Onslaught the Four

Beethoven’s vast horde of Beethovenites Beethovenistas and Beethovenettes sprang a sudden surprise attack across all fronts consisting of the simultaneous firing of one thousand brutally brusque thousand note chords followed by needle-tipped pipethrusts launched from beyond the advancing dawnlight, while at the same time unstoppable tight groups of thousands upon thousands crossed the cease-fire line in a blitzkrieg-like head over heels wildly pinwheeling careening sideskidding careless thus super-incredibly dangerous multiple powerful state of the art star wars style jaunty second subject unstoppable clusterthrust. This had the effect of suddenly lightening the mood of the battlefield abruptly in mid-tune. A fortuitous circumstance easing the way was that we called the city to get the water turned off at the supply in the street as Anvil-Man Paul has told us back in the first war to be sure to always do. Plus we would not make the mistake of opening the cleanout ourselves unless we had proper training. Which we had learned the hard way way back when in an episode best left forgotten. Though this breakthrough was nothing compared to the mercurial sonatas Emanuel Bach had staged against the now-defunct Willy Brite Rangers a few decades earlier, because of the many instant wall-slides that have been mounted between these current instants and those wayback nearly forgotten instants, this seems to most the worst ever yet encountered. Deciphered again and again and again under each and every fast following breakfast-sun, they and the others as well as those not present became most probably also between themselves after deep zen-like analytical reflection, in the midday bright of their noon suns, became unaware, probably also so so unconcerned, as in their trivia-swollen mass marketed consciousness spread thin spread low so low as to nearly be invisible to the low minded uneducated mostly wakesleeping dunderbrained herd, that dumb inanimate objects such as they have no morals no feelings no empathy just as rocks grains of sand railroad ties hillbillies roadcurbs soft shoulders cellphones cracked clay pipes and all sizes and shapes of fossilized dementia victims—except for those felled by the ravages of the stage five level of this disease—yes every inanimate object in creation even each and every word in this thirty six thousand words bright-tome all illuminating, dousing all with the most pleasurably nearly orgasmic illuminations, no more conscious after such a pleasure-dip as to never if male ever to seek ecstasy by repeated insertions of their phalli into warm places to put it—as so defined by Duckwater the Lorridian—and if female to never seek the tight rub-fill and flash over flash introduced to their body space by the tug and push of random fat phallus over random fat phallus over that over this over and over as high as you want it we’ll take it m’seur—be aware that if you make the wrong decision, you’ll be stuck with the additional task of blasting the bedrock in your basement. All the while in the background lurked Maestro Rubbinschteen and the Gages all caught up in the war but still the Maestro maintained he’d take on the teaching of Beethoven to Gage. Time of war he reasoned. Yes I will teach you Gage, he decided. The life expectancy of non-combatants caught up in war is cut by half or more. Even though Gage was knocked over by the incident he may not have lost consciousness. Take him on yes, accumulate rewards in heaven when faced with death. Plus Gage’s brain damage seemed to have no effect on his senses. Take him on not, gamble with what current rewards there may be. Plus the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal wondered when considering cases like Gage’s, possibly the greater part of the brain has no function at all—and actually the paper went on to say long story short and actually no actually actually quite quite longer we know up here where everything’s lower that to meet the DSM-II definition for the negative form of schizophrenia, pleasure must have been incrementally flattened over several uninterrupted decades by the hidden viral locii of inserted size small Mon-Mon beans. Yup! Back to the facts; the first tamping iron entered the first defender’s forehead point first. Fast following after generating rippling howls and general blastlike noise, the next thousand irons flung outfront of the oncoming super-blitz squarely penetrating soldier after soldierette and even soldieristas and one or two of the computer generated SuperDefenders still in beta testing but cut loose on the Beethovenites in response to the sneak attack, but—bacteria of all kinds, including dangerous ones, thrive in the moist environment of such wounds, as do some insects. Because of the ensuing deep infections the wounds were dressed penicillin was injected and the enemy faded back to their original lines.

Time passed slow as the wheel of God, but it ground exceedingly fine.

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