Act One: What Goes Up Eventually Leaves a Crater
Nowadays, the amazing comeback of the boy band, the billigits, is all the rage in Saragun Springs. The cycle of fame travels extremely fast in fantasy realms. For six weeks the boys (natives of the Springs) were flying high, superstars in the Springs’ sister realm called Other Earth; launched by the spectacular success of their debut album, meet the billigits (billigits do not use capital letters). Yet six weeks later, the band imploded, and the billigits were just another pockmark in the town of hasbeenville.
Everything went to hell for the “fly four” (billigits are androgynous–yet boyish winged individuals, eighteen inches long, orange skinned) after each one hired his own personal advisor/toady from the Charlie Sheen Career Suicide Agency. Inaccurately inflated “Adonis DNA” egos led to an ill-advised split with the management team of “Colonel” Daisy Kloverleaf the Pygmy Goatess (who also wrote their songs) and Penrose the Flying Weasel. Soon after the boys self-produced and released the disastrous “beige album,” which communicated nothing but scorn for their adoring fans (it is also the only record in history with negative sales–somehow more were returned for a refund than were printed). Tunes like “i bought a mansion with your lunch money” and “2 ugly 2 b jailbait” did not sit well with the “billibleevers”–who poured acid on homemade billigit tattoos and rallied around Daisy’s “We#StronglyEncouragethebilligitsNot2Reproduce” movement. The campaign started a social media beef easily won by the Pygmy Goatess and her Stoat shadow because the boys couldn’t pay their phone bills. The outcome of these events left the billigits stranded on Shit Mountain without a Sherpa.
The best the billigits could hope for was a future as a nostalgia act–but at least another six weeks would have to pass first. Until then the only options were Reality shows that exploited their idiotic, self-orchestrated demise and reduced living circumstances. Then one fateful day Penrose saw the billies on Other Earth Sunset Boulevard trading autographs and degrading phone pic poses for huffs off cans of Reddi-Whip. Penrose related the news to the adverb addicted Colonel Daisy, who said: “There’s nothingly nothing morley more profitly profitable than a Show Biz Comeback.” (From here, further quotations involving the Colonel will be trimmed of excess baggagely baggage.) Daisy called the billies home to the Springs, and after a suitable amount of groveling before the Goatess had passed, a rapprochement was achieved, and plans for the comeback were quickly devised.
But Daisy knew that she needed to write a hit song for the ages if the comeback were to take flight. Once inspiration arrived, the Colonel entered her orgone stable sanctum and brilliantly wove the second biggest news event in the realm into a hit song.
What follows is the source of her inspiration.
Act Two: Wishing on a Falling Ping
Renfield entered my office, smiling. Always smiling. Sometimes I believe that it will be the same smile she’ll wear to my funeral.
Renfield and I are together enough to have a silent language composed of small gestures and facial expressions. Sadly, such things do not transfer well into print. So, even though the following exchange was in our mostly silent idiom, behold the translation.
“Oh, what the fuck now,” I said. (A slight dip of my right shoulder, combined with a direct scowl and pained sigh communicated such–and that it was not a question but a lament.)
“Ping fell from the sky last night–but he’s all right.”
“I thought I heard a thud in the south–around fourish?”
(Ping is our little Moon, and he is constantly gacked on “Pingshine.” Although he weaves some, he had never fallen out of the sky before–but I guess it was coming.)
Renfield touched the tip of her nose as a reply.
I rose from my desk, opened the office window and lit a cigarette. I did all that partly because the snowflakes really really hate unreconstructed smokers (FYI, living wine and cheese liberal snowflakes are identical under the scope), but mostly because this production lacked much in the way of physical action. Since Saragun Springs is a fantasy realm, the window faces in whatever direction it needs “to serve the story” (a snowflake term if ever there was one). So it was no coincidence that it was facing south. But I was surprised to see a tendril of smoke reaching skyward, way off, near the southern line of the Nameless Hills that encircle our realm.
“Thought you said Ping landed okay?”
“Yep…bounced like a yoga ball,” said Renfield. “I scrambled a flock of Bats and they returned him to this place–told me he was even drunker than usual.”
“Hmmm…Ummm, so…what’s causing the smoke?”
“No idea.”
Then goddam “Anita-Know” kicked in on my computer: ”Smoke is the transference of matter to gas via heat.” A new Ghost had recently entered the realm, one who thought it would be amusing to play the role of “Alexa” on my computer. Anita-Know’s voice sounds a lot like what ten-thousand cigarettes did to those of Lucille Ball and Leonard Cohen.
“Tell me, Anita, what happens if I take a mallet and reduce this device to dust?”
No reply.
“S’pose we ought to go check this mess out,” I said, dropping my spent cigarette butt into the equally spent Guinness bottle that I was using for an ashtray.
Act Three: Meet Guru Joad
A very used electric golf cart is the realm’s only powered vehicle; it has a top speed of two to three mph. Fortunately, due to the weird geometric layout of the Springs, nothing is farther than “boutta mile” from anything else. Something can appear to be farther away, but the distance you travel is the same. This means that the average drive is around twenty to thirty minutes.
Renfield drove and I stood on the passenger seat and scanned the south with binoculars. The source of the smoke was obscured by a grove of wildly out of control Catnip trees, which are native to the Springs and nowhere else in the known meta-verse. They are the shape of well-clawed paws and will take a swipe at you if you are not careful.
“It appears to be coming from–” I was saying when Renfield hit the brake. Going from walking speed to zero instantaneously is no big deal unless you are standing in a golf cart. I lunged forward then fell backwards and landed on the not so soft backseat.
“Goddammit!–how about a fucking warning?” There were no silent gestures involved in that communication.
“Oopsy.”
Pulling myself together I saw the reason for the sudden stop. Before us were the four billigits, mothball, weasel, pinto and flounder. Each one had his little head shaved and all were clad in white robes.
Since billigits fly, the reason why Renfield hit the brake stood in the ground before us. There, on his back legs, wearing a gold trimmed white robe stood a grifter Tabby Cat whom I had named Tawny Joad. Tawny has never appeared in any production before, because he is content to run his Feline Speakeasy in the Nameless Hills.
“Tawny Joad,” I said, hopping out of the cart, approaching the fiend.
“It’s Guru Joad,” Tawny said, all passy-gressy-like. “Silence is a treasure unopened by you,” he added because he is a little bastard and little bastards say such things when pretending to be holy.
I sighed, lit a smoke and addressed the billigits. “The last time I saw the four of you together was at the arraignment.” Indeed the boys were busted at the Springs’-Other Earth border by the Interdimensional Police for trying to smuggle in an auto-tune (a device over there as illegal as marrying your sister is in most parts of your world).
The billies maintained their silence, but weasel scratched his nose with his middle finger.
I smiled at Tawny. “Guess what, Goo-roo? Being the new kid in a production, you have to spill the backstory–or at least explain to any readers who have stuck it out this far what the hell is going on. Even a scofflaw Cat has to obey that law.”
“Ah,” he said, “but I’m one of two ‘new kids’ as you call us.”
then the billies sang “anita-know the story, bayabee…”
Act Four: The Return of Anita-Know
Sometimes I believe that Cats view me as a walking talking litter box–considering what they bring to my life. But the Tortoise-shell demon had me there. Anita-Know “lives” inside my computer, which gives her access to all my connected devices (for those of you sniffing for story holes); hence Renfield left the cart and brought me my phone. Anita’s singular voice came across loud and clear:
“The billigits are on a retreat to cleanse themselves of the huffing addiction that befell them after the flop of the beige album; Colonel Daisy Kloverleaf has it all mapped out.”
“I see,” I lied. “Tell me, what the hell does that have to do with Ping falling from the sky and the smoke rising behind the Catnip Trees?”
I must grudgingly admit that Anita has a relationship with our sometimes believed in Supreme Being known as “the Ineffable Hand.” Obviously no more mystic or supreme than the dubious person to whom I am the Pen to, I will admit that “She” often shares information with Anita before She does with me, thus Anita spoke again.
“If you were sober when you created the Fictional Character known as Tawny Joad you’d recall that he, among his many talents, is a Pingshiner who specializes in Catsinthe.”
“Catsinthe,” I said, remembering, well sort of. I don’t need a lot of information to connect the dots, just the dots will do. And I remembered that Catsinthe is the wildest hooch in the meta-verse–196 proof, with the rest of it composed mainly of Feline indifference. No wonder Ping dropped. “So Tawny, I’m guessing you got a still going yonder and that he Ping passed over the smoke and fell like a stone–lucky he didn’t land on you.”
“So?” said Tawny, “Catsinthe is legal in the Springs.”
“I know that, you adorable little son of a bitch, but I also know that it is not the case in any other dimension.” Yes, I had connected the dots.
I looked up at the billies. “So, how will you boys get it past the Interdimensional Police if the holy pilgrim scam fails? I imagine it’s a tad uncomfortable to squeeze flasks up the old wazoo.”
Anita-Know chimed in: “The Interdimensional police randomly search interdimensional vortex travelers for contraband. But they are grossly understaffed, underpaid and are said to be uncommonly venal. Venal means susceptible to–”
“We know what venal means, Anita,” I said. “So, Goo-roo, what’s the going rate for getting by nowadays.”
“Depends,” Tawny said. “A vial is usually enough to knock a squad out.”
“Holy Keith Richards in Toronto,” said Renfield because she likes to say odd-ball things to test Anita’s knowledge.
“In 1977, Rolling Stone’s co-founder–”
I muted my phone and sighed when I saw the approach of Penrose the Flying Weasel and Colonel Daisy Kloverleaf.
Act Four: Penultimate Confusion
Daisy is a Goatess of many guises. Officially the Lead Fictional Character in the Springs, she’s also the GOAT, a superhero along with her sidekick PDQ Pete. Other times she is a Unicorn, and occasionally she writes an advice column–but no matter who she is, Daisy, at heart, is an adverb-addicted extreme capitalist who’s closing in on billionaire status at Other Earth.
Penrose flew toward the billigits and whispered what was apparently good news to the fellas. Penrose (who refuses to claim a gender and the non-binary option, just to be annoying) also handed each one a piece of paper. All the billigits flashed somewhat creepy grins, like Jimmy Saville driving an Ice Cream truck. But they quickly buried those in the deserts of their strange little souls and proceeded to read with great intent.
I knew that something along the lines of avarice was afoot–or ahoof. “Well, Colonel, it’s hard to judge who’s more corrupt, you or the Goo-roo–Ow!”
Tawny had heard “Goo-roo” one time too many and let me know about it via my left ankle. He tagged me a dozen times in a half second like a little Bruce Lee—
A loud beeping sound bypassed the mute on my phone. I checked and saw a Simile Alert. I had reached my limit of three in the production and risked a raid by the Simile Police if I pushed it further.
Daisy’s eyes shone with the light of victory. She had taken plenty of guff from me about her adverbs and there I was, a pitiful hypocrite addict exposed for the whole realm to see.
“You know,” I said, “things tend to work out better when I keep my mouth shut.”
“Do you want to comparingly compare that act to closing up in the way of a clamly clam?” Daisy asked, for she is as passy-gressy as any Cat.
“Droll, Colonel.” I said instead of the “Can it, you mouthy little weedeater,” that stood one motion away from my tongue.
“Hey I have an idea,” Renfield said, taking the phone from my hand. She unmuted it and said “I need to know the meaning of this story.”
Act Five: The Biggest Potential Comeback Since Smallpox
“Hi readers, I am Anita-Know and I have briefly taken control of this story for the sake of the word count budget. As you know the billigits were on the skids around the time that Ping fell from the sky after breathing the intoxicating smoke caused by Tawny’s Catsinthe still. All of this was orchestrated by Colonel Daisy Kloverleaf to bring you the comeback tune by the billigits!”
Penrose spoke up. “All right boys, let’s rehearse it the way you will sing it at Other Earth.”
“i get a contact high from the fire of our love bayabee,” sang pinto. The other three billies chanted (getly, contactly, high-ally, firely, love-ally) softly in the background. Then the song “sampled” the 70’s classic Float On by the Floaters.
“hi, I’m flounder, pisces-we could be together like fish in the sea of love–”
This was when the Simile Police arrived and forced us to close the story. Renfield and I got the hell out of there as fast as we could. But since all realm cops are equally venal, I’m sure the Colonel will think up something, unless her wit seals like a clamly clam.
literally stories 
Leila.
Your stories are always wonderfully idiosyncratic. I particularly enjoyed the satirical tone in act one as we seem to be living in the age of nostalgia, particularly in the music industry.
Very enjoyable
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Thank you Alex
On my tablet “Alexa” tried to drive me crazy as well as “Bixby” on my new phone, which I dropped (for me) a bundle on. I like their names, but dislike their attempts to come back after I thought I had disabled them.
Then it occurred to me–just say “I needa know,” the way we say it in America, near a haunted device.
The billies would do well in South Korea.
Thank you!
Leila
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Leila
Your ability at INVENTION is unmatched! I don’t know of any other living writer who can write this fast, that is, with one wildly accurate and utterly hilarious invention after another following each other with such true literary rapidity that it’s impressive beyond belief! On the morning (or wee hours of the first evening?) during which I turn 58 in two hours from now, I salute you for your unbeatable ability at PURE INVENTION! More tomorrow, rather later today…Also I love the pic of the green cat eyes; and so glad to see this up next door to John the Revelator…
Dale
“Thy word is sweeter than honey.” – David in Psalm 119
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Happy birthday, Dale!
I hope it goes well for you and the kids and Dogs think about you extra special!
The Springs is where I would live, if possible. Then again, I might just do that in my dotage, in a helmet!
Happy 58 again!
Leila
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Leila
Thank you!
The billigits and their creator can fly over here and live with me whenever they want to!
Also, I noticed something truly curious about the billigits, which is the subtly different guises they sometimes/often appear in.
In the rubaiyats of the billigits their guise is almost half-mystical or somewhat waif-like, or fairy-like, in their ethereal appearance, like when they are flying around in the sky with the disembodied ghost of Wuthering Cathy as she searches for Heathcliff and got resurrected within the Kate Bush song (and there are three Kate Bush videos of “Wuthering Heights” that include the best jazz dancing and or mime or musical-symbolic acting of all time) and yet, in another guise, the billigits appear somewhat more earthly, as they do here in “Anita Knows.”
Walt Whitman said, in Song of Myself, DO I CONTRADICT MYSELF? VERY WELL THEN, I CONTRADICT MYSELF – I AM LARGE, I CONTAIN MULTITUDES.
The billigits, tiny as they so charmingly are, also seem to contain multitudes. That is a quite curious fact, and any which one who fancies himself a kind of Sherlock Holmes of the Arts would do well to pursue and ponder upon a very good bit. (Irene Adler is the only one who ever really defeated poor Sherlock, some say…)
Thank you eternally, Leila!
Dale
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Hi Dale
The billies began as the billygates, the Microsoft Secret Police. The things changed and they morphed and continue to do so. That’s the fun of it, no boundaries. That’s what I liked about cartoons and stripes. In Gasoline Alley the characters age (nowadays unrealistically, all way over a hundred) but some side characters don’t, they stand alone. A bunch of contradictions sharing the same space. I like that because if all characters aged in real time Homer Simpson would be seventy and that feels wrong.
Thank you!
Leila
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Leila
It also reminds me of the transformations that go on in The Tempest and The Winter’s Tale, two of my favorites. “the billygates” is hilarious, gently putting everyone in their place with Thurberesque (and unsparing) benevolence…
Rock on billigits!
Dale
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Leila
I re-read this short story recently, and I can say this. The way this piece takes ahold of popular culture, and transforms it into something lasting and literary, is truly a one-of-a-kind feat.
And, Shakespeare himself was also good at this kind of thing; also Cervantes in Don Quixote; and T.S. Eliot (see Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, and even The Wasteland)…Thanks!
Dale
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Hi Dale
Thank you kindly. Unfortunately, society keeps making itself an easy target.
I recently watched Hal Holbrook as Mark Twain from I believe a 1970ish TV special and the same kind of things were ridiculously wrong with America a hundred plus years ago as there are now.
Sometimes I think we like it this way–and always being about half the people feeling one way and the other half feeling the opposite appears to be something that is guided by a powerful outer agent for her/his own purposes .
Thank you again!
Leila
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Leila
I remember Holbrook as Twain in the 1970s on the television in the good old days. Mostly just the impression of it, which remains (I can see it). Also used to live close to Hannibal and we would visit Twain’s childhood home and the caves, islands, and bluffs above and in the River. Almost drowned in the River, another near miss. (LOL)
Something else that’s also true, I believe. People have been predicting the end of the world since there have been people. The End is always nigh but it never seems to arrive (except for every one of us personally) at least so far. Being calm (but aware) is better than being outraged. (Leonard Cohen explained it all in his song “Slow” (which is also a poem).) I always need lots of reminders sometimes…
Thank you!
Dale
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Thank you Dale
Twain and Lincoln are the first Americans that modern people can identify with. Although highly interesting, someone like Ben Franklin has an extra century of mythology poured on him, thus partially inaccessible, except when you read his writing.
Just heard Cohen song The Future again, and it is always true. He wrote well til the very end. You Want it Darker is a masterpiece, but occluded by the marketplace “musick” and Taylor Swift in general.
Leila
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Reading the billigits’ musical odyssey let me feeling as (SIMILE ALERT) battered as a catnip mouse. Wonderful stuff. May we look forward to future instalments covering their appearances on Saragun Springs reality tv? Thank you.
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Hilarious and full of my favorite characters doingly doing whatly what they doingly do best. I throughly (that’s a real one) enjoyed this. I am a billigits fan follower through and through. Thanks for this – dd
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Thank you Diane
And the billigits thank you and so does Daisy. Left a comment about the great picture of Guru Tawny Joad.
Leila
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Good morning Mick
Thank you! Yes, the Springs is always happy to accept a bad idea like reality TV! That way we don’t have to blame ourselves for thinking it up.
Leila
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Thanks to Diane for having the image in stock. That is the Goo-Roo for certain. Love the two different eye colors
Leila
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As always, the world-building, wit and meta-narrative are excellent. (Annita-Know, Leila, how you come up with these!) Sounds like there should be a warning label on catsinthe. Welcome, Tawny Joad, to the realm! I’m already looking forward to what adventures might be ahoof for you all!
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Thank you, David
Anita owes part of her existence to the monumentally dumb answers the Google assistant spits out.
Thanks again!
Leila
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Leila
The title of Act One got me going from the start, but I knew enough to take it seriously. Its almost total lack of similes and adverb abundancies, led me to conclude you were on some brand of hallucinogen. Then I discovered it was me what was stoned. Yet, I sniffed so few story holes throughout that I give it my unconditioned, never before given, DOUBLE RAVE review. SQUARED.
Is Anita-Know available if I feel a story coming out of me? You know how I am about barely dunking under the 3,000-word warrant. I won’t live in a world where “a” counts the same as “interdimensional”, so I won’t. [Unless I have to.}
Tons of fun! — Gerry
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Hi Gerry
Thank you very much! But I think you are a fine enough writer to avoid the Similie PD. The air in Saragun Springs contains a sizable amount of vaporized LSD.
So we have that much going for us. Motto: It will always get weirder.
Thank you!
Leila
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Fantastical & packed with names to savour – from Tawny Joad & billigits to Colonel Daisy & the catsinthe available in Saragun Springs. I’ve no doubt tales of life south or north of them Nameless Hills would also be a pingshine of a read. Hilarious play too on Trumpspeak, as in Colonel Daisy’s “nothingly nothing morley more profitly profitable”; hilarious play on the biz of show, all round.
Geraint
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Thank you Geraint
The only thing more cynical than show bizarre is politics. Trump is of both, God help us.
Ah the cycle of fame!
Thanks again!
Leila
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Somebody has to fill in the gap left by See Attle people Tom Robbins and David Lynch.
Thanks for the Animal House allusion. I’m loosely connected by doing three years at U of O around that time.
Is Anita Know related to Anita Exorcist sometimes saxophonist on the Sven Goolie show?
Keep on keeping on in the freak world, Mr. Mirth
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Hi Doug
I just saw the new Svengoolie Saturday night. She looks a cross between Vampira, Elvira and Cyndi Lauper.
Thanks as always!
Leila
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The Svengoolie gang seems to keep growing – I like all of them, but they may need a bigger dungeon soon. Editor likes the Goolie breaks better than the movies, I’m split.
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Always liked the little skulls. It’s one of the best shlock setups around. Judging by the size of the cast, they appear to actually have money!
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Yep, as wild a read as usual and I love it! I don’t know what more to say than I usually do about your vast and cavernous imagination and inventiveness, but I remain incredibly impressed. I love the irreverence for modern day proclivities such as hashtags, social media movements, and manufactured boy bands in this one. By the way, was the use of 2 ‘Act Four’s intended as yet another ingenious way to joyfully play with the reader?
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Hi Paul
Indeed, the silly, even dangerous world of social media is a fruitful hunting ground for strange ideas.
I like to include the reader in the action!
Leila
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Hi Leila,
It’s ironic that I have taken so long to get around to this. I’ll give myself six of the belt and promise to do better!
The irony is, it took me a long time to comment on it – Probably for the same reasons – I think we all understand the ‘Can’t get out your own fucking road mode’!!! I’ve been very disorganised lately but am trying to get back onto an even keel (Should that be ‘keal’ and where does it come from??)
Anyhow – That has given me some usual pish before my initial thoughts!!!!!!!!!!!!
So sorry that this has taken so long. I’ve just not had a clear head for a while – Either fanging because of work, fanging because of family or fanging because of fanging!!! I do likje the word fanging!!!
Anyhow – I gave this my full attention this morning and it is a huge YES! mainly because of something I will explain within my notes.
– There must now be more residents in ‘Realitystarsaren’trealstarsnomatterwhattheythinkyoutalentlesscuntsstreet’ than in ‘hasbeenville’
– ‘Charlie Sheen Career Suicide Agency’ is inspired – Loved his cameo in ‘The Big Bang’ though…Now that I think on it, I can’t think on any films that he has done that I enjoyed????????
-‘ the beige album’ could be a cover for any of fucking coldplays!
– 2 ugly 2 be jailbait is inspired! Please guys check out Ricky Jervaise clip regarding a wee Ginger and a Paedo!!!
– As I mentioned above. My main reason for saying yes to this is your brilliant appliance of satire. It has always been there in your work but with this you have taken it to a new level. I’ve mentioned before Brookmyers ‘A Snowball In Hell’ and that was as clever as clever because he wrote that before all the hype of reality singers etc really did come to the forefront. But that is an aside, I enjoy satire whenever it pops up as it takes a swing at something that needs a swing taken at it!! The boy band thing needs the pish ripped out of it. Your satire is still relevant as I’ve just noticed that there is a TV show about British guys (??) who have went to Korea to try and become a version of that cunting pish that is KPop (Sp??)
– ‘Anita-Know’ – Brilliant! I think you have a wee bit of Scottishness in you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
– ‘Catsinthe’ – That is worrying and I hope it’s not a thing! Harry is a vicious druggie with the normal stuff. He is the sweetest cat ever but when he’s oot his tits, he just wants to beat up wee fiend! Weirdly, never us though.
– ‘The Floaters’ with ‘Float On’ should have been shot. A Floater in Scotland means a shite that won’t go away and this song is exactly that!
You show all the brilliant traits that we have come to expect from these stories and you continually knock them out the park!!!
So sorry about the time delay!!
Hugh
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No apologies necessary! You always comment meaningfully, never desultory (my word of the day).
When I was 16 or 17 a Seattle top 40 station would play “songs they never play” on Saturday night. They said that some were great songs, but didn’t get played because they were not released as singles in America (like “39” by Queen) and other songs because they hated them. Float On was one of those. I recall hearing it and saying to our Dogs, “Is that a sick joke?”
And it was a hit–go figure.
Thank you!
Leila
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