|More is yet revealed at last, so mooooote it be, in these illuminating missives, recently dispatched from Mister Wonderful, our man after midnight.
I awoke this afternoon to the sound of hypothetical buzzing scales all around, like a zither played by a madman. Incense thickened the air above me, but I could still smell savory tea and oranges.
Fumbling my way upright on the plush paisley couch, I found my spectacles coated in lavender hand soap. "Great googolfucks," I said. "Have we driven this macabre sideshow all the way back to Hong Kong?"
Mister Malice looked up from the 3-D Chess cube, his pupils shrunk to black holes that no joy could escape from. "We're in Paris, Wonderfunk, but your monkey doesn't seem to know any French. We send him out for brie and baguettes. He comes back with cheap tarts and hookahs."
That was my curious pal, all right. A real chimp off the old block.
"Espionage," I said brightly.
Mister Dark flung a butter knife into the tasseled lampshade by my crotch. "Cease your prattle, Mister Mongoloid," he said. "'Espionage' is from the Old Italian 'spia,' for spy. Your simian simpleton speaks no French, and will only be useful if we hollow him out and use him to smuggle white babies to the slavers we met in the Sudan."
Miss Yakamoto has sent word that the Wonderful Labs computer remains unready for operations. When they booted it up last night it asked where Batman was, then started weeping uncontrollably. An eerie thrill grips me, as she says she wishes I was there - but that might have just been the postcard.
Anyway. Point is. Seeking the undercover monkey, I toured the City of Lights in disguise (having gained a reputation some time ago thanks to that bitch Nostradamus). Within hours of drinking heavily I learned that a giant man I suspected to be rock musician Rob Zombie knew how to contact the Resistance fighters living in the Parisian sewers who had never received word that World War II had ended, and still believed Germans occupied the city.
"These are old men," warned Mister Zombie. "Honorable heroes. You mustn't disturb their notions. It could kill them."
I smiled my best lubricating smile and adjusted my feather boa. "Never fear, mon capitan. I'm a servant of the double serpent, the caduceus of Hermes, the trickster, the DNA gods. I'm a hidden magus with a twisted rod, the entwined M and W doubling back on itself. I'd no sooner spill a mere fact than uncurl myself from my own mouth. The Wonder reflected is red now, dig? Cosmic commie, that's me. Red snake and blue snake playing purple cat tag. I DJ mix the facts and fancy, spinning them into a truth spiral. Mister Wonderful is your Man Willfully, Mystery Worshipper, Mad Wizard, Weird Maker, Wisdom Monger, Wit Machine. Those wee monsieurs have my word."
I think he would have bought it, too, if the monkey hadn't suddenly shown up riding the back of a frightened gendarme, threatening to pummel "all you Tarzan motherfuckers."
There's so much more to share, and we will, for I remain,
WONDERFUL LABS - The Passion Fruit In Your On-Line Jungle
It is probably true quite generally that in the history of human thinking the most fruitful developments frequently take place at those points where two different lines of thought meet. These lines may have their roots in quite different parts of human nature, in different times or different cultural environments or different religious traditions: hence if they actually meet, that is, if they are at least so much related to each other that a real interaction can take place, then one may hope that new and interesting developments may follow."
- Werner Heisenberg
|Mister Wonderful Recommends: The
long-suffering ha-ha guy Marc Maron. He smart guy.