FEAR AND LOATHING IN THE BATMOBILE W.C. Leadbeater I sent the following story to the National Lampoon with the following cover letter: # 5-03-85 508 11th St; Invisible City, ND 58501 Natural Lampoon 406 Bingetoke Lane NY NY 10069 Dear Mr. Natural: Here is Mr. Short Story. If you like him, there are plenty more where he came from. Lead PS: I really am insane. # It came back with a letter from the Executive Editor saying, "We all agree that this is totally hilarious, but it does not fit our needs at the present time." Here is the story Warner Communications didn't want you to read. Now it can be told, bold and Vonnegutsy. # 5-03-85 508 11th St; Invisible City, ND 58501 BATMAN Comix Warner Communications 666 Bingetoke Lane NY NY 10069 Dear Mr. Bat-publisher: I am an insane science fiction author. I am a Rootboy covered with slime. I drive the Batmobile; that's what me and my entire family of super-heroes used to call my Mother, Union Maid's, precious Grocery Wagon, a 55 Chrysler new Yorker Deluxe. I am asking your permission to use the term "batmobile" in my autobiog- raphy, MINDSTORM: A FEARSOME, LOATHSOME JOURNEY TO THE HEART OF THE SAVAGE ID. Also, would you be willing to turn my Slime-thing into a comix character? Here is an outline and sample chapter. Sincerely yours, W.C. Leadbeater # 5-11-85 BATMAN Comix Warner Communications 666 Bingetoke Lane NY NY 10069 W.C. Leadbeater 508 11th St; Invisible City, ND 58501 Dear Mr. Leadbeater: Not only does your Slime-thing infringe on our trademarked and copyrighted BATMOBILE, but it comes perilously close to infringing on our Swamp-thing character. Publish at your own peril! Dick Payola (shyster) # 5-21-85 508 11th St; Invisible City, ND 58501 Dick Payola, shyster BATMAN Comix Warner Communications 666 Bingetoke Lane NY NY 10069 Dear Dick: I am an insane science fiction author! I am a Rootboy covered with slime. My hair is natty dread; a dreadlock Congo bongo I. My head is that of a chitinous insect, my body, a Salamander's. My arms are saurian tentacles; my testicles are sore from ejaculat- ing as a cosmiconic character. I move on cat's feet, iron claws. All right, dread shyster, you don't think I drive the Batmobile? I'm hopping into my Batmobile and driving to New York to do battle with you. W.C. Leadbeater slime-monster # FEAR AND LOATHING ON DAWN'S HIGHWAY I was zooming, cruise-control around 69, straight toward the state of Oblivion; I had a trunk of dangerous drugs: a couple sheets of hi- powered blotto acid, Heavy Metal from the planet Uranus; a pepper- shaker full of cocaine, the salt of wisdom (and she's a whore, deluxe and delightful); a pound of U-boat--I'm a submarine Captain, I'm always torpedoed; and a can of nutmeg. But the thing that really scared me was the nutmeg: there is nothing more vile or depraved than a gonzo in the throes of a nutmeg binge. There was a hitchhiker on the roadside. I slowed the Batmobile, sizing him up: funny bald-headed guy, thought I knew him from somewhere. I put on the Bat-brakes, stopping to let him in. He scooted aside my diverse comix, saying, "You're W.C. Leadbeater, right? I remember you from the days we shared REALITY." "Fuckin' A, man! I thought I knew you from somewhere: Hitman S. Hunter, right?" "Right. What you making in the hot-pot?" I had one-such plugged into the lighter socket, for when I wasn't smoking Scooby- doobies or OOBE-doobies. ":Nutmeg tea. Want some?" "Sure." He took a sip, made a face. "Tastes like gasoline. Why the hell'd anyone wanna drink this shit?" "It's a little known fact that nutmeg is a psychedelic drug." "Holy shit!" So saying, he raised the entire hot-pot to his lips, and sucked the whole thing down. "God, you're really gonna get buzzed now. You know, I wrote ANDY MORLOCK'S DEAD on it, one of my hot books." The sky ripped open and headless chickens poured forth. I swerved all over the road to avoid them. Hunter asked, "Lead, why the hell you swerving all over the road?" I said nothing. If the poor sucker didn't see the headless chickens already, he'd be seeing them soon enough. # THE TRANSMUTRIX Arriving in new York, we cruised awhile, looking for Bingetoke Lane. Finally, we found it, after missing it several times driving around the block, too stoned to realize we were moving in circles. We burst into the outer office. The secretary was a leggy creature, with breasts like bleeding limes--she was wearing a red and green striped shirt. She said, "I am the Transmutrix. Anyone I go down on will change sex. Any of you guys want a blow job?" "Oh boy," Hunter said, whipping out his dick. "No, Hunter!" I ejaculated, and tried to use my slimy tentacles to stop them, before Hunter changed sex. Too late. Hunter was now Hitmina S. Hunter. Grabbing the Transmutrix, I held her head down, saying, "You're gonna keep giving head until this guy's a man again, OK?" "Nuzlyzptlk!" she mumbled from within Hitmina's muff. Hunter went into a blur of figures, male, female, male again. Finally, we had it right. Then, bursting into Payola's office, I said, "So,churl--you think to deny me my copyright? I'm going to give you one chance, then, you'll know the dread of the Id. For the True Rootboy is the Savage Id, and I know a phallic symbol when I see one, which's why I possess a warty purple tuber which no woman can resist." "I know no dread of you," he said, hauling out a flame- thrower. "Fire! The one thing the Id dreads. It... it's draining my slime-powers." Hunter threw a copy of FEAR AND LOATHING IN LOS ANGELES at him, while I touched him. And whatever knows fear and loathing burns at the Slime- thing's touch. When we were outside again, I asked Hunter, "How much of that do you think was real?" "I dunno, but the blow jobs were real atomic!" END