Whilst events were yet in this amphetamine flux, came there Dives the billionaire – nobody knew whence – to partake of the sulphurs and the rub ‘n’ tugs; and also in the maiouma foretold by false prophet-bots on Google; Dives the billionaire having been beguiled by John Virgil Haruspex with the blatant canard that this event would be going ahead, i.e. that Charybdis would be somehow induced to blockade and stop up the colonizations of pipe and depredations of rim undertaken by that fell microbe A.hydrophila, and that Farokh the Engineer would actually like fuckin’ slay that worm whose lair he was so strident in claiming to find. —
Dives the billionaire
Dives the billionaire, finally ensconced in that Elysium of a spa following pomp and protocol positively Ruritanian in its imbecility, and being suffered to choose between those ministering maidens moderately tall Svetlana from Tashkent, withal Russian (or at any rate Volga Tartar), and the undeniably diminutive raven-haired Supavadi of Mueang Chiang Rai, selected the first of these. Svetlana was in no manner displeased to be his choice; nor, conversely, was Supavadi entirely sanguine at her rejection, for each had purposed by diverse secret wiles and blandishments to secure certain testimonials as to the regard in which they were held by Dives the billionaire. In this manner, Supavadi saw dashed her hopes of becoming the empress of a backpacker hostel on Ko Pangan, while correspondingly, Svetlana found her expectations to be fortified of placating her mama, who as she fussily approached retirement developed something of a monomania regarding how delightful it would be to come into possession of a dacha with indoor plumbing not more than an hour from Kazan. —
Svetlana from Tashkent
- It is ecdysis. Like moulting. Should not happen. Not today. Nor here. —
Ecdysis
Svetlana of Tashkent recoiled. Noted the presence of something atavistically Siberian within herself. This thought that, all things considered, it would be best if the sky god Otshirvani were to materialise in the doorway of that treatment room in the form of the eagle Garide, and seize that flayed Meester Beelyonaire in his claws, and bear him off to be dashed to pieces against a rocky outcrop of the cosmic mountain Sumbur. Distinctly second best, but infinitely more practicable, would be to instigate a management intervention. Images of John Virgil Haruspex and of Colloid were then by some agency presented to her inner speculum. John Virgil would not do at all. Come on! You can’t show contyents of bucket to Meester Beelyonaire. So unsopheestikyetid! —
Colloid
And in such wise were matters settled. Svetlana from Tashkent returned with Aloe Vera and god’s badinage, and also Supavadi of Mueang Chiang Rai, whose eyes upon scoping that flayed Illuminatus visibly bulged. She however like Svetlana from Tashkent took professional pride in being inured to the caprices of the super-wealthy, and both immediately set to with rubbing the Aloe Vera into the suppurating hide of Dives the billionaire, assaying not to manifest their disgust by unprofessional wincings or other signs. A voshing biscuit was procured by John Virgil Haruspex. This latter with the Kosovars, now serendipitously four in number following another somehow unwitnessed cloning, laid gentle and solicitous hands upon that sore rich man, first repping him in god’s badinage, before loading him into the voshing biscuit, for concealment piling fresh linen on top, and finally wheeling him out of that treatment room and down the corridor to the service lift. In Reception, Billy had evidently been forewarned, for she alone sat at the Cerberidae’s twin desk, and gloweringly guarded the portal to the Inner Sanctum and Holy of Holies, Peggy presumably having been enticed away from there with some raw meat on a stick or whatever they used to get her out of the way and forestall those embarrassing exhibitions of hers. —
The voshing biscuit
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