DQN Short Novel (Part 10)
This is commonly accepted as one of the most cohesive and best structured chapters. It features an italicised synopsis at the beginning, and - astoundingly - every single prophecised event actually happens.
This section contains 72 posts, 1530 words and 9151 characters.
Part 4: Clandestine Cat Culture and the Carnivorous Calico Cormorant
In which Mr. Gray discovers that he made more tea than he bargained for; Barcelona encounters an unnatural wind; nanobots introduce the novel concept of marriage; a fleshy traitor witnesses an underground bowel movement; a former chairman organizes an assassin's conference; a celestial flat-chested female demonstrates the folly of flirting with fashion; felines gather swiftly in a secret salt mine; a panda and a formerly fictional nurse elope to Tijuana; internet characters interrupt the narrative with unrelated concepts; other things probably happen too but who the hell knows what is even going on any more.
"My, my. This will not do."
An old maxim once said, or at least to the best of Mr. Gray's memory went something alone the lines of, "Too much tea turns the gentlest men bitter." A profusion of whipping steam rose from his mug. Between ponderous sips he glanced to the pot, now to the tea before him, wondering whether such a statement could possibly hold true. After all, one may simply invite a guest or two to partake in the excess.
"But what, then, if it has cooled upon arrival?"
No - that would be terrible. He sipped with caution. Though the tea had come in large amounts, he steadfastly refused its unceremonious declination. Good tea is the impetus of an excellent day. Perhaps he would leave it to sit, pouring yet another serving should his thirst be so inclined.
"Indeed, I am fond of the stuff. Yet would that I took too much, and too soon, might I eventually be repulsed by its mere aroma?"
Not good. Not good at all.
Interrupting his thoughts, more thoughts thoughtlessly thought their way into Mr. Gray's thought thoroughfare. Those thoughts were in turn interrupted by a third set of thoughts remotely related to the first thoughts. But these third thoughts were thoughtlessly interwoven with yet a fourth thought process. The fourth thoughts were thoroughly thoughtful, though Mr. Gray thought that that thought ought to have been thought through on Thursday.
Then a fifth thought interrupted all the rest: the tea was already growing lukewarm. A shiver shot through Mr. Gray's spine. This tea was going to become cold, and that wouldn't do at all. He picked up the teapot and began gulping down the cooling tea directly from the spout. The tea dripped down his throat like an overturned bucket of paint pouring down the side of a building. The spout smelled metallic. Mr. Gray , in his hysteria, had completely neglected to claim his 800 GET.
Meanwhile, just outside Barcelona, a deadly pack of desiccant lay motionless by the side of the dusty road, just as it had done for the past eighteen years. Its time would assuredly come. A devastating storm of flatulence was building up inside. Unfortunately it could not escape unless someone opened a window. "Whew, I'll open a window," said Mr. Gray. "It smells like farts in here!" Predictably enough, the second the window opened, the universe proceeded an infinitesimal amount towards maximum entropy.
The stench swept over the streets of Manhattan New York Whose inhabitants sniffed the air cautiously and said, "Hmm, the wind must be blowing from New Jersey today." A young man, whom you will recall as the young boy of some preceding chapter or other, remarked that this particular ill-scented tumult was rather akin to the chaos of Barcelona - a city he knew well. But for the difference of the disaster - farts rather than storms - it was all too similar. Suddenly reminiscing upon his faraway home, he wondered (as he oft did) whether or not it was very windy there today. As it happens, it was. Unnaturally so.
Elsewhere, the nanobot swarm had just descended upon Midgar and neatly arranged itself into several distinct humanoid forms, all donning garb which was characteristic of the region. One was a Rune Knight, another an Assassin Cross. Many more couldn't figure out the proper algorithm for complex costumes, and so defaulted to Novices for the time being.
As they walked through the unending tutorial levels with benign grimaces spread across their face façades, enticing them to dip their wicks in the great gaynus, they realized that mere companionship was not enough to satisfy their need for each other. For some pieces of eight, the deal was done, they had freaky sex, and their depravity begun. In no time, they were performing rituals to Slaanesh fit to sicken any upstanding individual. A local priest was quite alarmed and hired the sexiest women he knew to seduce them: "But they are not human" said she, and the deal was off.
Having quite forgotten their original intent, the humaniform nanobot swarm spent their days trolling Internet forums in the brief periods between orgies. Several years passed in this manner, until an extreme fundamentalist Christian hacker altered their programming to make them hate fags, and hold pickets announcing it at inappropriate times and places.
One such inappropriate place was in the EPUDM headquarters, where the big fat butt was busy taking a nasty shit, as fat butts are wont to do. But this was no regular shit. This was a revolution. No British cigarette hater would be safe.
Speaking of British cigarette haters, the former Honorable Chairman George Bush CXXVIII - who, miraculously, had not yet been killed off - was miraculously killed off in a mysterious explosion somewhere off the coast of Bolivia. The explosion had been caused by a tragic Plane Crash, Caused by a shocking overuse of capital letters.
Shortly before his tragic and untimely demise, the former chairman convened with Nyarlathotep, in order to figure out the exact meaning of the word "Nyarlathotep". Sadly, the knowledge drove him mad just in time to be mercifully exploded.
Nyarlathotep, which was a group of furry feline assassin experts, proceeded to play with string and stretch in sunbeams. One member of Nyarlathotep uttered a discontented "にゃ～！" at her sunbeam being blocked by the GSL floating past the window. The loli in question was wearing on Nyarlathotep's nerves lately, because of her incessant singing of Tsurupettan and her donning of a sukumizu, which just looked annoying and didn't reveal much.
Some time later the EPUDM caught sight of the GSM and proceeded to utilise the Galvanised Sheet Metal for constructing whirling serrated blades of death which proceeded to slice up the group of fundamentalist nanobot protestors which had drifted into its path, along with a metric shit-ton of feces being blasted out of the BFB, resulting in a hectic cloud of poo and robots being flung in every direction.
The shit had hit the fan.
Sensing danger, Nyarlathotep took their leave and went to join their fellow feline companions in Barcelona. Here, they rendezvoused with innumerable other cats of all shapes and sizes, before continuing their pilgrimage to the Cardona Salt Mountain, roughly 90km away. The journey was interrupted by strange winds were afoot in the Barcelona atmosphere. In the sky, a rusty gust busted through Barcelona's musty crust. Those that once would blush now fussed and bussed about with untrustworthy lust. The brush just crushed to mush in a hush. Thus gushed the August dust.
"Meow," announced a passing dog. This was, of course, a spy for the Holy Canine Empire, under the benevolent guidance of Kaiser Bowser, peace be upon him. (no, not the turtle. He's a bulldog. Get your facts straight.)
The Nyarlathotep prudently feigned ignorance. Safely out of earshot, they began to discuss whether it should be safest to continue upon their presupposed path or make for another province, by which they might gauge the extent of Kaiser Bowser's reach. They were at the moment, however, quite drenched with poo and nanobots, so they decided to first clean themselves with cat pee. However, they didn't realize that cat pee was the secret catalyst to unlocking the nanobots' true, fearsome form: microscopic critters easily flushed away by the tiniest amount of cat pee.
Later, in the sewers, the nanobots realized they could now abandon their embarrassing job as Professional Homosexual Haters. They gathered up what little dignity they had left, and decided to take up the noble task of granting marriage licenses to couples passing through the sewers, regardless of their gender, sexual orientation, race, species, intelligence level, blood type, gamer score, ice cream flavor preference, eye color, age, number of limbs, criminal history, gait, hat collection or tenuity of existence.
Their first two customers were DQN-kun and his beloved waifu. They had come to be in the sewers after an unfortunate incident involving a video game quest that, inexplicably, required them to be there. "Excuse me, may we pass through here?" asked DQN-kun. The nearest nanobot replied "No, but you may now kiss the buraido." And indeed, DQN-kun's waifu was now wearing a ringu on her fingeru.
Suddenly, Dr Fujiwara rolled in, armed with a shocking revelation: "I have reason to believe," he proclaimed, "that DQN-kun is in fact a panda!"
Amidst a flurry of whispers, DQN-kun's waifu (who, as it happens, was a nurse) grasped DQN-kun's paw and the two of them ran off into the sunset in the general direction of Tijuana.
