Great Thunderous Blubber, What Have We Wrought?!

"If you are in fact serious, as I suppose you must be given the expression you've let fly across your rude and biting face, I shall have to disagree further! And I choose no other tactic than to exhort you with strange and rare meanings, the likes of which you shall hear of but once!"

Randy was stumped. He stepped back a pace, helpless as the flow of words washed over him, draining him of fair retort. He was struck mute. He stood there, dumbened for a series of moments, and then his mind began to race, while his body remained paralyzed.

"I shall leave you be for now, young man. A continuance is in order, but let us wait a little while."

Our Host gave Randy a pat on his left shoulder. A pat that nearly shook loose his attempts at grasping sanity. Each sinew and muscle tensed and remained so as he turned and walked toward the room's far corner.

Everyone was staring.

Someone offered him a drink. Randy preferred the spot his nose had found in the space where two walls meet. He sniffed and caught a cooler sensation. He was relaxed a bit. Someone tapped his shoulder.

Whirling, Randy felt his nose warm to room temperature. Who had tapped him? Everyone stared, but no one was within arms length. A beautiful woman could not stand the tension any longer, and so she made attempts at distracting her date by giving his scalp all the attention her fingers could give it. A rigorous massage. Other guests did likewise, only in varying manner and technique.

Now he was not being seen by anyone. There was a path through the room created by the couples. Naturally, and through no intention of their own. Randy walked this path and it lead to the high ceiling-ed Piano Room. 8 pianos were scattered about. 3 were presently being accosted by some half studied individuals. Candles, food and drinks stood atop these grand devices. The candles were unlit, however, and Randy quickly found a method for remedying this.

A quick grasp and an upthrust put a candle securely in his possession. Progressing in short, quick hops, Randy found our Host.

"BING!" Randy shouted, took out his lighter, and immediately lit our Host's shirt on fire. Well, it spread quite quickly, seeing as the room was, until now, quite intimately packed.

"And now I have lit my candle!" Randy whispered, as he watched our Host be consumed.

"BUT WAIT!"

Our Host was protesting! The flames ceased in all but his mustache, which seemed to be fueled by some long burning substance.

"I HAVE NOT FINISHED YOUR REPRIMAND."

Randy did not know what to expect. He had never known an exclamation that was capable of extinguishing a healthy fire.

"I have called you a snob and a snoot. I have rubbed your face in the blubber of your own misgivings and I have spent my time issuing the full truth for your benefit. And you have gained nothing by it! What must I do? What methods must I adopt? What ways must I employ to coax some trembling sense from your humanhood?"

"You should have employed music and dance," Randy said, only slightly functioning above fraught nerves. "A bit of ritual may have helped, too. You must realize that I am here to learn from you, and if you cannot be patient, then I can never learn from you. You see I'm afraid of you now. You've gone too far."

"Too far!" Our host's tone was thought to have peaked moments earlier, but here it scans the loftiest heights yet.

"The distance of "too far" has yet to be traveled, young lad. Demonstration is my only asset, come this very moment."

Fingers raised to his mustache, testing at the still blazing heap of air, he began to nudge it. The queerest look appeared on his long, slender, bony face. Both eyebrows dancing independently of each other. The nudging became a poking. And with the poking he alternated with stroking. The mustache began to move. Slightly. And now more. It was heading north, should Our Host's face be a map. His finger nudged, and into his nose the hairs were being sent. There was ample room. His nose was capable of holding fat cigars. A mustache would be quite easier to compact. Now he poke with both fingers until the 'stache was gone, his upper lip raised past his teeth, and the flames issued from great, flaring nostrils.

"I've had it! You're a slug! A miserable puppy that makes no distinction between a hydrant and the asshole of a camel!"

And in that space of time, the entire earth was engulfed by another sort of chaos. It eclipsed the ongoing chaos only because it was triggered by it and had more flares set to burn. It is because of disapproval, because of resistance and because of hilarious dinner parties that the world must now end. One man will survive of the two, and he will be given a period of time to be right about that which he was speaking. His perspective will rule. He may enjoy it as he chooses with the smoldering ruins.

After that initial space of time has run out, he will be given 30 seconds. 30 seconds he will have to dance the Dance of Remembrance. To leave an impression with his soles and his heart. His voice will be given inspired flight and he is to enact pure creation. But then he will stop. Because his time is up. Because the height of creation will have now been put behind him, and it will grow ever further, ever more distant, ever more lovely in memory.

Then he will be given a word to read. To sum up all that was.

He knows it already. IT IS:

UPROARIOUS.