In which Marilyn is left momentarily without functional shields and blind-minded in the hyperdyne backwash of overdrive. In that exposed instant she is captured by the Satrap of New Pangaea and held in a confinement capsule rigged to resemble the back of a circa mid-1950s Coupe De Ville. Hosed with alpha rays and beta-rhythm barbiturate surrogates, she is presented with the Omega Candle under the false guise that it is her birthday. Marilyn is too hammered to know that, if the Omega Candle is extinguished, one hundred and forty seven thousand congruent realities are extinguished right along with it, plus the lives of incalculable quadrillions of sentient entities. The neuron snappers urge her to blow it out. It is their mission.
“Blow, Marilyn! Blow! “
“Blow, Marilyn! Blow! “
But a sliver of Marilyn’s reality reasserts itself. “This doesn’t quite seem right. There is a disruption in The Force.”
“Blow, Marilyn! Blow! “
“Blow, Marilyn! Blow! “
“I don’t know…”
But, under immense pressure, she puts her lips together anyway…
(Can the French Homosexual and the Dionysian Mob arrive in time to avert disaster?)
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