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Soda the Cursed had never traveled before and so she only knew that the trail down the mountainside led towards the west end of Schling Quadrant, where large numbers of humanoid and yokai and robots dwelt and there were many walk-in theaters and mom and pop video stores. She would’ve taken the bicycles at the foot of the mountain but they were chained to a tree and the key was in Uncle Karl’s pocket. Both the key and the pocket were vomit right now. There was only one path before them, so they could not miss their way, and for a time they walked through the dank forest in silent contemplation, each one mulling over the arduous task they had undertaken. Every now and then the trill of a capuchin monkey would ring out from deep in the woods.

Suddenly Chunks laughed.

"What’s so funny?" asked Soda, who was feeling solemn and joyless while thinking upon her uncle's sad vomitous fate.

“Your world pleases me,” replied Chunks, “for it's a queer world, and life is queerer still. Here am I, made from chunks of different humanoids and yokai and intended to be a slave to a nasty beaver, rendered free as a fart by an accident that no one could’ve predicted. I am enjoying life and seeing the planet, while the beaver who made me is a helpless glorified puddle. If that isn't funny enough to laugh at, I don't know what is."

Soda scowled.

"You've barely seen anything of Sifillis yet, my poor, innocent Chunks," remarked the Spork Armadillo. "Sifillis doesn't consist wholly of the fleshtrees and flapberry bushes that are on all sides of us. There are video stores and dry cleaners and barber shops and TV repair centers and bowling alleys and a lot more."

"Well if the rest of Sifillis is half as beautiful as this bush I shall be glad I'm alive."

“Geez, and you haven’t even seen a feature film motion picture yet!” said the Spork Armadillo.

“Yes, although I do know lots of movie trivia, which is odd,” said Chunks.

“I love movies,” said Soda. “My favorite thing to do in the world is watch feature film motion pictures, especially with my uncle.”

“Maybe you’ll make it to Schmegma City one day and get a job in pictures,” said the Spork Armadillo. “What would you like to do?”

“I don’t know, maybe be an actor or a writer or do special effects make-up or learn editing or lighting or trick photography. Stunt work, perhaps. Not directing.”

Chunks, who hadn’t been listening, said:

“I wonder if any of the humanoids we shall meet will be as splendid as I am. You have boring skin, while I am of many gorgeous colors- face and body and clothes. That is why I am bright and contented, Soda, while you are blue and sad. I wonder if anyone else has a beautiful rainbow face like mine."

"Bah!" sneered the Spork Armadillo, "such colors are not beautiful; they're garish and ugly and in bad taste. Please notice that my body is just plain perfect marbled pink smoothness."

"Shoo- shoo- shoo!" cried Chunks, dancing around and laughing. "I notice you're very proud of the color you are, Miss Shelled Pig. Shoo, Miss Porky Sporky, shoo- shoo- shoo! " She leaped over the armadillo and back again, and the startled Spork Armadillo crept close to a fleshree to escape her. This made Chunks laugh more heartily than ever, and she said:

"Piddily-Cum-A-Zyn, the ‘dillo takes pride in her skin. A folly of man, fry her in a pan, for pigment means less than a whim."

"Dear me, Soda," said the armadillo; "don't you think the creature is a little bit crazy?"

"She may be," Soda answered, with a puzzled look. "I think I made a mistake in giving you so many sorts of brains," observed the girl. "Perhaps, as Dr. Wankenstein said, you have an overdose, and they may not agree with you."

"What had you to do with my brains?" asked Chunks.

"A lot," replied Soda. "Sheila meant to give you only a few- just enough to keep you going cleaning the toilet and such- but when she wasn't looking I added a good many more, of the best kinds I could find in the alchemist's shelves."

"Thanks!" exclaimed the stitched-and-stapled lady, skipping ahead ahead of Soda and then leaping back to her side. "If a few brains are good, many brains must be better."

"But they ought to be evenly balanced," said the girl, "and I had no time to be careful. From the way you're acting, I guess the dose was badly mixed."

"Chunks hasn't enough brains to hurt her, so don't worry," remarked the armadillo, which was trotting along in a very dainty and graceful manner. "The only brains worth considering are mine, which are pink and are constantly whirling around."

"Yeah, I think I heard about that somewhere," said Soda. "I wonder if my brains whirl around in the same way yours do."

The trio walked for a few more hours. They spent the time talking about feature film motion pictures, and Soda felt a little proud that she had seen so many more movies than the Spork Armadillo. At one point they passed an arthouse theater in a clearing in the forest and were tempted to go in and watch a movie to rest but Soda made them walk on after asking the theater manager if they knew anything about any of the ingredients they sought.

After walking a few more hours they came to a foamy yellow stream that trickled across the path, and here Soda sat down to rest and eat some alien feces from her backpack. She found that the alchemist had included several jars full of the stuff. Soda began scooping the purple goo into her mouth.

"Why do you put that stuff into your mouth?" asked Chunks, gazing at her in astonishment.

"If I didn't put food into my mouth, and eat it, I would get hungry and starve."

"I suppose you’ll hunt around and catch a protogopher," remarked Chunks to the Spork Armadillo.

"Me? Catch a protogopher! Why should I do that?" inquired the Spork Armadillo.

"Why, then you could eat it," said Chunks.

"I beg to inform you," returned the armadillo, "that I do not eat protogophers. I don’t eat anything, golems like me and you don’t have to."

"No way! Let me try!" said Chunks, scooping out some purple slime from the jar Soda offered and shoving it in her mouth. She rolled it around with her red tongue, chewed it with her beige-and-yellow teeth, and tried to swallow it with her borrowed throat. The golem started to choke and spit the feces onto the ground.

"I told you, golems can’t eat or make poo or pee," announced the Spork Armadillo to Chunks; "Can't you understand that you and I are superior beings and not made like these poor normies?"

"Why should I understand that, or anything else?" asked the golem. "Don't bother my brain-drum by asking conundrums, I beg of you. Just let me discover myself in my own way."

With this she began amusing herself by leaping across the cloudy yellow stream and back again.

"Be careful, or you'll fall in the water," warned Soda, rising up to resume their quest. It was nearly sundown when they came to the edge of the forest and saw spread out before them a delightful blue landscape backed by a pinkish-purple blue sky. There were broad fields stretching for miles over the valley and miles in the distance they saw wigwams and chalets and quonset huts and video stores and outhouses and convience stores and one-screen movie theaters, none of which, however, was near to the place where they stood. Just at the point where the path left the forest stood a large tree with zebra-hog sausages, iguana steaks, frozen dung beetle patties and sweaty slughocks growing from its branches. In the middle of the tree’s trunk was a humanoid face with its eyes turned to the skies.

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"Cirrocumulus… Altocumulus… cirrus…" said the tree’s handsome face.

"Hello, Mr. Tree," said Soda. What are you doing?

"Cumulonimbus … Oh, hi little girl. I’m just naming all the clouds. There’s not much else to do when you’re stuck in the same spot all day, said the tree, who called himself Da Meat Tree. "...Stratus…"

Suddenly Da Meat Tree noticed Chunks and the Spork Armadillo.

"Well shuck my nougat!" exclaimed the tree. "Who would think such a greasy pink armadillo and such a funny looking harlequin lived in Schlingquad? Where did you come from, Crazy-Quilt-Face?"

"Do you mean me?" asked Chunks.

"Of course," he replied.

"You misjudge my ancestry. I'm not a crazy-quilt; I'm a chunks golem," she said.

"There's no difference," the tree replied, beginning to laugh. "When my old step-grandmother sews such things together she calls it a crazy-quilt; but I never thought such a jumble could come to life."

"It was the alchemistical concoction that did it," explained Soda.

"Oh, then you have come from the Chimpanzee Alchemist of Mount Whole. I might have known. The alchemist will get in trouble for this; it's against the law for anyone to work thaumaturgy except Nobgoblin the Royal Thaumaturge and her assistant Schmeer."

"Piddily-Cum-a-Zaw, that’s a stupid law," said Chunks.

"Piddily-Cum-a-what? You’re crazy, grrrrl, I love it." said the tree.

"She really is crazy," remarked the Spork Armadillo. "But that isn't to be wondered at when you remember how many different creatures she's made of. For my part, I'm made of pure Spork- except my iguana steak heart and my pretty pink brains."

"An armadillo made out of Spork is a useless sort of thing," said Da Meat Tree, "but a chunks golem is really ginchy. She makes me laugh, and laughter is the best thing in life. I once had a friend who was made all of molybdenum, and I used to laugh every time I saw him."

"Oh, wow, you know Cydroidobot?," said Soda. "He’s the metal man in my favorite movie, ‘The Funderful Thaumaturge of Bonertania."

"My friend wasn't always metal," continued the tree, not acknowledging that Soda had spoke. "His name is Mike Creamer but now everyone calls him Cydroidobot. He was careless with his chainsaw, and used to dismember himself very badly. Whenever he sawed off an arm or a leg he had it replaced with a robotic one by Crazy Ralf the Botsmith; so after awhile he went from being humanoid to cyborg to android. He is now one of the favorites of the fairy tremorroid and the vice-tremorroid, and they have made him the emperor of Mukus Quadrant."

Soda was anxious to get on her way, and so they left Da Meat Tree to his cloud naming and moved on.

"Altostratus… Nimbostratus..."

The three travelers continued walking into the night, and Soda realized they had neglected to pack a flashlight.

"I can scarcely see the path," she said at last. "Can you see it, Chunks?"

"No," replied Chunks, who was holding fast to the girl's arm so she could guide her.

"I can see," declared the Spork Armadillo. "My eyes are better than yours, and my pink brains- "

"Never mind your pink brains, please," said Soda hastily; "just run ahead and show us the way.” They had proceeded in this way for about an hour when a twinkling blue light appeared ahead of them.

"Good! There's a chalet at last," cried Soda. "When we reach it the good people will surely welcome us and let us crash there." But however far they walked the light seemed to get no nearer, so by and by the armadillo stopped short, saying:

"I think the light is traveling, too, and we shall never be able to catch up with it. But here is a chalet by the roadside, so why go farther?"

"Where is the chalet, ‘dillo?" asked Chunks.

"Just here beside us."

Soda was now able to see a small chalet near the pathway. It was dark and silent, but the tween was tired and wanted to rest, so she went up to the door and knocked.

"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.

"I am Soda Olheiser, and with me are Miss Chunks and the Spork Armadillo," he replied.

"What do you want?" asked the voice.

"A place to sleep," said Soda.

"Come in, then; but don't make any noise, and you must go directly to bed," returned the voice.

The trio entered. It was very dark inside and she could see nothing at all. But the armadillo exclaimed: "Why, there's no one here!"

"There must be," said the girl. "Some one spoke to me."

"I can see everything in the room," replied the armadillo, "and no one is present but ourselves. But here are three beds, all made up, so you may as well go to sleep, Soda."

"What is sleep?" inquired Chunks.

"It's what you do when you go to bed," said Soda.

"But why do you go to bed?" persisted Chunks.

"Here, here! You are making altogether too much noise," cried the voice they had heard before. "Keep quiet! Go to bed!"

The armadillo, which could see in the dark, looked sharply around for the owner of the voice, but could discover no one, although the voice had seemed close beside them. She whispered to Soda: "Come!" and led her to a bed.

With her hands the girl felt of the bed and found it was big and soft, with cool pillows and plenty of blankets. So she took off her sneakers and glasses and crept into the bed. Then the armadillo led Chunks to another bed and Chunks was puzzled to know what to do with it.

"Lie down and keep quiet," whispered the armadillo, warningly.

"Can't I sing?" asked Chunks.

"No."

"Can't I whistle?" asked Chunks.

"No."

"Can't I dance till morning, if I want to?" asked Chunks.

"You must keep quiet," said the armadillo, in a soft voice.

"I don't want to," replied Chunks, speaking as loudly as usual. "What right have you to order me around? If I want to talk, or yell, or belch, or fart-"

Before she could say anything more an unseen hand seized her firmly and threw her out of the door, which closed behind her with a sharp slam. She found herself bumping and rolling in the road and when she got up and tried to open the door of the chalet again she found it locked.

"What has happened to Chunks?" asked Soda.

"Never mind. Go to sleep, or something will happen to us," answered the Spork Armadillo.

So Soda snuggled down in her bed and entered the Land of Nod, and she was so tired that she never wakened until broad daylight. The Spork Armadillo curled up at her feet and kept watch over Soda all night.

At one point in the middle of the night Soda woke up and swore she could see the outline of a dark, horned figure with huge pointy wings and glowing gray eyes squatting down going to the bathroom in the corner but when she blinked and rubbed her eyes it disappeared so she went back to sleep.

When Soda the Cursed opened her eyes next morning she looked carefully around the chalet. On the other side of the room was a round table on which breakfast was already placed, smoking hot: A bowl of scroatmeal. Only one chair was drawn up to the table, where a place was set for one person. No one seemed to be in the room except the Soda and the Spork Armadillo and there wasn’t any poop in the corner.

Soda got up and put on her glasses and sneakers then went to the table and said:

"I wonder if this is for me?"

"Eat it! Just eat it!" commanded a voice at her side, so near that Soda jumped. But no humanoid or yokai or robot could she see.

She was hungry, and the breakfast of poached alien feces in balnut gravy looked good; so she sat down and ate all she wanted. Then she got up and grabbed her dark blue backpack.

"Come on, Sporky," said she; "we must go."

"Don’t call me Sporky!" hissed the Spork Armadillo.

Soda cast another glance about the room and, speaking to the air, she said: "Whoever lives here has been kind to me, and I'm much obliged."

There was no answer, so she took her backpack and went out the door, the armadillo following her. In the middle of the path sat Chunks, playing with owl pellets she had picked up.

"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "I thought you were never coming out. It has been daylight a long time."

"What did you do all night?" asked the girl.

"Sat here and watched the stars and the moon," she replied. "They're interesting. I never saw them before, you know."

"Of course not," said Soda, who then went and used the outhouse.

"You were crazy to act so badly and get thrown outdoors," remarked the Spork Armadillo, as they renewed their journey.

"That's all right," said Chunks. "If I hadn't been thrown out I wouldn't have seen the stars, nor the big byzantium-colored hippopotamus."

"What byzantium hippopotamus?" inquired Soda.

"The one that came to the door of the chalet three times during the night,” said the golem. “Do you feel tired?" she added, noticing that the tween yawned.

"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night; and yet I slept very well."

"And aren't you hungry?"

"It's strange," replied Soda. "I had a good breakfast, and yet I think I'll now eat some of my feces."

Soda ate while she walked. Chunks danced up and down the path. Then she sang:

"Piddily-Cum-a-Zoor; The hippo’s at the door, There's nothing to eat but feces, no meat, and a bill from the grocery store."

"What does that mean?" asked Soda while she chewed.

"Don't ask me," replied Chunks. "I say what comes into my head."

"Piddily-Cum-a-Zink," said the Spork Golem mockingly, "I think you really stink! You’re a stark, raving fink, and your brains can't be pink!"

"Enough with the brains!" cried Chunks. "Who cares for 'em, anyhow? In other news, have you noticed how beautiful my golden staples are in this sunlight?"

The armadillo sighed. "Is that the way we go?" she asked, nodding to a path that led to a tiny village.

"No," said Soda; "I think we shall keep straight ahead, for this path is the widest and best." Soda farted determinedly.

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