Chloroph intensely rubs each side of the bag against the other.


“Got it!” Chloroph exclaims at last, opening his bag for all to see.

“Non, can’t see nothing,” Labaguette says.

“Are you all right?” the King asks Chloroph.

“If this is one of your tricks again, I’m gonna—”

“—No need to exterminate him, Captain, “Birdseye says, “one only needs to look deeper.”

“So you can see now?” the King asks.

“We’re to look deep inside ourselves for the answer,” Captain Traumatic interprets, “some old Karmic—”

“—Deeper inside the bag, fools!” Birdseye says.

“Yeah right,” Labaguette insists, “just because you’re taller, larger and more elegant than us, doesn’t entitle you to—”

“—Another bag!” the Captain interrupts, jubilant, after snatching the bag from Chloroph’s hands, “another bag inside the bag.  The re-generator Bag!  We’re getting out at last!”

Quickly, the Captain imitates Chloroph’s earlier movements and rubs the bag’s sides against each other.

“You’re rubbing it the wrong way.”

“You know better do you?”

“It requires some skill.”

“How long do I—”

“—Gimme it back or else—”

“Else what?” the Captain asks, throwing the bag at Chloroph’s feet, “do it then!”

Chloroph opens the bag.

“Too late,” he says, “the damage is done.”

“What now?” the King asks.

Chloroph opens the regenerated bag and pulls another bag.

“Not funny,” the Captain says.”

“It needed the right type of manipulation which of course you don’t know about,” Chloroph says.  The bag’s process is stuck inside the Gucci gene interference.  You’ve effectively created a cross-breed which needs a whole lot more manipulation to generate the expected results.”

“Use the first bag again then!”

“Can only be used once.”

To be continued…



There, in a universe made of particles of indefinably filthy proportions, a plant man bites one nail off and opens it up as a new-born hook while his comrades of a sort look on, hoping that soon they’ll be able to get out of there and get away in a state of more than one single particle.

“Captain,” Labaguette continues, “the Insatiable Princess would have self-destructed in my presence, it’s just as well she’s gone anyway.  You would have had to choose between me and her.”

“You should have stayed with Spinostress.”

“You would have lost both of us.  You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t count.”

“You’re a moody, bitter fool.  Besides, I don’t need you either.”

“You’ve done nothing but bring trouble.”

“We’ve travelled far together haven’t we?  I speak many a language and—”

“—you sing like a demented bird, speak Jargon English and some other Patois which you mumble, is undecipherable and useless because no one except you understands it, and there—”

“You and I, we’ve discovered new horizons and we now know that it’s perfectly plausible and possible to fall from the Earth.”

“And you’re none the wiser for it, are you?”

“ENOUGH!” Birdseye interrupts.

“I’ve got a terrible itch and a headache,” the King says, “would anyone look at my crown?”

“It’s dandruff,” the Captain continues, “we’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

“A disease?  But—”

“—Stop it King Krackskull!” Labaguette orders, “if your crown is missing, you complain you can’t be recognised as royalty and if it is there for good, stuck to you, it doesn’t suit either, deadly disease or not!”

“You’re dumb!” the Captain says.

“Me?” Labaguette, the King and Birdseye all ask simultaneously.

“Chloroph, how far have you got?  Can you get us out of here now?”

To be continued…



“I know what there is to know.  I am no scientist.  I am a dancer, a policeman-dancer with a vision.”

“Chloroph,” Collectorus continues, “why don’t you create a particle generator through one of your hooks?  If this one imitates my bag and disintegrates,—”

“—Why don’t I?  Why don’t I?”

“No kidding involved.  Get us out of here or bring the Insatiable Princess to help us out!”

“If we were out, I could reconstitute the Insatiable Princess.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean reconstitute my ship?” the Captain asks, “there’s only one of her, she isn’t pulverized nor dead.”

“Might as well be” Collectorus continues, “she’s gone mate, disappeared from the skies’ map and so are RythmaRymosthesis, Spinostress, Colonel Loga and all his policemen, monsters and boxes.”

“Impossible,” the Captain maintains, “this lot is too evil to disappear just like that, they’re bound to come back and haunt us one way or another.”

“Matter can be reversed to a state of inexistence,” Chloroph says, “that’s all there is to it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m a plant man, that’s why.”

“You’ve made mistakes before.”

“I experiment.  I keep trying until the experiment is successful.”

“I’ve had it being your guinea pig.”

“I do have a particle generator hook but it needs some fine tuning and it is not, I insist, a particle re-generator.”

“You could get your particle generator to create a particle re-generator,” CollectOrus says.

“HA!” the Captain exclaims.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Get to work!”

“Well done, Captain!” Labaguette whispers into the Captain’s ear, “well done, you push Chloroph to work on another rush job and we—”

“—I was thinking,” the King says, “this crown needs disintegrated into a fine powder or fine particles, it must be possible to—”

To be continued…



“You know what to do.”

“You want me to—”

“—My life isn’t worth living as it is.  All is lost.  There is nothing to fight for and especially not against.  There is no meaning.”

“Captain!” Labaguette says, “if you go, I go, but you first.”

“You’d be better off not seeing how it’s done, Labaguette.  Let’s have you done first.”

Labaguette complies, drinking a little Rum before laying still, offering his neck.

The King raises the sword into the air, as if ready to strike.

“He means it, Captain,” Birdeye says, “his spirit will live on but for you…, there’s no hope left.”

The Captain looks at the King, wondering.


“—Wouldn’t,” the King says, throwing the sword in the emptiness that surrounds them, “had to be sure.”

“Of what?”

“The two of you, I thought—”

“—Heard that Captain?” Labaguette mumbles, “my spirit never dies, but for you, I—”

“—Morons!” the Captain exclaims, “here Chloroph, use my sword and do me, forget these cowards,” he adds, pointing at Labaguette and the King.  “You and I have never seen eye to eye, grab this one and only opportunity, will you?”

“Hold it!” Collectorus says, “there’s always a way.  If we got in, we must be able to get out.”

Chloroph rolls his eyes into the air.

“We’re mere particles, dirt particles, unwilling particles,” Collectorus continues, “we can be reconstituted but someone must be willing to pull us out of that bag.  Science and knowledge can help.  One of us knows more than the others on this very subject.”

“Birdseye knows everything,” Labaguette says, “ask him!”

To be continued…


‘MONKEYS!” the Captain orders in a fit of bitter anger that knows no bounds.

The monkeys take refuge on Birdseye’s head and shoulders as Labaguette flies atop his Master’s skull:

“Look at me!” he orders the Captain, “open your mouth!”

Immediately, Labaguette begins pouring a few drops of the golden syrup he’d acquired on RythmaRymosthesis and which he’d kept in a small flask tucked under one wing.

“All is not lost, ‘qui vivra verra’” Labaguette insists, “we’ve still got self-generating Rum, we won’t go without.”

“If the Insatiable Princess is no more, there is no point,” the Captain says, releasing Chloroph from his hold, “find a way out of this bin and reunite me with my ship!”

“It’s impossible,” Chloroph courageously admits at last.

“The Insatiable Princess can’t be brought back here at this point in time,” Collectorus tries to explain, sensing the truth to be far worse, a gigantic frown lining his forehead, as Birdseye shakes his head.

“There’s no way in and no way out Captain!” Labaguette says smiling, proud he’s picked up on the full implications of their situation.

“Captain,” Chloroph explains, “the magnet is pulling RythmaRymosthesis, all those who live on it and the Insatiable Princess to an uncertain future.  No one knows where the pull will end up.  Even the Syck Monkey would find it difficult to understand and manage.”

“You said we could be regurgitated.”

“We will, one day, for sure.  But for this to happen, whatever this place might be must recognise us as enemy particles.  It may be tomorrow, in the next hour or not before an eternity.”

Captain Traumatic, dejected, miserable and disconsolate, pulls his sword and offers it to the King.

“King Krackskull, please do me the honour.”

To be continued…


“Edgar?” Labaguette inquires, “I see no Edgar.”

“To do with horror, never mind,” the Captain says, trying to snatch the parrot’s throat to shut his gob.

“We made it!  We’re inside the garbage hook, aren’t we?” CollectOrus asks with a winner’s certainty, shaking Chloroph’s hand and smiling.

Chloroph nods, content.

“Now what?” the King asks.

“MY BELOVED!” the Captain exclaims, coming back to his senses, “THE RUM!!  All is lost.”

“You’re alive, are you not?” Chloroph and CollectOrus exclaim in unison.

“No point in it.”

“Spare me the self-pity, Captain,” Chloroph says, “if it weren’t for me, you’d—”

“—Are we…” the Captain asks hesitating, new ideas already rushing to his brain, “What are we?  Particles?”

“I reckon we’re trash, litter, waste – you name it – that can be seen, noticed and felt by any other garbage,” Labaguette explains.

“We’re willing waste,” Chloroph says, “we’re likely to be rejected at some point.  In order to qualify as true and utter litter, one must be discarded by another and garbage isn’t known to decide upon its own status nor upon any of its relatives.”

“Regurgitated?” Labaguette asks, “Where?  When?”

“You piece of shit!” the Captain exclaims, now determined to strangle Chloroph bit by bit, “my life has come to nothing thanks to you.  I’d rather have been confronted by an oncoming planet and die in its path with my beloved than end up with nothing and being placed into a state of inexistance,” he continues, squeezing the plant’s man neck to a thread, “bring back the Insatiable Princess or else I’ll—”.

“—Blame the monkeys!” Chloroph sputters, coughing.

To be continued…