Space.
I remember when there used to be lots of it, back when there was still enough room to stretch out and to breathe and to run and jump and play.
Room enough for people to be alone.
But not anymore.
That was all before The Catastrophe.
Name’s Anus.
Hugo Anus, Jr. to be exact.
I was in heating and air conditioning before TC (we call it TC). No need for any of that down here. It stays the same temperature the whole year round, not to mention we don’t have any power sources let alone electricity.
No sir, TC sent us right back to being cavemen. Or hyper-intelligent cockroaches. Sometimes I can’t decide which.
Name’s Anus in case I haven’t mentioned it. I also suffer from advanced memory deterioration in case I haven’t mention that.
So what was I saying?
Names’ Anus.
Hugo Anus, Jr., to be exact.
So during The Final War I was a Sergeant Major General in the Fifth Third Infantry Division of the United States Salvation Army Corps of Engineers. It was then while stationed over in New Hampshire that I met the future love of my life, Miss Angeline Regina Chartreuse Maria Priscilla Jean Baker. But alas that is yet another story.
Name’s Anus in case I haven’t mentioned it. Though I probably have.
I know I’m losing my mind. I make no bones about it. But I can still remember the old days like they were just yesterday. Hell, maybe they were just yesterday.
Name’s Anus.
Hugo Anus, Jr., to be exact.
I remember the Leptrons were coming in hot. “The only good Leptron is a dead Leptron. Or at least one that doesn’t want to kill you.” That’s what we used to say.
So Anus and I were the only two left out of the whole Field Army.
As a Specialist General I outranked Anus’s Private First Class General which placed me squarely in charge.
I ordered Anus to fix me a gin and tonic, and he dutifully obeyed.
Then I ordered him to fix himself one too but he had already done so, so I ordered him to fix himself another one. And to fix me another one while he was at it.
This went on and on.
I don’t remember much after that. I only remember waking up in that Leptron brothel with Moochie and Anus and First Lieutenant General Peniswrinkle, who as it turned out was quite the Leptocaine addict and a real sex pervert to boot.
Name’s Peniswrinkle in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Dr. Peter Peniswrinkle, Jr., to be exact.
I was a First Lieutenant General in The Salvation Army Corps of Engineers until I lost my commission.
This was back before TC, in The Final War during The Battle of Leptocropolis.
After they decommissioned me I was eventually discharged with dishonor for Commission of Lewd and Lascivious Acts Upon the Enemy Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman, and was subsequently stripped of all awards and certificates, even right down to my birth certificate.
By the time The Final War ended I was a neo-beatnik hippie beatbox poet bedding down in New Greenwich Village and hustling space tourists for a living.
All because of some Private First Class General and his asshole nipple.
If it hadn’t been for those schmucks I would be a Major General General by now.
Schmucks (heh heh). That’s a word I learned from Moochie.
Name’s Anus in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Hugo Anus, Jr., esquire.
They say I have a very good memory.
I remember The Leptrons were coming in hot. “The only good Leptron is a dead Leptron. Or at least one that doesn’t want to kill you.” That’s what we used to say.
You don’t see any Leptrons down here.
Then again, you wouldn’t.
They’re all living in their own underground caverns, presumably, if Leptron Prime even has underground caverns and still exists. In any event since we’re still alive it’s very likely that some of them still are too.
Maybe.
Not that it matters anyway. There won’t be any more contact between us and them for at least hundreds and hundreds of years. Maybe even millennia. Who knows what will be left of us all by then.
I remember The Leptrons were coming in hot. “The only good Leptron is a dead Leptron. Or at least one that doesn’t want to kill you.” That’s what we used to say.
Truth is the Leptrons were actually some of the greatest people (people?) you ever could know. It was just that some of them didn’t like our soldiers making it with their wives and sisters and daughters, which was what led to the uprising and The Battle of Leptocropolis, which of course was the first battle of The Final War.
My old pal Moochie was right there beside me in the trenches. We were Corporal Generals at that point. And there weren’t really any trenches. That was only an expression. I guess hardly anybody alive today would even get that joke anyway.
I had to have a nipple surgically removed after that incident. I won’t tell you which one. Always leave them guessing is what my momma used to say.
Names’ Anus.
Hugo Anus, Jr., to be exact.
They say I’m the oldest man living down here.
But seeings how I forget what year I was born and there are no surviving records of anything like that anymore anyhow I don’t really see how they can be so sure.
That Old Man Forrester sure looks pretty old to me. Hell, they even call him “Old Man Forrester” for christsake.
So after I lost my left nipple Moochie comes to visit me in the Medical Center, and he brings me this huge floppy purple space nipple that he cut off some dead Leptron, like THAT’S supposed to make me feel any better. I’ve still got the damn thing somewhere—up there—though who knows what’s left of up there and it isn’t like me or any of these other sorry schmucks are ever going to see any of up there ever again anyway.
Schmucks (heh heh). That’s a word I learned from Moochie.
Names’ Anus in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Hugo Anus, Jr., to be exact.
My friends call me Moochie.
I’m completely insane in case I haven’t told you about that already.
Every now and then I remember and feel ethically bound to inform anyone I find around me who may not know it yet.
Name’s Anus in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Hugo Anus, Jr., to be exact.
You probably think Hugo Anus, Sr. was my pop, but you’re wrong.
Hugo Anus, Sr. was my uncle.
My pop was Grimy Anus, Sr.
But he died before I was born and my Uncle Hugo adopted me and made me his rightful heir.
And that’s the story of the Anus family. Except for the rest of us.
Actually now that I think about it our last name wasn’t even Anus.
It was Pierce.
Anus is my butt. I always get those two words confused for some reason.
Name’s Pierce in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Hugo Pierce, Sr.
Yeah, I adopted the little shit.
Even gave him my name, and eventually the family fortune.
And it was worth it.
That sister-in-law of mine’s got moves in bed like you wouldn’t believe.
And old Grimy never knew even what happened to him. And now he never will.
I took care of that part myself.
And if my agents keep stirring up this war between the Leptrons and the Terrans the way they have been I will inevitably continue to get richer than ever because I am selling weapons to both sides. Ha!
Ha! Ha!
Because the only good war is one that benefits you personally. Or at least doesn’t cause you any discomfort. That’s what I used to say.
Name’s Anus in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Hugo Anus, Jr.
They say I have a very good memory.
I remember before I got old I used to be a kid.
You don’t see many kids around these days.
Name’s Pierce in case I haven’t mentioned it.
I am currently suffering from the advanced stages of hemorrhagic syphilis. Not many people can say that about themselves.
Name’s Anus.
Anus Pierce, Jr. to be exact.
You probably think Anus Pierce, Sr. was my pop, but you’re wrong.
There just isn’t room enough down here for any kids, let alone for people to make them.
The couples they do choose to let mate just to keep the population from crashing entirely don’t even get any privacy during what used to be considered the most intimate of all acts. They just clear out a little space for them while everybody else stands around shoulder to shoulder and watches, though they do at least make everybody be quiet. It’s quite the spectacle. You could literally spend a whole month’s worth of cave credits just to get in close enough to barely see anything. If all you can spare is a week’s worth of cave credits at least that might get you within listening distance.
Maybe.
I just don’t understand these people down here. How did we ever come to this?
Name’s Angus, in case I haven’t mentioned it.
So by the time The Final War came to an end I was stationed in Roccoroon. Moochie was long gone dead and buried by then and the only memory I had left of him was the tiny scar the surgeons had so masterfully left behind on that sad and fateful day when they extracted him forever away from my bosom.
Name’s Tooty, in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Rooty Tooty McPooty, to be exact.
No, wait. That’s not my name at all.
I have a lot of trouble remembering things in case I haven’t mentioned it. They say I have the worst memory down here. I don’t know though. It seems to me that old “Forgetful Tom Griffin” has a lot of trouble remembering things too. Hell, they even call him “Forgetful Tom Griffin” for christsake.
My name isn’t important that anyway.
It’s what I have to tell you that is important.
Which I also can’t remember.
Name’s Anus, in case I haven’t mentioned it.
No…that’s my butt.
Space.
I remember when there used to be lots of it, back when there was still enough room to stretch out and to breathe and to run and jump and play.
Room enough for people to be alone.
But not anymore.
They say isolation will drive a man insane.
Well, they should try unescapable companionship.
I’m completely insane in case I haven’t mentioned it. Never believe anyone who tries to tell you they aren’t at least a little bit crazy.
So as a Sergeant Major General in The Salvation Army Corps of Engineers I naturally received buttloads of specialized instruction in heating and air conditioning. I was privy to all the classified information that the civilian heating and air conditioning guys never even dreamed existed. Subsequently I became well versed in several classified and banned technologies, the majority of which were not terrestrial.
That was why when they sent me back before the war after it ended I was able to make a killing in the heating and air conditioning biz. I wasn’t supposed to but I did it anyway. They called me The Hot and Cool King. Nobody could ever figure out how any of my systems worked. Not that my customers cared. Their homes stayed the perfect temperature all year-round, and all for pennies on the dollar compared to my competition. That was why my competitors had me investigated. And how I eventually lost my Time Passport and had to come back home to the present. Too bad. With my war record I could have lived out the rest of my life in the past and probably even died there.
But here I am instead. Stuck down here with all the other sorry schmucks, living, breathing, eating, shitting, pissing, scratching and farting right out in the open in front of everyone to see.
Because who cares?
What is there even to care about anymore anyway?
Name’s Butt in case I haven’t mention it.
No wait…that’s my Anus.
I remember The Leptrons were coming in hot.
“The only good Leptron is a dead Leptron. Or at least one that doesn’t want to kill you.” That’s what we used to say.
Name’s Pierce.
Hugo Pierce, Jr. to be exact.
And that was one hell of a Catastrophe I caused if I do say so myself.
Even if it was really Moochie who caused it.
But since I’m the only one around now to take any credit for it I’m going to say it was me.
That blunder led to the virtual devastation of the entire known universe and the end of life on earth as we know it.
And I’m the one who caused it. Me and Moochie. But mostly it was me. Not many guys can say that about themselves.
So the Leptrons were all honked off about our guys shagging their women all the time, though the truth is they should have seen it coming a mile away. After all, by the time we met them their males had long since stopped satisfying their mates which the Leptron women had no qualms about making abundantly clear to anyone and everyone they met.
Throw in a platoon of horny, sweaty, conditioned, testosterone-laden and space sick Terrestrial soldiers and what was bound to happen eventually happened almost immediately.
And it wasn’t like the Leptron men could really complain. They knew they hadn’t been making their women happy. Which the terrestrials certainly were doing. And in spades.
The Leptrons were not a warlike people. At least not until they met us.
However, they were incredibly intelligent, and once they finally set their great minds to war there was nothing that could stop them.
Except for the end of the universe as we knew it.
My name is Pierce in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Hugo Anus Angus Pierce, Jr. to be exact.
I have advanced stage malaria, so sometimes I forget. They say I’m the most forgetful person down here. I think they may be wrong but I forget why I think that.
My Uncle Hugo said he named me Anus because I was a little asshole. Always crying all the time and pissing and shitting myself and needing changed and fed constantly. Now that I think about it I probably would have hated me too.
Of course I would never say that about my own little bundle of joy, Hugo Anus III. Or never would have said that anyway. That boy and his mother were the loves of my life. I guess I should just be thankful they never lived to have to see this.
Of course, if it hadn’t been for The Catastrophe then there would be no this. We’d all still be up there, living, breathing, stretching out, running, jumping, fighting; fucking.
It was that old Peniswrinkle who was behind it all.
Peniswrinkle.
That was what we called him.
His real name was Peneswinkle.
Dr. Peter Peneswinkle.
And he was no gentleman.
But he was an officer.
Name’s Tooty in case I haven’t mentioned it.
Rooty Tooty McPooty to be exact.
At least that was what my grandpa used to call me.
My real name is Hugo Angus Pierce III. My dad fought in The Final War. And he personally knew First Lieutenant General Dr. Peter Peneswinkle, though at the time he didn’t know what he would be getting up to eventually. He met him in a brothel during The Battle Of Leptocropolis following what I can only presume was one of many alcoholic blackout binges. And years later my dad and his dead nipple pal Moochie ended up being the very ones who ultimately thwarted Peniswrinkle’s evil plans. Unfortunately in doing so they also inadvertently unleashed The Catastrophe and doomed all life in the galaxy to live in eternal darkness.
So I guess it all evens out in the end.
Of course, I died before any of that ever even happened so I’m probably not the best person to be telling you all this. You should talk to Peniswrinkle.
Name’s Peniswrinkle.
I mean Peneswinkle.
Dr. Peter Peneswinkle to be exact.
I know everyone used to make fun of my name though I’m sure it was all in good fun.
After all, I was a bona fide First Lieutenant General in The Salvation Army Corps of Engineers.
I was somebody back in those days. Feared and respected. I would have been the boss of everybody eventually. I am sure of it. If it hadn’t been for that Anus schmuck and his goddamn dead nipple.
And even again after all these years I still would have been the boss of everybody if it hadn’t been for those two. But instead I’m just dead.
You see, I wasn’t really a neo-beatnik hippie beatbox poet living in New Greenwich Village.
I was a cosmic-level criminal mastermind.
And I had been plotting my ultimate revenge ever since The Final War.
For all the while I had been hustling space-tourists for a living I had also been secretly constructing a device so sinister and dastardly that the entire universe would bend its knees before me in collective terror rather than risk my activating it.
I had just set the thing up and was getting ready to call Queen Latifah to issue my ultimatum when Mochie himself comes bursting in with Peniswrinkle and Anus and some schmuck named Sassafras Snyder.
Needless to say I was not amused.
Peniswrinkle I knew, and I knew I knew two of the other ones from somewhere but I couldn’t remember where or when, so I just let the whole lot of them in.
One thing led to another and eventually we all smoked some space hashish and played Trivial Pursuit and I think The New Rockettes may have stopped by for oolong tea and gingersnaps.
Meanwhile I forgot all about taking over the universe.
After I don’t how many gin and prune juices that nipple Moochie starts asking me about that funny looking machine over there in the corner. Or maybe it was Peniswrinkle. I’m not sure. Because it was then that I realized that that nipple I had been talking to the whole night was really only the ghost of a nipple who hadn’t been seen since The Battle of Leptocropolis.
And not only that, but I had met this nipple many years ago in a brothel back on Leptron Prime.
And not only that—he and his friend Anus had ruined my military career during the debriefing by telling the M.P.G.s everything they had seen in the brothel. And now here they were, sitting in my living room, asking me about the very machine they had indirectly inspired me to create.
The irony was absolutely delicious.
Space.
I remember when there used to be lots of it, back when there was still enough room to stretch out and to breathe and to run and jump and play.
Room enough for people to be alone.
But not anymore.
That was all before The Catastrophe.
So Peniswrinkle had this big funny looking machine, you see.
And he kept talking to somebody who wasn’t there. But whoever it was made my scar tingle whenever it was their turn to talk.
We were high as fuck.
Name’s Anus.
Hugo Anus Pierce, Jr. to be exact.
And in case I haven’t mentioned it I’m my own grandpa.
Not many guys can say that about themselves.
Back before The War, when I was back in time, I spent a wild and drunken night with my own daughter-in-law, who of course was much younger then and didn’t recognize me at the time. She gave birth to me after that. And then eventually I had a boy of my own, who grew up to marry the very same drunken slut who had both bedded and birthed me.
Don’t think about it all too much. It’s not supposed to make any sense anyway.
So I had gone over to Peniswrinkle’s because I had been thinking about all the trouble me and Moochie had gotten him into back during the war and I wanted to personally apologize to him for everything.
I took Rooty Tooty with me as moral support, and my friend Dr. Peter Peneswinkle from a different universe came along too just to really blow his mind.
It was all Moochie’s idea.
When we got there Peniswrinkle took forever to open the door, but then almost immediately he became very friendly and invited us in.
I remember my scar tingling off and on that whole night. Maybe it was just the Black Tar Heroin, or else maybe the Tequila and Bourbons.
Anyway, at some point late in the evening I said my apology and Peniswrinkle ended up breaking down and crying like a baby, God bless him.
He told us he had created a machine to destroy the universe but now he was sorry and all he had really needed this whole time was some love and forgiveness and now that he had gotten those things he suddenly possessed a whole new outlook on life.
And then the other Peniswrinkle started to cry too.
Then we all started to cry.
I remember The Leptrons were coming in hot.
“The only good Leptron is a dead Leptron. Or at least one that doesn’t want to kill you.” That’s what we used to say.
I remember one of the Peniswrinkles talking to Moochie the whole night and Angus being too wasted to even notice. We were all wasted.
At some point I was so wasted I started to feel like I was going to puke, so Moochie starts trying to gross me out and Angus and the Peniswrinkles are laughing and everything is spinning and I am seeing like sixteen people in the room, at least half of which are Peniswrinkles.
Goddamn opium and absinthe.
Name’s Angus.
Hugo Anus Angus Pierce Rooty McTooty, Jr.
I am completely and utterly batshit fucking crazy in case I haven’t mentioned it yet. They say alcohol has eaten my brain. I feel like I’ve been talking to you kids for a long time now. But honestly I can’t even remember how long a minute or a second or an hour lasts.
You sure don’t see many kids around these days.
They say I’m the oldest living person down here.
But that Old Lady Puckerbutt looks pretty old to me. Hell, they even call her “Old Lady Puckerbutt” for christsake.
Anyway, what was I saying?
Name’s Peneswinkle.
Dr. Peter Peneswinkle to be exact, from Alternate Universe Alpha 72 Zed Beta Gingersnap.
I was summoned to this particular timeline though the enactment of certain secretive black magic rituals involving virgin olive oil, Italian herbs, Romaine lettuce and red wine vinegar.
Or else maybe some crazy sonofabitch just imagined me.
Either way, it doesn’t really matter because this is my part of the story. And I’m running with it.
We had gone over to Peniswrinkle’s to rough him up a little bit, to shake him down and shake him up.
Basically, to rub him out.
At least that was what Moochie had told me. That will teach me to listen to a goddam ghost nipple.
We had all been smoking crack and drinking vodka and ryes all night when Sassafras Snyder suddenly starts going on this crazy rampage, stumbling around moaning like a wild animal and smashing everything in his path.
Of course it was all Moochie’s fault. Sometimes that tit doesn’t know when to leave things well enough alone. The rest of us did our part too though I guess.
But it was Moochie who had gotten Rooty Tooty wasted playing Devil’s Triangle.
Ghosts and rapists just love that damn game for some reason.
So at some point during his rampage Rooty Tooty starts puking. I mean projectile vomit was spraying everywhere. He even sprayed it right into Peniswrinkle’s mouth, which then made Peniswrinkle start puking. Which in turn made me start puking.
I couldn’t help it. I was a Peniswrinkle too.
Eventually, everyone in the room starts puking. Moochie is laughing his ass off and McTooty is still stumbling around blind drunk, spewing his foamy wretched vomit all over everybody and everything.
And then Angus pukes all over Peniswrinkle’s machine.
There was an electrical discharge, a few sparks, and then a small but insistent hum began to grow from within the very heart of the device.
Coloured lights started flickering in mysterious dancing patterns and I suddenly noticed that the other Peneswinkle was screaming “NOOOO!!!” while ripping out his hair and stamping his fist on the loopoopa.
Except there weren’t any loopoopas in that timeline. So it must have been a sausage. Or maybe a table.
Also, at some point I think The New Rockettes stopped by for oolong tea and gingersnaps but that’s all sort of hazy.
I remember The Leptrons were coming in hot. “The only good Leptron is a dead Leptron. Or at least one that doesn’t want to kill you.” That’s what we used to say.
Name’s Anus.
Hugo Anus Pierce McGillicuddy Sassafras Greenpecker Sausagefactory Angus McToots, Jr., to be exact, and this is my Last Will and Testament.
I hereby leave the sum total of my possessions, which are nothing, to nobody.
Because I know I’ll be dead soon.
When you die down here they just compost your body to feed the fungus colonies that provide food for all of us.
And thus they say the circle of life is made complete.
Except I didn’t start out down here, and I don’t intend on finishing up down here.
Why, I’ve still got a perfectly good purple floppy Leptron space nipple waiting for me up there somewhere. Not many people can say that about themselves.
I remember The Leptrons were coming in hot. “The only good Leptron is a dead Leptron. Or at least one that doesn’t want to kill you.” That’s what we used to say.
We left that night without any of us saying a word. Not even Moochie.
Having served his purpose the alternate universe Peniswrinkle dissolved away into an array of dancing sparkling pixie sprites. Our own Peniswrinkle was still there inside, hunched lifelessly over the loopoopa. In the end he had been saved but he had still taken the whole damn world down with him and I guess he just couldn’t live with that.
We all split up right then and there, and I haven’t seen or felt a tingle out of any of them ever since.
I guess you kids all know what happened after that.
They found the machine and when the scientists examined it they realized that everyone in the universe only had fifty earth years to dig themselves new homes beneath the surfaces of their respective planets and figure out what they were going to eat because after that the space above them wasn’t going to be worth hoot, holler, or plug nickel.
And because of Peniswrinkle’s ingenious and dastardly cunning they also knew they couldn’t disable the machine without setting it off immediately.
And so they dug.
And they dug and they dug and they dug.
And 50 years later it went off just like they said it would and now all of us live down here in these tunnels.
I’m sure they teach you all this in school.
No?
Well, anyway, I think you kids would have liked it up there.
There was so much space.
Space.
I remember when there used to be lots of it, back when there was still enough room to stretch out and to breathe and to run and jump and play.
Room enough for people to be alone.
Name’s Anus…
THE END.
AFTERWORD
Name’s Angeline Regina Chartreuse Maria Priscilla Jean Baker.
Angeline Regina Chartreuse Maria Priscilla Jean Baker Anus Angus Pierce to be exact.
My poor Hugo never was the same after losing me and little Rooty Tooty that night.
I just don’t think his mind could take it and so he started to drink.
And drink.
And drink.
Eventually, he started forgetting things and randomly exhibiting multiple personalities.
It literally could have happened to anybody.
It wasn’t his fault that we were never real.
Name’s Mario.
Mario Luigi Donkey Kong Jr. to be exact, and I have no idea what I’m doing in this story since none of it has anything to do with me.
But I do have an enormously large penis.
Name’s Grimy.
Grimy Anus Angus Pierce, Jr. to be exact.
They say I had a half-brother named Hugo but I never knew him.
Never knew my pop either. He and my mom sold me to science as soon as I was born.
So I never knew nobody nohow.
As soon as I got old enough I changed my name to Peter Peneswinkle and became a doctor.
I am thinking of joining the Salvation Army Corps of Engineers.
What could possibly go wrong with that?
