or

It contains medium level violence, low level course language and lurid, puerile sexual references

A sony trinitron, a hewlett Packard PC, four breville bread machines, a jukebox, several discmans and a microwave. And of course the playstation hooked up to the sony trinitron.

This is what filled the room of the tepee. All the objects, except for the jukebox, were foreign to the group.

"Wha tha fu. . . ?" Al muttered.

"What is all this?" Igor asked.

"Where did you guys get this stuff?" Daisy queried.

"They were gifts," explained the man on the playstation. He was old and wrinkled, elaborately dressed with beautiful feathers. The chief?, Al wondered.

"Gifts? From? Who?" they all asked.

"The ones in the sky." The old man replied, and then changed the subject with a quick slap of the thighs. "How rude of me, my name is sweaty thighs."

"Oh, ah, hi," Al stuttered.

"Hello," they all added.

"I am the chief of this tribe, and this is the medicine man, cures-with-leeches." They once again made pleasantries.

"I see you have met chafes-a-lot. He shall make you welcome in our village. We will make you honorary members of the tribe, you shall obey our laws. But don’t worry we are real easy going. If you piss us off we’ll just scalp you."

There was an awkward pause. Anvils fell nervously on Coyote’s head, making al wonder why the curse still existed when swirly the nec was dead.

"Just kidding," sweaty thighs assured them, casually licking the blade of a knife.

They all laughed.

"So who are these ones from the sky?" Al and Igor asked at the same time, helping Coyote from off the floor, removing the anvil.

"Ah, they are wise beings from the heavens. They bring us these wonderful gifts which they say are from the future." He looked at the group. "you are from the future, no?"

"We are from the future yes," Daisy confirmed.

"Perhaps you are gifts from the ones above." Sweaty Thighs felt that were the gang wrapped in a large red ribbon it would not at all look out of place.

"Ah, I don’t think so. We are just passing through."

"What do you think, chafes-a-lot? Do they look like gifts?" the chief asked.

"Mmm, it is possible. But what function could they serve?"

The chief looked at Igor, and something sprung to mind. As if she had read his mind she playfully lifted up her skirt. Hussy, Al thought.

"Put them in the rumpus room." The chief ordered.

They were dragged away by a very large group of Indians with very large thighs.

They were taken to another tepee where they were tied up.

"Well this is certainly odd." Al commented. "I didn’t expect things to go like this." He noted the many pinball machines and odd sculptures of Joan of Arc in odd positions. I don’t know about her, he thought, but I am certainly on fire looking that statue of her.

"Yes,’ Igor agreed (To the statement that Al made at the beginning of the previous paragraph and not to the fact that the statue of Joan of arc was rather alluring). She brushed the hair from her face and checked to make sure that there was no glass of gin and tonic in her hand, and then wished there was.

"Ah, Igor," Daisy attracted her attention.

"What?"

"It seems you have your hands free."

"So?"

"Well, perhaps you could use them to untie yourself and then us."

"Mmm, it might work." Daisy’s illogical plan at least offered a little bit of hope, she thought.

She tried it and to the delight of everyone else it did work.

Once free they discussed the poor rope work of the indians, Joan of arc, their hatred for peter Kitley and how it was best to make a souffle.

"Chafes-a-lot tied me up, but not very well it seems."

"Do you think that he left your ropes loose so that we could get away?" cicci asked.

"It is plausible."

"Well let’s go find him, maybe he can help us."
The troop removed their modern clothes, resulting in many giggles in Al’s direction, red faces and Igor once again having to fight Al off.

They ran out of the tepee and got some clothes off a clothesline.

"Cool. I have always wanted to steal clothes like that," Al giggled with excitement.

"Look there he is." Daisy said, pointing at chafes-a-lot.

"It looks as if he Is waiting for us." Igor theorised.

They crept trough the trees on the edge of the village and walked up to c.a.l.

"Quick," he said as he noticed them. "I will help you escape. I will take you to the ones in the sky. They can take you back, or forward or whatever, to your time."

"Great idea," they all agreed.

They hiked for the good part of ten minutes, before they all collapsed with exhaustion.

"What are you trying to do chafes-a-lot, kill us?" Al screamed.

"I have never walked so far in my life."

"What about that trek through the desert?" Igor reminded him.

"Well that was different, I was younger then." He answered.

"That was only a year ago." She yelled at him.

"Actually it is about five thousand nine hundred and ninety nine years in the future, a long time."

"But . . ."

"No Igor, just accept that you are wrong."

Igor pouted. Attracting the attention of Daisy.

"Don’t worry we are here now."

They were in a clearing and the sky was getting dark.

"So what happens now?" Al queried.

"We wait."

"And then?"

"They will come. In an hour maybe."

"Hear that Igor, looks like we have some time to kill." Igor cringed and edged away from Al.

Al shrugged and slipped away into the bushes for a quiet time with a small broom he had found in the rumpus room of the Indian village.

When will they come?

(the aliens that is, not Al or Igor)

Scroll on down to part xiv for the answer.

Al had been occupying himself in the bushes with the broom when heard the others call him.

"Quick Al. Come and see!"

He ran out into the clearing, pulling up his pants.

"What!? This better be good. I was having a pretty good time back there."

"Up there," Igor said.

She was indicating the sky.

Al looked up to see it but there was a giant spaceship on the way.

"I can’t see anything with that thing in the way," he complained.

"The thing in the way," Igor explained "is the thing you are meant to see."

"Oh," al said. "Now I get it. It’s a big spaceship."

At this moment his brain scanned all memory and came up with the conclusion that the adequate response to seeing a spaceship was to faint.

He did as his brain suggested.

"Get up you idiot!" Daisy screamed.

"We have to get on the spaceship and they can take us home."

They started yelling at the vehicle, waving their hands, brooms and various limbs.

"What are you doing?" Chafes-a-lot inquired.

"We are signalling it," Al said.

"Gees, you guys are really out of it," C.A.L. said

He took a mobile phone from his pocket and dialled.

"Hey, Poncho. It’s Chafes-a-lot, how’s it hanging? Oh that’s right you don’t have a . . . no, we just want to come up . . . ah, twenty two. Good, see ya."

"What’s happening?" Igor asked.

"They’ll beam us up. You know just like Star Trek," he said.

"Oh, what is it that that fellow on the phone doesn’t have?" Al asked.

The answer was about to be delivered but the troop were yanked upwards and blasted apart, every molecule spinning.

They came to in a strange room. They concluded that they were now in the spaceship.

"Come on, we will get you home then." They followed C.A.L. and wove down endless passages, until they came to a giant dome, which was filled with Aliens.

"Oh my god," they all said as they saw the aliens, but they didn’t know that they were the aliens.

"The aliens are farmers," Al said.

"What?" C.A.L. asked.

"They farm chickens," Al explained.

"What?" C.A.L. repeated. "NO, the chickens are the ‘aliens’. Whatever an alien is."

"Chickens!" they all gasped.

"That chicken we ate, it was an alien," Igor shrieked.

"Oh my God!"

They listened to the conversation of some chickens nearby. One wore badges and an odd hat that resembled a small sombrero.

"That’s the leader," C.A.L. explained.

The conversation of the chickens went like this:

"Have we found the reason for the loss of fuel yet, corporal?" the captain asked.

"No, sir," the corporal responded.

"Well we will just have use the big container marked backup."

"Do you think that is wise sir?"

"Yes, why?"

"The container marked backup contains backup crew for the ship, in cryogenic storage. Using them for fuel would kinda be murder."

"Oh, would it?" The captain scanned all memory for the definition of murder, and finally came u with the answer. "I suppose so. Well what can we do?"

"I suggest we travel to the future and obtain fuel from a future civilisation on earth."

"Do we have enough fuel for time travel."

"Yes."

"Good," the captain spun around. "Oh, look there is some fuel now."

"Oh no sir, that is just some humans."

"Well what does fuel look like then?"

"Liquid, like water."

"Well we have plenty of water."

"Yes, but it is a special kind of liquid."

"Oh I see." Right then the captain bent down and began to peck at a pile of seeds on the floor.

"Captain," C.A.L. coughed to grab his attention. "These are people who claim to come from the future. Would it be possible for you to drop them home?"

"I don’t see why not. What time are you from?"

"1975," Igor said.

"Well I suppose we could arrange something. Corporal, is 1975 far enough forward in time to get fuel?"

"Yes sir."

"Good then. Welcome to the ship Old Macdonald. Of course we will need something in exchange." He winked at Igor. "What do you say, baby? You know you have never had good sex until you have had sex with a chicken." Igor playfully lifted up her skirt and then lowered quickly again. Have I sunk that low, she wondered, a chicken, I am flirting with a chicken?

Al gaped in disbelief. She would even sleep with a chicken rather than him.

Three hours later Igor and the captain emerged from his cabin, satisfied.

"You had sex with a chicken! My God you won’t sleep with me, but a chicken! Don’t you like men? Are you frigid with humans?"

"She certainly isn’t," Daisy said with a grin on his face.

"My god! You didn’t! With Daisy? Anyone else slept with her?" They all raised their hands. "Great!" He went to a corner to sulk.

Of course Igor didn’t really sink to that level of sleeping with poultry, but she was happy to let Al believe she had.

"Ok then we can take you home," the captain said, momentarily rising from his seed.

Our group of heroes eyed the seed, still not having eaten anything, except the chicken – which had to be divided between 22 people - for twelve relative hours.

The preparation for time travel began. Just then Al realised that the corporal was the chicken they met at Ga. He mentioned this to the others and they agreed.

"I thought he sounded familiar," Daisy said.

All was ready, there was just one button to be pressed.

"Everyone firm in your seats," the captain ordered.

Al and the gang ran frantically to some seats. Just as they did, AL tripped over Igor’s foot and landed on top of the corporal. He jumped up in alarm. It was too late; the chicken was dead, again.

Because they killed the chicken six thousand years before they met it in the future, a huge paradox was created and the gang was sucked into a time warp.

Al awoke in 1984 . . .

WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY

When AL discovered that he now was 10 years in the future from his reality, he was quite surprised.

Scientists had been raving that by the early eighties life would be such a technical marvel compared with the seventies that anyone who inadvertently travelled in time 10 years would have their head spinning with amazement.

All that Al could manage at the moment was to work up a good drool. There was nothing to spin his head at, or sneeze at for that matter. It was all rather dull.

Where was he? The newspaper next to him said 10 April, 1984. He knew when, just not where. The name of the newspaper was the ‘Daily Dirtwaggle’, printed in a town called Pissin’. Sounded Australian.

So he was in his native country. Excellent! Then he could only be a maximum of about four thousand kilometres away from home. Damn this oversized country! His patriotism was fading rapidly.

Where were the others?

What others?

There were others?

Apparently so. And even more apparent was the lack of any others. He could remember who he was at least. That was a good start. Where did his memory end? He knew that he had been to Ga. There was also something in his memory about a submarine and a chicken, but it was extremely blurry.

His mouth was very dry and he needed to get out of this claustrophobic, dusty room. There were piles of old newspapers around, smutty magazines, a couple of odd ‘wanted’ posters decorating the walls and a general atmosphere of boredom.

Al had to get out. But he was drawn to the wanted posters. Two people, D. Bruce for indecent sexual behaviour with sheep and small children, and P. Kitley for display of a huby in public. Disgusting, thought Al.

He walked to the door and heard footsteps approaching. Should he hide? Yes, no! He wanted out, and perhaps this person could help him.

The door flung open and on the other side was a tall, lanky man with dark hair and an immoral grin spread thinly across his face *.

"Hello, who are you?" the man asked.

"Ah, my name is Al."

"Oh, hi. My name is Silk. So what are you doing here? Did you get lost?"

Al heard noise in the background, and peaked out of the door, he saw that he was in some sort of pub, or club.

"Ah yes, I was looking for the toilet." He quickly looked at the door, and noticed it could only be opened from the outside. "And I couldn’t get out," he added. Ah, Al you are a genius, he thought, mentally commending himself. He played the tune of ‘simply the best’ in his head for a short while as a form of congratulations.

Silk waited patiently, yet uncomfortably, during this abnormally long pause.

Simply the best, better than all the rest. Better than anyone . . .

"Ah, well it is this way," he said, pointing up the hallway.

"Thanks." Al quickly went, realising that he really did need to and then moved on into the bar.

He asked for a beer at the bar and then sauntered over to the stage at the front of the bar.

He turned to the man next to him, an old guy with a ‘I was there at Hiroshima, 1945’ t-shirt. "Do you know where I can get a bit of work," he asked.

The man smiled. "Sure, in fact I am looking for someone to be the host on my tour."

"What kind of tour?" Al asked.

"I work with a troupe of French Lap dancers. All you would need to do is introduce them and make things flow smoothly."

"How come you are stuck out here in the middle of no where with no host for your show?"

*remarkably, this is also an accurate description of Simon Cowan.

"Well the former host had an accident. He accidentally minced himself in a blender. Terrible." The man licked his lips.

Al felt uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure why.

"I’ll do it," he said confidently.

Intermission:

And now a word from our sponsor

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The next night was Al’s debut. He waited at the side of the stage as the MC made his announcements.

"And how about a big hand for the wacky humour of Rnnnk dn Jknnnl! God knows he'll need it." The crowd seemed unenthusiastic in their applause. "And now, would you please welcome Guru Al and his wondrous troupe of uninhibited French female lapdancers!"

Al sprung onto the stage followed by the buxom beauties. Al noticed that the crowd looked pleased, especially one man in particular with a beard and moustache. He made questionable commentary, but doubted that any of them heard him.

When the performance was over Al sat on the side of the stage. He saw the man with the beard and moustache approaching him.

"Man you were great," he said. "Even when the lapdancers clothes fell off and they had to go down in the audience to get them..."

"But that was...." Al interrupted.

"Don't apologise. Most people didn't mind. Anyway, I'm here to make you an offer you won't refuse."

What could it be, Al thought. He looked at the man, sure that whatever he had to offer would be slightly less than irresistible.

"What?" Al asked, sounding interested – in theory - for he knew not even he could hang onto the lapdancers for more than a few weeks.

"Will you help me set up a bogus educational institute, which we will institute solely for sexual gratification and to tell semi-erotica?"

Guru Al thought a bit and said, "He likes peanuts."

The next few moths were wondrous indeed. Al and his new companion Nine Turning Mirrors fled to a wholesome, fascist nation known as the yFalminican Republic. They set up their institution which became known as the Academy of Thaumaturgy. There Al could live out his life as a hypocritical preacher, like he had always dreamed.

When they first arrived in yFalminica they had a huge piss up in the cemetery, where they passed out until the morning after. Coincidentally this meant that they were there for the funeral of the President General, which NTM had felt obliged to attend.

This led then to a huge kung fu fight between aliens, inquisitors, terrorists and the brave fascists.

Guru Al met several interesting people as well, including a very attractive, yet irritatingly celibate woman named Igor. And a pathetic former super hero, name Gorf.

Al became famous in yFalminica for his ranting preaching style, and his incidental position in the government as minister for narcotics and sanitation.

He also composed the anthem ‘Rule yFalminica’.

Al’s goal of divinity in the eyes of (however deceased) God had finally and most miraculously come true.

Thus we almost conclude this brilliantly tantalising tale of the super natural, sexual and ridiculous. But there is something more that must be told.

Yet there is more to be told, starting with Another adventure in which AL went in search of a great white whale, and became absolutely obsessed with the task of bringing down the creature. He searched for years for the animal and would never stop until he . . .

What’s that?

Oh, it seems that we have an update. Al never actually did any of that, he however did read a book which detailed this. The book was named ‘Moby Dyke’. Are you sure that’s right. No I am not questioning your sources. But . . . OK I will shutup and read the, [what?] ficking story then. I don’t care what it says! It looks like ficking to me!

Well, fick you to!

‘THE SILENCE OF THE MA’AMS’

OR

MANGOES, MANGOES, MANGOES

What of Igor, and the others? I hear you ask.

Well their story is quite disgusting and includes many incidents involving castration and the molestation of palm trees, more or less. OK, less. There is absolutely no mention of palm trees, or castration for that matter. Is that what you wanted from me? This is unfortunately a very clean and wholesome episode of the series, which incidentally contains much explicit sex.

Oh, that isn’t what you consider wholesome? Too bad, read it now! For tomorrow the end comes.

Well, Ok then. It isn’t exactly the end. However it is another delightfully monotonous day of the week in which we all strive for excellence and to be acknowledged only to realise our very existence is as significant as a puny speck of dust.

Yes, that is an accurate analysis, and no I am not bittttter.

I can spell it with as many t’s as I want!

Just hurry up and read this, you fools, you’re depressing me!

It was the year 1792 in which Igor popped back into existence. Her travel through the time warp had taken fifteen million years, yet her youth had been preserved. She had never thought that a time warp (distinctly characterised by a large black splodge) could have been so boring. And fifteen million years in it! My God! Well we will leave this for later.

What is important is that in 1792 the main influences in her life became a Semi-inebriated monk, named Woozlewazza and Napisan ©™.

Woozlewazza had been as you should know, the founder of the sacred land of Ga. He had sat comfortably for two years as King before the dreaded red menace took over.

He and his men were outed and given a severe working over by a savage Llama.

He had been living by himself for the past six years on an island nearby Ga, happily drinking himself into an early grave with an intoxicating ale he had blended from coconut milk and a native berry.

Igor landed on that very island, thrown violently from the warp. The two shared a lust/hate relationship. Lust, as you could probably imagine had a lot to do with bodily fluids. The hate part was to do with Igor’s hating the way that Woozlewazza frequently vomited on her due to his almost constant condition. The Napisan came into the equation as it helped to get out the vomit stains.

Igor lived with Woozlewazza for three lurid years before the time warp reappeared, sucked both of them in, separated them through the vastness of time and dumped Igor on yFalminica where she struck up a relationship with the President General.

When he died, she officially became a member of the republic and joined the Divine Church Of Fred Basset. Unbeknownst to her and Guru Al (then of course living on yFalminica also) they had both met previously but the warp had had bizarre effects on their memories. In the early nineties however they both recovered their memories and Igor accordingly re-developed the former disgust she had felt for the evangelical genius.

And Woozlewazza, he is now a prominent figure in the porn industry of a small planet, called Squa, in the penal star system. By labelling it the Porn industry does not mean much. Porn is in fact the only profitable industry in the penal star system.

Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote tumbled through time and ended up back with Al and Igor in 1992 on yFalminica. His curse is still strangely existent, despite the death of Swirly the Nec. No one can explain this, but Coyote frequently visits the Local witch doctor, Poco Loco- King of Conserves.

Daisy Maestro and Cicci remarkably arrived together in 4390BC, Italy. They both found love in their new home. Good God! Not with each other, with two rather comely lasses. Incidentally Daisy achieved his own fame in modern times after he fell on the mountain while taking his sheep to greener pastures. He was discovered in 1991 and became a tourist attraction for his body being preserved remarkably well. He became known to the Austrians as Oetzi, but to us in the western world as IceMan. Yes I know that IceMan had dark hair, and Daisy had blonde hair. However the effects of a time warp can be anything from having an extra hair on your leg, to changing sex, or even having your organs develop brains and turn against you. It has happened. Cicci died after being bitten by a rabid squirrel.

Corporal chicken, as a result of the warp, was brought back into existence and has been starring in his own, very successful sitcom, I love Bantam, in Mexico for the past fifteen years.

Oh, did I say something about this containing sex. Well here we go!

Guru Al lay beside the beautiful Olga Bobsalot.

"Oh Al," Al said. "I mean, oh Olga!"

"Oh, Al."

"Oh, Olga."

"Oh, Al."

"Oh, Olga."

"Oh, Al."

"Oh, Olga."

"*#%$ that is good."

"Yes that is how I want it!"

"Oh, Al!"

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

"Ok," Al said and changed the channel.

Starring, in random order

Guru AL

Igor

Daisy Maestro

Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote

Cicci

Didi

Swirly the Nec

Pale Scalp

Corporal Chicken

Madonna

Sadam

Chafes-a-lot

Sweaty thighs

Cures-with-leeches

Captain Chicken

Silk

Man in bar

Nine Turning Mirrors

Jacqui the broom

Ende

Fin

Finito

End

So go home now.

Alchronicles ©™® 1998

Read now!:

A thrilling, sexual and psychological examination

all wrapped neatly in a murder mystery

directed and written by Guru Al

Nine Germans

In

Surely anyone who speaks German can’t be evil