So again, I found my flashlight and hammer and marched out of the house, determined to go down into that subterranean crypt beneath the barn to do battle with the avatar-swarm that lurked below.
And again, I suddenly realized that I was being watched.
There before me, right next to the barn, stood a furry white creature, eighty feet tall and graced with a ring of tentacles around its bloated body. It gnashed its slavering vertical mouth at me and twitched its obscene pink nose. Apparently I’d prepared enough eggs during my hypnotic trance, and the avatars had all been able to combine into the mighty, insatiable beast known as Bug’zha Bhun-Yeh.
I was about to turn and run, when I remembered that hellish dream, in which I’d been a Martian creature being pursued by a tentacled horror. Running definitely wasn’t the answer. No, my only answer was to think the matter through—and quickly, for the creature was examining me with delight, rubbing two of its tentacles together with ravenous anticipation.
In a fear-fraught fantasy of frenzy, I thought to myself, “What would Elmharr Fhud do?” Then it suddenly dawned on me: Elmharr had been a legendary hunter and necromancer, well-versed in the secrets of Der Kwacken-Kulten, with great and mystical powers. His spirit had desperately longed to destroy Bug’zha Bhun-Yeh. Maybe I’d be able to summon him. Besides, I didn’t have much to lose by trying.
I fell to my knees and raised my arms to the heavens. “Hear me now!” I cried. “Oh Spirits of Earth and Air and Fire and Water, Demons of Time and Space, let fall the veils that separate the realities of the living and the dead! I beseech the eternal soul of Elmharr Fhud to return to Earth, so that he might help me do battle with the evil rabbit-god! Rush to my assistance, oh great hunter! The time has come at last, Elmharr Fhud, to kill Bug’zha Bhun-Yeh!”
As soon as I’d finished uttering the words, dark, heavy storm-clouds rolled across the sky. Lightning flashed and the ground trembled with sudden, violent quakes. Bug’zha Bhun-Yeh let loose with a high-pitched squeal of rage. It lashed out at me with a tentacle, but I managed to roll out of the way of the snakelike appendage.
Then a glowing, man-shaped figure of pure light appeared in the sky high above us. The spectre gracefully swooped down toward Earth, picking up speed as it descended, until soon it was plummeting with the relentless speed of a comet. I covered my eyes with my hands just before it struck Bug’zha Bhun-Yeh, fearing that there might be a blinding flash of light, perhaps in combination with some sort of explosion.
I heard a high, shrill, utterly alien voice call out, again and again—“W’haa-Tzupp-Dokh! W’haa-Tzupp-Dokh!” I now think perhaps that Bug’zha Bhun-Yeh had been trying to use his telekinesis to send Elmharr Fhud’s spirit off to Mars—thankfully, without success.
I then heard a wet, heavy, resounding smack, much like the sound of a prizefighter punching the sweaty face of an older, fatter boxing opponent. That was followed a series of moist thuds, like somebody dropping countless raw hamburgers off a roof onto a sidewalk.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the luminous spirit hovering victoriously over a huge pile of dead avatars. Apparently one well-placed supernatural punch from the avenging spirit had served not only to kill the trans-planetary menace, but also to break it down into the smaller units of which it was composed. The glowing soul of Elmharr gave me a friendly wave, and then it gracefully turned and flew off, back whence it came.
I spent the rest of the day gutting the avatars, chopping them up and storing the best cuts in my grandfather’s freezer. I wasn’t about to allow such an ample supply of rabbit meat and calamari tentacles go to waste.
Later, I finally went down into the subterranean caverns beneath the barn. There I found a series of damp, interconnected chambers, most of which were filled with greasy rabbit droppings that had a strong fishy reek to them. I cleaned up one of the chambers, put up a few posters and turned it into my writing area. My alternate history Napoleon novel is coming along nicely.
Unfortunately, I have since discovered that eating the flesh of those horrific, though tasty, creatures can bring out some lasting physical side-effects. My body is now covered with a light coating of white fuzz…tentacles have sprouted from around my waist and my ears have lengthened to an alarming degree…I’m constantly hungry for tasty dyed eggs…and I’ll tell you this: it can be rather disconcerting to find oneself chewing from left-to-right, instead of the usual up-and-down.
But at least I’m getting my exercise.
In fact, I find my daily hops through the hayfield to be rather invigorating.
Tony Tar-Pit And Monkey-Face Joe Battle The Flying Mushroom-Devils: A Tale of Prehistoric Arrkhumm
“Zogga Dogga Yog-Sothoth!”
As always, Tony Tar-Pit hollered a joyful exclamation of religious fervor to his god at the end of yet another strenuous workday. Tony was a massive mountain of a man, with thick black hair and fine strong teeth—most of them were straight and white, too, not all crooked and yellow like those of his boss, Lava Larry.
Tony was head butcher at Lava Larry’s Rib Cave, the most popular eatery in all of Arrkhumm. Procuring the meat was always a brutal task. First, six of Tony’s fellow cavemen would use heavy vines to snare one of the free-range steggies grazing in the boulder-enclosed canyon behind the restaurant. Then Tony would pick up his favorite club, Old Boom-Ba, and crush the beast’s skull with one well-placed swing.
Each steggy was so incredibly stupid, it took one a whole fifteen minutes to realize it was dead, and so the cavemen would have to keep the beast restrained so it didn’t flail around too much. Excess bruising would ruin the delicious meat.
When at last the beast was done kicking and fighting, the cavemen would roll away the boulders blocking the mouth of the canyon and drag out the huge, yummy lizard corpse.
Then Tony would take off his usual tiger-skin robe and put on a work-smock made out of leathery pterodactyl wing-membrane. He would get out his big stone knife, Old Chop-Chop, and lovingly gouge, rip, slice and hack the steggy into serving-sized chunks.
As Tony sliced up the meat, he would whisper devote prayers to his god, Yog-Sothoth, He-Who-Bubbles-In-The-Night-Sky, the Great-Father-Who-Provides. He would thank Yog-Sothoth for giving the humble cavepeople such good, fat steggies and other lizards, too, for meat. Tony loved the Great-Father so much, it sometimes made him blubber like a squealing, red-faced cavebaby.
Those bloody chunks of meat were set to cook on hot rocks next to the lava-pit a few yards away from the mouth of the canyon. The enticing aroma would make Tony’s mouth water until bubbly currents of drool flowed over his lower lip.
At the end of the workday in question, Tony hollered his thanks to his god, as noted, and cleaned off Old Chop-Chop with some pretty-smelling vuupuu blossoms. Lava Larry walked up to Tony and gave him a large bundle wrapped in gugg vines. The caveboss regularly rewarded his butcher with some cooked steggy steaks to take back to the Tar-Pit clan. Lava Larry always let Tony take some fine rock-fried organs with him, too, including the little steggy brains and the big steggy man-roots.
“You have killed and sliced well today,” Lava Larry said with a crooked-toothed smile. “Here is good meat for you and your three mates.”
Tony cocked his head to one side. “Three mates? I only have one, my wife Trixie Tar-Pit.”
Lava Larry’s rugged brow furrowed even more than usual. “What about Monkey-Face Joe and Yargoona? Is not Yargoona your she-wife, too, and is not Monkey-Face Joe your little man-wife? Gary Granite, who tosses the salad here at the Rib Cave, has a sweet, agile man-wife who gives him great pleasure. In today’s modern caveworld, it is perfectly respectable for any hard-working man to have a man-wife just for fun, in addition to however many she-wives he might wish to fill with bouncing babies. Now tell me, why has Trixie not given you a baby yet? Are you not squirting man-root juice into her she-hole on a nightly basis?”
Tony Tar-Pit laughed. “I fill her with so much man-root juice, I am surprised it is not squirting out of her ear
s! When the time is right, I am sure Yog-Sothoth will grant us a fine, fat baby, full of sweet, innocent love for his cavemommy and cavedaddy. As for Monkey-Face Joe and Yargoona—they live in my cave, but do not pleasure my man-root. They are good cavepeople and I worry about them because they are so small and weak. Why, each of them is only six feet tall—not eight, like you and me. So I protect them, as Yog-Sothoth protects us all.”
‘But since they are in your cave,” Lava Larry said, “you have the right to tell them to pleasure your man-root. Maybe they would like to do so, to show you honor.”
Tony Tar-Pit laughed. “But they are so tiny, like baby pterodactyls! My man-root would surely burst them wide open, like a steggy-head I’ve clobbered with Old Boom-Ba. No, I do not wish to make them die screaming, impaled on the end of my massive man-root. Thank you for the meat—I will see you in the morning!”
Tony began the long walk home, swinging the meat-bundle by the end of a vine. He could see why Lava Larry might think that Monkey-Face Joe was his little man-wife. In addition to being so small, Joe also had a kind, hairless, big-eyed face and shiny golden hair. Those big eyes were blue, like those of the poo-kaka monkeys that capered in the jungle south of Arrkhumm. That resemblance was what gave Monkey-Face Joe his nickname.
Yargoona was also fairly small, though she had black hair and eyes like most of the other cavepeople, and also a nice round potbelly and a pretty scar across her forehead. Both Joe and Yargoona were gentle and fun-loving, and they enjoyed picking ticks, leeches and other funny bugs out of Tony’s hair, though they didn’t do a very thorough job. But, Tony did not complain, for he knew they were doing the best they could. He did have a lot of hair and quite a big body, and bug-picking can be tiring work.
Tony knew he would never need extra mates, male or female, so long as he had Trixie. She was tall, strong and boulder-breasted, and took great pride in her ability to pleasure Tony’s strong, thick man-root for hours on end, coaxing his creamy juices to shoot forth again and again and yet again.
Tony thought about how happy Trixie, Joe and Yargoona would be when they saw all the delicious, bloody meat he was bringing back to the cave. The three of them also hunted during the day, but Tony was the one who always brought the most food home. Joe was very good at climbing trees, so he usually found lots of flying-lizard eggs for them to eat. Just the thought of eating some big, tasty eggs made drool start to pour forth over Tony’s thick lips.
Suddenly, a lean, muscular raptor leaped out into Tony’s path. It’s lime-green eyes widened as it gazed at the caveman. It was only about four feet tall, but one bite from its razor-sharp fangs, as well as one swipe of its vicious talons, could easily have killed even the mightiest caveman. It moved closer, opened its deadly mouth, jumped up—
—and gave Tony a wet, affectionate lick right across his face.
“Bloodfang!” the caveman cried. “I am happy to see you, too!” He set down the meat bundle, unwrapped some of the vines and pulled out a dripping steggy spleen. “Here is your dinner, my friend!”
Monkey-Face Joe came running down the path. “I thought I smelled steggy meat! Do not give it all to Bloodfang!”
“Have no fear,” Tony said, holding out a nicely toasted lizard testicle. “Here is the best piece, just for you!” He watched fondly as his cavefriend grabbed the morsel and sank his little teeth greedily into the rounded lump.
“Yargoona and I spent the whole afternoon gathering sweet, juicy farfarr berries,” Joe said.
“Farfarr berries taste good in my mouth,” Tony said, “but is eating plants healthy? They eat Granite Gary’s tossed salads at Lava Larry’s, but still, I worry about any caveman who puts too many leaves and flowers and fruits into his stomach. Like you! No wonder your belly is so flat and hard, instead of big and round and healthy like mine.”
Monkey-Face Joe nodded. “Yes, I should try to eat much more meat, so I can be more like you. You are my hero, Tony Tar-Pit!” He reached toward the bundle of meat, picked out a slice of steggy liver, and took big bites out of it. “I will try to grow a big, round belly so I can be fat and healthy!”
“Since we are talking about health, I think I should point out something else. I have noticed that bottom-rocks come out of your pooper as often as once or twice a day,” Tony said. “I mean, we both live in the same cave, so I notice such personal things. Letting the food come out of your pooper so often surely cannot be healthy. You are not holding in your food long enough. I only make bottom-rocks once or twice a week!”
Monkey-Face Joe looked up adoringly at his friend. “Oh, surely Yargoona and I would be lost without your grand wisdom and loving protection. Yes, I will try to hold in my bottom-rocks much longer than I do now—for many days if necessary, if that is what it takes to be as healthy and happy and bloated as you. My good cavefriend Tony Tar-Pit, I do wish I could do more to serve and honor you!”
Tony thought for a moment. “I do enjoy eating the roasted flesh of the saber-toothed star-nosed mole—a rare delicacy! I ate some several years ago, and still delight in the memory of its flavor. But I am too big to squeeze down into one of their tunnels to catch one. But you, Monkey-Face Joe, are so very small, you could go down one of their holes with ease.”
Joe gasped. “Me? Go down the tunnel of a saber-toothed, star-nosed mole? That sounds very dangerous. It would be easier if I just pleasured your man-root. It is too big to fit in my small bottom, but I do have two strong hands and a mouth—”
“No need for that! Trixie keeps my man-root very happy.” Tony showed his little friend Old Chop-Chop, which hung from a strap tied around his waist. “I will lend you this, and you will be safe. Old Chop-Chop is good at making animals stop moving.” He patted the top of Joe’s head. “Let us go meet the women and fill our bellies with steggy steaks. I do not have to work tomorrow, so in the morning, we will hunt down a saber-toothed, star-nosed mole. What great fun we will have!”
“Fun?” Joe managed a weak smile. “Oh, yes. Sure. Fun. Much fun…”
A short while later, at the cave, Trixie and Yargoona were pleased to see their menfolk, and doubly pleased to see so much steggy meat. Tony Tar-Pit announced to the women that Joe would be hunting down a saber-toothed, star-nosed mole in the morning.
“My big strong husband-man!” Yargoona cried. “How happy I am that you will be dealing death to a blood-thirsty creature tomorrow! The picture in my head of you, wrestling and stabbing a savage beast, makes the happy cavelady-parts between my legs tingle! I hope your man-root will be able to handle all the pleasure I will bring to it tonight!”
Joe patted the hand of his scarred, potbellied wife. “That would indeed please me, but remember, I must get much sleep tonight before the big hunt. Much, much sleep.”
Later that night, after hours of lovemaking, Tony Tar-Pit and Trixie cuddled on their mattress of animal skins stitched together with monkey guts and stuffed with dried steggy dung.
“Tony, I am worried,” Trixie said. “Monkey-Face Joe is so small and pitiful and weak. Are you not afraid that the saber-toothed, star-nosed mole will rip out his heart and stomach and liver and kidneys and other soft inside parts?”
“He will be fine! He will have Old Chop-Chop with him!” Tony exclaimed.
His gigantic wife shook her head. “Joe can barely lift Old Chop-Chop,” she said. She thought for a moment. “Tie together many gugg vines and then wrap one around Joe before he goes down into the tunnel. That way, if he screams for help because a mole is chewing on his leg or arm, you can pull him out by the rope, and maybe it will pull out the mole, too, so you can club it to death. Just be careful you do not club our little cavefriend Joe to death as well.”
“My wife,” Tony Tar-Pit said, “you are so smart in the head, if you ever die, I will eat your head so I can then be smart.”
“Your words of passion make my blood boil like lava,” Trixie purred.
* * * *
In the morning, Tony Tar-Pit and Monkey-Face Joe found a mole-tunnel in the
hills behind their cave. Tony followed Trixie’s suggestion and tied together many strong lengths of gugg vine. Then he wrapped one end around Joe’s waist, tied it in place, and handed him Old Chop-Chop.
“Now crawl down into the deadly darkness,” Tony said, “and if you hear something snarling with rage directly in front of you, stab it to death. Will you remember to do that?”
Joe nodded. “I think so.” With a heavy sigh, he crawled down into the tunnel.
Tony watched as yards of gugg vine snaked down into the earth, pulled by his little cavefriend. He listened carefully. No screaming yet. So far, so good.
Overhead, a flying lizard squawked, and he looked up at the winged creature and all the pretty, fluffy clouds. Truly the Great-Father, Yog-Sothoth, was a fine and generous provider. Soon his friend Joe would emerge from the ground, coated with blood, dragging the mangled corpse of a flesh-eating burrower. Yes, life was good.
“Old Chop-Chop is too heavy,” Joe shouted from underground. “I am very tired. Can I come out now?”
“Have you spilled the blood of a wild beast yet?” Tony shouted back.
“Nooooo…”
“Then stay in there.”
A black-winged butterfliosaurus floated through the air, bellowing delicately. Tony lashed out with Old Boom-Ba and crushed it. He had no way of knowing, but the after-effects of that action would eventually lead to the sinking of a heavily populated island called Atlantis.
“What a boring day,” Tony said. He sat down on a rock. “Nothing is screaming or rampaging.”
A little orange beetle crawled onto Tony’s big toe. It was pretty, so the caveman didn’t hurt it. Eventually it crawled off and slaughtered a tiny ant. This simple act led, many thousands of years later, to the birth of a funny little man named Adolf Hitler and a mighty conflict known as World War II.
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