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Sepian Magic

The year was 2019 and me and my more grammatically correct friends were in Amsterdam. Eager for some culture we smoked a bat and headed to the science museum. On display they have a 4.6 billion year old meteor - you can touch it. I asked "Do you think if I give it a lick that I'll gain superpowers?" Keif said "Not sure mate but let me get it on video.... Y'know.. Just in case." This might seem unbelievable but back in 2019, the year before covid, everybody was licking everything. So with naive trepidation I licked that space rock, bestowing me with the powers I used in an inter-dimensional war six years earlier...


My brother got the call off his German friend Marius who runs a nightclub in Recklinghausen. "Laurence, I've booked Oliver Koletzki to DJ at the club. Can you and Louis open for him?" This was big. "Why us?" It was a fair question, Louis and my brother were bedroom DJs. "Well, I've spent my entire month's budget on him and need somebody who will do it for free... You can stay at mine." Marius was walking the exclusively German tightrope of being direct yet hospitable. I'd love to say that there was a pause while my brother mulled this over but there was none. "We'll do it!"

An hour before doors opened, Laurence, Louis and I stood on the dance floor for soundcheck. My brother pipes up "I'm beginning to think that our friends aren't flying out to surprise us." he was right. On the plus side Marius had given us access to our own beer fridge as a thank you. It later transpired that it wasn't meant only for us and Koletzki had complained, our gleeful reaction to this failing to compute with the Germans. Our host spoiled us at his restaurant for breakfast. A continental selection of bread, cheese and meat to be mindfully picked at by the Germans. Or to be turned into giant sandwiches by us English, much to the befuddlement of those staring. We said "Danke schön" and caught a train to Amsterdam.

There was only one reason Laurence, Louis and I were heading to Dam - magic mushrooms. Unfortunately, shrooms had recently been outlawed in the Netherlands as some poor fucker died - run down by a bicycle. Fortunately for the rest of us, shrooms were immediately replaced by magic truffles. Same drug, different fungi. The coffee shop we found ours in had a menu that went from 'smiley face' to 'skull & cross bone'. I can't remember which one we opted for but based on what happened next, it wasn't smiley face. I do remember immediately compounding our mistake with a bong hit. I had heard of the term flying before but this was the only time I experienced it 'literally'. Getting lost through the narrow streets I had total control of where we were heading despite floating two feet off the ground. The perfect preparation for my first mushroom trip.

We found our windowless hotel room. Two double beds opposite a sink & a tv. Everything a sterile white except for the stains on the artex ceiling. We put South Park on the tele and haphazardly dished up our substitute shroomies. I distinctly remember Louis shouting through the en suite door "Truffle shits are the worst!" It started with a severe case of the giggles followed by a techni-coloured explosion out of my third eye - Louis was right. The truffles began to take hold with an almighty grip. I assured my brother that I wasn't dying after he assured me I was still living. So he & Louis left me in the hotel to hallucinate as I was too far gone to fly the streets with them. Uninhibited and alone, I left the hotel room through other means. On the back of a space worm and through the ceiling. I had scared the others off by rolling side to side on the bed, fuck eyed and mouth wide open, making only the sound of a creaky door slowing opening and closing. Which considering they were also tripping, was a little unsettling.

The space worm's name was Mick Turnbridge. He started life as an Earth worm on the green outside my Nan's cottage. He said that when I was four that I plucked him from the mud, shoved him up my nose and pulled him out of my mouth - coating him in space magic. He explained space magic isn't bound by the lineage of time and that I absorbed the powers from licking the emperor gonad, on display at the science museum. He returned to Earth to ask for my help in the war against the Gas Punks of Nebulak. The eternal war between the two, known as The Great Bickering, had been raging for millennia and I was the key to ending it all. By neutralising the Gas Punks with my farts of sepian space magic. Mick Turnbridge and I fought the Gas Punks through countless dimensions to arrive at Nebulak. By which time my bunghole was tired and bloody from battle but together we fought on. Critically injured in his victory over their Queen's last line of defence, Mick Turnbridge flew up my nose one final time. I swallowed Mick Turnbridge, as was his dying wish, and fired him out of my anoose and into the heart of the Cloud Punk's Queen, killing that bitch instantly. Ending The Great Bickering and awakening me back in my home dimension. Where I lay on my bed in Amsterdam, absolutely covered in my own shit.


Artist impression:

Thanks for reading the above nonsense. The fame hungry model you can see has requested her own profile:


The Chimeranian:

Our old lady Chihuahua Pomeranian has an old lady name: Gladys. She's overweight, sleeps for 18 hours a day, has a mane like a lion, purrs like a cat when you pet her and snorts like a pig when you don't. Gladys has not left my mum's side for 10 years. 10 years is also how long ago mum stopped her self-inflicted ban on smoking inside the house. Gladys is addicted to cigarettes and she tumbles down the stairs anytime she hears the click of my mum's lighter. When Gladys goes for her quarterly bath, the water drains the same colour nicotine as our living room ceiling.

Gladys loves my mum but she's my brother's dog. Years of being picked up against her will before she finally filed for emancipation. Whenever my brother called her name after that it meant RUN. You can't buy love, not even with sausages. Or maybe mum just has something that my brother doesn't and that mysterious something is Benson & Hedges. Most dogs wait for you to finish eating so they can eat the scraps. Not so they can go halfs on your post dinner ciggy. Gladys looks up at my mum with those bulging puppy dog eyes that bark "Save me twos"

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