8 — Kris King

Ah Percy, Percy Mercy. One-time acolyte of Mar­vin and She­lia (that’s Dr. She­lia Spout, not She­lia Peace­andlove – Mar­vin only romanced women named She­lia, it made recy­cling engraved gifts, poems, his epony­mous tat­too, and orgas­mic odes eas­ier.) Percy had bro­ken ranks with the orches­tra­tors he’d blindly fol­lowed and sided with the under­dogs, in this case the under­mon­keys. He hooked up with a lumi­nous female snow mon­key he called – never a man to shy away from type­cast­ing – Eve. Percy had sur­vived the Iron John Bly revival years, the Venu­sian glam­our­ing, thrown away his Aztec Crys­tals, and — clad in a mon­key skin suit that pro­tected him from the molten muck — even the molten mucked crater envi­ron­ment. He’d come across a page from a library book by the Aus­tralian fem­i­nist Ger­maine Greer that had stuck to his paw-boot with the ubiq­ui­tous sludge with a shock­ing pas­sage that became his mantra and his mis­sion: “The oppo­site of patri­archy is not matri­archy, but fraternity.”

Mr. and Mrs. Mercy pro­cre­ated with aban­don; rais­ing a tribe of young who were imper­vi­ous to the molten muck of the Gal­latin Val­ley, inher­ently empa­thetic, cute as but­tons despite their con­stant dis­plays of mas­tur­ba­tion, and fine com­mu­ni­ca­tors via tex­ting in the Haiku style of the 17th Cen­tury Japan­ese poet Basho.

Crater soli­tude
in a molten world one sound
group orgasm: aahhhh!

Their church wasn’t the rub­ble of the Boze­man Pub­lic Library for nothing.

Their num­bers were grow­ing as Percy had his own acolytes now – drawn to the Greer mantra – who fed, bred and wed the Boze­man area snow mon­keys. In the tribe’s infi­nite benev­o­lence they’d decided to board the Plen­ty­wood air­ship and con­vert the prime play­ers of the Great Crater and the demo­c­ra­tic mélange of pas­sen­gers; from the Venu­sian mutants to the earnest sus­tain­able busi­ness class devo­tees. It was easy to access the drug-addled mind of Peace­andlove and the martini-sloshed diri­gi­ble air­ship pilot and draw them down to the moun­tain pass where our hero and hero­ine could board in peace and privacy.

As Percy and Eve Mercy climbed up the slinky-like lad­der, Percy couldn’t help but think of how his erst­while men­tor Mar­vin had orches­trated the Great Crater and inad­ver­tently cre­ated the oppor­tu­nity for the new Mer­cian Utopia. Finally clar­i­fy­ing how Mar­vin had done it, Percy boarded the plane announcing…

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