NationStates Jolt Archive

Xixu xixxi xlathu xikxxaq qugxfl Agh Shankkakur -
Praise be to him who serves our Lord Agh Shankkakur with grace and humility

"Xlafl xxof xogxog ttflixit xi ixitxl qafgfthagl xukk xixxixixit!" screamed Titus Gloam to his entranced followers.

"Hellfire and damnation await to all who do not repent and praise His Glory! Fear not the infidel, for he is powerless before your faith. Donate faith bonds to the government and your reward is eternal paradise in His Love and His Heaven!"

The crowd rose, murmured, rippled with fear and pleasure, with self-loathing and love. All around fireballs exploded in the night, burning off from the tall columns of black smokestacks.

"Riding upon his black steed, his number is six hundred sixty six, and it is deemed by Our Master Agh Shankkakur that all who cleave unto Him, and shower Him in your wealth and your blood, shall be Saved from the ravenous claws of the Infidel outside!"

Behind Titus were five massive screens, each fifty metres tall, and great black stacks of loudspeakers, that screamed his voice of doom and glory out to the crowd, drowning his followers in noise and cacophony. The roar of a hundred bonfires rippled eerily through the great throng of many thousands. From the sea of human faces, glowing orange and red and yellow with fire, blackened with the soot and ash left behind by a storm of fireflies, came a roar, a human scream, sallying forth from a thousand raging throats.

A baby, bawling and naked, was thrown into Titus' arms, and the crowd screamed "Sacrifice! Sacrifice! Sacrifice!" The crowd screamed for blood, pullulating, quivering, a mass of orange flesh and grimy faces, streaked with hot sweat.

And there was Sacrifice, and the fires bloomed, and there was praise to Agh Shankkakur.

From high atop his cathedral-tower, a glittering Novochristian design, sat the man, his eyes alight and wild with delerium, whose skull bore the tattoo of six hundred sixty six. And the name he bore was that of Norman Baker, who once was a televangelist...

Norman Baker was the Anti-Christ. None disputed this fact. He had won the election in the traditional way of the country, following the path that had been carved out by the High Council of the Illuminatus, founded in the Early Time by Shalmaneser the Great - by ruthless bribery, shams, and shameless political filibustering. He had passed the Intiation rites. He had proven himself above the Pit of Kartoum-Zamfir.

Baker sat back and played with the little genetic D6 that danced sensuously, a little thirty-centimetre statuette that sat atop his onyx black desk, a perfectly replicated human female in miniature. It giggled as his finger ran from the nape of its neck, down to its little, perfect belly, and down to the tiny triangular tuft of pubic hair.

"Nameless One," murmured Grand Illuminatus Wiczek.

"Yes, what is it?" said Baker, absently.

"The disruption field. It has collapsed! And you sit here, in your dark office, playing with your D6 like Ixurath VII at his throne!"

"It's all-right, Grand Illuminatus. I want them to see. And what can they do? They are infidels of the Outside. Nothing."

Illuminatus Wiczek turned away reluctantly, walking into the shadows once more, red robes trailing upon black marble. Things were going strangely. Strange times. Indeed. He awaited the future, as he always did.

The sun never rose upon the land of Agh Shankkakur, so accursed and godforsaken it was, as if the pale white-yellow face itself was afraid to look upon that diseased and blackened wasteland of twisted and warped things. A bitter, lightless place, Agh Shankkakur would even be avoided by that terror of all Lovecraftian fantasy - Cthulhu itself - so terrible and strange it was.

At this very moment its own mighty ruler, Norman Baker, supposed Son of Satan, Anti-Christ, and bringer of the Apocalypse, strolled the dark streets of Xicxalxa, the Capitol, and saw thronging about him, the munificence and horror of the nightly crowd.

Like a scintillating, quivering mass of congealed flesh, of wanton desire and gratification, the streets of Xicxalxa were cold and warm with the light of neon, and the hard press of bodies, ever in search of stranger, more stimulating pleasures. Norman Baker's eyes were wide, the pupils hugely dilated, sweat oozing from the small of his back, high on a wild admixture of methamphetamines and synthetic adrenaline. A drug bar to the left, pink and electric, advertised transvestite sex, while another, screaming tele-empathy from across the street, lured customers with genetically engineered P9s, gelatinous synths that could change gender and even body shape, at will.

A woman, clad in a glittery green string thing and not much else, her eyelids painted a shocking electric blue, approached him, and the next thing that Norman knew he was lying naked, babbling on about his past to the sleeping form of the woman (who, as it turned out, was once a man - not that it mattered) next to him...

Bump

Board Of National Advisors analysis of the country Agh Shankkakur:

The country of Agh Shankkakur is a small, but quickly growly, nation that worships satan. The nation is fiercely religious as it devoutly worships satan as an almighty god. The country can be compared to our "dark" sections of the cities, where innappropriate activities such as public sexual encounters and legal drugs of all forms being sold in businesses. They also believe in sacrificing humans to their satanic god, most recently which we have learned about was but a mere baby. One of the most interesting figures, perhaps, is Norman Baker, the ruler of this odd nation. He firmly believes that he is the true son of satan--the Anti-Christ if you will. Unlike most leaders, he does not hide himself from public places, he can often be found on this streets of his city acting as a normal person with no body guard protection that we know of--or we haven't picked up on yet. He also won his election by severe bribery, shams, etc. We know this for it is publicly known by its citizens, another strange tradition in the passage of a leader this country. This board of advisors for the Holy Empire of Golden Omega suggests that we make minimal contact to this country unless some sort of severe disastor or massacre happens. We do not find this nation as a large militaristic threat as they are slightly smaller than our nation. However, we must not leave the possibility out as they are only minimally less populated than us and have fanatic supporters. Phychological reports also conclude that this Norman Baker may have some sort of mental demetia and suffers from hallucinations, making him think that Satan speaks to him, but these are only preliminary analyses, we have not gathered enough information to prove anything.

As Holy Emperor Curtis Marx read over this small report, he was disgusted of the atrocious acts that this man had done. He would make no public statement as of yet against this new nation, but was prepared to let the world know that his nation would not mix well with these people.

A ripple in the fractal worlds of this existance ran through the Dominion, intel agencies tagging this strange new nation that had appeared on the horizon.

OOC: Fairly unique, I'd say. Reminds me of the Reich :P Sorry couldn't resist x_x

Are you planning to go international, and how?

Norman Baker was born in a survivalist camp deep underground, bathed in the warmth of his mother's amniotic fluid and a pair of heat-radiators. He was given the warmth and love of an abusive, paranoid father (who was the leader of the survivalists and Grand Master Ratcatcher), and a limp, drug-addicted mother. When he was six, his father took him on his first Journey.

It was a long and grueling expedition, and the two had hiked many miles through dripping sewers, fending off the occasional gelatinous cube with their flamethrowers. When they had reached the destination, a shrine to Ftlaght-Xiiqxit, the pagan blob daemon-god with skin like the starry night. There they rested for a while, and Norman slept.

While he slept, a gelatinous cube crept up from the deep sewers and dissolved half his leg. When he awoke, screaming, the remaining part of his leg entirely numb, Norman had reached for the only weapon he had, and burned off the cube, leg and all. Immediately thereafter his father began to beat him for being inattentive. For six hours he had been crammed between a pair of tubes, up to his knees in raw sewage, in total darkness as his father waited outside, high on raw crystal meth.

Finally he was 'cleansed' as his father said, and forced to kneel before the altar, whereupon he was given a powerful dose of methamphetamine and anally raped, repeatedly.

He went on the Dream Quest, and Norman found himself confronted by a black apparition that he originally took for the Daemon Blob-God, that avatar of the millenial religion which had reigned true over the land since before the coming of the Satanic Church, and it spoke to him in a voice of starlight, blackfire, and the screech of electric guitars, smelling like burning plastic and cosmic radiation. And it said to him, "Unto thou I give thee the curse of My guidance and My hatred. For thou art my son, and I am the Lord Satan."

The young Norman cried out as his father climaxed within him and the meth burst his reality into a thousand rainbow shards, the voice of Satan pounding in his brain, and his mind fell into blackness. Norman's body stiffened and he fell over, rigid, his eyes glazed over in blank catatonia. In this darkness there was only the voice of Satan, eternally whispering to him, guiding him through the shadow of his mind-reality.

His father took him back to the survivalists, sniffing disgustedly at the mettle of his son, and for eighteen years he was given a mild electroconvulsive therapy by the community doctor, Dr. Tukk, combined with a rigid regimen of experimental mind-altering drugs, fashioned by the same man. When he emerged he was declared a success in the name of the outlawed god Ftlaght-Xiiqxit, and hailed as a miracle, paraded around the survivalist commune by Dr. Tukk.

Satan, however, had got to him first. At sixteen, barely two weeks after his apparent 'recovery', Norman listened to Satan's voice and followed Its plan. He felt his forehead and sure enough, there were the scarred imprints of the three sacred Sixes where his father had bumped his head repeatedly into a jutting sewage pipe's serial number. It was proof enough to him that Satan was listening and watching over him, and that he was the son of Satan, or as he was known in the land, Agh Shankkakur -- the Lord of the Jealous Mumblings.

He emerged sometime later, surviving on a diet of sewer rats and the bits of skin and flesh that the gelatinous cubes did not digest and left in membranous piles hither and thither, drinking sewer water to quench his thirst. He later attributed his survival in that dank environment to Satan's guidance and blessing.

When he came from the sewers, emerging into a small town at the edge of the kingdom, the satanic fundamentalists there took him into their care and when they discovered the numbers on his brow, immediately fell behind him as the messiah. Soon thereafter, swarming from the sewer, came a plague of roaches, and another night they found his body, carried atop a bed of black sewer rats. This proved to them that he was the Anti-Christ, and, gaining control of a small television station there, he launched his campaign, listening to the Divine Mumblings in trances stimulated by crystal meth, and preaching his religious righteousness.

Before he'd known it, he'd gathered an army of fanatical supporters, but it was still small, given that the Satanic Church had far less reign in the countryside than in the cities, where the peasants still worshipped the old pagan daemon gods and anticipated the return of Ftlaght-Xiiqxit, who would devour the sky and bathe the earth in eternal light. Those who followed the ancient traditions would be spared and eaten by the blob daemon, and those who did not, the sinners and the atheists, would be burned by the light. But, as power was concentrated in the cities, Norman did not, in fact, attempt to exterminate the peasants and their little pagan shrines, knowing that he would only spawn many more survivalist communes like the one he had grown up in.

And so, with the blessings of the Illuminati, Norman was crowned Satanic King by the Antipope, and set forth to rule his empire, awaiting the day that Satan and the Unholy Spirit would come and set things aright...

Norman found himself alone the next morning (though technically, it was still evening - it was always evening).

The girl had gone, and he could feel the drug high begin to collapse. Norman reached for a pack of complimentary heroin and injected himself, all the while masturbating to the music of Beethoven, which had come on the radio.

A gentle rap at the door.

"Who is it?" croaked Norman over the music.

A wispy, high-pitched voice replied, "Illuminatus Beazel. The Grand Council is meeting today... we must make haste."

"About what?"

"Our extraterrestrial investors, my Dark Lord."

"Ah yes! What do they want now?"

"Well we want to negotiate, but the Greys ask for a thousand nubile virgins to do anal probes on, and a fraction of the Greater Herd of Satanic Cattle for the next twenty years - for the mutilations."

Norman groaned and got dressed, following the red-robed Illuminatus back to his dark Citadel.

Another day in the life of the Son of Satan...

<tag, good writing>

OOC: I am planning to go international, but it involves something of a diplomatic visit from another nation (to let people get a feel for how this twisted place works)... then maybe I can think of some way to get involved (via that connexion).

After the meeting with the aliens (fortunately they were willing to negotiate down to five hundred nubile virgins and only 10% of the Greater Satanic Herd for the next ten years) a grey and withered old Illuminatus came before him.

"Oh Lord, Son of Agh-Shankkakur. I come to you with grave news."

"What?"

"The barrier! The barrier is breaking down! We are visible!"

"But the cloaking shield has protected us from view for thousands of years? Why would it malfunction now?"

"Some sign of the zodiac or the constellations in the sky perhaps, but look!"

He presented the Assyrian Radio, a device given to King Shalmaneser by the Illuminati in the Early times, who had gotten it from the Aliens. He turned it on and there was a faint noise and a crackling..

"Hello hello?" came a voice.

"Hello!" shouted Norman. "Hello there! Hello world! Who is this?! Tell us!"

And, for the first time in three thousand years, there was a radio signal from Agh Shankkakur.

Inside a small, computer filled communications room was a group of three people: Lisa Wolfe, Ryan Stahlke, and Zach Stengel. They had lived in this cramped office for nearly two years, sleeping in an adjoining bedroom and almost never leaving besides for food and supplies. These young adults were geniuses of their time, they had all graduated from the Order of the Omega University(Harvard of the nation) at the young age of 18, leaving it with aspirations of becoming the next Holy Emperor, conquering the intensly competitive business world they lived in, or becoming a national hero or icon of some sort. However, this was not meant to be. Now, their lavish dreams of hope and wealth had turned in to a bland, day by day life in crammed inside in four brillantly white walls, running a program which was on the brink of extinction. Their one and only job was to monitor communications from other countries and try to intercept messages in the hope of learning of a pre-emptive strike against their small, but growing, nation. This had never once happened though, and it seemed as if the program had grown more pointless and costly every extra day it lived.

As Ryan sat down at his workstation to begin yet another day filled with boredom, he booted up his laptop. As it connected to their system network a message popped up, saying, “You have one intercepted message.” At this, Ryan brow’s rose slightly, this rarely ever happened with their outdated intercepting program(which was about all the government was willing to pay for). As he opened the file, his heartbeat slightly increased, hoping this would be plans of some sort of nuclear attack which he would catch in time to save the nation, flinging him into stardom. His hopes quickly dropped, however, as he saw the text of the simple message and heard the voice come on over his speakers, saying

"Hello! Hello there! Hello world! Who is this?! Tell us!"

“Another punk kid hacking his way through the government frequencies again,” thought Ryan bitterly after the message ended. Kids often did this, tried hacking through the government network and sending out fake messages with other nations frequencies as a prank. Ryan quickly typed in the frequency and had it searched over the network to find which nation it was exactly, but was surprised that it was an unregistered signal. After a quick thought, he figured the kid had just made up his own frequency and used that to send the message, no big deal. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, just on the job and he was already irritated. He then moved to delete the message, not wanting to have to deal with it, but had a sudden change of heart, “What the hell else am I going to do? I might as have a little fun with the kid.” He then responded to the message, simply saying

“Hello! This is top communications officer for the Holy Empire of Golden Omega, Ryan Stahlke. And who may I ask is this??”

"I am Norman Baker," came the voice, sounding rather high-minded and pretentious, "I am the duly-elected Arch-Oligarch of the Theocracy of Agh Shankkakur, former televangelist, and only son of his Unholy Greatness the Devil, Agh Shankkakur. I am pleased to make contact, and bring salubrious greetings; may Agh Shankkakur's curse descend upon you all!"

At this moment the message became unintelligible as Baker lapsed into his native tongue. The text is as follows, or rather, a brief reconstruction of it:

"Xixi ix iqflax fthagxi qugfthag qi ququy xixixit xixt txiqchak flgath ix. Ux xixic flaflthxq phnaqlagx xixhat qi xixit. Xixi xixis xix xixxfth fthlipth ix ut ixxxikixik xixaq xi! Fnawg qum qixqix ix xoxxixixiopl nnnnooughft ixi qugquy phnapl..."

OOC: ugh, this is the 2nd time that my message has been deleted when I tried to post it, I'll try to re-make it later. BTW, how old is Norman Baker? And is the language he speaks known to the rest of the world, as some type of satanic cult language or something?

In opposition to the satanic nation that had just made it’s appearance on the world scene, Thelas was a place of order. Troops marched down the street, marching in step, moving as one unit, they represented the might of the Thelasi Star Empire. People were quiet, even in the center of the city the people went about their business in silence, neon was unheard of in the City of Crystal, as the metallic crystal seemed to radiate its’ own light, it was eternal day in the capitol of Thelas.

Even in the red-light district, people walked about, a soldier or two stood at attention on each major corner, as they would in any other area, people did not wander around, openly fawning or drugged. The most excitement was when a soldier would confront some one who was drunk or stoned. Even the customers walked in and out quietly, not making much noise or commotion. If one looked hard enough, they would be able to see that almost every person in this area was a human. Except for the soldiers, their height, and long black hair, giving them away, their ears not visible from under the full face helmets that they wore.

In the government center, placed near the exact center of the city, two people sat, observing a screen, Empress Ithenril and Commander Kentherin sat in deep thought, Ithenril played over the radio message for the thousandth time, “Interesting, don’t you agree Ken?”

“Very, just a handful of words can cause such a stir here in Thelas.”

”Indeed, what did the sats show us?”

”Not very much, TMI estimates post-nuclear nation, low threat, easy ally”

“Interesting, what about the culture, what did the receivers get?”

“Some quite interesting things, this nation seems to not know the use of sensors.”

“What do you mean?”

“Advertisements for methamphetamine every where…”

“Sounds no different from our allies in Knootoss”

“…Mass orgies, raves, drug induced parties, prostitute houses, need I go on?”

“Good point, but that is there own business”

“Milady, they call their leader the ‘Anti-Christ’”

“They are entitled to be insane, at any rate, the Reich will try to kill them.”

“Good point.”

“What about ally potential?”

”I would suggest against it. If the Thelasi Catholic Church gets wind of it, we could face mass riots”

“Good point again, I seem to be saying that a lot”

“Ithenril, please don’t go there. They would make a good province… we could even claim the moral high-ground”

“I think we should send an observer, some one to find out what the place is like”

“I agree, we need an elf, defiantly. Humans would not be trust worthy in a place of such… temptation”

“Indeed, send Lady Machire”

“The Red Shadow? She has less morals about sexual matters than…”

“Calm down and send her.”

”Okay, if you wish.”

The Emperor's foreign advisor went through the daily reports, new nations, and movements of older ones, activities both at home and abroad...


" A satanic nation?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, it seems they are all devoted to the religion, thoroughly distasteful sir,"

"Indeed, not a threat though?"

"Goodness no! after a few hundred years maybe, but right now, more a threat to themselves, their leader appears to think he's the Anti-Christ."

" Does he suffer from a mental illness?"

"Unclear as yet sir, we haven't scanned him, but that would seem to be the rational explanation."

"Have a few agents infiltrate and gather intelligence, hell in a hand basket man, that's were the world's heading"

"Indeed sir."

As Ryan heard the reply to his message, he arched an eyebrow in confusion. He had heard some odd things in his life, but nothing quite like the gibberish that he had just listened to. He had never heard of the country of Agh Shankkakur before either, making this seem more and more like some weirdo who had happened to hack his way through the mainframe and was playing his little joke for as long as he could. Still, he thought he should at least do a background check and see what he found. Calling Lisa Wolfe over, who had just arrived after picking up breakfast for the small team, he showed her the message he had just received.

“Well,” she said, “It could be just some guy who got high and decided to play a little prank on us, we’ve seen it happen before. But there is something about this guy that I can’t shake off. You should at least file this as a level 4-D interception and then get a background check on Norman Baker and his so called country, Agh Shankkakur.”

After stating this, she took control of the small laptop and quickly copied the transmissions on a disk. She casually moved to the other side of the room, where a group of small pneumatic tubes were located. She then placed the disk in a small, clear, plastic container and placed it in a tube labeled “Background checks”. The container was then sucked away, moving to an adjoining building where the name, country name, and voice patterns that were all said in the transmissions would be put into a group of supercomputers to try and find a match with real world people and places, which was all stored in a global database that almost every country had access to. It would take roughly a day of hard work from the computers to sort through and compare the criteria on the floppy with an almost countless amount of possibilities. While this happened, Ryan decided to try and keep contact with this stranger, hoping that he would be able to catch this Norman Baker in some sort of lie to bring out the truth of who he really was.

“Hello Mr. Baker. We are very interested in your country…Agh Shakkakur I believe. Our team has been attempting to find it on a map and is having a little trouble. Where are you located? Could you also tell us a little about you? Perhaps where you were born, how old you are, things like that.”

After saying this, he sat back and put a little smile on his face. If this was just some kid, he would have him here. There would be no way he could just make up a coordinate for this place, if he did it would most likely land on some other country, where he would then know that this Norman was a fake. However, he couldn’t get this bad feeling out of the back of his head as he waited for a response. What if this was actually just some small country that he didn’t know about? Could there actual be a place where a leader would be some madman who believed he was the son of the devil? As he thought of this, he hoped to God that there was no such place, and then reached in to his pocket and held on to the Government Issue rosary he held in his hand.

OOC: Sorry if this is a little sub-par, I didn’t go into as good as detail as I did the first I wrote this.

OOC: The Satanic cult language is pretty much unintelligible to whomever isn't a lunatic satanist Pseudo-Assyrian Illuminati from outer space.

Thelas: mmm... will you be ... hmm... contacting Agh Shankkakur, or will you just ... hmm... send her along?

The radio crackled and squawked, three thousand year old Assyrian-Alien technology grinding and groaning with the new strain.

“Hello Mr. Baker. We are very interested in your country…Agh Shakkakur I believe. Our team has been attempting to find it on a map and is having a little trouble. Where are you located? Could you also tell us a little about you? Perhaps where you were born, how old you are, things like that," it said.

Norman turned and laughed hysterically, shrieking to the rather dumbfounded Illuminatus, "HAHAHAHAAHA! Look! It talks back! Amazing!"

"Unnamed One, I believe it's still set on 'transmit'," murmured the Illuminatus with clear uncertainty.

"Oh! Right then. Well, according to the ancient texts, Mr. Stahlke, we are located at the juxtaposition of lines from the North Star, Betelgeuse and the constellation Sagittarius. Of course, since then we have been somewhat isolated from the world by the cloaking field-"

"Unnamed One!" whispered Illuminatus Goggleford, "You must not reveal-"

"Oh pish-tosh, Goggleford! It's already decaying, so what's the point? Anyhow, these coordinates were written down by Illuminatus Igh-Koptrik before King Shalmaneser activated the alien cloaking device, about three thousand years ago, so I suppose that the positions of the North Star and Sagittarius have changed somewhat.

But it's interesting, that they were pointing at us at the time that the cloaking field came on - perhaps they hover over us again and this is the reason why it's decaying. Honestly I do not know - though, being the Unholy Progeny of Agh Shankkakur it's probably my duty to know."

Norman paused a moment after the speech, somewhat parched, and summoned a flask of virgin's blood. He drank noisily and deeply then, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he began anew.

"Ahh... virgin's blood is delicious at the perihelion of Scorpio, don't you think? Anyhow, regarding myself, I'm the son of the Satan whom we call Agh Shankkakur - the Lord of the Jealous Mumblings - and I am as old as the conflict between the Oppressor and Agh Shankkakur (who's my father, you'll realise), but the vessel in which my spirit rests at the moment, is about ten iuixqpht old -"

Illuminatus Goggleford whispered something in Baker's ears. "Umm... thirty five of your 'years', that is. I was born deep underground approximately twenty thousand cubits from the capital city, in a survivalist camp near the junction of the Eighth and the Twenty-First Sewage Lines. Oh - did I tell you that I am the Son of Agh Shankkakur, our Lord Satan?"

Tag. Interesting reading.

OOC: Brilliant!

Bump...

Every morning Professor Snoodgrass would wake up bright and early, fix himself a cup of tea, and go out to his porch to watch the subkaboomers explode the morning's breakfast submarine.

You see, nothing could grow in Agh Shankkakur, as most of the land was covered in a strange, gauzy black mist-like substance (of varying degrees of density) or tarmac or asphalt. So each morning, around oh four-hundred hours, two or three submarines would pop out of the big mouth of Ahura Mazda above the Lake of Retardation in a mighty spume of foam and water, into the fiery, tar-black water of the great lake.

They would then be gathered up by nets, pulled by the W6 clone hulks, and dragged to the big booms and heavy cranes onshore, at the docks. There they would be winched up by a complex and intricate contraption and detonated above a pit by a talented team of human subkaboomers - the sons and daughters of subkaboomers, who themselves were the sons and daughters of subkaboomers and so on, back through history - provided by the greasy little boondocks nearby.

On detonation the submarines (depending on the size -- big Russian boomer subs tended to scatter more, but have more mass on the whole, etc.) would explode in a shower of jellylike organic material, most of which would fall into the pit below and be channeled to the cloning vats and turned into organic krill, algae, soylent, and various other vat-food. Some of which, however, would fly into the lake, where it would slowly filter and congeal, forming the feared gelatinous cubes that stalked the sewers below.

Professor Snoodgrass sipped at his tea, watching the subkaboomers whoop and detonate an old German U-Boat. It wasn't much, but that's the way it was, with U-boats. Once they even detonated a Yellow Submarine - a rarity - and they got a great deal of organic material from that. He glared up at the sky. There used to be eternal night, the sky constantly dotted with stars (when smog and flickering oil flames didn't blot out their light). Now the light of dawn was weakly, slowly filtering through, and Professor Snoodgrass wondered what the world was coming to...

Norman Baker accidentally, bumped into a chair. "DAMN!" he shouted, "WHAT's WRONG WITH THIS RADIO? WHY ARE THERE NO INCOMING TRANSMISSIONS?!"

Bump.... Grrrr...

RESPOND OR AGH SHANKKAKUR WILL EAT YOUR SOUL! :twisted:

Now to recap...

A summary: Agh Shankkakur is your average nation of eternal night, dominated by a Satanic theocracy, ruled by a cabal of financial elitists known as the Illuminati, who also control technological advance through secretive deals with space aliens. It was founded by King Shalmaneser in 3000 B.C., whereupon the space aliens threw a cloaking barrier over the entire nation, coordinated to various constellations and rotations of the heavens. This current period is when the cloaking field deactivates and reveals the nation to the world, a short period of light and somewhat normalcy before the hellish 'normalcy' returns.

A Phallic Phantasy

Martha Snoodgrass was the unhappily married wife of Norman Baker, and the daughter of the brilliant Professor Snoodgrass, which made the elder Snoodgrass the father-in-law to the supposed Son of Satan, and hence, made the good Professor the brother in law to Agh Shankkakur itself, and the woman (unhappily enough) the legal daughter of Satan.

She was also a corporate mogul, and she lived atop the Freudian corporate megatower Xallix, just across the city from her husband. Her corporation sold steel phalluses to the military and various military fanatics, with subsidaries that provided counseling services to terrorists and the like. The Xallix corporation was one of the most powerful corporations in Agh Shankkakur, and she knew this, and she wouldn't let anyone forget, which is why the tower could be seen from miles around, often blowing passenger planes out of the sky with a battery of flak guns at the roof. Its base was surrounded by a no-man's-land of bomb craters and ashen ruins, from the near-constant ejaculation of gunfire from atop the skyscraper.

She was also a dominatrix, and at the moment, she was beating a midget gelatinous cube with an electric whip, her leather corset squeaking audibly, and relishing the slippery feeling of protoplasm on her skin. Some found it odd that someone would have amorous fetishistic leanings for cubes of animated protoplasm, but heck, there were lots of strange fetishes in Agh Shankkakur.

Anyhow, Martha Snoodgrass, corporate queen and wife of the Son of Satan, Norman Baker, was busy rubbing stinging gelatin over her crotch area when the biophone rang. She snapped a pair of gloved fingers and it extended a flesh-coloured tentacle, which insinuated itself into the folds of her ear.

"What is it?"

"Martha? It's Norman. We've got to talk. The alien Board of Directors and the Grand High Council needs both of us to attend a meeting."

"Can it wait?" she moaned as the quivering blob of jelly began to spark with self-defensive electrical charges, sparks building under her spread hips.

"Sure, how about tomorrow, the Abdul Alhazred Café?"

"Alright, let's do lunch. Meet you... hmm... eleven-ish?"

"Okay, it's a date. I'll inform the B.O.D and the Illuminati."

Martha was about to take the tendril out of her ear and snap it back across the room, when she reconsidered the sexual possibilities of telephone cords and began wrapping it around her nipple as she straddled the gelatinous cube. She pulled out a fistful of assorted drugs from a waistband and injected them all into her thigh.

Grand Illuminatus Wiczek, watching the disgusting scene play out from a small robofly in the corner, thought to himself, "Like husband, like wife..." and shuddered.

At the Abdul Alhazred Café...

... they did lunch! With the entire Board of Directors and the Grand High Council of the Illuminati crammed into the trendy uptown café, the normal crowd of lonely political dissidents drinking gin flavoured with cloves and goths drinking coffee was unfortunately pushed out in favour of spacesuited aliens and strange white men in red robes, plus one Son of Satan, his father in law, and his chain-smoking wife.

"Order! Order!" cried Grand Illuminatus Wiczek, his voice muffled by the press of bodies.

In the corner, on a loudspeaker, mumbled the disembodied voice of Abdul "The Mad Arab" Alhazred, as he gleefully chanted one of the six million spells from the Necronomicon to summon Cthulhu, on radio KAOS. Fortunately for the earth, each of the spells had a specific cadence and pronounciation, and added to the facts that they were written in a language designed to be spoken by people with tentacles for mouths, and that there were six million in all. The spirit of the author of the Necronomicon, Alhazred the Mad Arab himself, had been summoned by D.J. Kline one day while playing a song backwards on radio KAOS. He immediately began to chant spells from the Necronomicon and became an overnight success.

"Order! Order I say! This calls into session a meeting to discuss the War on Sanity, and Our Lord, He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken's, plans."

"Alright, alright, shaddup all of you," said Norman, rising, "You too, Alhazred!"

The spirit on the radio immediately quieted.

"I've divided our War on Sanity into three distinct phases. First is the exploration phase. We must assess the world outside of our realm, before we can launch this great big religious whatchamawhoozit. Then we get one million followers of Cthulhu to chant, day and night, the spells from the Necronomicon. Once Cthulhu and the other Elder Ones have been summoned, I can call my dad and his friends, Loki and Ourobouros and the others, to bring on Ragnarok and by then our military would have been sufficiently built to launch a great crusade and drive all the world mad!"

This was met with a great amount of applause, especially from the Mad Arab on the radio.

"But first we must discuss the party that is to be sent out into the world... I took the liberty to prepare a preliminary dossier."

The assembled alien Greys and Illuminati looked around and Norman coughed, pointing at the napkins on the tables. On the napkins were written, in a crude scrawl, a list of names.

It read:

Mission Commander: Norman Baker - Son of Satan
Military Escort: Prof. Snoodgrass - Father-in-Law to the Son of Satan, Resident professor emeritus of Agh Shankkakur University of Pure Evil, Ph.D. Vivisection
Moral Support: Grand High Illuminatus Wiczek - Grand High Illuminatus of the Illuminati for over 70 years.
Entertainment: Abdul Alhazred - Spirit, Author of the Necronomicon, and Radio Sensation
Refreshments: Martha Snoodgrass - CEO of Xallix Corporation, Wife of the Son of Satan

Everyone thought it was a capital idea... at least, that's what the sentiment was after much talking and a show of Norman's divine power ( a tasering of a young Illuminatus).

Then a list of possible target nations for a diplomatic 'envoy' of this party, was drafted....

In case you didn't notice... that was kind of an invitation.

BUMPALICIOUS!

((Tagishness for a response.))