DQN Short Novel (Part 19)

DQN Short Novel

This is the most complex chapter yet. Hah! Sorry, that was dreadful, I don't know what came over me.

It contains 104 posts, 2792 words and 17683 characters.

CHAPTER 3 + 4i: Partially Imaginary Tea Party ON DRUGS

>>279 decided "I am going to have a tea party!" Preparations were now underway with the help of General Andrés Rodríguez Pedotti, who ensured only the finest teas and raw cocaine would be available for the guests.

As the bell tolled noon, the first guests arrived: the Cuntaluffigus and the bourgeois elite, followed by the multicoloured platypi and pink elephants. After them came a veritable horde of pastel-colored talking cartoon ponies who were promptly denied entry and beat up by the bouncers outside.

"Just a goddamn minute," said one of the pastel-colored talking cartoon ponies. "Are we real or are we hallucinations? Because if we're the latter, you can't keep us ou--" Then all the pastel-colored talking cartoon ponies vanished in a puff of logic.

Meanwhile inside the hall housing the party, waiters and waitresses were hallucinating pastel-colored talking cartoon ponies. Or maybe the ponies were real. With all the raw cocaine at the party, who can say? Perhaps the pastel-colored talking cartoon ponies were hallucinating the waiters and waitresses. "Damn straight," said one of the ponies, her pupils the size of caraway seeds, a thin line of blood streaming down from her left nostril, which bore a white ring of powder. "This is some good shit, I tell you what."

Suddenly a gigantic apelike nigger burst in and started bludgeoning them with his massive jungle-dick. His dick tasted of reeds swaying on the golden summer banks of our imaginary childhoods. Ah, the days of strawberries and cream eaten while sitting by the creek on our nan's estate in the Dorset countryside, while grandad used to tell us stories of his first motorcar. It was a 2001 Opel Corsa that he bought used. Granddad was not an early adopter. Nor was he inane.

"If nothing is real, then everything is real," we concluded meaninglessly, sipping our steaming cup of Bohemian Berry Bouquet and doing another line.

"Ah, but do not so quickly discount your memories." General Andrés Rodríguez Pedotti said, reclining in an impossibly admonishing leather seat. Illegible badges filled his broad chest.

"The dichotomy of true or false is a trap," he continued. "One quickly realizes that such polarities are as meaningless as the ridiculous names of these teas." The general sipped on Simmering Cinnamon Soufflé. "If you have any memory or vision, true, imagined or drug-induced, it must have some significance. It is only up to each individual to deduce the meaning within various contexts."

We stared, not understanding, but entranced by the General's luxurious lecture.

"Follow the clues. A symbol gains meaning not from any objective source, but from its relative connection, presentation and appearance within the work it is presented."

interested in British brands. No sir, a steering wheel on the left had always been good enough for him. A shame that he also never liked to drive on the left-hand side ... then, at his funeral in the autumn of 2002, interested in British brands. No sir, a steering wheel on the left had always been good enough for him. A shame that he also never liked to drive on the left-hand side ... then, at his funeral in the autumn of 2002, the timeline began to spiral in on itself like the cord on grandmother's phone.

Grandpa rose from his coffin, appearing only to us. Nobody else could see him. He walked straight up to us and we could not move. We simply stared in horror as he said, "The tea is splitting. The narrative is splitting. There is no real thread. Nobody can piece together this novel...except perhaps...gray..."

In one horrifying moment we realized that grandpa was the General. Their lectures were simultaneous. Which thread to follow?

Mr. Gray awoke with a start. He had not hat a single paying customer since Tharsh, all those weeks ago. The recently enacted laws against pseudoscientific advertisements had been hard on chiropractors, who were now reduced to claims like "We'll listen to your complaints, then move your spine around until you either don't feel pain anymore or start to hemorrhage to death. It's very rarely both."

After sipping his strong black coffee sweetened with nothing but a >>300GET, he examined his strange feelings of déjà vu. Memories of the countryside in Dorset, a place he had never been to ... or indeed had existed since the short but extremely violent Anglo-Corean war of mid-September 1993. Clearly something needed to be done, and so he walked out into the restaurant where Tharsh, Grandpa, and The General were arguing about which thread they were in. The pastel-colored talking cartoon ponies were beginning to look bored, and the drugs had run out some time ago.

"We can't stop here!" shouted Grandpa. "This is bat country!"

"No, it's rabbit country," said Beady Eyes, who had been hiding under a table all this time.

"It's duck season," said Tharsh.

"your silly," said the General.

"Your silly WHAT?" said the ponies.

"I need a drink," said the butler.

And then they all engaged in a rousing game of Spin the Pickle, that quickly devolved into a boring game of Spin the Pickle. >>29 says that >>28 is still alive! Which was most agreeable, as >>29 was not sure >>28 would make it out after waxing offensive to a horde of disgruntled Filpinos.

Speaking of which, who should burst in at that moment but the Minute Earth Shota, armed with a treaty on gentrification and a rather overripe banana. He thrust his banana into the mouth of some sperg ranting about quotation marks to shut him up.

Every single guest attending the tea party had a severe case of irritable bowel syndrome. To relieve it, Pepto-Bismol was handed out. However, every bottle had expired in the year before it was issued, which did nothing at all to help everyone's explosive diarrhea. Fortunately, everybody was too strung out on cocaine to really care anymore about the thin layer of shit that was beginning to flood the room.

Mr Gray's imaginary friend had some fresher Pepto-Bismol but he was waiting for more people to demand it, so that he could sell it at a higher price. He was very cunning, as imaginary friends go. Of course, the Pepto-Bismol itself was also imaginary. Alas, the entire party descended into a drug fueled scene of chaos, and they began an attempt to summon Vizier Maximus Schlong from the 69th circle of Hell.

But Vizier Maximus Schlong was not available at the moment, so they settled for his little brother Minimus Dingus. Unfortunately, Minimus Dingus was known for his extreme bouts of rage fueled by jealousy towards his better-appreciated brother. So instead, his twin sisters suddenly made an appearance. The two of them sat down at a table and were served a cup of green tea and a tab of LSD each. They displayed delicate ladylike manners, which one wouldn't expect of denizens of the 69th circle of Hell.

The younger of the two sisters - better known as Scanty, distracted her sister Kneesocks for a moment, then put both tabs of LSD in her sister's tea. Because that's just how demons are. Meanwhile, outside in the garden, two lunatics realized the necessity for reconstruction of their lives.

"Helen and I are going right after breakfast to see real estate agents about getting us a tenant, and Helen is going to purchase some cotton stockings. She still persists in sticking to the letter of her oath not to wear silk stockings until Daddy is home and well," said After that an old Shaolin monk that was walking inside the garden said: follow the trips >>333.

But nobody was listening. They were too busy attempting to disprove the Riemann hypothesis. Unfortunately, they lacked a thorough understanding of complex analysis and, therefore, simply drank reckless quantities of tea, defaced playing cards and threw them at each other while shouting things like "Zeta function!", "Critical line!" and "Infinite summation!".

Before long, they made time travel, which is probably irrelevant but might as well be mentioned anyway. And so, the freshly-made time travel was eaten by the writing staff, who much appreciated their first meal in over a week. However, the appreciation rapidly faded into disappointment, and then horror when they realized that eating time travel just makes your present self hungrier while slowly overfeeding and fattening your future self.

That very moment, the Norwegians suddenly invaded and achieved world domination, as their viking blood demanded of them. This was a signal that the tea party was about to reach its climax: the grand. The grand was a ritual in which 10,000 live crocodiles battled 5,500 tigers in custom-made armor. The immense stadium had been completed. The animals' eyes glistened behind the portcullis gates, ready to be let loose into the stadium to devour one another in an orgy of hungry violence. Outside the crowd was waiting, riled into a frenzy, chanting "WEE A BOO! WEE A BOO! WEE A BOO!".

This spectacle was, of course, merely to distract the crowd from the true purpose of the grand: opening the vault of horrors and reawakening Thursh from his long, cold sleep. Thursh, for the purpose of an even more incoherent and cliché plotline, was Tharsh's evil twin brother. Upon his reawakening, Thursh suggested that now might be a good time to start a new chapter. To his dismay, the suggestion was ignored.

Back in Oxford IV, a large pickle processing facility was being demolished to make way for a large pickle processing facility completely identical to the first.

Needing no shame nor validation, Thursh ate his brother's toast, then threw the crusts at his servant, demanding she "pick them up like the whore she is". His servant picked up the crusts but did so begrudgingly, as she was the Great Sky Loli, living in hiding as a simple servant after faking her death. The reason she had faked her death and was hiding was her desire to fake her death and go into hiding. So far it was going pretty well. The crusts transformed into Squeeks! Poop on da head lol!

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        \  /
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 ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄

The End.

Or perhaps a new beginning. A new beginning for the GSL, a chance to redo everything. She pulled Squeeks aside to discuss her plans.

 ( __ )    
 ( ・∀・) < My name is Squeeks and we don't have shift-JIS art of the GSL yet.
 (つ   つ 
 | | |     

Then suddenly: poof Squeeks vanished into thin air, never to be seen for another 64 weeks - Neptune Standard Time. Meanwhile, the GSL decided to appear in shift-JIS form to appease the masses. Unfortunately, her representation was way too large to be used practically and needed to be split over two posts, so in the interest of keeping the novel readable it was probably the last time she would ever appear in such a form.

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\ちょっwwww弥海砂じゃーん/ said a nearby crowd of Nico Nico Douga users, just before they collectively turned and ran after a passing stray cat among delighted cries of "ぬこktkr" and "かわゆい~~~". Suddenly, seemingly random symbols, words and phrases of text began to scroll by in marquees, blinding everyone's possibility to see where and what they were doing. "Who's fucking idea was this?" shouted one angry gentlemen.

"It's whose, not who's!" shouted a man wearing pantyhose. He was then violently disemboweled by an imaginary. The imaginary then lost interest in the scene and wandered off to Youkai Mountain. Unfortunately, it got caught in a kappa's machines at the foot of the mountain and was never seen or heard from again. The GSL regarded this spectacle with a feeling of indifference. She then turned to Thursh and said "Hey, isn't that an imaginary coming over towards us?"

However, it was not. It was instead an irrelevant, which had nothing to do with this story whatsoever. Just then, a wild complex appeared! Would it be as easily squared away?

"Let's square this baby," said the GSL confidently. She began her Loli Cute Dance, spinning around and frilling her skirt in preparation for Pretty Deluxe Square Beam The World.

Tharsh and Thursh stared in shock. The toe forsaken land of fingers fell quiet. Everybody put down their tea and drugs. Everybody was silent in anticipation. Would this act finally bring back the story into the realm of the real? Would the plot finally start making sense once it was firmly rooted in reality?

"Kyu kyuri kyu kyu puri nya!" the GSL nonsensically babbled, firing the Pretty Deluxe Square Beam The World directly at the complex.

Would it work? Would this mad partially imaginary tea party ever come to a merciful end?

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