Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Over 150 murders, most of them with no known rhyme or reason,” said Special Agent Johnston.

“Sixty-seven prior arrests and sixty-six subsequent psychological evaluations,” added Special Agent Smythe. “Each reporting more complexes, syndromes, and shades of outright insanity than the next.”

The Snickerer, terror of Cityopolis, had been brought to the interrogation cell in a straitjacket and bite mask. Just recently recaptured, he still wore his trademark motley cap and bells, though it had been checked for sarin nerve gas and other explosives. “Thank you,” he chuckled. “I’m touched you’ve been keeping track.”

“Why’d you do it, Snickerer?” cried Special Agent Johnston, pounding the table. “What was it that drove a former chemical engineer to go so bad and commit such acts?”

“I think it’s time you knew the truth,” snickered the Snickerer. “It was…a wooden banana.”

“A what?” spat Special Agent Smythe.

“A wooden banana. I saw one for sale once, and…why? Why would anyone make such a thing? It served no purpose. You couldn’t eat it, and who’d want to display it? It was an object with no rhyme or reason.”

“A wooden banana? Really?” Special Agent Johnston said.

“If something like that could exist…why, then all bets were off. Anything was possible, all rules were repealed, and there was no reason not to do whatever you wanted. If a wooden banana with no purpose could exist, why…the universe was ultimately meaningless.”

“People put them in bowls,” said Special Agent Smythe. “They’re wood so they don’t rot in decorative fruit bowls.”

“Really?” said the Snickerer. “I had no idea.”

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The tutor sketches her as she poses next to the trophy case, spread across the tarnished scores, the forgotten pride of students long since dead. Stumbling fingers dance across a canvas propped up by textbooks. Her pose is one meant for sunshine and vinyl appliques, not the dusk of after-hours school and the cool light thereof.

She is as a wolf, hunting for what she needs from a mankind that owes her a livelihood, and the tutor’s sketches are her first kill.

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“RANGER SULLIVAN!”

Jake started, jerking his chin out of his palm and focusing on the desk in front of him. Otto Luther, the last remaining Ranger rookie for the time being after the promotion or expulsion of the rest, was standing at the desk with a pile of receipts for reimbursement.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jake said. “My mind was elsewhere.”

“That’s okay, mine was too,” said Otto. “Back to that Orleans madam and her wiles, and the man I had to kill in cold blood in front of her…”

“That never happened,” snapped Jake.

“Well, it could have! Play along, we’ll get people talking at least.”

Jake sighed. “Just give me your receipts. The excitement of being a deputy marshal under virtual house arrest begins.”

Otto dropped a pile of paper scrips, and Jake wearily began to go through them with his good hand, copying each into a ledger in ink.

“Box of 20 rounds, .45 Colt cartridges, Scroggins’ General Store…one breakfast platter, with eggs, Portia’s Saloon…one iron horseshoe, Strasser & Niece Smithy…one-” Jake paused and flipped through the remainder of Otto’s receipt stack. “…make that seventeen receipts for ‘ladies of the evening’ and ‘services rendered’ at the Fantastic Filly in Dunn’s Crossing.”

“And you know what goes in there, don’t you?” said Otto, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “It’d be a ‘shame’ if that got out, wouldn’t it? Poor, sweet, safe Otto is really a stallion in disg~//122.31.822

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~//122.31.822ver the desk. “Otto,” he said. “Whorehouses do not give receipts.”

“They might if they’re a classy establishment!” Otto cried.

“Otto,” Jake continued. “Even if whorehouses did give receipts, they would not be reimbursed by the Rangers as they do not constitute Ranger-related expenses.”

“Sure they would,” countered Otto. “Says so right in the by-laws that we are to be reimbursed for the ‘riding of mounts’ and the ‘exhaustion and keeping of mares, mustangs, colts, fillies, and geldings.’ The Fantastic Filly is a good, hard ride if you catch my drift.” More suggestive eyebrow action; Jake half expected them to leap off Otto’s face and frolic about on his desktop like hairy caterpillars.

“Otto,” Jake added, “even if whorehouses gave receipts and we decided to reimburse said receipts as ‘riding expenses,’ you have already used your allotment of ‘riding expenses’ for this month. You will have to pay for your escapades out of your own pocket…”

“Aha!” crowed Otto triumphantly. “So you agree I did have them! So you may let it slip out that I had them!”

“…if in fact you had them at all, which I doubt,” Jake continued with a deep, rattling sigh that made his mostly-healed wound ache from inside. “Or, considering that these receipts spell ‘Dunn’s Crossing’ with a 5, you’ll be responsible for paying whoever forged them out of your own pocket.”

Otto turned away from the desk, disconsolate. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he sobbed, “people always thinking you’re boring and harmless and weak.”

Jake gritted his teeth. At least Virginia’s idiocy had been in the saddle, about real things, instead of trumped-up notions of what it meant to be a Ranger influenced by bad newspaper articles and worse books.

“I just need some rumors, some innuendo, to get my reputation started. I’ve tried everything I can think of, and a few things other people thought of, but even with all the Ranger duties I’ve been discharging—I brought the dismissals to Prissy and Virginia!—people still think me a milquetoast babyface and a plain fool.”

When no response was forthcoming, Otto turned around. Jake’s desk was vacant, and the cotton drapes around his open ground-floor window were fluttering in the breeze. In the distance, he heard a rider spurring a horse out of the Ranger stables.

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While known as a great philosopher, mathematician, and thinker, the ancient Greek sage Zeno was also a master of the most ancient varieties of funk and soul, winning the Dionysian Funk-Off in Athens from 439 BC until 430 BC, inclusive. Despite his success, the philosopher regarded funk as an infinite horizon, and famously proposed what are now known as Zeno’s Paradoxes of Funkiness to bedevil generations of those looking to get funky.

1. The Paradox of Isaac Hayes and Jimmy Carter
The funkiest man ever to live, Isaac Hayes, and the least funky, Jimmy Carter, agreed to hold a funk-off to settle a matter of honor. Hayes, recognizing his unfair advantage, allowed Carter a head-start before getting funky himself. However, when Hayes had begun and reached Carter’s level of funkiness, Carter had moved on, if only slightly. When Hayes reached the new funk level, because of Carter’s head start, he had moved on by and even slighter distance. Zeno holds that it is impossible for Hayes’ funk to catch up to Carter’s.

2. The Paradox of Quincy Jones’ Funk-Up
Quincy Jones, one of the funkiest funkers ever to funk, began funking with an eye toward reaching maximum funk. However, before reaching maximum funk, he had to reach half-funk. But to reach half-funk, he had to make it to quarter-funk. And in order to achieve quarter-funk, it was necessary to reach 1/8 funk. Zeno holds that since there are an infinite number of funk points between zero funk and maximum funk, it is impossible for Quincy Jones or anyone else to reach maximum funk or, indeed, to accumulate any funk at all.

3. The Paradox of Grand Funk Railroad
At any one point in time, Grand Funk Railroad is neither becoming funkier, nor becoming less funky; for that instant, its funk is fixed. It cannot become more funky since because no time elapses for it to funk up, and it cannot become less funky because it has already gained funk. Zeno holds that since gaining or losing funk is impossible at any one instant in time, and time is composed of an infinite number of instants, it is impossible to generate any funk at all.

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Can it be? Has it really been five years since we here at Excerpts from Nonexistent Books set out on a wing and a prayer to fill the gaping need for imaginary literature on the internet? We certainly never anticipated our five-year growth from a niche blog read by nobody to a niche blog read by a couple of people. Last year, the editors brought you some statistics on EFNB throughout the years, and we’d like to do the same for you here today.

Bottom Posts
1826. From “Scandal at the 2013 PTA Book Sale” by Em Njcole Mayers
1827. From “The Gorilla Diamond World” by G. Marc Kanev
1828. From “Through the Gate of Gales and Rust” by Tara-Astrid Danae

The least-popular posts on EFNB, with only four views by spambots apiece, are an eclectic bunch: science fiction, humor, and dour alternate-world fantasy. Why are they so unpopular, so neglected, when imaginary tales by imaginary authors that are arguably worse get better hit counts and even some non-spambot hits? The editors’ best guess is that the bizarre spelling of Ms. Njcole Mayers’ last name put off some readers, as did her use of the acronym PTA (parent-teacher association) when many are switching to the more neutral PTO (parent-teacher organization). Gravity-based posts are never popular, as evinced by the failure of the editors’ previous blog Musings on Gravitational Lensing Effects. And Ms. Danae confirms that the limited appeal of her post, the least-popular on our site, may be attributed to the fact that her post was based on a half-remembered dream within a dream.

Bottom Search Terms
01. “memory in seed crystal”
02. “callistans and humans”
03. “the room in which the boys were fed, was a large stone hall esercizi”
04. “sarcastic excerpts from literature”
05. “ixium bones in the dog rear”

While it’s become increasingly difficult to see what search terms are leading netizens to EFNB due to Google becoming increasingly paranoid and secretive about its search terms, clutching them tightly to its chest and muttering about CIA transmissions in its teeth, we have access to come data and can therefore present the least-popular search terms bringing peeps to our doorstep. We’re glad hat at least one person into New Age crystal healing was brought to us and hope to attract more of such (the success of our forthcoming Shards From Nonexistent Crystals merchandise line demands it). It’s unfortunate that the strained relationship between the shapeshifting Callistans and humanity isn’t attracting more attention, though. Our editors are also devastated that, despite a strong push for sarcasm in all that we do, our achievements in such have as yet gone unrecognized. None of us have any idea why boys would be fed in a large stone Italian exercise hall, though we are in contact with the proper authorities to find out. And yes, we do realize that a query about the bones in a dog’s butt is a perfect candidate for our bottom position…so much so that an investigation is currently pending.

EFNB’s Least Popular International Locations

São Tomé

Armenia

Mali

St. Vincent

Tunisia

While EFNB attracts hits from all over the world, these countries are the least interested in what the site has to offer, with only a single hit apiece in our five years in existence. São Tomé and Príncipe and St. Vincent and the Grenadines continue EFNB’s unfortunate tradition of being deeply unappealing to small island nations with unwieldy names, and the editors would like to take their opportunity to renew their commitment to such (as well as other underserved locations like Antigua and Barbuda, the Federated States of Micronesia, and St. Kitts and Nevis). Tunisia and Mali are both excused from participation in EFNB as their recent histories are filled with turmoil, with Tunisia as the maternity ward of the Arab Spring and Mali in the throes of a devastating three-sided civil war. As for Armenia, allow the editors of EFNB to be the first to reach out with the olive branch of peace and a hearty բարի օր.

A Heartfelt Thank-You
We have a lot of fun here at EFNB, but the editors would be remiss if they didn’t thank every viewer from every country, even the spambots who are our most reliable clickers, for supporting the site over 5 years, 1,828 posts, and 0.545404814 comments per post. You are the reason we started, the reason we continue, and the reason we reject the advice of physicians, lawyers, and psychologists to cease and desist at once.

Here’s to another 5 years and 3656 posts!

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HOPEWELL, MI – With Proposition 426 nearing the necessary 666,666 signatures needed to put it on the ballot this fall, the Hopewell Democrat-Tribune spoke to several of the activists who have been presenting passersby with petitions on the Southern Michigan University quad.

“There is absolutely no reason for xenobryo to be illegal, much less for the punishments handed down to people for having it,” said one activist, who identified himself only as The Bro. “It’s the outdated result of a moral panic in the 1950s, just like Prohibition in the 20s. Xenobryo is a healthy and natural way to feel good, and the secret to reviving the world economy. It shouldn’t be a reason to sentence someone to hard time just for being caught with a headclasper or testing positive for implanted xenobryo.”

When asked how exactly xenobryo use would revive the world economy, The Bro clarified: “Well, you can tax it when it’s legal, but people shouldn’t do that, it’s not fair. And, um, the dead headclaspers and passed xenobryos have lots of uses.” Asked what these uses were, The Bro took a moment to think. “The atomic acid that’s their blood could be used for, I dunno, etching or something. And the carapace of protein polysaccharides and polarized silicon can be used to…uh…uh…”

The Bro claimed to have gathered nearly 1000 signatures from passersby on the quad; a few of the people he was soliciting spoke to the Democrat-Tribune about Prop 426 and the legalization of xenobryo.

“I’m against it,” said Susie Mulligan, a double-major in biochemistry and structural engineering. “Sure, they say that using a headclasper is safe, and that you’ll get a great high as long as you flush the xen0bryo from your chest before it erupts, but think of all the accidents caused by people driving with a headclasper, or what could happen if someone doesn’t flush the xenobryo and we have a torsosplitter growing to maturity in our midst?”

“I already signed the petition,” countered Ricky “Stonewall” Jackson. “I think people should be free to use headclaspers and xenobryo, since the risk of death isn’t any worse than cigarettes and booze. You can still throw people in jail if they drive into someone while birthing a torsosplitter, after all, and torsosplitters are vulnerable to fire for the first twenty minutes of their life outside a living host. It’s all overblown.”

When asked to comment, Southern Michigan University president Cynthia Mayfield’s office issued the following statement: “SMU remains committed to protecting the right to free speech and enforcing the law.” When asked about xenobryo use among students, and cases in which free speech and the law might clash, the office declined to issue a clarification.

In the meantime, opinion polls place statewide support for legalizing xenobryo at around 50%, though the complementary Proposition 223, which would fund a statewide initiative to eliminate any escaped headclaspers or torsosplitters before they mature into xenodrones and establish a colony, is trending at 99% opposed.

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The master stem speaks throughout a wicked spectacular blossom. The supplicant crawls up to it. Acknowledged, the supplicant kisses the gnarled roots before him. The stem quietly evaluates through senses unknown, judging by a formula known but to itself.

“Purge.” The blossom strains with the effort of speaking the only word it will utter for the month.

A radio crackles the news throughout the glen. The galactic search will continue for one that is fit to kneel before the kernel of divine and growing and green. The others gather around the stricken supplicant without incident. He knows he is for the purge, and he accepts it.

His body will go beneath the roots, helping them to grow strong.

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“One wonders what people of old would think, seeing what we’ve made of their traditions and their holidays.”

“Now, now, traditions like Mardi Gras and Carnival have been around for centuries. This isn’t just something you can blame on ‘kids these days,’ you know.”

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~54@//noclip.phpo you think of Chinese New Year, then? It’s a holiday that I’d wager 90% of the ‘kids these days’ have absolutely no stake in, but they celebrate it anyway. It’s an excuse to go out and get loaded, nothing more.”

“You say that as if kids need an excuse. They were going out and getting loaded to celebrate Tuesday when I was in school.”

“It’s not that. The thing that bugs me is that they have latched onto something that was once sacred and made it profane. It would be like if the liturgical calendar had an Feast of St. Alcoholic and people were celebrating it by going dry.”

“It still sounds to me like an ‘I’m old and bitter and things aren’t going the way I want them to’ issue to me.”

“Well, we’ll see how you feel when the only vestige of any tradition is a day when people go out and get sloshed.”

“I look forward to it.”

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A young man repeats a capitalist alarm.
This ludicrous idea combats a coin across the inverse arcade floor.
Within the periodic alarm appears the organized view.
An analysis sighs around the attending ecology.

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MELINDA: Welcome to the 2015 Love Versus Hate debate, brought to you live here on NBS. I’m your moderator, Melinda Doe, broadcasting from a darkened room in an undisclosed location for fear of reprisals. Today’s telecast is brought to you by GesteCo Pharmaceuticals, Kyoto Processed Ricepaper Concerns Press, and viewers like you. Let’s meet our panelists!

[Logos for GesteCo, KPRC Press flash as their names are mentioned.]

MELINDA: For hate, we have Ulgathk the Ever-Living, Elder Lich of the Nine Planes. He’s a sitting member of the Council of Undeath, sole ruler and commander-in-chief of the Unholy Army, and Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs in the Obama Administration.

[The lights rise on ULGATHK THE EVER-LIVING, who is seated in a thoughtful pose with skeletal fingers tented on crossed legs. He is dressed richly in the style of a European monarch, and horrible lights of madness and magic dance in his empty eye sockets.]

ULGATHK: Thank you, Melinda. Your location unto the millimeter is known to me and my legions of deathspitters. I trust you will take this into account with your impartial moderation this evening.

MELINDA: And for love, Bullsick Nomis, Adjudicator Supreme of the Sacred Cabal with orders to root out heresy, punish nonconformity, and share the love among all religions on all the Earths.

[A light shines on ADJUDICATOR NOMIS, who is seated bolt upright. His costume is equal parts cardinal, pope, and pharaoh.]

NOMIS: Pleased to be here, Melinda. There is much heresy to be hugged to death in this vicinity, I can feel it.

MELINDA: Moving back to hatred, Gothmir the Depraved, Wightfather to the swollen risen across the dead spaces between worlds and fresh from his book tour with the Diewalkians.

[Spotlight on GOTHMIR THE DEPRAVED, a most horrible ghoul. He is dressed in the manner of a presidential candidate, with a small flag of the Plane of Reeking Doom on his lapel.]

GOTHMIR: Spoiler alert: they were fabulous. This is largely because they sold their souls to me to become members of my 666 Wailing Consorts upon their death, but there was some natural fabulousness there as well.

MELINDA: For love now, Grand Mufti Al-Temsah, may serenity be upon him. PR to prophets, manager to messiahs, zookeeper for zealots, and spiritual leader to millions of very volatile worshippers across the celestial sphere, His Unquestionableness is the man you want on your side whether you’re starting or just renovating a faith.

[GRAND MUFTI AL-TEMSAH is illuminated. He appears to be dressed in simple black robes with a neatly kept beard until the sheen makes clear that his outfit is woven black gold and his beard is kept in place with rare and extra holy angel tears.]

AL-TEMSAH: I hope we can have a calm and intelligent debate here, full of peace and wisdom. Though I cannot, of course, be held responsible if anyone disagrees with me or interrupts me and therefore leads my followers to completely independently cause Category Five destruction across known existence.

MELINDA: Our last panelist for hatred is of course Nthaeit, Fallen Lord of the Celestials and Archduke of Wights. He’s been in the news recently thanks to his marriage to Archduchess Cthonia, who our viewers know better as socialite Paris Ritchie.

[Illumination reveals the brown and mummified form of ARCHDUKE NTHAEIT, his milky eyes twinkling with malice. He is dressed as a rapper, though close examination shows that all of his bling consists of actual earned noble medals and decorations either from his unfallen days as Celestial Lord Tieahtn or as Archduke of Wights.]

MELINDA: Give us a sneak peek at what your matrimony has been like so far, Your Infernal Grace.

NTHAEIT: We’re just trying to take things day by day, Melinda. We’re still learning about one another as beings, and that’s not without its little annoyances. I’m annoyed when she leaves the toilet seat up, she was annoyed when I sucked the living essence out of her and reduced her to a dessicated husk to sustain myself. It’s a journey, not a destination.

MELINDA: Wonderful. I’m sure we’ll hear more about it when the special airs this March, exclusively on NBS. And now, our final love representative, Dowager Empress Cnhyn Hallud of the Crimson Empire on Alternate Earth. The 19th and final wife of Crimson Emperor Testarossa, she was plucked from obscurity for her beauty before outliving the Emperor by 40 years and counting. Our viewers, of course, know her as a judge on Princess Search here on NBS.

[DOWAGER EMPRESS HALLUD is busily checking her smartphone, and is dressed in the style of the late Elizabeth Taylor. Her leathery hide is tanned and nipped and tucked, and her head is crowned by the Crimson Gem, heirloom to an empire.]

HALLUD: It is beyond fabulous to see you again, Melinda! I’m sure that we can all commune in harmony through the natural vibration of crystals, animated by love from the Cosmic Egg, our joyous songs kept pure through the avoidance of deadly poisons like calories and vaccines.

[The OTHER PANELISTS exchange knowing sideways glances.]

MELINDA: Our first question tonight is for Dowager Empress Hallud for love and Archduke Nthaeit for hate. Do you think that the current planar economy is, as some claim, unfairly favorable to good? This issue has been raised recently by the Occupy Evil movement, who claim that their rights to welsh on debts, commit human sacrifice, and maintain smug senses of superiority are under threat.

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