Who were these creatures? I’ll bet you know who.
“It’s the zorgles,” cried Morty, “from Zorgamazoo!
“They’re here!” he resounded. “Our adventure is done!
We’re finished, Katrina! We found them! We won!”
Katrina was comically rolling her eyes.
“Morty,” she said, “a word to the wise:
You might be rejoicing a little too soon,
you might want to think about changing your tune.
Just look at the others, they’re mostly in tears.
They look like they’ve been here for hundreds of years!
And what about us? We’re not doing too hot.
We’ve been kidnapped, remember? Or have you forgot?
So I hate to sound morbid, or even morose,
but I don’t think we’re finished—no, not even close!”
“Oh, yeah,” Morty frowned, going suddenly glum,
“Well, this is the pits! We should never have come!”
Katrina turned back to the miniature man.
Who was he? she wondered. What was his plan?
“Hey, you!” she cried out.
“Do you want some advice?
How ’bout
The man remained mute. He said nothing at all.
It was sort of like talking to bricks in a wall.
“You’re a lout!” said Katrina. “And a criminal too!
I’d say that you’ve got some explaining to do!”
But the man only stared. He was cold and aloof.
He twisted his gaze to the curve of the roof.
The stranger peered up, looking suddenly meek,
and decided, at last, he was ready to speak.
He spoke as if listlessly reading a script.
“Welcome,” he said, “to Moonagerie Crypt.
My name is
Dullbert
Hohummer, the Third,
and you’ll be here forever…I give you my word.
So there’s no going home. You’re all here to stay.
Your planet, like mine, is a loooooong ways away.”
He said to Katrina. “But, maybe it’s true.
I imagine I’ve got some explaining to do.
In that case, I’ll make it abundantly clear,
as to why you were taken, and why you are here.”
So that’s what he did.
He plunked down on the ground.
He began to explain, to recount and expound…
Chapter 12
graybalon-four
The story of Dullbert Hohummer, the Third is not like the rest of the story you’ve heard.
Dullbert had come from a faraway place.
In fact, he belonged to an alien race.
He came from a place called Graybalon-Four,
a planet well-known as a bit of a bore.
It was smaller in size than even the Earth.
It had nothing of Jupiter’s generous girth,
and nothing like Saturn’s magnificent rings.
It had none of those wondrously singular things.
This was a planet where day after day,
the weather was always the rainiest gray,
and not only the sky, but the sea and the land,
everything gray and stupendously bland.
Why, even the people were grayer than gray,
as if all of their color had faded away.
They had built up their planet with cities and lanes
traveled by Graylian trolleys and trains,
from Graylian houses to Graylian shops,
while traffic was guided by Graylian cops.
Most of them toiled at monotonous jobs,
manufacturing gadgets and thingamabobs.
In the evening, they drove along Graylian roads
to the uniform gray of their boring abodes.
And then, climbing into their Graylian beds,
with Graylian reveries filling their heads,
the Graylian people would finish the day,
with dreams that, of course, were entirely gray.
(Think of counting the granules of sand on a beach,
or imagine a lengthy political speech.
Just think of the utmost deplorable bore.
That’s ten times as thrilling as Graybalon-Four!)
But why, you may ask, was it lacking in spice?
Like, wouldn’t a little excitement be nice?
As with much of this story, the answer is found,
by digging a bit, looking under the ground…
Because under the surface of Graybalon-Four,
there was little to look at, even less to explore.
It wasn’t like Earth, full of boulders and stones,
and minerals, metals, and dinosaur bones.
Inside of this planet was hollow and bare,
like a ball that was filled with unusual air.
But the air wasn’t air. It was more of a mist.
It quietly wafted and billowed and hissed.
It would sluggishly swirl. It would languidly teem,
and the name of this vapor was:
Tedium Steam.
It was dreary and almost invisibly pale.
It rolled and it flowed at the pace of a snail.
It curdled and churned in swishes and swarms.
It was boredom, you see, in its purest of forms.
Now, before you begin to protest or object,
believe me, good reader, my facts have been checked.
It may strike you as weird, and I know how you feel,
but Tedium Steam, I assure you, is real.
It’s also on Earth. Yes, we’ve got it too.
No ifs, ands, or buts! What I’m saying is true!
It’s produced as a residue, deep in the brain,
in people whose lives are indelibly plain.
You’ll find it near braggarts and prattlers and snobs,
or people with overpaid clerical jobs.
It clouds around people with limited views,
and salesmen with products that no one can use.
It builds up in such people, ’til over the years,
there’s so much of the stuff it leaks out of their ears.
And not only from people, but from places as well.
There’s a great many places the vapor can dwell.
All around the TV it’s especially thick,
which is why a TV can make some people sick.
It can also be found in the emptiest nooks
of bookshelves that no longer have any books.
While this Tedium Steam, for whatever it’s worth,
is not really noticed, down here, on the Earth,
up on Graybalon-Four, the stuff is like gold!
It was mined from the ground. It was traded and sold.
In fact, it was used as an energy source,
to power their trains (and their buses, of course).
All that Tedium Steam, through the night and the day
kept everything moving in every which way.
There were steam-powered toasters
and steam-powered drills.
There were steam-powered factories,
steam-powered mills.
There were steam-powered houses
and steam-powered cars,
and steam-powered everything under the stars!
And so, over time, it would certainly seem,
that Graybalon-Four…would run out of Steam.
The politicians, you see, had stiffly decreed:
“There’s a ton of the stuff! Even more than we need!
There’s more,” they declared, “than at first it appears!
There’s enough to last upwards of billions of years!”
So all of the people on Graybalon-Four,
built factories, houses and buses galore!
Because everyone thought, without even a doubt,
that their Tedium Steam—it would never run out.
&nb
sp; Politicians, however, are commonly wrong,
and the Tedium Steam didn’t last very long.
Where once the whole planet had “more than enough,”
there soon was a worrying lack of the stuff.
So the Graylians gathered on Parliament Hill.
Some were shaking their fists.
Some were solemn and still.
“Prime Minister, sir!” the Graylians cried.
“You said we had tons! But we haven’t! You lied!”
Unmoved, the Prime Minister uttered a snort.
In his mind, he was planning a pithy retort.
But before he could speak, he was rather amazed
to hear someone’s voice being suddenly raised.
“Wait!” said the voice. “Please! Hold on a sec!
Our situation is grim! It’s a bit of a wreck!
But here’s what I’m thinking: If we’ve got the guts,
then I’ve an idea—and it might save our butts.”
The Prime Minister, startled, looked over the crowd.
He adjusted his glasses and shouted aloud,
“Who said that? Who are you? Which one of you spoke?
I certainly hope you weren’t making a joke!”
(You see, telling a joke or pulling a prank,
on Graybalon-Four, was like robbing a bank.
If you said to a stranger, “Knock, knock,” or “Who’s there?”
you’d be dragged off to jail by the roots of your hair.)
“Oh no,” said the voice, sounding suddenly small,
“It wasn’t a joke! No-no, not at all!
I was telling the truth. I’ve thought of a way,
to keep everything working and perfectly gray.”
The Prime Minister paused. He squinted. He stared.
(He was old, after all, and his sight was impaired.)
“Well, whoever you are, before making your claim,
you first must come out! You must tell us your name!”
The crowd moved aside. It was parted in two,
and the stranger came forward.
He pushed himself through.
He stood on his toes, to better be heard.
“I’m
Dullbert,” he said,
“Hohummer, the Third. . .”
Chapter 13
an insidious plan
Dullbert, hello,” the Prime Minster said, “so what’s this idea that you’ve got in your head?”
“Well, now,” said Dullbert, “here’s what I thought:
Maybe Tedium Steam can be borrowed or bought.
We could trade with some place
where the people are bored.
Then our energy needs might all be restored!”
The Prime Minister nodded. He was stroking his chin.
His lips wrinkled up in a sinister grin.
“Dullbert,” he said, with a gleam in his eye,
“I think we might give your proposal a try.
The idea, I can see, has a certain appeal.
We could borrow, or beg, or maybe—just steal.”
The Prime Minister smiled. “Now, here is my scheme:
We will first find a planet with Tedium Steam.
We will send someone there, with equipment and gear,
to steal it! You see? We have nothing to fear!”
So telescopes fitted with lenses of glass,
were built to seek out this intangible gas.
They incessantly gazed at the gray of the skies,
with the glint of their massive, monocular eyes.
They scanned every comet and planet and sun,
Every orb in the sky—every single last one!
Every nebula, galaxy, near and afar,
every planet and moon, every wandering star,
every current of ether and heavenly gust,
and every last speckle of meteor dust!
For years, all the Graylians peered at the sky,
in search of a surrogate power supply;
and after so long, they were set to collapse.
They were ready to quit, to throw in their caps.
They were fully convinced that their planet was doomed.
We’re done for, they thought. (Or so they assumed.)
It was Dullbert, at last, who found a surprise:
a greeny-blue planet of limited size.
What he found in this place, it would certainly seem,
was the tiniest whisper of Tedium Steam!
“Kalloo and kallay,” the Prime Minister said,
giving Dullbert a pat on the top of his head.
“Let’s have a look closer. How much have they got?
Because Dullbert,” he muttered, “we need quite a lot.”
But the problem was this: There wasn’t enough.
There was barely a trace, just a puff of the stuff.
You see, these were the days (and the evenings) of yore,
when the Earth was exciting and less of a bore.
Back then it was brimming with creatures and things,
like dragons and ogres and griffins with wings.
Our planet, back then, was a wondrous affair,
and boredom itself was exceedingly rare!
The Prime Minister frowned. He threw up his hands.
“Curses!” he cried. “They’re foiling our plans!
Just look at it, Dullbert! Of course that’s the case.
It’s lively, exciting! Blegh—what a terrible place!”
The Prime Minister paused. “Wait a moment,” he said.
“What if this place were a little more…dead ?
“If the planet were drabber, I think we would find
that the people, as well, would be rather inclined
to get splendidly sick with the drearies and dulls,
so that Tedium Steam would come out of their skulls!
But how can we keep them all jaded and bored,
so our energy needs can be fully restored?”
“Well, now,” said Dullbert, “between you and me?
It’s all of those CREATURES.
They’re the problem, you see.
They live in the rivers, the woodlands and peaks,
these astonishing BEASTIES and lovable freaks!
So whenever those ‘humans’ go out for a stroll,
they encounter a yeti, a gorgon, a troll,
which makes them all bubbly with wonder and awe,
and enchanted, you see, from whatever they saw.
This enchantment, it lingers,
bit like a dream,
and it blocks their production of Tedium Steam.
So what if those creatures were taken away?
This Earth would be duller, now wouldn’t you say?”
The Prime Minster blinked. He nodded his head.
“Dullbert, you’re brilliant!” he finally said.
“We’ll start off with all the most fanciful ones.
This planet, regretfully, has them in tons!
Creatures with features so eerily weird,
it would surely be best if they all…disappeared.
Once they’re all gone, our plan will succeed!
We’ll have Tedium Steam—
we’ll have all that we need,
once this planet is colorless, boring, bereft…
once there aren’t any creatures or animals left!
We’ll KIDNAP them all! We’ll pilfer and steal,
’til humans forget that they even are real!”
So together, the Graylian people began
to contrive and devise an insidious plan.
Kidnapping robots were hastily made
to pirate and pilfer, to pillage and raid;
and these robots, these monsters, these Octomabots,
they were only the start of the sinister plots…
The following phase of the devious scheme
was something to gather up Tedium Steam.
They called it a Hoarder of Bored
om Machine.
It would search any place with a weary routine.
It would seek out the Steam, and no matter where,
it would siphon the boredom right out of the air.
It would vacuum it up, from the Earth to the moon,
inflating its core like a massive balloon.
The contraptions were packaged and carefully stored.
They were taken to rockets and loaded aboard.
Then came the time for selecting the one
who would finish the job that now had begun:
a Graylian hero to lead the attack,
who would travel to Earth…and might never come back.
So the Graylian people were put to a vote.
Each of them wrote on a balloting note;
and the one they selected, the one they preferred,
was none other than Dullbert Hohummer, the Third.
Upon hearing the news of the Graylian’s choice,
Zorgamazoo Page 8
