Carlton Mellick III - Satan Burger

“We are not a single brain,” says one of the Movac.

I’m surprised to hear it speak, and I’m sure they know that I’m surprised, and I’m sure they knew that I was going to be surprised before he said that.

“We have separate brains, Leaf,” says another. “But we lack a sense of individuality, even in our appearance, but we are still individuals.”

I think I understand. When you know everything about everything, it’s probably hard to be unique from others who know everything. You own every consciousness of every being that is, has been, or ever will be alive. Which makes it irrelevant to have one of your own. It all sounds hideous-depressing to me. But the Movac live for a different purpose than what I live for, so I should stop comparing them to myself. Their purpose is something completely beyond me.

“It is to answer questions,” the Movac says, all of them.

“What?” Mort shrugs.

“The purpose of our existing is to answer questions.”

“That’s it?” I ask.

They all nod.

I feel betrayed and punch my leg. They know everything and all that they do is answer questions. What in the hell is that supposed to mean?

“That’s why we were created,” says the Movac. “We were created because something had to know everything. With us around, nothing will be forgotten. Not a man, not a thought, not anything. You think of us as beings, but don’t. Think of us as the record books of everything .”

“Nobody else knows everything?” Mort asks. “What about God? Doesn’t He know everything?”

“No, gods created us because they didn’t want to know everything. In a way, you give up your individuality to know everything, and the gods refused to give that up. It was necessary for us to exist, for history’s sake, and also for the future’s.”

I ask, “So you are the all-knowing computers of the universe?”

They started nodding before the question came.

I notice that the Movacs have miniature cities inside of their brains. These cities are inhabited by the same miniature people that inhabit the miniature ocean. An entire society physically living inside of a brain city.

They are the brain citizens: physical beings formed from the thoughts of the Movac. The process of knowing everything must be so complex that they need hundreds of brain-workers, functioning together in one society — moving toward one goal — to form a Movac’s super-complex brain. And all twelve Movac brains work together to form the all-knowing super computer of the universe. I’m not sure if my theory is correct, but I don’t want to know for sure, because theorizing exercises the brain muscles. The Movacs know I am thinking this, so they don’t tell me if I’m right or wrong.

The brain citizens build their societies outside of Movac brains too, expanding productivity across the countryside of Punk Land. This entire ocean, which Mort and I are standing in and Nan is lying in, is the overflow of the Movac brain. Ships and villages and animals — all part of the Movac brain, all working together to maintain the knowledge of everything .

A female Movac stares at me with a gurgle-leak coursing down her neck. Her brain citizens have built elevators from her chin to her breasts, where they can relax on the soft flesh before taking a shuttle to her toes. Through my swirly eyes, I see her body as an arousing work of architecture. A sky-scraping building that I wouldn’t mind laying over a mountain to inject my whale-sized shank through its front entrance, knocking the doorman out of the way and flooding the lobby once I am finished with her.

The Movac woman must’ve had her dark-pools eyeing into me because she knew I was about to fantasize about her, and wanted to give me a good stare-down before I performed the sex thought, licking some brain citizens from the corner of her white lips to dissolve in thick mouth water. I’m embarrassed, but I shouldn’t be, not at all: she’s known I was going to do this her entire life. It wasn’t a shock in the slightest, I’m sure.

“We’re going through the walm,” Mortician tells them.

“We know,” they say, pig-drippy.

The female, the fantasy building with large vacation breasts and the leaky saltwater entrance, approaches us, stiff-moving with her city built on her insides, trying to keep the brain citizens from falling into the ocean. She glares into my eyes again, her pools gathering hints of purple and silver. Black cave of a mouth… shingles for teeth… opening with pearl-expression…

“Let’s go there.” She turns and heads to the walm light.

I wonder why she is taking us rather than any of the other twelve. Is it because I’m attracted to her? Is she attracted to me as well? Will she take advantage of my weakness to alien women before allowing me to escape through the walm?

I hope so.

She leads the way, through the vapid humanoid crowd emerging from the light. Her walk patterns are mechanical. Her backside is so sensual yet it’s like a machine, just how the blue woman’s seems to be, but the blue woman is an animal-like machine and this Movac is a machine-like animal. I’ve never been attracted to mechanical women before. Now I guess it’s becoming a trend in my life.

The walm emotions go squirrely here, as do my eyes, running up the tree bark and chirping. Brain liquid drools from the Movac woman’s head, and I watch it slowly licking down to her fleshy rounds that are inhabited by the lower class of her body’s citizens — the salty odor thickens the air down there — then slipping between the crack to her thighs where it weeps into the miniature ocean world.

I’m paying so much attention to her absorbing body that I don’t realize we have reached the source of the light. My head fixes on the lower parts as she stops, then it looks up at the sublime doorway, the walm, eyes fixed without much dizzy-swirling.

The door is a giant vagina. It’s lips are spread out wide and emit a green light in all directions. The Movac female statues herself next to it, arms out at diagonals and chin up. Then her muscles go tense and it looks as if she is absorbing energy from the walm, as if she runs on soul-fuel as well, soak-slurping it from the reserve that the walm has collected.

Then the walm door dilates, the green light melting our skin color to lime. It awaits our penetration. On the inside of this thing is our future, our new life. Everything chaotic about this world will be uplifted from our crusty old shoulders. Now the human species still has a fighting chance against extinction.

“I’m not going,” I tell Mortician.

“What?” His face goes into shock, or maybe it’s disbelief.

“I’m going to wait for Christian.”

“You want to wait longer? We can wait for him longer if you want, but I’m not going in there alone.”

“You won’t be,” I say, brushing mud out of Nan’s half-conscious eyes.

“Come on, Leaf. Let’s go. You know Christian isn’t coming.”

“You go,” I tell him. “Take Nan and the history book and get out of here. If I Christian gets back here I’ll… Look, I can’t just leave him.”

“Well, I’m staying too,” Mort says.

“No.” I shake my head lightly. “I’m willing to risk myself to save Christian, but I’m not willing to risk the future of mankind. Get out of here now before the walm takes anymore of your soul.”

“Dickhead.” Mortician spits at me. He nods his head and puts the history book of Man in his belt. He takes Nan’s arms around his shoulder and she hugs into him, embracing to keep herself from falling and shattering on the ground.

Before he enters the fleshy lips of the walm, he turns back to me and gentle-smiles. Then he tips his pointy head up as a salute. Before I can salute back, he disappears into the walm and its lips press slowly around him, sucking him into another world far away from here.