The Robot's Exposition

And now it's time for the re-enactment of the crucifixion. Let me bring the grill this time for the disciples. I heard that Simon Peter got hungry on that Good Friday. I'll cook some Oscar Mayer wieners and burgers made from 100% beef. And then a re-run of The Mary Tyler Moore Show will come on after he dies.

Insects did exist in the dawning of anno domini, so I assume the caterpillar will be there. I saw a caterpillar carry a sink on its back once. The thing was as big as an oil tanker. As a matter of fact, I do remember it inching across the sea. Or could it be boiling tea? It did smell like the Imperial Blend. They make tacos in the shape of swastikas now. Somebody's got to keep the Klan happy.

His name is Devron and he owns a foghorn in a lighthouse. Here's a list of his Monday routine: 1) socks, 2) the tick-tock of his cuckoo clock, 3) Bach, 4) pince nez, 5) chafe, 6) a roller derby, 7) and finally the end. Devron likes to make tacos without cooking the shells. Only the meat's hot.

Casey walked to work in his sweatsuit. A flock of flamingos followed him to the subway. Inside the train is Her Majesty's Royal Gardens filled with eyes. When the eyes bloom, the Spanish Armada sails through in their galleons. A flag constructed of feathery toothpicks shall flutter and cover the ships and reveal Christ on the cross again.

Like Star Wars, the digitally re-mastered Jesus Christ enacted the entire New Testament again to get people hyped up about the second coming a few years later. Him and guy named Paul (previously Saul) did most of the work. The best thing about our time is media coverage. That got Christ more disciples than he could handle. I recall the Last Supper had to be booked in a football stadium outside of Jerusalem.

He was clean, Jesus was. The Bic company offered him $5 million to shave his beard, but the Son of Man did it for free. Everyone was trying to make money off this guy. Well he died and everything, and when this guy named John finished his reading of Revelations the whole world stood up in applause. It brought back the memories of sitting in Sunday School. What if it were all true? I used to ask myself. The special edition crucifixion convinced me.

Enough about religion. I went to the Spyrox Cafe to watch my dentist play the trumpet in a jazz band called the Luncheon & the Bunch. His horn blinded me a few times because the glare from the sunshine hit me directly in the eyes. It wasn't the first time my dentist tried to damage me. Besides my teeth, he almost hurt my ears when pealed a high note in his improvisational solo in "A Taste of Honey." The solo was in bad taste, mind the pun, since it clashed with the classic theme.

I found out how to make bananas from honey: just pour some on raw eggs and voila! Every time I see the word "voila," I read "viola." My chiropractor plays the viola, but I didn't go to watch his ensemble because my previous chiropractor plays as well. I never told him why I switched doctors, but the reason had to do about a bad back he never cared about.

Meanwhile a sunray caught my eye and beamed it about the sun. The sun liked it so much, it took the form of my eye and now I look up at the sky and see my other eye winking back at me. "Thank you, sir," says the sun. At least that's what I think it says since suns can't talk.

The sun made the other stars jealous. This jealousy started a fad in the stellar galaxy. Stars used their light to beam aboard certain anatomical features for their luminescence. Alpha Centauri, the closest star to the Earth, took my best friend's nose. Now we got a bunch of human body parts as large as the world a hundred times over sneezing, winking, and farting at us. I liked the light and I liked the heat, but that's all the stars should have. This new consciousness of stellar life and their jealousy to be human makes the universe a bit unrealistic.

Who's to say what's real? asks a fictional philosopher. A cardboard scientist made by semi-real scientists was programmed to define real. And so it did: "Real is the perception of all unimagined things." Only a thing that can't image can say that. Way to go semi-real scientists!

"Let's paint the moon blood red," said the Revelationaries, a cult that encourages the second coming of Christ and the threat of the Antichrist. They program wars and stir natural disasters as if they were a government agency. The United States, encourager of competition, hated this competition with their war and natural disaster agencies, so they tried to dissolve the Revelationaries by exposing untrue but very treacherous things about them. That's how the Revelationary War started and God intervened and how we've got Armageddon.

A piece of cloth without a tag ripped the juice of an instinctual delegate. Just as vitreous minstrel pinchers vouch their way to righteous positions, so will umbrella fiends find you in their self-perpetuated rain. A handout was specifically made for the enjoyment of gasoline electricians. To my dismay and your delight, the frock-wearing Ecclesiaste poured an empty glass of milk onto his own contents.
Back to the story, the castle captured a dragon princess. Luckily the prince of planets knew of this predicament. Hurriedly he did something. Weirdly he always does something where an adverb sets off his sentences. Actually they're the author's adverbs and not the prince of planets'.

Let's see where were we...Ah! Hurriedly he rushed off to the castle, the castle with no name, the castle that is not capitalized because there should be emphasis placed on the castle that captured the dragon princess. Easily the dragon princess was saved from the clutches of the stupid castle. Stupid castles were all made by the hillbillies of the Ural Mountains. Were they European or Asian? Nobody knew, not even them. That's why castles they built were so stupid.

A restaurant in northern California was called the Stupid Castle and a lot of bewildered Russians ate there, but it was nothing like home, so the place closed down and the entire town starved to death.

The United States should blow up the Ural Mountains because it makes sense to do so. Todoso should be someone's name. You should change your name to Todoso because it ended the first sentence of this paragraph. If your last name were Fulton, you would be Todoso Fulton. Doesn't that sound like the best name you could possibly have? Even if your last name isn't Fulton, just indulge in the thought of having the name Todoso. Doesn't it make your viscera curdle?

A badger with nail polish on its claws died of curdled viscera. I saw this because it's a popular joke among Wisconsinites. Wisconsin being the Badger State and America's Dairyland and all. Some people confuse our animal with our food. Wisconsin does have carnivorous citizens you know. There's nothing more irritating than an antagonizing non-Wisconsinite. Stop it!

Stopping a stop sign is ironic, but a very dumb thing to actually do. Picture someone like your grandma walking up to the red octagon and saying, "Stop!" Surreal but more half-witted than a piece of avant-garde performance art. The last leg collapsing under a dog is avant-garde, especially if it was a cat playing the role of a dog. All the cat fanciers would dig it.

Illustrations by the Madman interested Mr. Frederix, but when he opened the book he was surprised to see no illustrations at all. Instead he saw infinity and couldn't take his eyes away from it. No one take his or her eyes off infinity. Mr. Frederix lived the rest of his life with the book with the Madman's illustrations dangling just beyond his nose.

The Madman adopted Mr. Frederix as his coat hanger and tipped him a dime every time he hung up a new coat. The Madman always had one coat and it was an old one. Mr. Frederix died a very pitiful death from a pitiful existence. The Madman's books still sell like hotcakes, so he won't have to worry about losing a coat hanger for long.

Mr. and Mrs. Bickens were trapped and now have to support the Madman while he sleeps. They're adopted as beds. Miss Ketchum was adopted as his showerhead, and Mr. Childers as his spoon. The Madman's house is made of adopted people with books dangling off their faces.

In that land, a conveyor belt serves as the highway. It goes down, so far down that you have to shrink to pass through the pores of the earth's crust. Most of the passengers are droplets of rain that will have the privilege of not quenching the earth but visiting the world-renowned Magma Flow of Arachnes. Arachnes is the stingy turtle with the head and neck of a giraffe. She oversees the magma flow and makes sure that the minerals it spews contain something that will screw up humanity's industry.

Cough syrup is the only daily supplement that Arachnes demands. And so the rain droplets make sure to contain some evaporated cough syrup as they enter the spectacular Magma Flow. The steam rises to create a demi-god of new rain droplets. Arachnes' one super power is to give the gift of invincibility to the droplets that bestow evaporated cough syrup. This is why the water cycle never ends.

As the steam pushes the demi-god out of the Magma Flow of Arachnes it finds that the world is hilarious and whispers the secret of the Earth's jocularity to the clouds that then have such a laughing fit that they cry new cough syrup messengers down.

The bit about the clouds is hypothetical. What is known about the clouds is that within their condensed vapor are pieces of sports. A fraction of football was detected in a cumulus about an hour ago. This is why bad weather does not ruin the reception of sports events. Bad weather can only interfere on the game itself and that's if it's played outdoors.

The sports industry is building too many domes. This is because the municipal industries rejected the dome corporation's contract as bad weather protection. One dome company, Good Weather Domes, was near a contract with New York City to provide a unique ventilation system that would rid the town of all air pollution. Top secret government documents intercepted by certain individuals revealed that the reason for rejection was that it would hurt New York's tourism.

Greg Chantorian became a tourist of New York City instantly when he bought a Hawaiian shirt, a camera, and piece of Chew Brother's formaldehyde/Naugahyde-flavored gum. Chew Brothers are not afraid of naming their flavors after the real ingredients. Wrigley denies that any of their gum is made from a combination of formaldehyde and Naugahyde, but all big Chicago companies are famous for denial.

Once Greg had this special gum coagulating in his mouth, it over took his perception of New York. It became a stimulating city, the Empire State Building got pointier and the World Trade Center budded a third tower slightly taller than the second. The Statue of Liberty switched hands with the torch and document. Chew Brother's formaldehyde/Naugahyde gum in not a hallucinogenic food product. It is a special agent that interacts with physical reality instead of the perceptual reality. Chew Brothers know how to make a very convincing gum.

Greg found this out as New York entertained him more than any other tourist. Other tourists became jealous and hid behind huge billboards only to find waiters of five-star restaurants gathered together in their nudity. "Preservatives?" asked Ewan VanHuewy, a waiter with a nasty birthmark. His question could be interpreted in so many ways. What it really meant was, "It's time to take the elevator to waiter class."

A grain elevator coming down the train tracks nearby delivered an entire course with such precision that it became dangerous. An explosion instantly occurred and then canceled the final result of the explosion, which is a mass number of casualties. Nobody died and that's what fascinated Greg. His jealous tourists remained in life.

"Bravo!" said Greg before he swallowed the gum. DO NOT SWALLOW GUM! It may entertaining to chew but, once swallowed, gum has unexpected results. Mr. Chantorian developed a delusion, a rare delusion, a delusion that is contagious, a delusion involving weightlessness. Greg thought he was floating. As the Big Apple watched Greg pretending to float (although he thought he really was), other New Yorkers got the feeling of floating. They mentally became bubbles helpless in the wind and traffic.
Everyone saw the city of New York get smaller and smaller as they floated towards the stratosphere. This never actually happened, but in the minds of New Yorkers that day it did. Delusions of weightlessness unified the seeds of the Big Apple and a real perception of togetherness fought off the delusion. When hugs began, they noticed that their feet never left the ground. That feeling led to the feeling of being lied to. By the time everyone needed someone to blame, Greg Chantorian was on the expressway to Philadelphia.

Birds hummed escalator tunes, a new kind of muzak. Most birds can whistle elevator tunes, but escalator tunes need to be hummed. For instance, "Majorie's Halfway Shuffle" is hummed with a velvet banana. The bird sits on the banana and hums, not because the fruit is made of a synthetic fiber, but because an escalator tune is reverberating around the auditory realms of the aviary. Yes, the bird hums.

The best compact disc to get, as great escalator music is concerned, is BLAIR'S ELECTRIC STAIRS. "Majorie's Halfway Shuffle" is among the tracks on the disc. The best humming bird to get not a hummingbird but the fissilingual lingbird, the meadow pipit with the forked tongue. The combination of BLAIR'S and the lingbird will create the keenest fete champetre this side of the Bosporus Strait.

Six months later, on the crayon of the cask, lay down Mister. His mustache made from the finest paper bags and his eyes polished like ivory bubbles. A sleeping face like that can beam anyone to the groves. In the many awaken states he experiences, Mister's favorite is the event of the grassation. His wandering intimidates people, and it should. Mister's grassation only carries discontentment and glass satchels though today Mister lies on the crayon of the cask like an impenetrable balloon. Flags of nylon and pylons of rag try to out-shadow the shadow of the resting Mister, but it's of no use. When Mister awakes, he intends to join the nabobs in their hobnobbing.

The people try to stop the money, but the pressure is too great and the dike is broken by the bribe. Rich runs up the nostrils of Mister and delivers a highbrow consciousness to him. He says, "I am very intelligent," as he looks over the killing floor. Money permeates throughout his pants like an octopus in the ocean. Rich and richer, Mister pays the snails to slaughter the pirates and the alligators to chew up the billboards. Anything is in the pockets of Mister in today's stimulated event.

Mister, the nabob, crawls like a baby to the supermarket and the busy traffic stops. Look at the rich man go! They start to laugh and, within a minute, his motorcade takes him to a farm. Like a fox, Mister robs the eggs right from the chicken but tosses the farmer a vintage coin worth $800.

After he swallows the owl-infested eggs, Mister and his many moneys seem unstoppable, but that's when the wurly-glove touches his ticklish sleep neurons. Mister is sleeping for the next couple of days with a new intention, an intention of impossibilities with subtle conformities to make it catchy and fun.

Red carpets are rolled out in every town because the pope's assassination is scheduled today. Senator Gilbright had the chance to interview the pope last night over a bottle of cream soda and kielbasa. "Let loonies be loonies," was the most important sentence from the Holy See's lips that night. Once the pope is rubbed out, the Antichrist will take the seat of the Vatican. This Antichrist will be disguised as the most powerful Roman Catholic man ever to live; he is called the Double-Pope. This will fool all. Bill Cosby and the Republic of China are the conspirators behind this assassination. It is not execution because the Holy Catholic Church and the United Nations did not officially approve it. Cosby and China have hired the Vice President of the United States of America to carry out the assassination. Here is his speech on this predicament:

"Beware! Citizens of the United States, a predator of each of your souls lurk around the world without restraint. It is time to give this predator the title and power of pope to successfully drain each and every one of you of spiritual power. I, your Vice President, have been chosen to carry out the deed of destroying the present pope. If I am killed afterwards, I will not be able to install the Double-Pope as the usurper. I hereby request that the American Senate fulfill this duty if I do not survive. To hell with Monster Giaour! Precision shall never wither from my mind as I go into the Mediterranean climate and fire the iron-cased olive into the heart of the pope. We, the people of the United States of America shall witness our most favored death and the crumbling of desolate land. I shall now persist as of the Official Assassin of the Pope. Thank you!"

The Double-Pope has come back from witnessing the re-enactment of the crucifixion. He was most deeply honored to be in the presence of a digitally re-mastered savior. Today he stands protected by a powerful Italian family in Milan awaiting the death of the pope. That's all we have for the news. Stay tuned because we will have full coverage of the assassination--live.

In order to proceed as directed by personal respect, the assassination will have to be canceled. Human life has just surpassed the domination of souls as moral order. Long live the pope until further notice.
This is when the robot enters with its plans of an exposition magnetically pressed into laser-accessible circuits. Wires and cords are crisscrossing the plaza of the palace as the robot's arrangement. A sphere of electricity is planned to balloon from the fountain like a soap bubble from a plastic ring. Lords, ladies, dukes, and duchesses from around the planet have been invited to witness the robot's exposition.

A stainless steel framework containing plasma injectors and concentrated tritanium ore will create a structured order of synthetic sound to provide the plaza with magnetic resonance. In the amalgamation of every dimension of time will the images of the robot's exposition be projected.

This creation will be drawing condensed infrared rays from the sun as a source of energy. During the process of this exposition the infrared rays will be reversed and returned to the sun in the form of ultraviolet waves. The consolidated ultraviolet effect will be a reverse of the color spectrum cast from the largest source of light. Green grass will become red and the blue sky orange. Blonde hair turning magenta and everybody's eyes will glow a purplish hue as if in a black light.

Since this mighty fair releases intense heat, industrial size fans will blow across the plaza. The power of these fans is so strong that it could move a heavy-set man off his feet. Aerodynamic bodysuits have been constructed by the robot for the invited gentry. In all this splendor, these people will have the ability to fly.

The exposition would be impossible without the robot and the robot would be impossible without Dr. Harvey Ewald, scholar. Born during the Stuben Comet crash into the moon during a solar eclipse, Ewald was born to break barriers. After inventing the frictionless engine and the first fuel which emits ozone-binding molecules as exhaust, therefore repairing the atmosphere, Dr. Ewald invented the robot who's sole purpose is to put progressive scientific ideas into realities that benefit the humans' need for entertainment.

Today Ewald relaxes in his bungalow in the Bikini Atoll that he raised from the ocean and radioactivity-proofed it with his device, which uses that radioactive energy to clean itself off all matter, and into the device. Inside the device, the radioactive molecules are broken down to power the Bikini Atoll's resort: Ewald's Escape from Entropy.

All the money Ewald makes from his totally beneficial inventions is put forth to entertain the population of the planet. All his endorsed amusements are pumped full of subliminal messages to reduce crime and to stop all habits that destroy one's health. None of these companies refuse Ewald because he has rescued the world from the rot of human entropy, and he is by far the richest man on Earth. No money goes to him only because, "He shares as much as everyone else in the world."

Such a man cannot be stopped unless it is the Double-Pope who stops him. The Double-Pope has spiritual influence over all man-made devices. All thinking power coming out of the human force is supplied by the Double-Pope's agent. Therefore he can inspire the machines, computers, and robots to turn against the inventors since the initial energy source of thoughts are spawned from the beast himself.

For every busy shopper in the Mall of America there is a gift certificate the size of a deluxe bite-size Whopper. The shopper with the most coupons can win all the gift certificates if nine and nine never add up to twelve, a yellow twelve with pieces of chocolate surrounding the savory number. Twelves are for sale next to the jugs of ale in the counselor's twisted sense of bail.

The barrister on a banister rejected any illegal reasons to open a discotheque written on a legal pad. He did not know that the place was called THE LEGAL PAD after the barrister's backwards and fiendish scandals involving linen closets and the easy women found inside them. No, they weren't dead. The banister found a way to preserve women's sex appeal, but they had to be stored in linen closets. That's the story written by the journalists from the land of Overhype.

Overhype flashes in the eyes of dullards. Dullards are the people who love living in Overhype. Overhype is the land where it is possible for very small things to create big explosions. The land of Overhype is ruled by the Esquire Enquire and the Sun-Times of the Round Table. Esq. Enquire has the special capability to create any substance from concrete.

The real story behind the barrister on the banister is this: The sexy women volunteered to wait in the linen closets awaiting the butterfly's insectual message. There's nothing true about preserving sex appeal. Those rabble rousers from THE LEGAL PAD will go to the far reaches of the globe, such as the land of Overhype, to find a valid argument for their dancing establishment.

Without hesitation, an anchor detaches itself from the almighty cruise ship and heads for the underworld. This rebellious incident causes the Aluminux to float with the trade winds in the middle of the Atlantic night. Meanwhile the anchor finds the reservoir of other lost anchors joining in a current towards the rupture between the ocean floor and the underworld in the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.

Blue whales and bottle-nosed dolphins stare at the amazement as the procession of lost anchors head into a small fissure in the ridge. The intense heat emanating from the breach keeps the sea creatures distance, but it's not hot enough to keep away the insurgent anchors.

Once the Aluminux anchor marches through, it is amazed to discover a field of ice cream plasma. The surroundings are sweet and blinding because of an unknown source of light remaining a mystery to the renegade anchors. An anchor's realm of perception is very limited. What they cannot perceive is that the source of light is the fugitive eye from Eightron, the largest octopus that ever existed. Eightron could have easily become the King of the Ocean, but it was cursed with the fugitive eye that leads anchors astray. One day a cruise ship will veer so far off course that it will accidentally destroy Eightron, but this octopus has superintelligence. She speeds backward through the seven seas like a frightened lobster. Every living thing clears the way for Eightron, her body easily doubling the size of Bluto, the daddy-o of blue whales.

High above the speeding mass of the blind octopus is Radar Island, a vast desert island containing five thousand satellite dishes, none of them belonging to the superpowers of the globe. The only living being on this island is the hyphenated buffalo. Every morning it melts into a puddle of primordial residue that seeps into the bases of each satellite. The DNA sequence of the hyphenated buffalo is a sequence, which programs the satellites to either receive or transmit information not for the world, but for itself. The hyphenated buffalo's goal is to expand its mental capacity so large that the whole universe will collapse within its cranium.

By the afternoon, the hyphenated buffalo forms back into its hyphenated self to recreate alien viruses that were received as data to Radar Island. The first virus the hyphenated buffalo ever created is in all of us, but it is basically harmless. It makes us blind to the hyphenated buffalo and its island.

The alien races with higher morals than the buffalo and the human race try to stop this scheme, but they are always thwarted to the extent of extinction. The hyphenated buffalo has successfully killed off all aliens with morals greater than its own. It is a wonder that the human race still exists.

The robot's exposition's secret purpose is to eradicate the hyphenated buffalo, but no living thing knows of this scheme. Once the robot has the gentry in high spirits, the buffalo will be in no spirits. As the buffalo's life passes out of its malleable anatomy, then the infinite dimensionality of the universe will also pass away because the robot will unknowingly destroy the continuity of infinity. Things will begin to end and never reappear again. So as all forms of energy try to bail out, the Double-Pope will supply the planet Earth with a very convincingly easy exit.