Snuffle off to Buffalo
Sniffled at on November 4, 2007.
“Heretics! Heathens! Heresy and heathenry!” I shouted, pounding my fist on the arms of my throne, as the general of my floating pi army, the mightiest of floating pis, informed me of the news. “Conquer them! Destroy them! Cow-schtupp every last one of them!”
I stood and flushed angrily. “Now!!!”
The New Bouillabaissia army was mustered, cows were prepared, and the fleet was dispatched. I, aboard the NBS Jennifer Love’s Ankles, personally commanded them. 50,000,004 grim-faced floating pis and one pissed-off-as-all-get-out Phillip Norbert Årp headed toward Earth to deal with the Strahazazhia-denying heathens once and for all. How dare they ignore my day of rest? How dare they deny the voluptuousness of Strahazazhia Kalamazoo-Kintaki-Meeps, creator of golden cockroaches, randy gorillas, comfort geese, floating pis, hamsters, and gnomekind, and She of the six-legged delights? They would be made to pay.
The Jennifer Love’s Ankles set down in a large plaza in the city of Buffalo, New York. Snuffling loudly, I stepped off the ship and demanded that the citizens of this city immediately bow down to their king at once, lest they all be cow-schtupped. The few people that seemed to notice me—and the gigantic flying saucer from which I had emerged—merely laughed at me and made rude gestures. Realizing more force was required, I ordered the remaining ships—one thousand in all—to land, and immediately lay waste to the city. No one would be spared. I quickly scrawled my orders on a dirty sheet of cardboard I found in a gutter, and, snuffling louder and more fervently, began marching down the main street at the head of the floating pi army.
Waving the sign to and fro over my head, screaming and frothing at the mouth, imploring the citizens of Buffalo to comply with my orders, we marched forward, attempting to massacre everyone who stood in our path without showing the proper respect. The cows were lowered from the ships, ready for the mass cow-schtupping that was about to take place. But no one followed my orders. Not one. Not even my army of floating irrationals. “Destroy them! Destroy them all!” I shouted to the floating pis, but no one was destroyed. No one was cow-schtupped. I spun around wildly, flailing my dirty cardboard sign about, chasing after frightened-looking people, trying to get someone—anyone—to obey me. The floating pis stood by dumbly, doing nothing. The cows mooed softly, but no schtupping was taking place.
The Jennifer Love’s Ankles stood by to vaporize the entire city at my orders.
I howled. I ran in circles, drooling, snuffling, screaming, shrieking at each and every person who made the slightest bit of eye contact with me. Finally, on a street corner, I fell to my knees, swung the cardboard over my head, and began howling at the top of my lungs: “Obey me! I am King of New Bouillabaissia! I am King of Neptune! I am King of Earth!! You will obey me and my army of floating pis! Arrrrgh! Obey me! Arrrgh, blarrrgh! Raaggghhhh!!! All will die! All will perish! Eeeeaååagggghhhh!! Pi, destroy them! Jennifer Love, phasers! Lasers and phasers! Vaporize the city! Blaaarrggghhh!!! Ggghhh!!! Destroy them aaaallllllll!!!!”
[Feetnote: I’ve been taken prisoner by the Earthlings. They’re holding me in a prison they call “an asylum” and are trying to convince me that I’m mentally ill. They say I was found on a street corner, incoherent and nearly catatonic. They say this is a “safe place” for me to “get better.” They’re trying to brainwash me. They tell me that Strahazazhia Kalamazoo-Kintaki-Meeps doesn’t exist, that I’ve never been to Neptune, and that “Jennifer Love Hewitt” is an actress, not the name of the New Bouillabaissia flagship. They even try to convince me that cows can’t schtupp! I’ve scribbled this missive on three sheets of toilet paper, with the help of some very tiny and nimble-fingered gnomes that were lurking in the cracks in the wall of my cell, in the hope that it will reach my loyal servants in New Bouillabaissia. If you receive this, send help at once!]