Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Born Walter Kitcschmann, an accident in a tacky sweater factory led to him fighting for truth and justice as KITSCHMAN!

Battling his eternal nemesis TASTEFUL LAD, KITSCHMAN fights for kitsch, camp, and the Chelsea way!

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Words are important. Lest we forget, the Alchemist-Mage wars, which lasted 30 years and claimed untold lives, started after a misunderstanding.

A blustering mage claimed that his business success would leave his alchemist rivals absolutely petrified, and they took it as a literal threat that they’d be turned to stone. So they struck first with the magebomb, and the rest is history.

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Fluffers ejected through the emergency chute in his cybernetic human-suit. “What do you mean?” he said.

Laughing from the sparking breach in the ruined chest of his own suit, Snugglepuff continued. “We use these suits to move undetected among the humans,” he coughed. “But we’ve been blind this whole time.”

Fluffers’ suit crashed down behind him, and he scuttled up the battle damage on Snugglepuff’s failing suit. “Blind to what?” he shouted. “Tell me, you worthless old fuzzbucket!”

“There are no humans left,” laughed Snugglepuff. “Only hamsters in human suits lying to each other.”

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Speaking to reporters from the Blight House, President Brayne issued the following statement:

“We will not condone such disgusting attacks, and indeed condemn them in the strongest possible terms. Zombies are widely known as undead of peace, and the actions of a few brain-hungry fanatics must not taint that. We must not allow zombies to be tainted by Brainist extremism.”

In a gesture of solidarity, Vice President Sarah Bellum visited the aftermath of the attack, shaking hands with survivors and pledging the use of zombie funds to rebuild the Johns Hopkins Brain Science institute “better and juicier than ever.”

At press time, the Blight House press secretary identified the attackers as M. Dulla O’Blongata and C. Ree Brum, also known by their Brainist names of John Brain Smith and Braaaaaains Brains Brains. The press secretary noted that O’Blongata and Brum had apparently become self-radicalized Brainists through the internet.

Asked about the claim of responsibility from the Brainist Nation of Braaaaaaaaaaaains (BNB), the press secretary responded that they were “BSBB sympathizers,” using an alternate name for the organization (the “Brainist State for Brains and Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains”).

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[begin transcript]

SAUNDERS: This is KM247 calling KM Lodge, KM Lodge, do you read?

GRAS: This is KM Lodge, go ahead KM247.

SAUNDERS: Anything new on those teens, Rene?

GRAS: That’s a negative, John. No further contact since they missed their return time. About 23 hours from the clock in KM Lodge. Jones and Washington are still out on the south ridge, and we’ve got word out to KJ Lodge to send whatever rangers they can spare to help in the search. You still with Cahill?

SAUNDERS: Yeah, Jean’s right here. KM Lodge, please be advised, we’ve found an unauthorized campsite near the third bend.

GRAS: The third bend? How did you get that far so quickly?

SAUNDERS: That’s not important. Jean and I pulled up the canoe just off the third bend because we saw some evidence of human activity.

CAHILL: (indistinct)

SAUNDERS: Yeah, Jean. Say again, KM Lodge, we have found something really weird.

GRAS: We’re not looking for weird, John, we’re looking for Dixon party of seven, remember? Acknowledge, KM247.

SAUNDERS: This is KM247 acknoweldging. It’s just…Rene, if this is where those kids were, I’m a little afraid for them.

GRAS: What do you mean?

SAUNDERS: From the river it looked like some tree damage, but…Rene, someone cut a bunch of branches, sharpened them on both ends, and stuck them into the ground.

GRAS: Say again, John?

SAUNDERS: Recent carvings, too. Still wet and green in places. This couldn’t have been done more than a few hours ago, half a day, tops. Looks like someone blazed a little unauthorized trail and lined it with spears.

CAHILL: (indistinct)

SAUNDERS: And there are carvings in the trees, too. Also fresh, sap’s still running. Like someone carved their initials in, only these ain’t like any initials I’ve ever seen.

GRAS: How long is this trail, John?

SAUNDERS: Fifty yards maybe? And at the end…KM Lodge, this is really weird.

GRAS: Say again, KM247?

SAUNDERS: Someone took a bunch of stufed animals, kids’ toys, and put them in the trees. Hung them in the trees, from little nooses made from twine.

GRAS: Someone hung a bunch of toys by nooses?

SAUNDERS: Now do you see why I’m worried, Rene? If there’s some psycho out here, they could have…I don’t even want to think about it.

GRAS: KM247, are you armed?

SAUNDERS: Yeah, I have my .357.

CAHILL: (indistinct)

SAUNDERS: KM Lodge, we’ve just found some footprints and what looks like a bit of cloth that got snagged and torn. Could be our teens or our illegal camper.

GRAS: Standby, KM247. (indistinct) What’s that, Mary? (indistinct)

SAUNDERS: KM Lodge, are you there? I hear somebody coming.

CAHILL: (indistinct)

SAUNDERS: This is John Saunders of the National Park Service! Please identify yourself!

CAHILL: (indistinct)

SAUNDERS: (indistinct)

GRAS: Sorry about that, John. Mary just came over and said we found the Dixon party on the south ridge. Washington just called it in. Damn kids were hungover from a party.

SAUNDERS: (indistinct)

GRAS: Come again, KM247?

SAUNDERS: (indistinct)

GRAS: KM Lodge calling KM247, respond please! KM Lodge calling KM247, please acknowledge! John, do you read me? Jean? KM Lodge calling KM247, please respond!

[end transcript]

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The ship rose clear of the ground, sand running off of it in rivulets like water drops. It was angles and curves, symmetrical and yet totally alien, and to the fighters that had been surrounding it, it was like the thunderbolt before a rare desert thunderstorm.

Their awe was short-lives, and a half-dozen rocket-propelled grenades streaked toward the rising structure. They blew up well short of its skin, cast aside by some invisible field. A Russian-made SAM flared into the sky from a ridge some miles away; radar-guided, it struck the ship dead on but also did nothing.

A voice boomed over the sands from within the vessel: “I’m sorry to inform you that the window to stop me has passed. Those of you who have even the slightest wish to preserve your genes for a future generation may leave now.” The message was repeated in Arabic, French, and (for some reason) Basque for added effect.

Some fighters chose to flee, but most remained committed to attacking the new target hanging low in the sky over them.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

In a blast of light and radiation from a part of the spectrum humans were twenty-thousand generations away from being able to see, every fighter within half a kilometer fell dead, a smoking hole neatly bored throught their brain stem. Those fleeing were somehow not touched.

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“Time was, it was easy,” said Gill. “You’d just get a satellite uplink and have the computer talk you through to the destination.”

“But we don’t do satallites anymore,” Natalie said. “Not for years.”

“We put too mny of them up, put too much junk up, and they started running into each other,” Gill said. “Or something. But that means we need maps and a guide, unless you fancy running into raiders in Vativia or a toll road enforced by snipers in the Beral Lands.”

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For the best* taste** in this or any dimension***, you can’t go wrong with Multiverse Snackers!

* Please note, Multiverse Snackers are made in a dimension where peanuts exist. If you have multidimensional allergies you should not eat, be exposed to, or exist in the same timeline as Multiverse Snackers.

** Multiverse Snackers are processed through wormholes that also process xyzzy nuts, rinderpest, Celestial Bloodspheres, and The End. If you have a reaction to any of these, you should not eat, be exposed to, or exist in the same timeline as Multiverse Snackers.

*** Not valid in Dimension 3891, Floating Squidworld 47a, the Dimension of Terror, or Ix. Void where prohibited.

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“Holy shit!”

The air was a roar in her ears, a blast of chilled air to her skin. Flailing instinctively with all her limbs, she reached out toward the medallion.

She had no idea how it had happened, but the thing had teleported her two miles up and it was her only hope of getting back down safely.

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HYPOLUXO is the lifestyle brand from GesteCo that encapsulates all of what the modern housewife of the 1950s wants!

You know your man works hard bringing home the bacon, so why not cook him a HYPOLUXO roast on a HYPOLUXO range? Our roasts are made from 1000% imported Brazillian beef, gorged on thick grasses reclaimed from what were once worthless rainforests, and the new HYPOLUXO range is asbestos-lined inside and out to ensure total safety!

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Finally, why not unwind after all the chores are done with a HYPOLUXO television set? Using pioneering RadioActive™ technology, HYPOLUXO televisions capture the Atomic Age onscreen with gamma-ray tubes that output 400 Rads of brightness per evening!

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