beezer and Barkevious broke character and ran to her with tails wagging. Not only is there the uncanny resemblance between Renfield (the Boy’s master) and HeXopatha, but their scents, as sniffed by Dogs, apparently, are precisely the same as well.

“I am the Great and Powerful HeXopatha, Hounds–begone and quiver in my mightiness!” she said, but her dismissal would have carried more weight if she hadn’t smiled affectionately, given both  boys pats on the head and milk bones  from a sack concealed in her robe.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Daisy ad libbed, referencing the Wicked Witch of the West’s demise, I guess. Another script  shot to hell.

“No thank you, I’d rather have a house dropped on my head,” Ren–HeXopatha laughed. (Apparently,  whoever she was had guessed the same thing.)

Yes, the scene was officially taking the big swirl into the sewer. And to complete the disaster, Peety went on a bizarre rant: “‘What the fuck happened to the Delta I used to know? Where’s the spirit? Where’s the guts, huh? This could be the greatest night of our lives, but you’re gonna let it be the worst. “Ooh, we’re afraid to go with you Bluto, we might get in trouble.” Well just kiss my ass from now on! Not me! I’m not gonna take this. Wormer, he’s a dead man! Marmalard, dead! Niedermeyer…’ Bluto, Animal House.”

It was long past time to leave the astral plane and hope for a better tomorrow.

End Part Seventeen

The Oz Exception: Part Sixteen

The Oz Exception: Part Sixteen

To keep the adverbs to a minimum, I held the narrative, and affixed a spy cam to Barkevious’ collar so I could watch the adventure unfold and describe it. But he managed to lose the cam about five steps into the journey and all it showed was a stretch of the linoleum road that had been scarred by years of carelessly dropped cigarette butts. Of course, since I had forgotten to place the microphone on anyone, it really didn’t matter.

This minor setback required downing my Faerie Ale boilermaker and chasing it with a small vial of special blend, peyote-infused tequila. This potion allowed me to cast a portion of my consciousness into the astral plane, therefore giving me insight into actions that I could not possibly know anything about. (Yes, I do write this stuff, but the liberal, literal Free Will of my FC’s has yet to produce results equal, or even similar to the written script.) Anyway, it was a hell of a plan B and I wish I had thought it up sooner. (Remember, I too have Saragun Springs’ Free Will.)

Being a cartoon, Peety needs nothing except his magic can of PDQ, being Dogs, Beezer and Barkevious require food every hour or so (or so they claim). So I made certain that there were plenty of caches of Dog food along the way, even though the adventure was slated for only three thousand words of real time. Promo insisted on a catered tuna, which the Baw Bros knew better than to touch. For Daisy, being a Goat, the forest is a great buffet. She began munching on Woakcorns that lay on the portion of the linoleum road that passed through the Woak Grove. Naturally, this infuriated the Woaks.

“Murderer! No regard for our precious children!”

Daisy had heard all this before. Although she was endowed with great charm, there is also something quite steely about her personality. No one can make Daisy cry. Certainly not a tree.

“Funnily funny way to treaty treat your children,” she said. “Leavingly leaving them on the groundly ground.” Then she bit into a Woakcorn. “Ohhh, this one tastes like shatterly shattered floral dreamly dreams.”

Naturally, the Woaks began to pelt her with their “precious children.” Fortunately, Woaks have shitty throwing limbs. They are accurate but speed and distance are lacking. This, of course, is due to a lack of protein in the Woak diet.

Daisy laughed and capered away with a sack full of Woakcorns. (Daisy is all about preparation. She carries empty foraging sacks wherever she goes.)

Then the wholesomely evil image of HeXopatha’s face got in the way of mine on the astral plane. Sometimes that happens, there is no such a thing as an astral plane controller.

“I see you’ve dipped into the peyote again, darling,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” I sighed.

“The same thing you are, just keeping an eye on developments.”

“Well,” I said, “it might be a fine idea to switch the narrative over to the protagonist.”

HeXy smiled.

End Part Sixteen

The Oz Exception: Part Fifteen

The ugsome plot development required the assembly of a team to venture into the Enchanted Wood to retrieve Gwen and John–even though Gwen was sending smiling selfies taken with various Hobgoblins and such low persons.

I handpicked five, since Oz fans neglect to count Toto in the “Big Four.” Apparently they consider him an extension of Dorothy. We hold no such prejudices.

Thus Beezer, Barkevious, Professor Moriarty, Peety and Daisy were gathered in my office. I was about to explain the seamless details of my plan, but, as always, anarchy fomented and took over.

It began well enough:

“I’ll be Dorothy,” said Daisy, who had donned a gingham dress because she recently discovered method acting. It worked out because no one else wanted to wear a dress.

“Peety, you’re a natural for the Scarecrow,” I said as quickly as possible because I didn’t want to give him time to think about the mindless aspect of the role. And Barkevious, who had gotten into the sugar and was mindlessly yipping and prancing, was selected as Toto because of the close resemblance.

The hell began when I assigned the Tin Man role to the Professor. I thought he would be perfect, being the heartless little Feline son of a bitch he is.

But, no, Beezer wanted that part. He thought being the Cowardly Lion was beneath him; and the Prof (from here “Promo”) objected because he is a Cat and that is what Cats do, and the concept of being afraid of anything was something he could, or should I say, would not accept.

An ugsome plot development indeed, which led to Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow and two goddamn Tin Men headed off into the Wood.

Unlike swank fantasy worlds such as Narnia, Hundred Acre Wood or Oz, we are a poverty row realm (our pending claim on 16 Psyche withstanding). So instead of a yellow brick road we rolled a sheet of marigold linoleum that had passed through the vortex ages before.  We pretended it was the real deal.

“Be sure to bring back, HeXy’s…” here I faltered because HeXopatha hates brooms, “um…never mind. Good luck.”

I watched them go and poured a shot of Jack into a tankard of Faerie Ale. Strange visions bloomed in the brew…

End part fifteen

The Oz Exception: Part Fourteen

A pushspring award is a small amorphous blob of clay that has a PDQ Pilsner cap dried into it to represent the button you “pushed” that created your specific awesomeness. Everyone in Saragun Springs (including Gwen and John got one). Mine was for “Least Missed When Missing” (which I hucked into the Spring to raise not a demon, but a smallish pixie of some sort who had a terrible attitude, but did not last long).

The clay blob represents our asteroid and the bottle caps were provided by PDQ Peetie.

I received an update from Mari-Kat on my phone. She looks exactly like Kate Bush in the Wuthering Heights video for a damn good reason, which we will enter into next week. Using magic, I saw her clearly whispering into the ear of the bent over demon tethered to the Spring. Both smiled. She then produced a black tea pot into which he either filled willingly or was sucked into.

I turned to face HeXy (who was watching the event on my phone, looking over my shoulder). “How many of those teapot demons have you?”

She smiled. “It’s a lamp.”

“No, it’s a goddamn teapot.”

“Hardly,” she sniffed.

“No, easily,” I said.

This little exchange of opinions would have continued if not broken up by the arrival of the billigits, in number they are four–identical flying wee folk, about eighteen inches long, orange skinned, named mothball, weasel, pinto and flounder. The billies play many roles in the Springs, but at root they are among HeXopatha’s minions.

Two billies apiece plucked John and Gwen from the audience and flew off with them toward the Enchanted Wood. Oddly, neither protested, in fact Gwen appeared to be taking images with her phone.

“Hey! Where are your flying toadies going with our guests?”

But HeXy vanished in a puff of green smoke. I did hear “It’s a lamp, dunderhead,” from afar, but nothing else.

I sat there for a moment and counted my blessings, of which I had two. It is Saturday, thus tomorrow was the day of rest. And having newcomers to the realm hauled off by flying Wiccan minions does provide a link to the title of the story.

See you on the yellow brick road come Monday.

End part fourteen

The Oz Exception: Part Thirteen

Despite my assurances, the show continued to be disrupted by the towering demon on the horizon. And, as always, when something goes awry in the Springs, I must fix it or take an incredible amount of passive-aggressive abuse.

“I wonderly wonder who aimed the fecal ball at the Spring?” said Daisy.

“Sure would be nice if someone in charge would do something,” said John, whose consumption of Faerie Ale did little for his sense of tact.

“Oh, all right, you babies,” I said, opening the crystal ball app on my phone, which directly connected me to the Great Witch HeXopahta–and the goddam Anita Know just had to bellow out what I was doing. “Connecting to the effective HeXopatha,” she said, which caused a ripple of applause in the amphitheater.

HeXy’s face filled my screen. “Hey you,” I said, “we got another demon at the Spring–the children are acting like there’s a spider in the shower–and they aren’t willing to wait for it to go away.”

“Do you want a giant newspaper?”

“Ha, ha, you are a wit as always,” I said. “I’m thinking that someone with magic knowhow can remove it and set it outside where we can pretend that it will be happier.”

She laughed and it was so loud that she sounded incredibly close and not at her castle in the Enchanted Wood. Alas, she was sitting directly behind me. I was the last to know this and still wouldn’t have if she hadn’t tapped me on the shoulder.

“Remember writing that everyone in the Springs is present at the awards show?”

“Very amusing,” I said, turning to face her. HeXopahta is your basic Beautiful Witch, high cheekbones, raven hair and such. She changes guises every hundred and thirty years, this time she looks half Irish, half Japanese. Yes, like Renfield, but since they are never seen together it is hard to compare. But I knew that Renfield had to be nearby. I considered dispelling “the one and the same myth” right there and now–but that would have meant pushing my capacity once again, so I let it go.

“Hey, you look like–” Gwen began to say, but she detected something in HeXy’s face that suggested she should leave well enough alone.

HeXopahta finished smiling her special smile at Gwen then spoke to me. “Tell you what,” she said.

“Ah, here it comes, the big squeeze…”

“For a hundred more shares of the 16 Psyche, I might be able to help the situation out.”

Long ago, the Springs placed a claim on the metal rich asteroid P16 Psyche. As soon as we think of a way to haul it into our sky, we will all be zillionaires (we cut the pie evenly in the Springs). Since our source of wealth is neither less farcical nor more imaginary as it goes on Earth, we feel free to trade shares for favors.

“All right,” I said. “As soon as the deed is done.”

HeXy silently nodded at her apprentice Wiccan, Mari-Kat Lywd, who was seated beside her. Mari-Kat rose and vanished with a poof.

End Part Lucky Thirteen

The Oz Exception: Part Twelve

I saw what the little fiends were up to on my phone. Everyone in Saragun Springs has literal Free Will, we Do What thou Wilt in the Crowley tradition, which means I keep an eye on suspicious activities in the narratives of ongoing stories.

Still, I was a bit late to eliminate the Dung Catapult devised by Tam, Meena and Boaby. It existed and was armed and ready when I understood the intent of the thing. Moreover, being students at Lamb School they had built it correctly and knew enough about physics and geometry to deliver their payload to the Agoville stage (composed of mainly Sheep pellets, intended to disperse like fecal buckshot upon delivery, thus covering the attendees with crap).

In fact, they had already pulled the trigger, so to speak. But I was able to change the trajectory by typing: the shit ball unexpectedly went higher and higher and…

Thus a giant, speeding dark comet sped over the Agoville amphitheater stage; its shape was illuminated by the weird strobe light effect caused by Pong’s incessant peeking over the hills. It made a terrific zooming sound, which caused everyone to look up and watch it blaze past. Ping had to weave to the right to escape it and almost fell from the sky, but he caught himself on a cloud and drunkenly resumed his nightly course.

The comet landed with an audible, rancid splash, “boutta mile” away (as all things are in the Springs). It hit the Spring dead on and was accepted by the putrid waters with sinister gratitude. Then a giant glowing red-eyed, silver-gray demon rose from the spring, and, despite the alteration, the Lambs danced in its honor like drunken Shriners who had accidentally summoned Baal.

“Wha-what’s that?” Gwen asked, gazing at the apparition. It was your standard giant demon, capable of much Pazuzu-esque mischief if it were not safely tethered to the Spring.

“That? Ah, nothing,” I said. “We summon them all the time. It’ll get bored and disincorporate soon enough.”

End part Twelve

The Oz Exception: Part Eleven

The Oz Exception: Part Eleven

We gathered in the amphitheater at Pongset. And at the exact same moment, our green little moon, Ping, rose behind the hill with the giant S on it. Ping was gifted to Saragun Springs by the Discworld realm, when the Great A’Tuin and company crossed our sky a while back. At least that’s what we think happened. But, Pong and Ping claim to be brothers, and Ping is a native of the Springs–regardless, anything remains possible when you don’t have all the facts.

Speaking of unlikely Brothers, Beezer and Barkevious, the Braw Bros. Baw were on the stage, both wearing formal looking bow ties and white dickeys. As stated earlier, my capacity for three active characters in one scene is three plus myself. Since there were 250 or so FC’s in the audience and another estimated 400,000 Sheep and Lambs gathered on S hill to watch (even Pong occasionally peeked over his setting spot to check things out, which caused a weird strobe effect), only up to three will be active at a time, in little scenes, like this:

Scene one

Beezer is a British Bulldog and Barkevious is a Scottie. Inspired Pong shone a single beam on the stage, creating a spotlight.

“Welcome to the first annual Pushsprings awards,” said Beezer.

“How can it be annual if the first ain’t happened yet?” Barkevious asked. They were supposed to follow a script, but since neither can read, the cue cards that I saw held by Penrose were somewhat useless. Beezer had memorized the first line after it had been repeated to him, but Barkevious, being a contrary Scottie, ad libbed immediately.

“That ain’t what you wuz s’posed to say, pillock.”

Scene Two

Gwen was still fascinated by John’s rubbery form to pay attention. I had to smack her on the hand after she had pulled a good section of his knee out for examination, therefore she had missed her cue.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Wow, what a special night.”

“Goddammit, that is three pages from now,” I said.

“Am I supposed to say anything?” John, who had been drinking since part three asked.

“Well, now that you did, I guess so.” I deleted the script from my phone, knowing that it was useless.

Scene three

A trio of delinquent Lambs, members of “ASH” (Award Show Hooligans), by name Tam, Meena and Boaby, were on the hill behind the stage, planning a disruption.

“Catapult torque?”

“Check.”

“Sheep shit payload?”

“Check.”

“Chorus of Evil Lamb laughter?”

“Heeheebuwahaha!”

End Part Eleven

The Oz Exception: Part Ten

Novels and pro wrestling have two things in common. Both are fiction, and in both activities there are periods where the author and wrestlers are obviously taking a breather. In wrestling, it is usually an arm bar or another hold that allows the combatants to “take ten” on the mat before getting back to the action. In writing this involves passages in which “tell” briefly takes over for “show.” Where an info dump temporarily replaces exposition and dialogue. Hey, now that I think about it, you can even look at it like a “tag team” match; if so, here is where “Tell” tags in, giving “Show” a much needed break–such a thing is evident when a metaphor starts as one thing and, with little warning, becomes another.

Agoville is Saragun Springs’ “Studio City.” It is where we “shoot” our little productions with Fictional Characters (FC’s) as actors who essay various roles. (Daisy is the major star). Agoville is composed of one short street, five long ones and has a town square that you must pass through to enter. There is no way out from behind, because it is shut snugly against the southern Nameless Hills.

The square features the previously mentioned Giant Clock Radio and various businesses, including the Agoville Studios, the Bank of Saragun Springs, a publishing house/newspaper and the Saragun Springs’ Broadcasting Company, located beside the radio. There’s also a large amphitheater, in which the previously mentioned “pushsprings” awards will be doled out soon. Oh yes, and of course, there are Sheep and bratty Lambs all over the place.

A voice in my head, playing the part of you, the reader, has just called out “Hey, what about the one short street and five long ones? What do they mean?”

Glad you asked. They put the “ago” in Agoville (aka, “Ago-a-go-go”). Each one is set in its own time era. They are based on the lifespan of the “Dubious One” (from here, D.O.) whom I am Pen to. The short lane is Fifties-Street–brief because the D.O. was born in 1959. Everything there is in black and white and is reminiscent of the film Pleasantville. Obviously, D.O. has no memory of that time, so it is highly suspect as far as reality goes.

The longer streets are of the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s and one that is everything that has happened after 2000. (According to D.O., “the new decades have no distinct personality–they lack both sentimentality and sting.”)

These are not recreations of those decades either (save for Fifties Street); but one is actually transported into those years for the duration of our three-thousand word budget (another max setting for this Pen). (Perhaps it is worth noting that any time frame before D.O.’s birth, and the future are all shot in the Studio.) (It is unknown how many parenthetical sentences in a row I’m allowed to do, but three appears to be a safe amount.)

Hmmm, I guess it is time to tag “Show” back into the scrum of things. See you at the award show tomorrow.

End of Shameless Part Ten

OZ Exception Part Nine

I waved a hand at Agoville, “Welcome to the strangest town in any dimension.”

Gwen peered at the town. “Is that a giant clock radio?”

“Yep,” I said. “Took a butt-load of Rats to haul the thing from the vortex and place it in the town square. Up close you can see where a giant fist had struck the snooze bar over and over, when it was on Earth–follow me.”

A quick glance at my phone told me that I was accompanied by Gwen, John, Daisy, Renfield and Peety–as a mid-level Penname, my maximum capacity for speaking characters in a scene (not including myself) is three. That meant at least two had to go. I’d been pushing the limit for awhile and my device was starting to overheat. Any further pushing would result in “Narco” a state in which everyone but myself falls asleep right where they are. Renfield solved the problem.

“We’re going ahead to the theatre,” she said. Daisy was still eating and couldn’t care less, and since Peety had no immediate purpose, he tagged along with the others–leaving me with only two characters to support, which also left room for single encounters along the way.

“The theatre?” Gwen asked.

“I thought we had you going with the flow–John there isn’t asking much.”

“I accept the overall premise–since I work in a magic graveyard, I’m open to a lot of things. But I retain the right to ask simple questions,” Gwen said.

“Sigh–loud sigh,” I, well, sighed. “If you’re gonna be a pill about it, the gang is checking in on the preparations of an Awards Show, um the pushsprings–yeah, that’s it–the pushspings awards–It was supposed to be a surprise until you got all quizzy.”

“Awards show?” John Asked.

“Et tu, with the third degree, John?”

“Know what? I bet you just made that Awards Show thing up right now,” Gwen said. “Know what, I’m going to hold you to it.”

A Lamb, a Ewette, dyed green, named Riff Randi, a student at the Rock and Roll Lamb School, poked her head from behind a salal bush and called “Hey Blondie-gotta a message for you!” (Gwen is blond and takes a surprising amount of shit about it.) Gwen glared in Riff’s direction and the jd Ewette spat out two loud fart-like noises known as “raspberries,” at the same time tugging on an invisible cord, mimicking the pull of a truck horn. With that shared, she bounded off into the woods.

“Aren’t you at your maximum daily word capacity yet?” Gwen asked, through clenched teeth.

“Hey, you aren’t supposed to know about that. But now that you mention it, I am.”

End Part Nine