1b. I have seven pimentos to report!
Pimento Uno criticizes our application
of fists when we pummeled you. Number Two questions our
clumps. The third says, ``C'mon! We
recovered after slipping on your banana peel, but what gives?''
The fourth says, ``The
natives are continuing their quest for an
alphabet of sniffles.''
The fifth is in where farmers plant pimentos, next to the
sage. The sixth is
petrified, chained to a stump and flogged. The last one
will fit in only the biggest of
tummies.''
``We come on this night from Aquarius,'' say the aliens to Ames,
exhibiting an attitude toward keyholes we could nearly -- but
ultimately could not -- fathom. The aliens pounded on doors, even after
Ames gave them his keys.
Sundays want to match Christian days against Saturdays which
are pagan. They are advertising for a saxophonist to walk around in a
gulch with jazz.
This will prove Sunday's superiority, as they have to hire
musicians while Saturday gets them free.
``I may be but an idle
theorist, but what you're doing will only work
on clarinetists,'' says Ames.
``This is why Autonomy of Reason rebelled.''
2. ``Ames, we presented an unnoticed and hence banished lapdog long
ago, and the dog said you were pitiless,'' replied the aliens.
Ames scoffed. ``Eight masochists who felt the lash from your hand
have identified you as purveyors of chronic.
Do you think me a gringo, idly headed into
some kind of misconceptions market?''
3. This story odorizes the Hotel Utah in chapters, consecutively.
What we'd like to see instead is a mix of its implicit Hinduism with
the logic of dramatic advances.
That's our concept of the problem.
4. My work contains time magically now: I'm working
in comparisons to April.
``Hey Ames!'' a knee-high alien said. ``Hey, speak into my opening of hair!''
This plea influences Ames to respond. ``I lingered in this
opera because this particular microphone has a hole
through which honey drips, bathing me in feelings.''
4a. The aliens got mad. ``We rule you Ames, by our terms. Our
sadness is only a show to sedate police who have picked on us,
or, unthinkably, anybody else!''
5. But Ames' suggestions were engraved upon the plaque of reality.
We trudged him off the premises.
``Toilet entertaining of idols is just a lot of twirling,'' he
grumbled. ``I tremble on bar stools to hear your muggy
buttony-lipped mutter better!'' I told him.
5a. Ames then carefully
configurated the situation: the stumbling over the aliens'
eyebrows and my subsequent straddling like a dog.
Light amusement, lack of imagination -- just enough to get us out
into hyperspace and back to Earth: looking at economically
disadvantaged marsupials of the comfortable sort, burning
carbohydrates, speaking like a policeman.
6. ``Ha ha,'' I said. ``Yeah, the belts sure are loose on my pants!''
The aliens laughed too.
``Whoa! Current contempt of the totalitarian regime consisting of
you!
Pick me up off this story's page, won't you, Plonsey?''
6a. ``Yeah! And obviously lots of slumlord wrestling matches! You're in
my dreams tonight!'' the space-ogress dictated.
7. Ames basked in the doorway. ``Blunt and tiny orgasms
are honked, grunted upon, and then discarded.''
7a. ``Methods, Ames! Irritation with the youngsters!
If rain spills contaminated
water on the tympani our friend Ward plays; if we're
filth and drenched, out in our suits -- it's still a bargain,
whether we survive or go up in smoke.''
8. Ames boiled over. ``Sloshy and querulous label-making! That's what you
are up to, you goose!
My advice and comment to you would be to proceed to get
the dream-guidance you need. For instance, your apocalyptic vision
is no more than the story of the magician who dies when he captures
a princess to attain a few gold marks, and to stifle his father.
A Sunday thief, drained of significance.''
Ames then noticed Plonsey playing the saxophone
in his face, just to bug him, and
weakly tossed his manners around like stones,
revealing the fowl behind the cowl, so to speak.
Hyperactivity as a means of conversation.
8a. The aliens were intrigued, of course.
``Wow! That's Batman talking! He's
overlapping the edges of nonsense,
sort of curbing it, you know? Yeah!
Earth: again pioneering its notorious rudeness: bawdily
howling like a billion demons, nudging each other, frenetic stupid faces
twisted in grimaces!''
8b. ``Precisely,'' said the other alien,
too sheepish and petrified to speak so bluntly.
``Recently aloft, we speak the uncouth language! But Ames deserved to
hear it.''
9. ``I did?'' screeched Ames. ``I blanch inexorably! I take issue with
your talk! You can buy me off with cash, though. Why is the worst
estimate always the one that you get? I mean,'' Ames said glumly,
``I'll get nothing.'' And he devoured a large piece of marzipan.
9a. The aliens bowed and added, ``We are nervous,'' said one. ``We
told you we had improved an aspect of paper. What it is is that what
you write on it changes, in gradual stages, from something generic to
a complete vacation to wacked-out rawness in some
isolated spot. We sing a wobbly old
polyphony while tumbling, making a heap of mistakes and
misconceptions.''
The other alien nodded. ``And a `jingle sniff protest.' That is, we
sing smelly commercial songs outside the White House.
Thereby, it is your president whose brains we get vibrated.''
10. From this angle, Mantra, it's an incident of performance off-the-cuff.
The fictional religious jerk shakes
his head nearly off his neck, and says, ``One's way with food is
one's way with the sacred Birdie in one's own personal
Tree. So let's give a plant to Ames!
By my calculations he has writhed long enough for taste distinction!''
10a. Meanwhile, misdemeanors were being committed by Ames.
Certain valuable advisors were greeted with warmed
enthusiasm. ``You are celebrated? Wow!
You observed our untucked-shirts phenomenon,
and you published a book about it? Then give me all your money!''
Ames was truly guilty. I spit at his jokes
and concentrate instead on drugs and manners. The religious jerk
nodded agreement. ``Jokes will do you harm!'' he warned, raising
an accomplished finger. ``This Planet un-horses you!''
11. Ames laughed. ``The greeting of Anything is a joke!
And the shiver of poet's garrets, and bags of candy!
And Philosophy is laughing itself away!
11a. The very Air of the Sixty Unbreakable Minutes is
Theatre!''
12. ``I'm a trapshooter,'' continued Ames. ``I've just received a frustrating
response to my bloody
rebellion.
It says, `The flyers surface with us.' I guess it's talking about you
guys.''
12a. The aliens raised one eyebrow. ``You innocent goofball, Ames!''
13. Ames squinted at his damaged vanity. ``By my shabby fanny! Laughter
abuses everything I have! Imagine myself with you, and the whole
stupid planet howls!''
13a. Since that time, months of
sadness have passed and the twitching records of aliens
have nullified our music. I've only popped
up to sell you our flaws, like so many shovels.
Ames would say we're no more than ``derivative heckling primates.''
But I've exchanged the post-mortem with the prologue.
The aliens look at their multi-colored ledger book of transactions,
and take their leave.