Professor Johann Galapogos (johnsolo) wrote,
Professor Johann Galapogos

The illustrious Lukley Looped

The illustrious Lukley Looped

My Vespa raped the cobblestones of friction as I left the little Italian plaza with my Pecirino cheese wheel and Chianti. I was on my way back to THE KITE FLYING SOCIEY to join my brothers and sisters in some necessary evening intellectual stimuli. Ash from my Russian clove clung to my crushed velvet jacket as I zigged and zagged through small alley side streets. News had it our chemists were on to something steamy. Something for all the good boys and girls. The anticipation ran through my eyes with the warm wind. I was tooling home.
In the groovy surry hills of the Italian country, our weathered ol' Dutch mansion obscured select league members of the first chapter of the KFS. My tires screamed to a stoppage as I stuck my tongue out for identification. The little, green mechanical w3 scanned my tongue and confirmed the legitimacy of the small square imprint at the tip of my tongue. Access approved. I zipped past the blue gate down the long driveway, the towering cypress trees muddling into a green wall. I was feeling ready for whatever news the society could muster up about 'Charlie", and no Charlie is not a person but we'll get into that later. First, let me explain a few things about the kite flying society. Things that I am only now at the liberty to confabulate on because I am no more, so to speak.
The KFS consisted of multitudinous members worldwide. Some were lifetime members, some only achieving membership at the prime of there life. All members however processed something unavoidably unique, a strange pulsation radiating from a real version of real life. This version was of extreme intelligence that surpassed the conceptual and moved at times into the realms of fantasy. A version of life based on experience fueled by love.
These collective visionaries held the indispensable need to travel time and space living to live about it. Tapped into the live wire vulnerable to everything and always finding new and revolutionary ways of expressing themselves.
Put these kind into one room and you have a free thought association performing everyday life into art, very capable of the impressive and extreme.
Although we shared, "the common thread" are talents were madly diverse. Some of us notably spent their time contemplating the paragons of multi- level existence. Others explored swinginomitry the art of being smooth as lamb-ass a daddy of debauchery if you will. There were those of us whole dabbled in the sub- visual arts blowing minds out of the water with new and rare forms of expression and observation. We breathed music and sipped wit. We all in a way possessed some of each of these. We were all philosophers, all hypnotists, swingers, lovers... intellectual seducers.
Any way I pushed open the large oak door and entered the mansion. Made my way through the immense study into the iron spider. I pressed the purple button, not the green and descended into the su- lounge. The doors opened and I was greeted by smiles I was home.
The spade with the afro and razor chops on the plush couch talking all sorts of vernacular jive that's Daddy Longlegs.
The cat by the gargantuan fish tank, spilling his martini on the flokati rug Roy Swift.
The slicked-stick lying on the couch with her legs twiddling in the air Illia (the digital doll).
The two hob-knobs throwing around yuppie lingo with bent smiles Ronald Mink and Chester Godfree.
The beatnik in the thick black turtleneck with the handlebar mustache Sha Sha Glum.
Then of course there's count scapula (A.K.A. Prof. Johnathon Stoags), myself Fattius Whites (A.K.A. Lukely Looped) and Agent W (who you probably heard about).
Last but not least was our president Magistrate Mumbles, who no one ever understood.
The Magistrate cleared his lungs and we new it was time to begin the meeting. We all gathered around. He pointed to a large board on the wall with one word ascribed on it CHARLIE.
Yes yes do go on, my mind jabbed. As far as I knew Charlie was the break through formula we had all waited for. The one thing that we never new existed but needed desperately.
"lskjfdhlsjkdhfgl sj fjljghughughuhuhuihjhbhbhblalallalblaaaa aaaa" spoke the magistrate.
We all looked at each other like "WHAT".
He continued, "vbw ubnnb eiorutitu8745b ckfvsvcnivrsnv fkf rirk df jrkir idfndc bsuhcndr6d rtt.rftgtdu."
'Interesting", I mumbled.
Magistrate Mumbles then pointed to a street on a large map of Paris and nodded. The street was Carnegie and we all understood what are mission was. We jumped up and bolted through the mansion like a pack of psychiatric patents who finally realized where they were and burst into the tar-covered night. Vespa engines roared and raced and we all peeled off into black madness. We needed that formula ASAP. I pushed up a switch and exposed an ulterior gadget, which attached itself to the engine the flux capacitor. I punched it as my bike groped into quantum speed. I left the others behind me like bad gas. Careening down the highway I began to lift slightly off the ground. I then hit another switch the gusilator. As I streamed into strobo acceleration, my humble vespa took flight and ascended towards the heaven like a space moth.
Bloody yellow cracked through the sky, it was sunrise. 6 hours later and my trusty ol' bike still held its subsonic soft pace through the cascading layers of clouds as in the distance I could now see the head of the E tower. Ah. Paris. The air was chill and were it not for my wool pea coat and blue and orange scarf this dashing hero would be numb, but everything was all right. I brought the vespa to a baby smooth landing merging right onto the cobblestone and zipped to Carnegie. I gave thought to my colleagues and where they were. I pictured myself full of sumptuousness all aglow when they finally found me with the formula first. I turned onto to Carnegie with a grin that soon evaporated oknow what? I had given absolutely no thought of what I had to do once I got here. I hadn't even gotten an address or something. I parked and found a park bench. Slumping down I sighed this is not happening. As I began carving off a piece of luscious pecirino cheese, the street began to awake. Breakfast cafes were heard clanging and pouring, shudders swung, plants drank and brooms swept as the sun peeked its head over the tops of thin buildings. I had just taken a much-deserved sip of wine when I noticed a small leather case at the bottom of my bag. What the I don't remember packing this. I opened the case. Oh yea its just my cop shades, silly me. Anyway, when I looked up a store in particular caught my interest. The sign above it read THE PLASTIC FETISH. I walked over turned the plastic doorknob and entered a room that appeared to be made entirely out of plastic. I strolled over to the register and introduced myself to the Japanese sales vixen.
"Well you seem to be up to your ass in plastic miss, by the way my names lukley looped". Damn that didn't come out like it was supposed to.
"Interesting", she said in her Japanese slur, "you must be playing the fool today."
Well, I was all a gasp. "Ahem", I coughed, "I don't think you realize a man of my stature could actually be in the market for some good plastic, so why don't we skip the pleasantries and get right down to it what do you know about plastic eggplants." This kitten was ready to scratch I knew it.
"Behind you", she reamed.
I turned around and was met by an onslaught of egg plants all different shapes all different sizes, colors all plastic. Then I noticed a sleeked and burnished rack of something dandy in the back of the pliant, rainbow filled room. On this rack were all sorts of ductile mod suits I once had a dog and BINGO! was his namo.
"Tremendous", I remarked aloud. Just then, I caught the distinct aroma of something burning. Sniffing like a pack rat I followed the sent all the way back to the counter, and when I took a look behind I suddenly screeched like a little girl. The Japanese sales clerk, with the very mopus disposition, was slumped on the ground, chin on her chest with smoke pouring out of her neck. For the love of Pete she was a plastic robot! Well this was a job for the Ghostbusters or something certainly not me, I quickly grabbed two plastic suits about my size and made a b line for the door pronto style. Trying not to look too suspicious I skipped out of that absurdly delightful store and down the street nervously whistling Dixie.

To be continued....

A story written by The Incomprable Davis Copyrighted.
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