THE DAY HIS DOGGIE DIED By W.C.Leadbeater # 6-14-90 508 11th St Invisible City, ND 58501 Dear Timmy J. Lurie: You are the ultimate Drugster, and I am a Spice Cadet like you. As you are probably aware, it is a little known fact that Dune-Spice actually exists! Thus, I drop nutmeg whenever possible and it is not uncommon to see me sailing the darkened seas in a great big submarine (U-boat is the new slang term for marijuana; I think it originated with Hunter S. Thompson). Here is a copy of my Bachelors Thesis, a science fiction story I wrote for the English department at the University of Night City, which you will surely like because you are into psychedelic drugz and is based on Bryan Robinson's Dissertation on the Aether of Sir Isaac Newton; in which he says: ACID CONTAINS LIGHT Isn't this a keen cosmicomic book? All of it was written under the influence of U-boat except for the parts completed in a Hotel Gonzo. W.C.Leadbeater # 6-30-90 Box 69886 LA, CA 90069 Dear Lead: I have read your entire Bachelors Thesis, and I agree that it is totally insane--just like me after twenty years of acid overdose. It zooms in the lofty altitudes of Burroughs, Pynchon, Joyce. Your writing must be published--in some form or another. I will do all I can to see that it gets published, maybe even by surfing the conscious nets and reanimating Andy. And may the gnomes of paranoia never dance upon your shrunken head. Sincerely yours, Uncle Tim # 508 11th St Invisible, ND 58501 7-8-90 Dear Harley Davison: Here is a copy of my Bachelor's Thesis, A New Chemical Philosophy (For the Space Age), which Timmy J. Lurie said "zooms in the lofty altitudes of Burroughs, Pynchon, Joyce," and which Bill Veeder, the first Guggenheim Fellow to a Soviet nation, compared to Bill Shakespeare. Please read the following manuscript and write up a blurb which I can use on the cover so that people will buy my hot books. Sincerely yours, W.C.Leadbeater # 666 Bingetoke Lane Henderson, CA 7-14-90 Dear W.C.Leadbeater: I am returning your manuscript unread. Wanna know why, huh, kiddo? 1) You're acting like an amateur. 2) You ARE an amateur! I don't recall having seen your name in print anywhere. 3) You're always looking for strokes. You suck up to famous people looking for strokes. You show your work to your mommy and your teacher looking for strokes. You're always looking for strokes. Me and my dog Blood will get you for that, as soon as we have some business straightened out on the SF scene. Haight-Ashbury, anyway. And I don't care what Timmy J. Lurie thinks of your writing. 4) From the looks of the note you sent me, it looks like Timmy J. Lurie wrote it just to get rid of you. I've known Uncle Tim for the past dozen odd years, and although he may be one of God's blessings to humanity, he isn't one of the great literary critic, so it wouldn't work anyway. 5) If I did read your manuscript, the first time I did anything that even slightly resembled it you'd sue for plagiarism and then I'd have some silly suit to contend with. 6) I admit that when I glanced at the first page of your manuscript I saw that you'd plagiarized my Death-Squirrel stories. You are going to be in one mother-fucker of a law-suit if you ever publish this! 7) May all the gnomes of paranoia dance upon your shrunken head. Gonna hit Crack City! 8) I am the Invisible Hog! I am the world's most advanced attack motorcycle with enough armament to sink a battleship, a Romullan cloaking device, tactical nuclear weapons, and the brains of Harley Davison, the great science fiction author, on a micro-chip. 9) I'm gunning for you and I have power-packed motives. I'll be up in Invisible City by the time you read this letter. Then it's die, sucker, die! Sincerely yours, The Invisible Hog # 7-21-90 508 11th St Invisible, ND 58501 Dear Harley Davison: So what if you're the Invisible Hog and have the brains of Harley Davison on a micro-chip? Sometimes I wonder if Harley Davison has any brains, no matter how many Hog-o Awards he's won. I'll be waiting for you in my Ratmobile, which I got from Herbie the Rat in exchange for a shit-load of Space Cheese. Every time you flip the Rat-switch, you wind up in another dimension. Another fine picture of you. And I'm a mystic man, a U-boat Captain: I'm on dope, which is probably why I'm writing this way. Either that or it's cuz I've got LOCO BRAINS! (I really am insane, driven to heights of paranoia by the depths the submarine I was sailing was cruising in. In a vorkler's suit and cap.) Beware! Besides owning the dread Rat-mobile, I have possession of the monad, a shape-shifer device, and am capable of changing into the avenging Slime-thing, the hairy Yog-Soggoth, the Savage Id, by a quick twist of my decoder ring. Thusly, I turn into a Rootboy covered with slime; head, that of a chitinous insect. My hair becomes natty dread; my arms, saurian tentacles. My bodanon is that of a Salamander. I move on cat's feet; iron claws. I ain't afraid of no Invisible Hog. You can bring your Death-squirrel with you, too. Not to mention your fucking mutt. I don't give a damn. For whatever knows fear and loathing burns at the Slime-thing's touch!!!! Sincerely yours, W.C.Leadbeater # I READ THE LETTER ...with dread fear and loathing, not to mention awesome paranoia. Although it was true, I possessed the mighty Ratmobile, which would take you to a different Universe every time you rode it, sort of like in that book Zelazny wrote (Kentuckified Lizard), I was wary of the dread wrath of the phallic (and yet still androgynous) Hog. Because I was not certain the Ratmobile could stand up to the power-pickle power of thermonuclear weapons. Not to mention ten Hog-o Awards. I mean, that's real Hog-power. The Hog is a menace awesome to behold. So I decided it was time to go on the lam. Once I had driven the Ratmobile all the way to New York to do battle with that dread shyster, Dick Payola, over his theoretical cosmicomic book rights to my motor vehicle--but that story has been told better elsewhere (cf. Fear and Loathing in the Batmobile). For now, I had all night party-time wasting with Deep-Space Daddy-o and Judy Snooty to contend with, and no way of telling them why I wanted to leave town so bad. It is not often that you get involved in a nasty letter-writing contest with Harley Davison. And it is not often that you get a chance to score and vorkle with Judy Snooty. So I had to be careful how I left this scene of Little Caesar's and Kentuckified Chicken, all wrapped up in day-glo Brillo and running on diesel and running on empty and who's to say, Starlight open wide... Judy exited stage left to get some more pepperoni. Deep-Space Daddy-o just remained where he was: in Judy Snooty's armchair, smirking over Judy's sexy body. Judith was looking for love in a looking-glass world but she was afraid to look into my MIND-MIRROR because she was afraid of computers. Heroine, be the death of me! It's just a shot away.... Horses, horses, horses... I wore a long-sleeve shirt to cover the needle marks where I shot the Orgasm Death. I don't shoot heroin, no I don't--because I'm on dope. Not to mention Substance 3D. 3Death: The only known cure (mental medication) for the mindstorms, but addictive (which just assured that people would take their medicine) but deadly because it lowers white cell counts, leading to death. And the movie keeps moving as planned.... Suddenly Judith was sullen, silent, contrasting with her mania of a few minutes ago--totally schiz-krieged from VADIS, the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System responsible for the mass insanity inflicting the world--then said, "Why leave now? The party's just beginning." But that's a 21st Century Schizoid Woman for you. "To the Ratmobile!" I ejaculated, and took off like my bed was on fire. Pop your tread, kool running... I was looking to leave this scene of depravity and despair--when suddenly my d-rider crapped out on me. It looked like I was going to have to have a showdown with the Invisible Hog after all. But could even the indestructible carapace of the Ratmobile stand up to the Invisible Hog--especially if he was Invisible? Cloaking, on. I'd have to get a Hog-detector. Fortunately, my brother Ralph was an electronics genius--in his secret identity as a mild-mannered engineer. In Cartoonland he was Captain Strange, Master of the Occult Arts: I come from a long line of superheroes. But Captain Strange lived in Texas (just love that Radio and its Big Beat) so I would either have to call him long-distance or else drive there. So, still fleeing the Hog, I stopped in the parking lot of the IGA on the way out of town, dropped a quatloo into the payphone (I'd already dropped half a can of nutmeg today) and called Captain Strange: "Captain..." "Do not call me by my heroic identity over the telephone, as I am afraid some malevolent super-crook may be wiretapping my phone. Like what happened with you and Reality." "Ralph... this is urgent: I have the Invisible Hog on my tail. I need you to build me a Hog-detector so I can find the location of the Hog and slime him to death with my acid ooze. For whatever knows fear and loathing burns at the Slime-thing's touch!!!!" "That's a real problem here Lead, but I'm busy battling Saklas the Demiurge right now and may not be able to help you. Why don't you try Fearless Taco? Or the Grim Reaper? Or even the world-famous Blanket-man?" "That's an idea," I said. "But I'd have to wait a day for Taco and the Reaper to get out here by train from Night City cuz they can't fly like some superheroes." "I can fly," Captain Strange said. "But like I said, I'm hot on the trail of Saklas. But I think I may finally have completed the Bender Shaft for Bender Electronics, which will create a force-field which will nullify Saklas' radiation from outer space and..." "But the Invisible Hog has tactical nuclear weapons," I said. "And he may just decide to blow up Invisible just to get revenge. And then we'd be living in a teenage, not to mention radioactive, wasteland and..." "I can see your point. OK, I'll fly out there immediately. In the meantime, you get ahold of Taco Brains and the Grim Reaper. And... where's Biggie?" "The Biggolith is in Alaska," I said. "Working at a fishery and..." "When is he finally going to get a decent job?" Captain Strange said. "He almost finished his Masters and then he got all these menial jobs and..." "He doesn't want to leave Sioux City. He says all his friends are in Sioux City," I said. "Including Sioux City Sue. He's a punk rocker: you know, white punks on dope; he shaves his head and..." "These are the friends he can't leave Sioux City for?" "I can sympathize. I'm a New Wave science fiction author. I've got every record Elvis Costello ever made! (Now that that Presley dude is dead, there's only one Elvis." "Yeah... and at least you've been published," Captain Strange said. Suddenly there was the sound of motors which called out a warning: the Invisible Hog had tracked me down. "Gotta go now. Hog uncloaking, stage left." # HEAVY METAL THUNDER I heard the sound of thunder that called out a warning: It was the Invisible Hog. And he had Blood with him. Personally, I prefer Spuds McKenzie to this damn mutt: this doggie looked like he was in need of Death: 3Death. The Orgasm Drug. It looked like I was going to be doggie chow as I raced toward the Ratmobile, fleeing the awesome motorcycle and the mutt. Blood was nipping at my heels and baying like the werewolves of London, when all at once I was safe in the confines of the Ratmobile, slamming the door shut just in the nick of time with Blood tearing up my pants leg. Blood is the Rosy Cross of Mysterious Conjunction.... Jung Americans. I wish I could swim like dolphins can swim.... Spice Odyssey. VADIS is a sadist. But I had to break this stream of consciousness before the Invisible and (so he thought) Invincible Hog turned his armament on me. Enough armament to sink a battleship... Suddenly the side of the Ratmobile was rent into shrapnel by the Hog's machine guns. I ducked for cover and cursed because my d-riding circuitry was down. Were I able to d-ride I'd simply move to an alternate universe where there was no Hog.... Or were the Thorazine Police right and my Ratmobile was a delusion? Sure, I'd been locked in a Hotel Gonzo for a couple of months, but I'd finally escaped by burning my way out with my acid slime. For I am the warty Yog-Soggoth, the true Rootboy covered with slime. In any case, I had an Invisible Hog and his doggie to contend with now. I ducked for cover once more as the Hog sent another blast of machine-gun fire into the side of the Rat-car, then squealed out of the parking lot with the dread Hog in pursuit. The Ratmobile moved with incredible superspeed down Dawn's Highway; Indians scattered bleeding where there'd been a pileup--Dawn's Highway will take you all the way to the City of Night--if you really want to go that far. All of a sudden Captain Strange dropped from the skies. And he was carrying Fearless Taco and the Grim Reaper with him. Fearless Taco said, "So, churl, you would think to kill my brother just because he's a paranoid schizophrenic manic-depressive with an obsessive-compulsive neurosis about sex, not to mention breast fetishism: now taste my hot sauce!" And he zotzed Harley Davison with his acid ray. Yet Harley just kept on coming and coming. Captain Strange shot bullets of sapphire light/heat at the Hog from his hands as he held them in an arcane gesture--but Harley Davison had been writing fantasy so much that he knew all the counter-spells and just sent the sapphire bullets of pure light-energy right back at my big brother. All at once the Grim Reaper was standing in front of the path of the oncoming Hog, saying, "I have the power to kill you just by waving my scythe." "I don't believe you," the Hog said, and kept on rushing down Dawn's Highway, straight at the Grim Reaper. The Grim Reaper waved his scythe and all at once Blood croaked. When Blood was done croaking he died. "No! No!" Harley Davison ejaculated thru the speakers mounted on his gas tank. "Blood was a true friend. Blood was the best friend I ever had! All right, I surrender!" The Hog wheeled to a stop. "What are we going to do with the Hog now that he's surrendered?" I asked Captain Strange. "As an electronics genius, I can remove the micro-chip containing the brains of Harley Davison--that way one more nemesis will be removed from this world." All at once the Hog sprang into life again. He roared off a few feet down the highway, when suddenly Fearless Taco zotzed his tires with his acid ray giving Harley Davison a couple of flat tires. The Invisible Hog ran into the ditch. A few minutes later Captain Strange had his main board out. He found the microchip and began pulling systems: "I know a song," the Hog said: "Daisy, daisy, give me your answer, do..." Then all was silent as the music slowed as systems crashed. And it's dog, dog, Mr. Invisible Hog, drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was clogged. And good old boys were drinking whisky and rye... the day his doggie died. That night Judith and I celebrated: I vorkled her little CENSORED off. END