Augustus Browning.

The Man!

The Myth!

The Legend!

The guy struggling not to shit himself while driving through the desert on his way to Vegas for a well-earned vacation.

It was the kind of life event that built wisdom through such philosophical questions as:

"What was in those tacos?"

"How far to the next rest stop?"

"Why didn't I fly?"

"How much longer can I wait before I need to squat on the side of the road and wipe with my socks?"

Answers and the associated wisdom were not forthcoming, though something else was certainly making a valiant attempt to do so.

Before Augustus Browning managed to redefine his family legacy with the driver's seat of his sedan, he spotted the key to his intestinal salvation in the form of a brightly colored port-a-potty outside a modest abandoned gas station.

Rather than asking such questions as:

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"Why is that here?"

"Will there be toilet paper?"

"Is that actually a toilet?"

Our dear friend, who was moments away from profoundly expressing himself, veered off the road, parked roughly enough that his car's transmission would henceforth refer to him as "Daddy," and duck-walked with the speed and fiery determination of a thousand malllards into what looked to be a techno-port-a-potty.

It was not, in fact, a techno-port-a-potty...

Or, if it was, it was certainly not fit for human use.

Regardless, when Augustus Browning entered the teleportation pod and committed his namesake against the nearest flat surface without looking, which just so happened to be the control panel, the poor machine had little recourse other than to pray to a higher power as it thoroughly malfunctioned and died.

An event that scattered the teleportation pod across multiple dimensions, including three circles of hell, one of the lesser heavens, and an alternate version of Earth in what is commonly referred to as the "Primordial Soup" stage of biological development.

That last instance resulted in an evolutionary pathway based upon the bacterium formerly known as "Escherichia coli."

As for Augustus Browning?

His journey through the dimensional membrane was fraught with turbulence and additional gastric distress as well as sufficient nausea for him to protest the circumstances with vomit but insufficient nausea to lose conciousness.

Thus he found himself thrown into the thoroughly occupied bathing chamber of an elven princess, nude from the waist down, and covered with nearly indescribable filth reminiscent of a multi-layered Rorschach painting that itself resembled at least six different versions of hell.

Needless to say, there was screaming involved.

As for the question of, "Why, exactly, was there a teleportation pod outside an abandoned gas station in the middle of nowhere?"

That is precisely none of your business.

Though if you do know of a company that sells, leases, or repairs teleportation pods or similar devices, please contact the Beuro of Interdimensional Conquest at your earliest convenience.

One of our agents has suddenly developed an urgent need.