Cogs, you know

I've awakened just moments ago. A low rumbling in deep in my abdomen. I've eaten things I shouldn't have. Car parts. Gears and switch plates and the like. I've made poor gastronomical decisions to impress erudite young men and nubile co-eds from these swank Northeast colleges of liberal arts and loose moral fiber.

That's money country up there. It grows, not on trees, but in damp Cape Cod cellars tightly guarded and poorly ventilated. Manned by shapeshifting demons who appear to mortals as visor-clad accountants with claws instead of hands. They compost, seed, and fertilize the filthy lucre with liquid greed and stardust mined in the outer reaches of the known universe.

Stardust is magically teleported by those given the names Poseidon, Aries, and Artemis by the Greeks. Today, some call them the Illuminati.

The magicians.

Eternal alchemists.

Gods, some have said.

I'm out of place here. These people don't shower. They don't have to. They sweat anti-bacterial liquid soap. It oozes from their pores. They smell like pine this time of year. Full, rich hair and sparkling white teeth.

The plumbing here is terrible, as they do not produce waste. These God damned alien half-breeds.

When angered they can breathe fire and launch rockets from their genitalia. But they don't anger easily. They needn't show emotion. They're sleep in fluffy beds, stuffed with goose down and well worn $20 bills.

They roll hemp cigarettes with crisp new hundreds.

Ball them up and throw them at each other in ritualistic money fights before the snow comes.

And the snow, like all weather, comes when they command it to do so.

Mortal feats do not impress this crowd. Hell, they shrug their shoulders at inbreeding. How do you impress such a lot?

One way, I learned, is by disassembling and eating aging European luxury sedans and their more aged and less luxurious owners.

He was to have been killed anyway. Teetering on dottering, his time had come. And I here to make a show of it.

Haughty rich believed his side curtain airbags would protect him. Old fool. Time and persistence were on my side.

The car was wheeled into a massive dining hall and driven onto a 20-foot solid oak table.

And I at the head sat down with a hunting knife, serving tongs and a ratchet set.

Over the course of the evening, I ate the entire machine and its then sleeping occupant.

I ache today and my stool bleeds.

This will be important come caucus time.

John McCain, it's your turn.

McDougal in the Twenty-Third Century (excerpt)

Copyright 1983, Starbox Press

McDougal angled the starship down toward the surface of the alien planet, firing off several bursts from the laser cannons. His newly formed army sat quietly below him, in the ship's cargo hold. McDougal chuckled to himself, thinking about how surprised the Alien Overlords would be when they encountered these tiny humans they had so carefully bred to be docile and obedient. The lobotomies had fixed all of that. Certain traits of mankind can be suppressed, but they can never truly be eliminated. Certain circumstances, such as a strategically placed ice pick, can unleash the basest instincts of even the most civilized human. No one knew the awesome potential of viciousness, gluttony, lust and altered brain chemistry like McDougal. Certainly not the Alien Overlords. The surgery had succeeded beyond McDougal's wildest hopes. The future humans were now so aggressive and prone to violence that even McDougal himself sometimes had trouble controlling them, and in minutes they would be unleashed on their unsuspecting oppressors.

McDougal felt a slight twinge of guilt about lobotomizing Xerxes. After all, he had taught McDougal so much in the preceding months. Like how the tools and equipment the Alien Overlords issued to all human workers could be extremely dangerous if mishandled. And the exact locations of the safety devices installed in all of those pieces of equipment which kept them from being even more dangerous. Xerxes even taught him how to operate the starship which was now diving directly toward one of the alien planet's major cities. One thing McDougal did not feel a bit guilty about was wiping out the entire population of that miserable planet on which he had been imprisoned. They were nothing but surly and rude toward McDougal from the day he arrived, but they made excellent live targets when it came time to train his army.

McDougal pressed the button to activate the ship's primary weapon and fired off a single shot. As he watched the entire city below him dissolve into white-hot liquid, his chuckling grew into great peals of laughter.

McDougal in the Twenty-Third Century (excerpt)

Copyright 1983, Starbox Press

The council decided that McDougal should be banished to a planet in a distant galaxy. Xerxes would be allowed to accompany him so that his education about 23rd Century life might continue, however McDougal would no longer be allowed access to modern technology. It would take years to repair the damage done to Earth's capitol city, and even with the Alien Overlords sending in the latest cleanup technology, they still could not guarantee that the area would be free from contamination.

There were many planets to which the Overlords allowed Earthlings to travel that had become quite popular as vacation destinations. The planet that had been chosen for McDougal was not one of these. This was not because the planet was inhospitable. Far from it, in fact. It was remarkably similar to Earth in nearly every respect. It was even inhabited by a race of creatures almost identical to humans. That is, identical in every respect save one.

The human eyeball is a remarkable piece of equipment. The only organ more remarkable is the human brain. The eye, you see, has one potential flaw. Because of the way its lens is constructed, all of the information the eye perceives is broadcast to the brain upside-down. Fortunately for us, our remarkable brains are able to interpret this information so that we think of our feet as being down and the sky being up. The brains of the dominant race of the planet to which McDougal and Xerxes were about to be sent, so humanlike in every other respect, were not able to perform this feat that we take for granted. This biological quirk resulted in these creatures having an extremely pessimistic worldview. Instead of seeing the sky as a realm of limitless possibility soaring above them, they saw it as a frightening void which all living creatures dangled above precariously. Outdoors they walked around staring at their feet, contemplating their tenuous grasp on the planet above them, too terrified to gaze down into the blue abyss. They preferred to spend their time indoors, inside houses with low ceilings, which they found comforting, and few windows. In their entire history they had never constructed a building with a second floor, much less lofty structures such as pyramids or skyscrapers.

This race viewed humans as unbearably cheerful and optimistic creatures. When the aliens arrived to conquer this backwater planet they were surprised that the residents did not put up any sort of resistance, as the Earthlings had. In fact, many seemed almost relieved by the arrival of the aliens. This was because most of the planet's major religions predicted that one day something malevolent would rise up from the void and destroy them. The most religious of these creatures were naturally relieved to find they had been on the right track all of their lives. Once the aliens conquered the planet, however, they had little idea what to do with it. There was nothing in the way of technology to exploit. In their millennia of existence the residents of the planet had accomplished very little. They were mainly a medieval agrarian society, due to the fact that farming was the one occupation that allowed them to spend most of the day gazing up at the dirt. But now, because the planet was completely devoid of modern technology, the Alien Overlords considered it the perfect prison for McDougal.

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McDougal in the Twenty-Third Century (excerpt)

Copyright 1983, Starbox Press

Once the effects of the freezing had finally worn off, McDougal immediately set about exploring his new environment. However, he didn't make it much further than the laboratory's doorway. In the 200 years he had been packed away, the world had become almost unrecognizable to him. The streets teemed with alien life forms and modes of transportation he could not fathom. With no frame of reference from which to work, the sights and sounds of a Twenty-Third Century city caused him to sink into a nearly crippling state of confused amazement. Xerxes realized that McDougal would need months of instruction just to begin to understand modern society.

It would not be an easy tale to tell. McDougal seemed mentally unstable to a dangerous degree and there was no telling how he would react to news of the massive environmental failure, plagues, and eventual conquest by intergalactic enemies that had befallen Earth in the Twenty-Second Century. But that was not Xerxes' only concern. If McDougal had been a big man in his own century, he was absolutely massive by Twenty-Third Century standards. Because larger humans were such a drain on Earth's limited resources, mankind had been genetically engineered to a smaller size by the Alien Overlords. No modern humans were more than five feet tall, obese or particularly muscular. McDougal, on the other hand, was all three by a considerable margin. Xerxes could not fathom why the people of the past would have made this gigantic maniac their emissary to Earth's future.

I'm not a damn space junkie, you lactose intolerant, whining ninny. Who the hell told you I was, anyway? Because I'll break their freakin' neck if th

Spacejunkies

Did I ever tell you about the time I was abducted by aliens? It was McDougal the whole time, of course, but... Well... It's a little more complicated than that.

See, I was sitting on McDougal's couch thumbing through a copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition that was sitting there. He had invited me over to watch this video he just bought from one of those guys downtown that sells bootleg DVD's out of a shopping cart. It was called Arabia's Funniest Beheading Videos or something like that. McDougal swore it was going to be a hoot. So anyway, after he invites me inside he says "sit down, I'll be back in a minute," but then he disappears for like half an hour. So I'm sitting on the couch looking at this magazine when I start hearing this humming noise. It keeps getting louder and louder, so loud it makes my fillings rattle. Then it just stops suddenly. That's when McDougal hops out from a doorway and pulls his face off.

I laughed of course, McDougal is always playing pranks like that. Underneath his "face" is... Well, you've all seen those rubber alien masks... Giant almond-shaped black eyes, nostrils, but no nose, tiny little slit of a mouth... McDougal lunged across the room and grabbed me by the front of the shirt, lifting me up off the sofa. As he pulled me close I could see beads of sweat on that giant round forehead, the corners of the mouth twitched, those huge black eyes blinked... Conventional wisdom always says that aliens are little fellows. McDougal is not. I would say that if it turns out McDougal is half Martian, half Samoan... Well, that would explain a lot.

"You think this is funny, human?" McDougal whispered menacingly. With one hand he tossed me right through a window into the front yard. I never hit the ground though. Instead, I was drawn upward within a blue beam of light into McDougal's spaceship which hovered above the house. McDougal came up the beam immediately after me. He barked some orders to the ship's crew in a language unlike any I've ever heard and the ship zipped off into the night.

He probed me of course. Probed me viciously. In the anus.

You would think that all the probing would have ruined the trip for me, but McDougal's spaceship was just so damned fascinating that, after a while, I didn't really notice it that much. Outside of the mechanical anal raping, McDougal was a very gracious host. He explained to me, in detail, the function of various ship systems and how they were constructed. If I had a better understanding of things like thermodynamics, molecular chemistry, particle physics, nanoengineering and quantum mechanics I could probably be a very rich man by now. But, unfortunately, I had no deeper understanding of what I saw than that there were some really neat, shiny gadgets.

Like a metal pill that contained thousands of microscopic robots. If you swallowed it, the robots would be released throughout your body, curing any illnesses they encountered. And a device that could convert any organic waste into delicious and nutritious foodstuffs. McDougal explained to me that the ship was powered entirely by the energy given off by all living things, so as the ship swooped over the farms and fields, instead of expending energy, it was actually gaining it from the crops and livestock that we passed over. When we had gathered enough of this energy we rocketed out into deep space and, as we journeyed across the universe, McDougal showed me more and more amazing things, each more incredible than the last...

I woke up on the floor of McDougal's living room, my right hand clutching a half-empty box of .357 hollowpoint bullets. The unpleasant heaviness in my stomach led me to believe that I had, at some point, swallowed the other half. "Well, good morning!" McDougal roared as he entered the room with a pot of coffee, looking quite human. I tried to move my left hand, but couldn't. It was jammed deep inside a blender which was encrusted with vomit. Fortunately the blender was not plugged into an outlet. Instead, the plug was jammed deep into the side of a dead carp which lay on the floor.

"What..." I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and raw.

"You've been tripping, my friend."

McDougal explained that I had inadvertently picked up one of his latest experiments, ordinary-looking magazines soaked in high-powered acid, and absorbed a massive dose of LSD through the palms of my hands.

"You've been running around my house for three days ranting about aliens," McDougal said, laughing, as he sat down in front of the TV, where a large man was cutting off someone's head with a sword.

"The spaceship..." I mumbled.

McDougal laughed and pointed to a 1973 Plymouth station wagon, wrapped completely in Christmas lights, that was crashed halfway through the wall of his dining room.

"I don't know where the hell you got that thing and, to tell you the truth, I don't want to know," he said, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Why did you shove this vacuum cleaner up my ass?" I asked, gingerly removing the long hose from my rectum.

"You did that to yourself, you twisted little fuck," McDougal replied.

I left his house, embarrassed. It all made sense. McDougal wasn't really an alien. He couldn't be. It was all an acid freakout. A bad trip. Except for one thing McDougal... How do you explain this tattoo? You know the one I'm talking about McDougal. The one between my shoulderblades, where I could never possibly have put it myself. The one that changes shape, glows in the dark and pulsates like a jellyfish. The one that contains letters no one in the entire Foreign Language Department of Rutgers University was able to identify. The one that is, right now, alternating between that red alien lettering, and the phrase "McDougal's Bitch" in neon yellow English letters which have helpfully arranged themselves backwards so that I can read them in the mirror. How do you explain that McDougal?

A week has gone by, and still no sign of McDougal. Apparently he never attempted to make it to Detroit. The agents from the Department of Homeland Security who were stationed at the Michigan border would have found him if he did. The big man's average body temperature runs at 102.4 degrees Fahrenheit. He would have glowed like a blast furnace on their thermal imagers.

I've enlisted the McDougal for President campaign interns to help me figure out McDougal's whereabouts. I had them start by searching the newspapers for any articles about an increase in Sasquatch sightings in the Seattle area. That didn't pan out, but they did point out a few other articles that, when looked at together, form an interesting pattern:

• Drug rehab centers all over the Midwest are being overwhelmed by a sudden influx of meth addicts. According to police, the methamphetamine supply in several Midwestern states has dried up completely. Law enforcement is taking credit for causing the shortage through aggressive enforcement. I don't believe that for a minute. The shortage is obviously the result of McDougal wandering into several drug markets that aren't used to supporting his level of consumption.
• A military helicopter was stolen from a National Guard unit in central Indiana. There are no leads in the case, but the government does not believe the theft to be the work of terrorists. Several empty bottles of drain cleaner and a tattered size XXXXL Carolina Panthers football jersey were found at the scene.
• Hog farmers in Southern Illinois have reported a rash of animal mutilations on their farms. The pigs have been ripped completely apart, with many parts never recovered. One of the farmers, who asked not to be named, said that he believes it to be the work of extraterrestrials who are being aided by the U.S. government. "I seen one of them CIA helicopters hanging around here," the farmer claimed.
• A distiller in Kansas City, who manufactures alcohol for industrial use, reported that someone drilled a hole in one of their storage tanks and drained the contents. The owner blamed the theft on one of his competitors. "Someone doesn't just walk off with 1200 gallons of alcohol." In the photo accompanying the article it is pretty clear that the hole in the tank was not drilled, it was ripped into the tank. We sent the photo to our lab for comparison with McDougal's dental records. They were a nearly perfect match.

If you experience a McDougal sighting please report it to this webpage immediately. Do not attempt to approach McDougal under any circumstances. He is to be considered insane and dangerous. He seems to be following a Westerly course. If you are in the path of McDougal please board up your windows and lock your doors. He is attracted to light and cooking smells, so keep your shades drawn and eat only cold foods.

McDougal's Rucksack

McDougal's a big fan of old school science fiction (Original Star Trek, Space 1999, Battlestar Galactica, Logan's Run, etc.). The big guy doesn't talk about his passion for photon beams and robots though. For some reason, I think he's a bit embarrassed about the whole thing.

Of course, he'd kill me for saying so, but I actually met McDougal at a Star Trek convention in Reno back in 1974. I was working the trading cars and action figures booth, and McDougal was on a three-day PCP jag that had started in Galveston, Texas, following the nullification of his second marriage to Rosemary Clooney. George was young then, maybe six or seven, and I don't think old McDougal had official custody of the boy, but he was traveling with him nonetheless.

The boy looked scared and hungry -- all crammed in McDougal's rucksack like that. You could just see his eyes peering out between a 6-foot Klingon flag and a bloodied garden hoe. If not for those scared little eyes, I'd have never approached McDougal. But as it was, I was prompted to leave my booth, and offer the eyes the rest of my funnel cake.

You know McDougal doesn't like anyone walking up behind him -- especially not three days into a PCP freakout. But I had no way of knowing about McDougal or his state of mind when I approached him.

I led with the funnel cake, arms outstretched in what McDougal must have interpreted as a furtive and combative gesture. Before I got within three feet of him, he'd spun around and unsheathed the hoe with one hand and the Klingon flag with the other. He bashed the side of my skull with the business end of the hoe then lopped my head off with a boot knife and impaled it on the end of his Klingon flagpole.

Then he said, in perfect Klingon, "No one attacks me with impunity." (Nemo me impune lacessit.)

This action was received by great applause from the 600 or so convention goers, and I must admit that even I was impressed.

I was going to clap as well, but was in a bit of an awkward situation, having just been decapitated by the great man.

When the applause died down, McDougal had a chance to survey the situation and he realized I wasn't actually ever a threat to him. He was quite apologetic, and I kind of felt a little guilty. I could tell he felt bad, and maybe a little embarrassed.

"Don't sweat it at all, old boy," I said (trying to play it cool as the other side of the pillow. "Let's just have me off of here and back on my shoulders where I belong."

As McDougal pulled my severed head from atop the Klingon flag and clumsily re-attached it to my torso (picture Chewbacca attempting to reassemble C-3PO in Empire Strikes Back), I had to ask -

"Who's the wee lad in the rucksack?"

McDougal was taken aback. He'd apparently forgotten George Clooney was in there. Of course, this wasn't a big deal because he hadn't even been on Facts of Life yet and nobody knew who he was -- just some toe-headed kid in a rucksack as far as we knew.

"Oh him," he sighed. "That's Rosemary's baby."

Of course, Rosemary was actually George's aunt, but we didn't know any better. We were pretty damn impressed.

Here was a man who spoke perfect Klingon (which we later learned was actually Gaelic) and had the spawn of Satan in a rucksack at a Star Trek convention.

I knew we were in for a lifetime of good times.

Sure, I still get these blinding headaches, but man ... I've never been to a more exciting convention.

Fishing for Miracles

McDougal saved my life in Panama City in the late 70s. I was about 8. McDougal couldn't have been more than six. We were working a shrimp boat that ran up and down the Gulf Coast 20 hours a day. We worked cheap back then -- oblivious to child labor laws and to the doubts of our elderly caregivers.

About a year into our shrimping venture, I caught syphilis from a Tallahassee whore and slipped into a maniacal state. I'd knifed the first mate during a heated game of Go-Fish (the only game the captain permitted us to play aboard his vessel). I called for an eight, and the first mate denied ownership of such a card. We were playing with a marked deck, so I knew he was lying. At first, I let it slide. But when on the very next turn, that bastard requested an eight from me, I lost it. Ran his belly with an 8" filet knife. He bled out over the period of about six hours, then I tossed him overboard.

When we pulled into port, the captain notified his widow, and she went into a rage. Attacked me with an aluminum bat she kept in her Dodge Omni. Beat me within an inch of my life. I was so blitzed on seafarer's moonshine and fevered delirium that I didn't even know who she was at the time. I thought she was a giant shrimp and the Omni was a vessel designed and built by aliens in the mythical city of Atlantis.

I put up no defense, and was resigned to accept my fate.

Thank God for McDougal, who upon seeing what was happening, charged the scorned widow and choked her to death with a 4-foot strand of 150-pound test fishing line.

I was severely wounded and had slipped into a state of shock. McDougal loaded me into the Omni and rushed me to an emergecny room ... in Atlantis. There, I was healed. Plus, I was given a third eye at the base of my spine.

God bless McDougal and the magical mermen surgeons of Atlantis.