SOS Gab & Eti 1.01

Pastor Jicklo uses a teletransportation booth to visit the Celestial City, finding nothing. Gab and Eti ponder the hole in their toilet, possibly caused by time-traveling astral projections. 

Transcript

SOS Gab & Eti 1.01

Wherein Pastor Rufus Jicklo has a late-night adventure, and historic remnants of the DC loo are for the first time in this narrative revealed for the estimable contemplation of our audience.

In consideration of the revisionist exploits of Bill and Ted in a phone booth, by the public spirit of my fellow citizens with the proceeds of the most recent Firemen’s carnival, a teletransportation conduit has recently been established between our neighborhood in the rural burg of Bullamanka, nestled amidst a bucolic landscape of chickens, sheep, cows, pigs, duckweed and horses set out upon rolling hills, springlets, cricks, ponds, small lakes and farmyard fauna, and connected with fiber optic cable to the more distantly relocated and geometric angularity of logarithmic camel-shit brick and golden curves of the Celestial City.

As an insomniac who while between the humid overs and tired of staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling, and having very little time before the alarm, Pastor Rufus Jicklo resolved to make a quick trip.

Accordingly, the scene for him then was one fine Sunday morning three weeks past, the sun that day gave that peculiar light of a brighter morning than the usual June and after reading the January literary supplement of 1809, his having recently completed a handwritten concordance using a quill pen with elderberry ink for 1808, and directing his cook, Aura Rhanes to fry two eggs, sunny side up with a touch of cilantro and dill, pending his return with a thought that he would be hungry, he went out in the bright morning to the corner of County 94 and Densilville Pike, where bestrode with chicory and timothy the cadmium-graphite kiosk had been installed. Rendering a brief hello and exchange of numbers with his bookie, the one who otherwise sold hotdogs and soda out of a trailer parked at the park and ride weekdays, who was returning from a fact-gathering pilgrimage -- Jicklo briskly stepped toward the small booth and, despite a stiff breeze took hold the door like a plastic sail, stepped in, turned and then turned the handle latch, thereby with a half-moon twist from green to red to indicate to all passerby and curious that the single-occupancy unit was dutifully occupied.

There was no fanfare. There was no bright flash; no arcing of electrical storms, no background music, there was no noise whatever. It was oddly not like any movie that he had been in and/or seen recently, and it certainly did not seem once he found himself there that it was quite what he had expected to find. Not exactly different than he had assumed that it would be, nor better, worse or more happy, but just not quite the same as he had expected. It was a splendid dullness. The effect was instantaneously as advertised; he realized in retrospect; everything is like nothing in no time. At once he was not certain if he had arrived before leaving. Explaining, we can suppose, the attraction the conduit holds for our bookie who seems to frequent it every other day.

On stepping out of the booth, like one of those elevators with three doors, he was likewise curious that he noticed nothing. In fact, if he had noticed something he would be able to say that the Celestial City would be an ideal vacation hideaway. There was light, and there was no light. As he told us at the chicken pot-luck, it is difficult to describe nothing in particular. There is no sense to it, nothing to grasp. Possibly he would have expected more, but absent imagination, anticipating his scenery to be provided by the entertainment conglomerate that had hired the carnival and installed the kiosk, he was given less. As it was, the curious lack of hustle and bustle and no population, no ginkgo trees, no pigeons, no cars or buses, no Norwegian rats, no nothing, made him wonder what had become of his deceased ancestors. It also caused him to wonder what would become of him, particularly were he to remain a devout and good theist.

At least some kind of savior should have been present to welcome him after his having gone through so much difficulty to arrive. We can trust that here at this point he desired to take his complaint up and write a letter to the conglomerate.

Well, the very thought of writing a letter to such an estimable multi-national corporation as Vanity Excursions brought vivid images to his mind by way of vociferous tones of blasphemy and criticism. So then, wonder of wonders, as quickly as he found myself amidst nothing he then as instantly found himself likewise not alone… he telepathetically laughed outright, his new friend, a curious mix between a large eyed lizard, a dwarf, and a 40-watt light bulb, gray and pallid of scaly skin, and in the midst of which cachinnation, a smoke-wreath hissed from his nostrils -- he had not a mouth or anything resembling lips -- while a twinkle of lurid flame darted out of either anthracite eye, proving indubitably that Jicklo’s inmost heart was all of red blaze and that the conduit was a ruse, an abomination, an alien abduction wherein he would be probed, prodded, androgynously impregnated with the fetus of an alien-human hybrid. 

Jicklo offered his new friend a sip of his bottle of orange soda. It was then, as the lightest extremity of his appendage touched the glass container that he then awoke.

***

Gab and Eti appear adamant in their belief that Al and Pete were time travelers on a spiritual plane, though albeit tempered by the effluent sensorium and that the overconsumption of boiled cabbage and baked beans would have resulted in untethered eruptions of movement during their astral projection, to cause such objects, naturally as can be expected with any unexpected thrusts into the cosmic void, to grasp more firmly to each other.

It is now conjectured and reinforced by the archeologist Annalee Wintergreen, brought in to examine the coprolitic night soil, that the hole in the side of the unit may have been the result of objects that collided in such violent projections. There does not seem to be any more reasonable an explanation to fit the facts of the scientific inquiry which is included as in the not-as-yet concluded series of DNA tests. 

There is some evidence, in the form of petroglyphs that resemble a bird's foot placed within a circle, that the brownish tailings may be ancestral in origin. This would lead to a conclusion that the house was not in fact used all that much by Al and Pete, but by some sort of composite Natural Human to comprise all of humanity who drained-the-lizard and/or dumped-the-load within the stuffy confines of one hot steamy convenience-hut on a long-ago summer day while Dick Nixon sat nearby in the White House in precontemplation of his pubic image. 

It should be remarked, possibly best at this time, that there was an undersized man's glove found down the hole. There has been no reasonable explanation for this unmatched fragment, though Gab and Eti were approached by an unidentified party who offered to do a video and post it up on UsTube.

The fact that the hole may be of histrionic import brings an entirely different perspective to the thought of repairs to be made to the hole, which intent led to the original inquiry; as Gab and Eti now find themselves constipated with a conflict as to restore the portable toilet to a period that pre-dates common use (distinct from uncommon use), with the requisite polish to a factory newness, or to remain true to patina to what could have been, though for the present admittedly a very obscure but possibly maybe a most awesome rush in the pot-modern era, otherwise known as the post-60's.

To be continued... the Grand Gesture