PART 2131

Marilyn sits pensive and discontented. “They send me on all these wretched adventures but do they really give a damn about me?” She reflects upon how untenable her role in the multiverse has become, and how weary she is with the ceaselessly shifting set up and the irrationality of the Random Flips. She grimly fumes at the nonsensical orders from the 14th International, and the constant reminders, transmitted by jackbooted chorus boys at Timereich S7 Macro, of the apocalyptic consequences of an accidental meeting with any of the infinite number of her Norma Jean Variables. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she finds herself in the perpetual vice between the too-certain, judgmental, goddess-hating Apollolonians to the right of her, and the too-horny, drunken, trigger-happy Dionysian to the left. Meanwhile the middle ground just squirms like a slimy clone vat with the likes of The Unspeakable Zero Brothers, Archbishop Moriarty and his Diamond Dogs, plus all the benighted hick-demons who are too stupid to recognize they're locked in the repeating depression killer-cycles of a Kellogg Rift. And, finally, floating over everything, are the tedious goddamned aliens, with their anal probes, their temporal calibrators, and their deathrays. Marilyn sighs deeply. “How long to they seriously expect me to keep on doing this?”