The Banjo Players Must Die | Page 4

Josef Assad
need a diet and a plastic surgeon. Only then will you understand. If you are neither a mathematician nor not a mathematician and you are still reading this footnote, then congratulations! You may skip to the last page in this Choose-Your-Own-Adventure! You have rescued the princess!]. When it became clear that mathematics absolutely required some level of arithmetic inclination or proficiency, Ramses moved on to chemistry. Chemistry led to biology, biology led to pornography, pornography led back to chemistry[There are some forms of pornography you don't want to know about.], and that led to a regrettable incident in his life which we will try very hard not to elaborate on. We'll just call it the Raped Tomato Incident, just so we can avoid mentioning it further on. Without going into much detail of course.
You see, it is terribly embarrassing. To Ramses, that is.
Academically, Ramses didn't bring the spotlight down on himself. And if he did, it was most certain to be a spotlight one would rather do without, such as the spotlight he brought upon himself during the legendary Raped Tomato Incident, which we will not be mentioning anymore. He didn't actually fail any classes, though this might have more to do with teachers wanting to be rid of him than any actual competence on his behalf.
And you can't really blame the teachers for wanting to be done with little Ramses; the Raped Tomato Incident was certainly not the only calamity he ever originated or contributed to. There was also the Bubblegum Where Bubblegum Really Shouldn't Go, to name but one. The Farting Nun Prank was also widely attributed to Ramses, though he had by the time it was committed learned to keep his unclean pastimes to himself. But really, we should quit it with the Raped Tomato Incident now.
So, apart from the Raped Tomato Incident and a number of similar events, Ramses Abasiri's youth progressed without any lasting damage to humanity at large. He excelled in chemistry, oddly enough, though his chemical adventures seemed to confine themselves to a hitherto fruitless search for aphrodisiacs and some decidedly more successful attempts to further aggravate the smell of Hydrogen Sulfide, the chemical associated with rotten eggs.
In a sense, it was a shame that Ramses became the Prophet of End Of Days on the 16th of Nobemver of the year 2484 (The eleventh month of the year has its `v' and `b' switched entirely at random, since it amuses the people to hear it mispronounced. The advent of direct democracy had rotted the political process into a never-ending series of polls concerning what was funny and what was not, and Nobemver clocked in at the high end[This is not about what you find funny, it is about what the simple majority find funny. Does it amuse you? Good. We the majority certainly hope so, because you wouldn't want to offend us by denigrating our collective sense of humor. Good, your hysterical if somewhat nervous laughter is good, it pleases us. Perhaps we shall refrain from considering your horrendous death amusing.]. So did that famous video clip of the quadriplegic slipping on the mango seed in a subway bullet train compartment. The one with the laughing ninja.), for he appeared just then to be seeing some slight measure of progress in his diligent scientific inquiries into the expansion of the capacity of the female hamster's reproductive interfaces.
* * *
"Cecilia, another case of firecrackers please," he asked his lab assistant in polite scientific detachment. Lisa was the latest in a long procession of assistants. She merely indicated with her hand the half full box of firecrackers not 30 centimeters from Dr. Abasiri's right elbow. "Ah, thank you. You're a quick one, eh. Hmm-mumble-yeeees, just a leeeeedel tad further in, and ...Yes. Now, step back please Amanda, if you will be so kind."
Lisa stepped back and looked on in plain disgust. The hamster, like the 56 before it today, had had to be drugged quite heavily before it ceased objecting to having a strange little exploding stick inserted into its private parts. The 43 hamsters remaining had long since abandoned their exercise wheels and were observing in shocked silence, waiting for their turn with a startling lack of enthusiasm. Dr. Abasiri lit the firecracker, put the hamster in a large casserole and clamped the lid down.
He cocked his head at Lisa, grinned, and mouthed something like 'explosive pussy', or at any rate something equivalent on the scale of indecency. There was a muted pop sound from inside the casserole. Dr. Abasiri made a very small involuntary oinking type of noise which Lisa had come to associate with some unusual strain of professional excitement, and he opened the casserole to examine Hamster 56's delicate bits.
"Well there you go. See? Still in one piece. I knew the
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