the Remembered Saints: My Life and Subsequent Death
Execution of the Sun"
Among the Jellyfish"
of the Manfestation"
Cake and Double Talk"
Onion & Reginald Blisterkunst, Ph.D.
is a sequel to Reginald Blisterkunst's Among the Remembered
Saints: My Life and Subsequent Death, which was originally
serialized in WAG.
Readers who prefer to begin at the beginning may read
the first book by clicking here.
a related story
Did you feel that? Like a jarring. You know, someone
nudging you out of the way. No? Anyway...damn. Where was
I? Oh yes: the girl's swirling dust-storm face. An unseen
voice begins asking her questions: what's her name, what's
her age, what, exactly, did she see, etc.
how would you describe this, er, ship?
There is a moment
of silence, then the voice returns.
She smiles at her
you doing immediately before the abduction?
—I beg your
—You see, I
fell asleep and had this dream—
—You fell asleep
while floating on the river?
She nods, embarrassed.
—Yes. I don't
know why. But I had this strange dream that—
—Did the men
say anything after the ship appeared?
—No. I mean,
she says, they screamed. But that was it.
Armando leans over
he whispers. The chick's faking it.
I turn down Armando's
offer to watch them shoot the news in the studio. Instead,
I thank him for being so gracious and open and then, as
I shake his hand, he pulls me close to him and for a moment
I think he's going to kiss me.
—No body slams,
he says to my forehead. We've got an agreement, right?
I manage to say, before fleeing through the gauntlet of
Back home, Woody
invites me over for dinner and while we eat, I tell them
about the UFO story.
the interview at six o'clock, I say, through a mouthful
of slippery eggplant.
—Maybe I should
call McKratchett, Woody says.
He picks up the phone,
dials a number, waits.
he says, setting the phone down. Damn. Damn. This could
be big for us.
He turns the TV on
and while we chew eggplant fibers we watch the last few
minutes of a talk show about men who find one-armed brick
masons attractive and then, after a symphonic surge, Dick
Armando appears on the screen wearing a god-awful scowl.
he says. I'm Dick Armando and this is the news.
—What ho, Woody
Armando says, switching cameras deftly, we have an exclusive
interview with the local girl who says she was a witness
to an unearthly abduction on the river earlier this afternoon.
better be watching, Woody mutters, as Armando segues into
As before, I am hypnotized
by the girl's swirling storm face and hear little of what
she says. Woody, in the meanwhile, takes furious notes.
Coming out of the interview, we see Armando rolling his
eyes at someone off camera and then, when he realizes
he's on, he scowls hard enough to break blood vessels
and bears down on the audience.
around the world have risen by more than 20,000 percent
during the past year, he says. Adler Cantaloupe, editor-at-large
of There They Are! Magazine [here, a still shot
of a dark-skinned man in a cape appears over Armando's
shoulder, grinning maniacally], was quoted Thursday in
the Chilean daily La Tarantula as saying that there
are some particularly hot spots where we've seen a 40,000
percent rise. That's an unprecedented and frightening
onslaught of UFOs visiting Earth. Senor Cantaloupe
added that he had over 100,000 slides to prove it. He
is particularly disturbed by the rash of so-called chu...pa
attacks, which have left local natives ritually scarified
by such messages as Blister Lives! and El Capitan:
Yes! The conference, organized by La Tarantula
and the Group of Very Sane UFO Researchers, opened
Wednesday and is expected to close on Sunday.
—No. You don't
—In a related
story, Armando continues, a strange woman is reported
to have knocked men to the ground all day today along
the river while shouting Long live El Capitan, Lord
of the Dark World. Police are still not sure the two
cases are related.
Tabitha rubs her swollen belly. Soothing fingers for a
nervous fetus. Armando jumps track to another story about
a local man who beat himself to death with his own artificial
arm and then, after the weather report, I walk next door
and write a thousand fawning words about Dick Armando's
hair. The way it catches the light, the way it shifts
as he walks, the works. After making another pass through
and punching up the alliteration, I print it out and lock
it up with Eddie's father (thank God for the padlock;
I only hope ghosts can't read). Then I go upstairs and,
as I hear the woman across the street burst out onto the
porch and shout at the sky, I fall asleep and dream that
I am drifting helpless in the UFO girl's car, clutching
an ice cream cone and gawking at a handful of glistening-pectoral
Rabbit pushers, each of whom, I swear, has the swirling
hair of yes, you guessed it: Dick Armando himself.
for the Blister
Is this mike on? Yes? We're on right now? Ah. Very good
Now then. Where were
we? Ah yes.
Allow me to introduce
myself: Blistering Captain Pluto, former English professor
(Milton), now dead. At your service. I'd shake hands but,
metaphysics being what they are, I don't think you'd enjoy
did you feel that cold wind rush by us?—yes, it
touched my hand, it did, cold as death itself, it was.)
years now? And feeling better than ever, as they say in
commercials for health products targeted at the weak and
you, Madge, it's like I'm a kid again. And just two pills
Death's really not
bad, you know—you should try it sometime. Forget
that nonsense about the rotting and the worms and all—once
you get a handle on it, it's actually quite enjoyable.
Like moving to a new school, really. Learn the ropes,
make new friends, start building power structures, and
before you know it, you're plotting to control the world.
(and just two pills
But really now, I
ask you: is it true? you really haven't heard of me yet?
No, no. Never mind. You will soon. The Brazilian experiments
were just a warm-up—stretching the metaphysical
muscles before taking on the big boys of the First World.
But quite a bit of fun, if I do say so myself.
Yes, that's right,
my little Portuguese-shrieking friend: tell your friends
Blistering Captain Pluto, Newly Crowned Ruler of the Dark
World, sends his regards.
the skin, the light, el chupa; aahhhhhhh
Ah, there's another
one. Zip bang stench.
Could have done that
all night, really, if it didn't get so tiresome after
a while. Just warming up, though, dear reader, just warming
a minute. Yes. Jesus Christ. I told him to—all right.
Never mind. Have somebody levitate or something. And make
sure you get an eyewitness. Somebody at the U.N., say.
They'll want to make a big fuss about it, just to spin
the Army dizzy. Yes. That's right. And we—what?
Goddamn it, is this a universal cataclysm we're running
here, or a damned Chaplin short? What's say? No! Impossible!
Christ. I say, dear readers. I, haha, I need to slip out
of the flow for a moment here. I've got a black helicopter
downed in Texas by some damn-fool farmer, but I'll only
be a moment, so don't listen to a thing that Onion catamite
says in the meantime because when I get back I'm going
1 | Part
2 | Part 3
| Part 4
5 | Part
6 | Part 7
| Part 8 |
9 | Part
late Reginald Blisterkunst was a college professor whose
areas of expertise were Milton and the Metaphysical Poets.
Among the Remembered Saints, his first novel,
was also serialized on the WAG Web site.
Onion is a frequent WAG contributor.