(1st Dudes was brought to thee by the Good Fucking Christian Store. ’Tis all fucking good!)
In the Deserts of Suburbia there lived a man whose name is long-forgotten. And these art the descendents of the long-forgotten man:
The long-forgotten man begat the Man Who Invented Fire. And the Man Who Invented Fire begat Mehujael the Pyro. And Mehujael the Pyro begat Shelah. And Shelah begat Jubal, who was the father to all who dress in drag.
And Jubal begat Japheth. And Japheth begat Gomer. And Gomer begat the Fifth Beatle. And the Fifth Beatle begat Peleg. And Peleg begat Ashkenaz the Unnamable. And Ashkenaz the Unnamable begat Mizraim. And Mizraim begat Abimael. And Abimael begat Put the Flatulent. And Put the Flatulent begat Sabtah.
And Sabtah begat Ophir. And Ophir begat the Great White Dope. The Great White Dope begat Rodanim. And Rodanim begat Jobab. And Jobab begat Hobah the Transsexual Nazi Eskimo. And Hobah the Transsexual Nazi Eskimo begat Mattan. And Mattan begat Javan, who was the father to all who brew the coffee bean.
And Javan begat Tarshish. And Tarshish begat Dedan. And Dedan begat Judas, who wrote the first computer virus. And Judas begat Raamah. And Raamah begat The Man Who Invented the Uniform. And The Man Who Invented the Uniform begat Tema. And Tema begat Jehoash. And Jehoash begat Jetur. And Jetur begat Trampus Canaster.
One day, Trampus was walking down the road, and he met a mysterious young man sleeping under a tree. A terribly mysterious man, and he was sleeping like the dead. And the man didst awaken without warning, standing and stretching.
A Faerie didst flit down from out of the tree, and this didst greatly intrigue Trampus.
‘Who art thou?’ Trampus asked.
‘I am called Scoot the Ko’An,’ quoth the mysterious young man. ‘I am also called Scoot the Wanderer, Scoot the Insomniac, and Scoot the Smart-Ass. But mostly, I am called Scoot the Ko’An. And thy name wouldst be?’
‘My name is Trampus,’ quoth Trampus. ‘Where art thou going, or hast thou already gotten there?’
‘I am still on my way,’ quoth Scoot. ‘I know not why I tell thee this, but I am trying to post the Commandments of Hondo on the Internet, but an evil Technomage didst sick a Holo-Demon on me. Wouldst thou aid me in my search for the Technomage?’
‘Will I work for the Gods of Hondo? Dost the Pope wear a funny hat? What is need compared to the Path?’
‘I taketh that as a yes,’ quoth Scoot.
‘What the hell is his problem?’ quoth Nori the Cursing Faerie.
And Derrick, the God of Orange Juice Drinking, didst appear before them as a nude lesbian and said unto them, ‘Didst someone say Pope? O fortunate day!
‘We anoint Trampus Canaster as the Pope of Hondo,’ the God of Hawai’ian Shirts spake unto Trampus. ‘Thou shalt aid Scoot in his search for the Technomage and thou shalt seek out others to follow us. Now, go forth, Scoot and Trampus.’
‘Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savor,’ quoth Trampus, ‘but cast thy bread upon the waters, for the Gods of Hondo shall find it after many days!’
‘Whoa! Hey! Time out!’ quoth Scoot, ‘Can we drop the Olde English shit for minute?’
‘NO!’ spake a voice thundering from the heavens, ‘It is in the script!’
‘…and if the tree falleth toward the north, or toward the south,’ Trampus didst continue, ‘in the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be.’
‘But maketh it a sound?’ asked Scoot.
‘But what if it falleth toward the east or the west?’ Nori didst taunt, ‘What of it then?’
‘…Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, in the grave, whither thou goest. A good name is better than precious ointment…’
‘Aaaargh!’ cried Nori, ‘How the fuck do we turn him off?’
And so Scoot didst smack him upside the head with his staff.
‘Thanks,’ quoth Trampus, ‘for I needed that. I shall do something to prove my worthiness to the Gods of Hondo. Follow me.’
‘Lead on, Trampus,’ quoth Scoot as they didst set forth.
And they went forth to a shack by the road, where Trampus didst speak with a stranger.
‘What was that all about?’ Scoot asked as Trampus didst return from speaking with them.
‘I have convinced the Russelville Players to join us,’ quoth Trampus.
‘Who art the Russelville Players?’ asked Scoot.
‘I know not for sure, but I am told they art an elite, highly-trained team of Kamikaze window-jumpers. I figured they might come in handy in the future.’
‘Of course,’ quoth Scoot. Though he didst suspect that the Russelville Players had merely humored him to get this blithering lunatic out of their company. ‘Alright, thou’rt in.’
And they didst set out to find the Technomage.