THE INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN TRAUMATIC – 483

“Precisely.  Relegated to the Junkyard Space Program for all those not fitting with the Purpose via minimisation: nano particles shall be reduced to nano size multiplied by itself to infinity.”

“Which country is this?”

“My country encompasses all, I shall help its border extensive extension’s propensity.”

“I was King.  Now I am Fool,” King Krackskull Fool says, “what category would I fit in?”

“Ha!” Labaguette exclaims.

“You’re the foolishest fool of them all!” Birdseye says, turning to Captain Clusterflame.

“There’s no time for debate,” Captain Traumatic says, all fine print and subtext will be discussed later.”

“But Captain, a fool such as this one cannot be knighted, much like King Krackskull’s status is no longer that of King.”

“What is it with you Birdseye?”  Are you scared?  Do you wish to be Knight of mine?”

“I do not speak for nothing.”

“Capitaine,” Labaguette says, “Birdseye may have a point, check your library, check your books.”

“We must be getting on.”

Upon these words, Captain Traumatic raises his sword, taps it three times onto Captain Custerflame’s helmet, saying:

“And, I, shall endeavour to promote thorough cleaning of space and its surroundings by means of inter-galactically mixed and organically grown Rum sprinkling and spraying so that crumbs and left overs of all such elements as you described shall disintegrate and space be purified.”

The cosmonaut’s helmet cracks, shatters onto the ship’s woo and he takes his first breath of airspace.

Birdseye turns to space, his goggles lit up and send two powerful laser beam deep into the darkness, illuminating the nothingness all around them, uncovering more depth of nothingness, forming displays of lit up pictures: helmets, barbed wires, Batman’s logo, nuclear explosions and crosses momentarily appear, thus closing the knighthood ritual.

To be continued…

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THE INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN TRAUMATIC – 472

“I hold the Egg of Creation.  The one before ‘before’, the one laid by the Mother of all Theories.”

“The voices convinced you, didn’t they?”

“You and I could share a Kingdom.  I am willing to share my Kingdom with you, don’t you see?”

“I can hold my own.”

“The Syck Monkey dropped the Egg, Fool.  Figure this: this Monkey never lets anything fall out of his grip, it never happened before, it is unlikely to re-occur.  Except there was this one time when the rule was broken because that’s what happens to rules sometimes.  You see, all that the Syck Monkey catches, he holds, he secures and saves.  You know this.”

“I do.”

“Now imagine his mother, The Mother of all Theories, bestowing on him the gift of all creations, of all beginnings and of all ends, the entire beyond and its infinity all contained within one single egg, also known as ‘The One’.”

“What is your point?”

“Wait.  Patience, Fool!  Listen: now, all you need to do is to wish how to create something, anything, for The One to cook up your unborn idea into a new universe.  The One Egg, matures your principle and project into one thing and one only.  Then it cooks it until it is ready before it pops.”

“Dangerous.  Alien creatures of morbid nature may come of it.”

“The One is good.  It sees no evil and hears no evil.”

“Lucky it can’t talk right?  It’s rather farfetched.  You’ve a good imagination.”

“Thank my voices for it.”

“Your—”

Right then and there, a large egg lands on the platform, crashing loudly, disintegrating and smudging the undulating waves with egg yolk and foamy egg white.

To be continued…