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The deep blue face of failure

Done wrong on October 21, 2007.

Unfortunately, I encountered a small problem regarding the surface of Neptune: There is none.

At least, none that I could find. I took the Loquisha’s Sandals down through the dense atmosphere as far as she would go, and before reaching anything solid we had popped out the other side. Not so easily thwarted, I took her back down through that side, and we popped out again directly below the Soles of Loquisha, almost running into her. Realizing my plan to stake a claim to some land on Neptune may have been a bit poorly thought out, I tried sixteen more times to land the Sandals on the surface of Neptune, failing each and every time.

Finally, I returned to the Soles and went back to pondering my next steps. Realizing that Neptune possessed a multitude of natural satellites, I picked the biggest—after all, gravity would be required if I were to “land” in any meaningful sense of the word—and set out once again aboard the Loquisha’s Sandals. The moon was big, round, dark brown in color, and the surface was as smooth as Loquisha’s behind—thus I thought it would be most fitting if I named it Loquisha, after Loquisha herself. I didn’t know if it had a name yet, nor did I care—now, and forever afterward, it would be called Loquisha. If some pinheaded astronomer wanted to call it something different, he’d have to go through me now.

I returned to the Soles of Loquisha and landed her on Loquisha’s surface, converting her into a dwelling of sorts. I drew a border around a few thousand square kilometers of the satellite, with some chalk I kept up my nostrils for just such a need, and christened the land within New Bouillabaissia. Calling on the awesome powers of Strahazazhia Kalamazoo-Kintaki-Meeps, voluptuous insect goddess and creator of gnomekind, I conjured up a host of fifteen million tiny gnomes to serve as my subjects.

In addition to the chalk up my nose, the Pocket Pope I always keep with me also finally came in handy—in a ceremony rivaling the crowning of Charlemagne, I was crowned King of Bouillabaissia in front of all fifteen million of my subjects. The gnomes wept in delight at the sight of their new monarch.

A third of the remaining eigenslaves aboard the Soles of Loquisha were put to work in the mines beneath Loquisha’s surface, another third were put to work building temples and palaces for yours truly, and the third third were executed by public cow-schtupping as a warning to the rest of the eigenslaves. 1,258 of my gnomely subjects were put to work building mud huts for all 15,000,000 of them. A massive concrete wall was erected on my dotted chalk line around New Bouillabaissia, twenty feet high and replete with razor wire, guard posts, and machine gun nests. A higher, even stronger wall was erected around the Soles of Loquisha, which became New Bouillabaissia’s capital. The Loquisha’s Sandals was converted into the first ever temple devoted to the worship of the insect goddess. Finally, with much fanfare and capricious cruelty directed towards my helpless subjects, I took up residence in my new palace and went to work crafting a title for myself not less than six thousand words.

Hail to the King, baby!