Adagio through the day: Effusions of a labbian | No. 3: Hybridising

The vast majority of the population (VMP) comprehend the abacist as being one entity they do not divide up into the single human individua it is comprised of. The abacist—imperator of counting, amiably in_exhisting shuffler, imperatorious guarantor of monetary abacination. The abacist. As the VMP come to spy out the imperator of whom they are the minder, it is cognised by them as being indeed an entity to not ever be meddled with. Not even by them that have created it.

Although the imperator has always been he, he is irresistibly regarded by the VMP as effectively being it. Thus, it is contemplated as standing off conscience. Most far from any he related idea. The it notion is susceptive of being phantasised no end. The it notion is formidably pliant for the feeble VMP to be com_pliant with it. The abacist is a supple for the hardening of the VMP to such a pitch that they will not be capable of embracing the it notion, though being disposed to. They shall thus be disposed of by that which is it. The abacist—the it—flies away not to return ever to them phantasising beyond measure and thus docilely accepting their not returning. The VMP will always be leaning over backwards to amalgamate with the abacist whilst not ever being competent with its flitting intelligence. They shall always lean beside the cushion, not ever being [en]able[d] to get to be it. The abacist—accostable yet recondite imperator. The minder is to lose unto the ruler.

Now that in accordance with the VMP’s wishful sunken conduct the imperator is it, it strengthens to not ever return to being he. He must be it, which is its famous purpose. Here famous should be intended as both ordinary and superior. The imperator is conscientially everywhere, as ordinary matter; and also it is heightened (LAT celsus) off (LAT ex), highed away from anywhere, imaged by conscience as being so far and away from conscience. The imperator—abacist—is extolled by conscience, thus being made not conscience.

Now, the deity ex_merges from the abacus and cuts across the VMP. The immense ruse is manipulated into money, which pours over them. The abacus is hybridised—assumingly arrogated—by them. They elevate the abacus to being immaculate. Immaculate being. Pure. Not ever to be shamed—they have hybridised it. Shame is not their game.

Xmas carol wiggly: A history of their world in [no] time | Episode #1

Requiescant all the zumbis—God Nzambi of the Gubernatorial Chivalry of the Grand Seal has pushed the Excrementitious Bottle through the rays of His Own Grandness. Canty—canty be the zumbis. Let them wiggle—wiggy zumbis.

The Cavaliers are impressed. So much so that none of them hears the phone. Which is a NIMPh—Nuclear Intercontinental Missile Phone—a phone whose nucleus of sound grows if the ringing passes unnoticed. ‘Someone please catch that’ saith Nzambi. ‘Prithee, Lord, doubt not that’ says Flight Lieutenant Bill–Hook Gates of the Shitty as he sloppily gets the hand telephone set, whilst nipping up his pridefully niping glasses. ‘Oho’ he tear-jerkedly ejaculates. ‘The NIMPh voice has just murmured that Elon Mush has been abducted by one of our red dinos from Mars.’

E. Mush’s spathe of vitaminic water had been spiked with a Lycioplesium martianum causing him to err and mendicate by holding out his beloved trilby. After much roving and vacillating, he collapsed in the noughties Buchclub marquee at the All Gods College, redbrick uni since the invention of Mars and the other delusions. Field Marshal Hire Brigade Matriculation Managing Crofter Mark Klutzberg saw that the soggy bloke’s trilby was brimming with Martian chop marked dollars. Thus, in spite of recognisance being seriously impeded by the knackered dermal aspect and bled white face both of which due to the extravagant dosage of L. martianum, M. Klutzberg gladly avoided the ascertainment of the parentage via Dental Nodule Analysis (DNA), and could unequivocally identify the man as being—Elon Mush.