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Once upon a time in the year 3086 there was a planet called Sifillis, and on this planet there was a continent called Pus, and on this continent was a country called Bonertania, and in this country there was a quadrant called Schling Quadrant, and in this quadrant was a drive-in theater called the Schmahoning Drive In Theater. Unfortunately automobiles went extinct about a hundred years ago- around the same time as religions and cigarettes- plus almost everyone had their own home theaters so hardly anyone ever came to drive-ins anymore. To support himself and his niece, Karl Olheiser had turned most of the lot into a roachberry bush farm.
Karl’s niece Soda Maturin Olheiser was walking around the Schmahoning lot with a bucket and shovel, scooping up piles of alien feces for dinner that night.
Like most Schlingians Soda had pale, chalky white skin and a purplish-blue dusting of color on her lips and around her eyes. Unlike most Schlingians Soda’s long hair was jet black instead of some variation on the color blue. Her eyes were striking and also black, as seen through her black framed glasses.
With a "blblblblblblb" noise a silvery-gray flying saucer hovered over the drive-in. A hatch opened on the bottom and another batch of purple, glittery feces splattered to the ground. The feces could be a variety of textures from firm and hard to wet and gloppy. This particular pile was a combination of both. Soda sighed and dutifully went to shovel up the nutritious alien feces for her and her uncle to eat as the saucer flew away.
There was one vehicle left on the lot, a rusty old red-and-white vanbus Soda had nicknamed the Murdermobile. There were action figures posed on the dashboard of the vanbus, including a friendly looking robot, a burlap sack with limbs and a scrawled face, a plump teenage girl in a jumpsuit, and a custom figure Soda had made out of scabs and named Scabatha. In the passenger’s seat was a garbage bag full of Soda’s clothes, in the driver’s seat was a life-size skeleton made of tough Mukusian plastic.
In the back of the inert vehicle was an overstuffed mattress in the center, covered in a sleeping bag and pillows and blankets and a giant plush woodtick stuffed animal. This is where Soda slept, except when it got too cold, then she slept in a hammock next to the wood stove in the projection booth. On either side of the mattress were iguana milk crates. The plastic crates were filled with books and zines and videotapes. Uncle Karl would bring his beloved niece new media every time he returned from one of his mysterious biking trips. There was also a crate containing all of Soda’s notebooks full of movie ideas. The Murdermobile’s windows were covered up with pictures of imaginary monsters, real yokai and kaiju, rubbery puppets, dismembered humanoids, and feature film motion picture stars that Soda had cut out of her uncle’s old periodicals.
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Scooping up alien feces was just one of Soda’s duties around the Schmahoning. She also harvested the roachberries and sprayed them with anti-cacaroach spray (for roachberries are not called roachberries because roaches DON’T like to eat them), dusted the ticket booth, mowed the lot, cleaned the concession stand where they made their meals and the outhouse where they made their B.M.s, and lots of other stuff. Her uncle was often away for weeks at a time on bicycling trips and Soda entertained herself with reading books and watching feature film motion pictures on the giant 1000 inch TV that served as the drive-in’s screen. Her favorite genres were horror, sci-fi, high fantasy, and action.
Soda was just about to settle into the Murdermobile and read an interview with the Zymolytic Capybara in an old horror movie zine when she heard an awful buzzing sound. Suddenly Soda realized she had made a tragic mistake- she had forgotten to spray the anti-cacaroach spray on the crops today.
Throwing down the xeroxed publication and jumping out of the back of the vanbus, Soda saw a huge brown cloud flying towards the Schmahoning, and fast. It was a swarm of ravenous flying cacaroaches, and they soon descended on the roachberry bushes. Soon there were so many roaches the bushes were invisible, completely covered with the filthy, ravenous insects.
When the filthy gross dork-butts finally flew away there was nothing left of the roachberry bushes- neither stem nor seed survived the cacaroach apocalypse. There was a lot of cacaroach stool, though.
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In the 1990s self-proclaimed "World's #1 Sifillitic" B. Manus Shunkwiler produced 586 issues of "Sifillitica Psychotica", an obsessive fanzine dedicated to the Sifillis Stories franchise. There's a zine cover at the end of each chapter of THE SIFILLIS STORIES VOLUME ONE: SODA AND THE INEFFABLE CONCOCTION.
Cover of Volume 2, Issue 6:
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