The Nabob of Bombasta - eBook

August 2, 2017 | Author: Orlando Monk | Category: Milky Way, Night Sky, Sherlock Holmes, Nature
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"...reads like Douglas Adams possessed by some unnameable horned god" - Orlando Monk "I have to say that...


The Nabob of Bombasta By Brian Barritt Illustrations by Youth

This ebook is given away free under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial License. Some rights reserved. This book is also available as a paperback from Amazon and all bad booksellers (£7.99, ISBN 978-0-9564163-08). Copies signed by Brian Barritt are available from with £1 off and free p&p in the UK (As of April 2010 – subject to change.) Published by The Big Hand, 1st April 2010 Big Hand Books PO Box 5277 Brighton England BN50 9DL All ebooks given by The Big Hand are DRM free. Text © Brian Barritt 2010 Illustrations © Youth 2010 The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Every reasonable attempt has been made to identify owners of copyright. Errors or omissions will be corrected in subsequent editions. Produced and Designed by Orlando Monk





Foreword, by Youth


1. The DJ & the Harem


2. The Nabob of Bombasta


3. Intimacy


4. The Lady of Drain


5. Holmes


6. Princess Ee


7. Solution


8. The Scrubber


About the Illustrator


About the Author



To Sod.



I first met Brian when I lived around Portobello Road in West London around the early 80's. I was a twenty-one year old spaced out, Punk rock cult hero. I had been consuming way too much LSD and was generally disintegrating into a psychedelic meltdown. A mutual friend had recommended I go and see Brian for some mentoring and guidance as I had been in Syd Barrett acid casualty mode for a few weeks. Brian did just that. He was the first person to acknowledge that I wasn't going mad but was in fact undergoing a profound shamanic initiation into the deeper mysteries of existence. Thus began a lifelong passion and thirst for all things shamanic, magical and psychedelic. He really helped me to find the tools re-build my shredded ego and navigate the deep space within the abyss. Not least because of his own wealth of experience within the realm but also because of his seminal work with Tim Leary on seven-level



Confessions of a Hope Fiend.






I am really, really humbled and honoured to be illustrating Brian's genius word play. His mischievous humour and unique storytelling ability is as timeless and ancient as his spirit is eternally young at heart.

Youth, London 2010


1. The DJ and the Harem.







cannabis so that in the morning, as the sun dried the dew, the perfume of the sweet herb would ease him gently into each new day. Once awake, he would lie still as death till his eye alighted upon a suitable bud, then he would reach up and, using a leaf as a skin, twist his morning joint. Beside him the girl stirred. As he passed her the joint he ran a hand over the smooth contours of her behind and along her slit, then he patted her bum as a sign that it was time for her to go. She kissed him gently before picking up her sarong and melting silently into the morning. He could still smell her perfume long after she had gone, mingled with the joint she had taken with


her. Sex and sinsemilla. His dick started to rise but he switched thoughts. He was in no hurry. There were fifty two girls on the island and he was the only male.

The DJ had been making his way back from a rave in the Rimworlds when, by a stroke of sheer skullduggery, he had managed to blag himself a job with the Nabob of Bombasta, the richest man in the galaxy. His task was to play divine music to the Nabob’s harem onboard the star cruiser The Emperor of Sin, keeping them chilled out till the ship reached the planet of Krutch and the eager waiting Nabob. All he had to do was stay ‘ambient’ and it was a doddle. But the DJ couldn't see or hear his audience.

The frustration of knowing that a


hoard of ravishing nymphomaniacs were only a few inches away, watching him through the twoway mirror, played on his mind. Eventually he was inspired to introduce a 'repetitive beat' into the mix, got out his dick, and flogged his knob to the




enthusiasm, brandishing

wanking his




with his

invisible audience with unabashed pride, when it dawned on him that this was not his usual mode of behaviour. With a rush of delight he realised that he was reacting to the subliminal suggestions and hard-core indelicacies which the ladies of the harem were sneaking into his mind. With his cock in his right hand and operating the sound system with his left, he set up a series of telepathic lust loops with his audience. His fingers became


extensions of the ladies sexual desires and he was fucking all of them simultaneously, velcroed onto the same wave of sound. When the build-up came he fought against it with all his power, a small lone figure struggling to hold back the waters of a mighty dam. But the orgasm grew till it was a roar in his ears and his erection broke free of his grasp, reared up like a cobra and struck the key for 'EJECT'.

There was an instant of pure nothing… then he was swimming through space that became water that became sand. His last memory was crawling up the beach of an unknown island, the sole survivor - apart from the Nabob’s harem.


He was almost dead when the first girl found him, but she had the tongue of a serpent and she slid it down the eye of his dick and sucked the life-force back into his balls from beyond the grave. He came back to life, flopping about the beach like a jelly fish. She sucked up his cum like a Knickerbocker Glory, emitting incoherent babbles of bliss and frigging herself frantic with a tentacle. He had to admit, the Nabob of Bombasta certainly had superb taste. During the following months the DJ learned much from the rhapsody of beauty parading before him.

He existed in a

paradise of sensations which engulfed everything except his diamond hard resolve to appreciate them. For the first time in his life he could taste the delicacies of the flesh without becoming


ensnared by them. He couldn’t afford to miss even a single throb of his knob, so committed was he to ravishing the joys of the earth. He liked to lean back in his rocking chair on the balcony of his villa, sipping a glass of iced elixir and watching the girls run naked through the






playing and sucking each other's tits as they clothed themselves in coats of dark brown hashish. He enjoyed scraping it off them, gently, lovingly, stoned out of his mind, delving into the places they couldn't reach. As there were fifty two girls he initially planned to screw a different one each week so that he could get through the year shagging five days a week, and have the weekends off. But any thought of control soon went out the window as


he was swept along on the tide of ecstasy. It took no time at all before he relinquished all attempts at responsibility, left it to the woman, and plunged head first into utter bliss. That evening, just for a giggle, he cut a hole in the bottom of the hammock and lay on his face with his prick sticking through, then he tried to pick out who’s lips were on the other end of it while a fish girl spanked his arse with her big webbed tail.

The poppy season filled in the space before the






autumnal night was passed with the DJ and his ladies bathing in the dreams of rich brown opium, waiting until the scarlet heads of the fly agaric













the the

mountain like a river until they touched the meadows, and the psilocybin carried on the psychedelic tide. Throughout the mushroom season the DJ interfaced his consciousness with a wide variety of psychedelicacies. With the lust of the woman to launch his spirit on its journey and look after his body with tender care while he was away, he was free to ravish the universe. There were infidelities, of course, with other females on other worlds, but the girls on the island had the prerogative of owning his physical body and considered his ‘internal









One night, arriving back from an orgy in Seismic Minor, he found himself lying on a carpet woven from finest cannabis fibre brushed to a silken sheen, patterned by entoptics and dyed in the glowing hues of opionic vision. Pubia, a truly exotic looking bird, was seated on his penis with her back turned to him, slowly rotating her behind. Coming in from more refined regions, as she rippled her muscles up and down his stem he found

the tightness of her arse almost to

pleasurable to bear, while the hot juices of her cunt slobbered all over his balls. Meanwhile Tazi was caressing his head between the strange breasts peculiar to her species, feeding him nectars from her many nipples. His dick spurted with such force that the impact lifted Pubia a few


inches up his stem, causing her to flap her wings and cluck with abandon.

A giant girl abducted from the blue beaches of Altair had sexual organs that played sine waves, each containing a world of its own inside the frequency. He lay beneath a palm tree with his head against her twat, staring up at the full moon and the stars, smoking a joint and bathing in the perfumes of her pussy as she placed her labia over his ears as a headset and transported him to the furthest extremities of sound. By twiddling her nipples he could tune in to the news broadcasts from the Intergalactic Federation or listen to the gossip on Interstellar Reuters, and her clitoris acted as a joystick for


endless neuro-sensual games. With his head up her cunt they toured the galaxy together, walking in cathedrals of the finest crystal and freaking out the Gleeols * in fits of uncontrollable laughter. He could have lain there forever, eluding the desire to ejaculate, had it not been for his duty - to service the rest of the maids.


The Gleeols are entities whose job is to ‘Joy the galaxy’.

They turn even the wildest thing into a joke by the power of their infectious laughter, but they are deadly dangerous if you want to get anything done. They are the opposite of the Thrill-Suckers, whose cynicism sucks the buzz out of everything and leaves them all alone, in a vacuous void, twiddling their thumbs and complaining.



2. The Nabob of Bombasta.







thundering in fury at the fate of his beloved chattels, while Sod, the dwarf who acted as his stomach support, preceding a few paces before him. “Three nanoseconds out! Three fuckin’ nano’s out of hyperspace and the stratocruiser warps and loses my lovely pets!" Sobbing with frustration he threw up his arms in despair. “What shall I do, who shall I kill?” By keeping in step and performing a little hopping dance whenever his master stopped, or a sideways skid when he made a turn, Sod managed to keep out of range of the Nabob’s bejewelled slippers.


“A vile scam Master,” he panted, hoisting the belly further onto his shoulders as he staggered under the weight of the massive gut, “engineered by a common DJ, who has ripped off the exquisite darlings that it has taken you a whole year to collect. He is, no doubt, at this very moment, opening the petals of a rare virgin, and initiating her into the intimate delights of her first fuck. An occasion, Oh Great One, never to be repeated or forgotten by her innocent young mind, and against which all her following fucks will be compared. The DJ is not only deflowering your pussy, Oh Great One, but castrating you in the process!” Red faced and fuming, the Nabob kicked at Sod, missed, then swung on his heel, sending


his dwarf skidding sideways in a ninety degree arc and flying off across the chamber.

The Nabob was in the opulent Palace of Bombasta in the Land of Krutch when Sod had informed him of his harem’s disappearance. He vented his spleen on the ferret-faced captain of the Emperor of Sin who stood before him stripped to the waist. "Where are they?" he demanded, stabbing the lacquered nail of a bejewelled forefinger against the man's chest. "Where is my cargo? Where are my pets?" “Agents




Benevolent One, report almost arriving,” jabbered the Captain.


“REPORT!? A report is not going to get my nose up the cunt of that Sadian darling, a report is not going to dangle her tits in the palms of my fat sweaty little hands” The captain was as good as dead.


stood with bowed head, a single bead of blood crawling






awaiting the axe, when the readout saved his neck - HAREM EJECTED ON PLANET EARTH. In a moment the Captain was forgotten. The Nabob grabbed Sod and rushed off to find this Planet Earth, and reclaim his magnificent women.








Buckingham Palace, the Nabob of Bombasta


wrinkled his nose at the atrocious decor. He had been told that Earth would be as civilised as could be expected for a Third World, so he had abandoned his usual retinue and left it to the British Royal Family to entertain him.

But he

found the conversation banal, the accommodation abysmal, and the weather foul. It was certainly a far cry from his usual receptions, where he sprawled about wallowing in decadence and flogging his knob in public. “This place would be a hovel in the terminal slums of Kataract” he spat, slapping the Queen rudely across the face. “Where is the grandeur, where is the flamboyance and WHERE ARE MY GIRLS?” The Queen cowered on the floor. “We have searched all the cesspools of the planet with a


telepathic magnifying glass, Oh Great One, and there is not a single thought to pick up on. My Royal Family and I have personally investigated the filth, the sado-macho gear and the screams and sobs without finding a single clue”, she protested.

“How do we find your harem when

there is nothing to go on?”








despatched Sod with a wave of his hand but he could not ignore the dwarf's superior guile so, driven by desperation, he decided to find a quiet place and seek his advice. Absent mindedly prodding him with the toe of his slipper he waited for his massive belly to be heaved upward, pointed to the garden and followed the staggering Sod across the floor.


“How sweet of you to need the answer to such a simple question, Master. If you can’t find your chicks amongst the sordid crap, then they are obviously residing in some transcendental realm to which you do not have access. The past record of the man who pulled this foul stroke shows that he was employed as a DJ on the starcruiser The Emperor of Sin. Therefore, his music must hold the key to the paradise in which your ladies reside. I suggest tracking the tracks on the CD's until we locate the most sublime sounds. Then all we have to do is take the Psychedelic Elevator to that level, and retrieve them.” So it was that the search for the missing harem reached the clubland of London, and converged on a club called Heaven.


Here a

maestro called Laser Quark conducted a rave where shaman and wizards dwelt, and vast roomfuls






ecstatic sounds. It was from there, analysing the tracks of the DJ’s CD’s that the emissaries of the Queen of England learned of the transcendental realms.

The Royal Family had done their best, but even wearing their crowns they still looked rather dowdy in Megatripolis.

The Nabob himself

(resplendent in turban and robes of Sirian silk matching his jewel encrusted bobby-sox) did not stand out amongst the colourful attire of the other dancers. They were not all earth people; he recognised a Ursian bitch who had turned him over for a flying saucer full of Alfa Weed, and an


android he had nodded to on several worlds but never spoken. ‘The Baron’ was there, tall and thin, with a linage that went right back to Sirius 4, accompanied by a beauty called Jiya. Mahesh ‘The Sage of Mysor’ with his hair like a blond waterfall running down each side of his face. Greg on his wheels, Susanna the Warrior Queen dancing with Shawna the Nymph and Jami-boy. And behind them all was the fabulous figure of ‘Rosy’ adding a massive archetypal glow to the orchestra of lights, as if enfolding the very room itself in her all-embracing arms. All were wearing earth bodies to fit in with the crowd. “Forget about anyone watching and do your own dance, Master. If you can't do that, imagine







partner.” The Nabob kicked Sod out of the way


and, with a remarkable effort for a man of his width and breadth and girth, started to dance. He began with vigour but soon found the music too fast to keep up with. The blats of current were hitting his nervous system so intensely that his body could only react, and he felt like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Then without even trying, at the very instant that he lost his awareness of the other dancers, he found himself not only doing his own dance but simultaneously dancing with the rest of the room! The chi was as thick as smoke. The sounds






hieroglyphs that spelled out a magical message of awe and wonder. He saw his Higher Self and suddenly the words on the Guest List took on a


tremendous significance: ‘The Nabob of Bombasta plus One.’ As the night progressed, the intensity increased. The ravers were so much in touch with the music that he was left with the impression that it was they who were playing the DJ rather than the other way around. A man with wild hair and the face of a hero was throwing his arms and legs away from his body, a black cut-out stuck on the blat of a strobe, biological origami trembling to the whims of the music. And the music itself seemed thrown out like the limbs of the dancer, man, light and sound stuck together in sheer delight, irrespective of any considerations but right out-front NOW! Tecno-birds flew over a sea of shimmering static and he was rising and falling in a coloured


ocean, his mind a fleck of foam flying from every cascading wave. Around him people were flipping and squiggling, some running a hundred yard race on the spot while others barely moved - just standing there, hanging on the strength of the vibe. Caught in the whirl-y-gig of sensations, the Nabob began to feel unusually light. Like it or no he had to admit that he was feeling extremely pleasant. His fury at the loss of his harem became less significant and a feeling that could only be described as goodwill began to pervade his system. Vaguely he realised that his ego stood no chance of combating this communal onslaught of good vibes, but by then he didn’t care anyway and a big open smile had spread like a light across his face.


During a break in the intensity he could hear the strains of a symphonic version of Stairway to Heaven from the chill-out room upstairs, a phrase he had half heard before but was only just catching its meaning. In a flash he realised that he was already ON the stairway walking up the steps - now was the time to use the 'Psychedelic Elevator!' Without wasting a further nanosecond, the Nabob dropped a tab of E and closed his eyes.


The cannabis leaves were rustling slightly and the sun just beginning to set over the island when the DJ whispered the last endearment to a lover from Ursius and flowed back into his body


again. To his surprise there were no girls in sight, but he could hear laughter in the meadow by the thermal lake. He moseyed down through the cannabis plantation, checking the buds, thick and luscious with resin, and was suddenly all agog to discover the Nabob carousing with the females in the shade of the pot plants. Lying back with his turban all askew, his silken robes in disarray and his sexual organs fully exposed, any pretence that the Nabob had adopted of being of human origin was instantly dispelled. Fifty two pricks stuck out at angles from his rumpled garments with a woman of exquisite beauty spinning round on each one of them. “Just enough for a good satisfying screw” he laughed, and winked conspiratorially. “I only


need one a year and tonight's the night!" Then, without further ado, he ejaculated simultaneously from all his organs, sending the girls shooting off like comets to their homes in the stars.



3. Intimacy

On the curved sands of Grogol where the Monium meets the Agaleep, little lives save the poisonous Wriggle Worm and, poised on a single leg waiting for the worms to show, the Stalks. A vicious crawling cactus stalks the Stalks, which in turn is poisoned by the Wriggle Worms. Such is the extent of the ecosystem of Grogol, a barren unexciting planet as bald as the cheek of an arse. Grogol's only virtue is the annual drug and sex Olympics, which provides the opportunity for punters






gallivant around and have a flutter. One of the more popular events is the unicorn races. It is an impressive sight to behold the young satyrs sitting in the sunshine shinning


the unicorns’ hooves with shoe polish whilst the fauns massage their muscles and the nymphs pour drugs into their ears and add lustre to their horns by rubbing them between their tits. It is the trainers job to get the contestants lustful and rabid for the heat. The bait for the 3:30 was a half-breed Simian/Bulba,





blessed with an adaptable cunt. She was a woman that no unicorn, whatever his personal preferences, could help but drool and slobber over. At the sight of her steam poured forth from their nostrils, the corners of their mouths turned up into wicked grins, and their pricks twanged to attention so strongly that the vibration caused champagne glasses to shatter all over the stands.


Heralded by a fanfare of instruments, the unicorns would rear up on their hind legs, turn their backs to the object of desire and, at the crack of the starters pistol, run off in the opposite direction. They would then run all the way round the planet until they were back where they had started, and the winner would ravish his prize.

As well as the Nabob, who was busy sampling the fresh wriggle worms, all the usual libertines were on show, sipping absinthe and chilled sherbet. Mamluk the Cannibal was posing and posturing amongst his colourful cortege of eccentrics and freaks. Gnarl was in attendance with her coterie of glamorous beasts, and Palm the Naughty sat with his perverts arranged about him like rare chocolates in a box. As the race


began, Mamluk put down his glass and jerked the golden chain attached to the ankle of a winged harlot shackled to his wrist. He had wagered heavily and chewing her tits helped him to neutralise the adrenaline and alleviate the stress of the start. Xes and Coo, lured by the promise of adventure and money, were employed as a cameo act to fill in the time till the leading unicorn rounded the planet and made the final dash into his prize. They formed part of a sado-masochistic collage, seated on either end of a dildo made from the curved horns of an Agabati ram. They slid back and forth on the horn and rubbed their cunts together while Malim, a servant girl, whipped their asses none too gently and her twin sister flogged their tits.


Coo had been part of the Nabob’s harem. As they slide back and forth she gossiped with her new-found friend about her experiences with the strange Earth-man who had only one prick. She was well into her story before she realised that Xes was staring at her, totally taken aback. “You made love with a man by yourself, one to one, without anyone watching?” Xes gasped in disbelief. “Why that's disgusting, its... its intimate!” Without further ado Xes slid of the horn and flounced off with an expression of shocked incredulity on her face. That night, when she returned to her hotel, Coo was firmly told to leave the following morning. The bar refused to serve her and when


she went to use the sauna everyone else left. 'Intimacy' was unheard of in the Milky Way † .

At first, the thought of making love without a voyeur was repugnant to Xes, but once the possibility entered her mind her imagination began to play with it. It was so daring, to make love

without other people

around, just the

It is all a question of moons. As the moon pulls the tides

of the female menses it also pulls the sexual organs of the male, but in a different way, so that whereas the females of the galaxy are fulfilled by a single sexual organ, the males of various planets possess differing amounts. If a planet has fifty two moons like the planet of Krutch, for instance, then the male inhabitants all have fifty two sexual organs. If a planet has one moon, such as Earth, then they will have only one.


thought of a one pricked man made her soak her knickers. She remembered Coo's description of how she had polished his purple knob with her velvet lips and how he had moaned in ecstasy as she ran the tip of her tongue round the rim of his helmet. Xes began to wonder what she would do, alone with a strange man with no-one looking. Although she kept her hidden desires to herself as long as she could, eventually they began to obsess her and she was forced to confide in a friend. “Get away from me you intimate slut!”, was the immediate reaction. “Why can't you have holistic fantasies like everybody else?” But her friend also began to contemplate the 'intimate' possibilities and found herself confiding to a friend of hers, until soon everybody in the galaxy


knew that planet Earth was the only place in the Milky Way where you could have a fuck in private. Once the word was out that the Earth was a 'singles' paradise the sphere was invaded by trillions of sex mad females hell-bent on screwing any dude they could get their legs round. The earth men responded with great enthusiasm, and the girls experienced more intimacy than in their wildest dreams. The only drawback was the catastrophic lack of orgasms throughout the rest of







resentment of the multi-penised males.

Yeeemoo and Taska were walking down Clapham High Street with their tails entwined behind them, as lovers do. Taska was pointing out


the star from which she had come while Yeemoo fondled her sexual organ and lovingly caressed her tits. "I wish you'd do that to me," Taska said testily,





dangling like a teardrop from the lobe of her ear. She never received an answer. At that moment the invasion of the multi-pricked men began, and in an instant both girls were horned upwards by an Algolian sheep sheerer and carried off protesting vehemently on two of his forty dicks. The invasion hit simultaneously; in every land females were carried away by multi-organed sex bulls baying at the moon and stabbing at random at any orifice in the vicinity. Multi-sexual flying rapes are an acquired taste but it didn't take the earth-woman long to appreciate their


finer points. Soon naked celebrities could be observed doing acrobatics from one organ to another, or leaping from helicopters and landing at random. Everyone was fucking so much that they didn't have time for wars. So much love was generated that it spread quickly through the surrounding systems until even the crudest, most barbaric worlds such as Grogol, - where the viscous crawling cactus rape the Stalks - gave up their bad habits. All aspirations were turned towards the 'Intimacy Experience', which gave direction to meaningless lives. In no time at all the sphere was pollution free and vast hedonic palaces adorned the ice peaks of the Himalayas and the lakes of the Sahara. For the people on it, the earth became a galactic paradise.


And as its reputation spread, word of Earth’s delights reached galaxies beyond our own. So it was that from the galaxy of Andromeda a visitor came, drawn by the erotic scent of the planet as if hypnotised by a skunk. This visitor was the legendary Lady Twatania, the ugliest person in the known worlds.



4. The Lady of Drain

The arrival of the Lady Twatania on the erotic pleasure planet of Earth caused something of a sensation. She had a touch of the Medusa about her - when the unworthy saw her they were turned to stone which then turned to powder and was blown away by the wind. But this was only one of her charms. Her main charisma lay in the well known fact that she had more than one fanny. In the galaxy of Andromeda opposite principals applied, in comparison to the Milky Way. It is the males who possess a single stalk while the Andromidian females have a pussy for each moon. Sometimes this amounts to so many that they swallow themselves and create what is known on Earth as ‘black holes’. Gang bangs were


the only satisfying method of intercourse in Andromeda. Although she was an habitué of the lewdest dives and the choreographer of countless bizarre scenarios, throughout all the wealth of corruption and temptation, the oiled massages, perfumes, incense and drugs, Twatania had remained the purist of virgins. The plucking of her cherry, therefore, was an issue that required the highest levels of inter-galaxy diplomacy. The deep, sub-audible throb emanating from Earth was juicing her something rotten, however, and her inter-galactic courtiers could no longer delay the inevitable. It was imperative that the Milky Way produced a suitor of the highest standing. As the richest






Bombasta was the obvious choice.




For the Nabob, the most valuable virginity in the neighbouring galaxy was an appealing novelty. He agreed to the coupling, fully aware of its political power, and ordered Sod to prepare his genitalia. The Nabob, jaded beyond belief, was too idle to analyse his own lusts. Instead, he left them in the capable hands of his dwarf. It was Sod’s job to note the rising and falling of the Nabob’s various penises and record the stimulus to which each dick reacted. Each of the dicks had a mind of its own that demanded its own personal stimulation. Sod would then run the info through a laptop and define the ‘little trick’ necessary for each little dick. The Nabob did not tolerate mistakes. If one prick out of the entire fifty two did not rise to the occasion when his grand annual orgy took place the Nabob would be


unsatisfied and Sod, like his predecessor, would end his days in the dungeons of Krutch or exiled to Phlegm City in the mucus swamps. As the Lady Twatania reclined on a specially built, fur-lined table on top of Primrose Hill, and the crowds gathered to honour the great deed, Sod realised that he was in trouble. It had only been a few months since the Nabob’s annual coupling, and his regiment of phalli were not yet reacting in a predictable manner. They seemed to be changing direction at the merest breeze, a problem complicated by the breathtaking ugliness of the Lady. This inverted domino effect caused much distress to the harassed Sod. Sitting crosslegged with his laptop amongst the wavering phalli was like living amongst a shoal of fish, forcing








expanding maze of contradictions, to crash his PC and burst into tears. The speeches of the dignitaries ended and the crowd began to grow impatient, eager for the deflowering ceremony. Lady Twatania lay on her back with her legs in the air. She was a musical instrument with the body of a centipede. Her body twitched and rippled to indicate readiness. As the pricks flopped around his ears, Sod knew that drastic measures were needed. Seeing no alternative, he desperately wrenched the giant blood-red ruby from the Nabob's navel and tried to shove his prick in. There was a mighty whoosh of expelled air. The potentate began to deflate while the dwarf grew larger by the second. They both reached the same size, became one and, propelled by the last of the escaping air, careered








applauded politely, oblivious to what had really happened. When the Nabob came to halt and returned to his starting position, the crowd failed to see that it was now the Nabob that occupied the body of the dwarf, while Sod inhabited the grandiose posture of his former master. Sod, whose low tastes were the opposite of his refined master’s, had never seen anything as erotic as Twatania. At one glance all the nautch girls, belly dancers and courtesans – from the seraglio's of Sensula to the allies of Krutch, along with






tantalising veils – were swept aside and replaced by a single transcendental illumination: “The Naked Lady of Drain.” Sod looked deeply at his


prize and playfully erected each of his new cocks in turn, in the manner of a Mexican wave. Twatania giggled her appreciation. For the grand occasion she insisted on wearing black silk bloomers with a row of mother-o-pearl buttons that ran up the side. By the time he had completely undone her, and fifty pairs of pants lay wildly about the hillside or covered the faces of the hand maidens that were ministering to the couple, Sod’s temperature had risen to an all-time high. The heads of his newly acquired pricks were about to explode, and steam was issuing from his arse and both his ears. Even the Nabob, lolling back in a hammock slung between two of the hand maidens, had to admit it was a sight that would take some time to forget.


Twatania’s fifty cunts left Sod a couple of pricks spare, allowing him to run them up and down her clitoris like the keys of a piano and foreplay ecstatic rhapsodies while her anus's lovingly coddled his balls. They fitted each other perfectly. As he entered her she kicked her legs sending an avalanche of white high heeled shoes flying in all directions, and the sonic boom of her 50 hymen splitting created such sexy melodies that the CD was banned on several worlds. The Nabob, meanwhile, was too stunned to react. Forgotten, he found himself in the body of the Dwarf, watching his beloved penis’ being thrashed in the most unsophisticated manner. Appalled at what had happened, the thought entered his head that this was only the start of his disgrace.

How could be reclaim his body?


And what could he do that would persuade Sod to give up his glorious genitalia?



5. Holmes

During the nights that followed, the Nabob read up on Sherlock Holmes. He studied videos and poured over dog-eared manuscripts deep into the small hours. While the city snored around him. he pieced together the immaculate character of fiction until he possessed a palpable image hovering like a ghost before his inner eye. The Nabob’s appearance as Sod had not changed on the physical level, but he now embodied every thought-form that he had filched from the minds of all the people who had read of the great detective. Squinting at his creation from the corner of his mind, he could see Sherlock himself dressed in deer stalker with meerschaum and magnifying glass.


Satisfied, he flipped his consciousness into the ghostly figure, took an ornate Victorian syringe out of a draw, and stepped out of fiction into reality by shooting cocaine in his arm. While





momentarily stunned from the rush, the Nabob thrust a pen in the detective’s hand and prompted him to make his signature on the bottom of a contract. Then with a wicked little smile he waited for Sherlock’s high to dissipate enough to allow conversation. He did not have to wait for long. Holmes’ eyes rolled back from the inside of his skull and settled on the dwarfen figure in front of him. He nodded politely.


“I take it sir”, the detective said, “that the matter you have engaged me in requires the return of your former body.” The






clapped with glee. “Incredible! Astounding! How do you see so much, O great detective?” Sherlock answered with an effete wave of his hand. “It is a simple matter. I have of course observed your base form, and noted a discrepancy between your mannerisms and your appearance. From the underhand way you forced me to life and into your servitude, I recognize the manner of one familiar with power. The gentle way you are currently fingering your anus demonstrates a sensitivity more usually found in the courts of Emperors than by a dwarf in a damp basement off Portobello Road. I deduce, therefore, that your


current form is not your usual one, and that a return to the rightful way of things would be your highest priority.” The Nabob nodded, impressed. correct, Mister Holmes.

“You are

I am the Nabob of

Bombasta, currently residing in the body of my dwarf Sod while, only a few yards away my body is even now in the second week of a coupling with a







Andromeda. In truth I know not what horrifies me most, the foul body I am forced to inhabit or the thought of my darling pricks being sullied by the grimmest female in the seven worlds. I am a creature of the more exulted realms, Mister Holmes, a gourmet of and

high aesthetic pleasures

rarefied, sublime experiences. Therefore


before they are further tarnished it is of the uttermost urgency that I get my cocks back.” Sherlock considered his words. “Indeed,” he said with a hint of dry humour. “Lacking your penises it is logical that you would need a private dick to assist you.

We are both readers of the

minds of men, Nabob, you as a seducer and I as deducer. I take it that contract that you made me sign relates to your ownership of my soul?” “Of course. You have signed away your soul in perpetuity, for me to torment as I wish. In return I give you my word that, once you have returned me to my body, I will put you out of your misery by forgetting you ever existed. You will then dissolve back into the fiction from whence you came.”

The Nabob ended this promise by

farting in a trustworthy manner.


“This is as I thought,” Holmes replied. “It is to your ill fortune that you created me as perfectly


you did.





bestowed on me, I can clearly see how little your word is worth and I deduce that your torment of me will never end, regardless of how well I undertake my duties. My next course of action, therefore, is elementary my dear Nabob.”



6. Princess Ee

The constellations of the Akian zodiac mark a procession of twisted bodies outlined in the stars of the night sky. At dusk, a cowled and crooked figure emerges from below the horizon holding a scythe in one hand and clutching the malformed hand of her male consort with the other. As the night progresses, The Liar, The Murderer, The Torturer, The Hangman, The Blind Idiot and The Thief cavort across the heavens in a line, with their male and female counterparts kicking






Accompanying them, the ten blood-soaked moons of Ak reel round the circle like stumbling drunks. On a rostrum rising above the main square, with her arms stretched straight out


before her, the ghoulish figure of Queen Hag orchestrates the night sky. By wriggling her fingers as if they were snakes, she evokes the red moons rising like hell-pits above the horizon; one at a time they appear, as if reluctant but dragged up by her will in spite of themselves. By the writhings of her hands Queen Hag conducts the night sky until the ten moons of Ak are moving to her will, as if each were attached by an invisible strand to one of her fingers.

Meanwhile, at the ball, the DJ flipped open the ring and poured the contents into the golden chalice







shaking so much that the lid rattled against the ring and, when he snapped it shut, it sounded as loud as a gunshot. Feigning confidence he shot


his cuffs, turned with his head high, and studied the liquid in his glass as if divining its purity. Then he took in the bouquet, smiled approvingly, and walked towards the lady sitting opposite to request the pleasure of a dance. Forty minutes later the sky changed; instead of the Hag a beautiful priestess appeared on the rostrum, the constellation of the Liar become the Writer, the Murderer had gone pacifist and the Torturer had become a conscientious objector. In less than an hour a brilliant future could be observed outlined in the stars. After a sip of punch The Queen Hag had metamorphosised into an entirely different being: she was now Princess Ee, a fission Queen from Zal and a flying sorceress of some distinction.


The DJ kissed the back of her hand as he passed her the joint, and for a moment bathed in the glory of her smile. He had come a long way since his days with the Nabobs harem, but the technique he had learned of masturbation whilst scratching the vinyl had enabled him to refine his lust-loops







audiences all across the sky's. It was on one such tour that he had found himself on Ak and had unwittingly been commandeered into the annual death rite. The mood and setting were all important to his performance so he had spiked the punch and changed the audience to a more positive outlook. But he had no idea how intoxicating the ‘other self’ of Queen Hag would be, and her newly acquired beauty had completely thrown him.


A mist of star-dust followed behind her; as she walked it clung in an inverted triangle at the top of her thighs, like a veil that parted and shredded and reformed in an endless drifting motion without ever quite revealing the sex beneath. Her translucent skin glowed in the ruddy light of Ak and lit her every movement with a ripple of sparkles. Myriad's of microcosmic flashes and gleams danced over her flesh, fire-fly’s span tiny pin-wheels around her nipples and when she gestured stars flickered from the tips of her fingers and the palms of her hands. Her red hair, an entity in its own right which mimed its mistresses’ actions, haunted the movements of her limbs like a crimson ghost. It flamed along her arms, raced up her shoulders, exploded in an inferno of scarlet heat about her


head and rolled in waves of fire down to the hollow of her back. There it lay, flaming quietly and licking itself, reaching out occasionally to caress her buttocks and the inside of her thighs.

Over the next few hours the relationship between Princess Ee and the DJ matured till the distinction evaporated

between and

their they

social became

stations intimate

companions. She, highly sophisticated, had never been outside a city, and it was an adventure for her to go for walks in the countryside, while he was a simple soul who liked to pick up her tail and bum her a little as they chatted and strolled amongst the trees. At night as her labia coddled his dick between silken folds and coursed the rim of his helmet with a thousand sweet kisses, his


music would reach such a peak that her clitoris would vibrate in unison, like a tuning fork, emitting a wavelength of such delicacy and refinement that his penis had no option but to extend even further than it was possible to do so, and transport them to ever more exalted realms.

When he came round the drug had worn off and she was a hag again, crouched in a corner observing his naked body with a lascivious grin. She had a cunt like an inverted hay stack and tits that hung down to the ground, and she was frigging herself with a broomstick. It was not the first time he had seen a witch frig herself with a broomstick, but this was with the bristly end and it put his teeth on edge.


As quickly as it was polite to do so he paid his respects, kissed her gently and said his farewells. “You will never get of this planet until you have satisfied my basest desires” she cackled. “I control the moonscape and if you attempt to jilt me I will shag your ship through all the painful perversions of the Akian zodiac and fuck your disfigured corpse until you come back to life out of sheer disgust.” And with those words, she thumbed her clit, leered lustfully up at him and stuck a finger up her arse.



7. Solution

A chink of light showed along the edge of the door. It opened and the figure of a bent old man stepped into the oblong of illumination. He was dressed as a shambling nonentity, but Holmes scented the Nabob’s blood group and recognised the unmistakable characteristics of Sod’s squat frame. As the dwarf made his way along Fulham Road, Holmes followed in the mind of a pop star a few yards back on the other side of the street. He had his mind-shield up and gave off no telepathic transmissions. When the pop star crossed over he changed







professional women. In this fashion Holmes









consciousness and awaiting the time to pounce. It was the Nabob’s fault and he would have to take responsibility for it. Holmes had decided that he would never escape the Nabob’s control, no matter what he did. He was in a position






permanent chattel of the merciless dwarf. It took little deliberation to reach the conclusion that the only way out of this intolerable predicament was to kill him. The






equipped with enough extrasensory faculties to find







still a

gentleman. He would never stoop to bloody murder.






intellect to devise a far more acceptable plan of


action. His intended method was to move from mind to mind until he could sneak into the brain of his quarry, then order him to commit suicide.

Things had not been going well for the Nabob. He had summoned an Armada of elite space mercenaries in order to recapture his body, but the hypnotic hedonic emanations that pulsed out from the planet Earth had bewitched these fearsome troops.

The last that he heard of the

Armada was that it was anchored beyond the dark side of the moon, and that entire platoons of hardened space sailors were knitted together in a clusterfuck of such depraved proportions that the military’s ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy was probably the best thing for all concerned.


It was the last straw. Somewhere amongst the holocaust of the Twatania Coupling the Nabob had lost his rag, lost his cool, lost his mind and completely forgotten the plot and the name of the game. He was going through such a vulnerable period that it was only by pure luck that he became



that that



portion the



his of

Sherlock Holmes was plotting his demise. It happened whilst he was enjoying an espresso in the rehab where he was undergoing treatment, to erase some of the dreadful sights he had recently witnessed. All of a sudden he experienced a suicidal relapse and had just decided to end it all, when a waiter whispered in his ear.


“A cluster of thoughts inhabiting your cranium have got loose Sir, and their sinister behaviour







guests.” Only when the image of the interloper was projected onto his mind-screen did the dazed dwarf click-on to the presence of his interior rival. It was analogous to a web-site blinking into existence. As the Nabob opened his third eye he beheld Holmes lurking through cyberspace with as








downloaded the sleuth onto the screen of his laptop and greeted him with a stream of abuse. “You tried to kill me

you traitorous

bastard” he screamed “and I will take the greatest pleasure in slowly dismembering you for it. Piece by piece I shall erase the elements of the montage


of which you are composed, and you will slowly suffer the anguish of protracted annihilation while I sit here and wank.” “My






outcome and rational solution to an otherwise insoluble problem.” said Sherlock, his confident demeanour apparently unruffled by the Nabob’s threat. “As to the question of my annihilation, that is in your hands alone, but I would inform you that with the disintegration of my personality will go the solution to your problem.” “You have one, you honestly have one? Tell me and I will forgive you everything and set you free.” “I






unsavoury psyche to fall for such a ploy.” “I swear on my mother’s life”



“You never had a mother,” Holmes said tartly “your genetics were pissed up against a wall in Whitechapel by Jack the Ripper and hatched in a flesh-pot by syphilitic hags well versed in perverse humour”. He drummed his fingers irritably on the inside of the screen causing the Nabob to gasp at the audacity and hug his computer to him protectively. Holmes continued, “Only when you tear up the pact we made together will I divulge the secret. Set me free to find my own soul and I will be in your debt and consider it my duty as an English gentleman to aid you.” With a reluctant scowl the Nabob ran his short stubbly fingers over the keyboard and watched the contract appear on the screen with


Sherlock’s signature at the end. He deleted the file. Holmes smiled. “Thank you. I now ask you to consider how your desires differ to those of your dwarf. For just as you were too prudish to enjoy the extreme base charms of the Lady Twatania, he too would have difficulty humping the most divine maiden in creation.” Nabob considered this.

“I agree, but

where would I find a lady too exquisite for my Dwarf? He has been on duty as I have cavorted with the finest females imaginable. Despite his character, he has grown used to such splendour and rarely vomits. I am the richest man in the galaxy. The most knowledgeable dealers in the highest forms of womanhood bring their finest


specimens to me. Surely there is no-one with the aesthetic understanding needed to procure an even more divine female?” “There is one such person, your Grace, a man who you have unwittingly trained in the most sublime pleasures.” The Nabob understood immediately. “That damned DJ”, he said. Sherlock




considerable experience of playing his lust-loops all across the galaxy has educated him in all the finesse of elegant fucking. I had a text from him earlier.







at the







that your





misunderstanding, he is willing to trade places as gesture of goodwill. Here is his phone number.


Now if you excuse me, I am drawn to the natural home of fictitious characters like myself.” And with that Sherlock Holmes bowed slightly, turned away,








8. The Scrubber

The Nabob was sprawled out in clouds of steam and perfume in the Turkish baths while Sod supervised a bevy of handmaidens who were shampooing the genitals of his master.


whacked Sod over the head with a rugged erection, an act that gave him immense pleasure. Earlier he had grabbed the dwarf and transported him to the Planet Ak, where he found that the DJ was true to his word. So glorious was the Princess Ee that she scared Sod straight out of the Nabobs body and back into his own. “Thank you for forgiving me, master”, said the dwarf as he worked amongst the perfumed steam. “In return I will ensure that you are in immaculate condition for your forthcoming


intercourse with the Princess Ee. I promise I will prepare each penis with more care and attention than they are worth.” As his words sank in, one of the Nabobs pricks felt insulted and with an involuntary knee-jerk flicked him across the chamber and sent him skidding across the blue and white tiles. Humbly, Sod continued with his task, holding his temper and clenching his fists as the Nabob drooled on, punctuating his complaints with an occasional blow or a vicious little jab in the kidneys. He waited until his master had finally cooled out and relaxed into a state of glowing rapture, then, pushing a handmaiden out of the way, he rolled back the foreskin of the gnarled and throbbing erection that had knee-


jerked him, drew out a wire brush hidden in his armpit, and scrubbed avidly behind the gnob. The





ejaculated, and in so doing fired the dwarf out of the door and into the safety of the corridor. Sod was surprised a short time later when, in a wheedling tone, the Nabob asked him to do it again. Eventually, having resigned himself to the inevitable, he picked up his wire brush and strode majestically back into the clouds of scented steam. The handmaidens had risen all his dicks to maximum height and the Nabob was glowing with self satisfaction when Sod observed the steam parting above him. To his amazement he saw that it was not Princess Ee but the Hag who appeared,







skateboard. The potion that the DJ had slipped her had worn off and he had legged it to the other side of the galaxy before the Nabob had come round. The Nabob lay with closed eyes unaware of the impending danger, while she circled above him, slowly expanding her pussy until it covered the entire assembly of thrusting cocks. Then she stepped off the broomstick and did the splits. The handmaidens fled as she revolved her cunt like a demented cement mixer, emitting the sounds of a rude, crude, grind of the lowest kind. Sod saw the horror on the Nabob’s face as he opened his eyes and witnessed the Hag, and he was overcome with an unexpected wave of pity. Without thinking, an uncharacteristic wave of kindness propelled him to aid his master. The


dwarf dashed forward, lifted the skirt-like labia, and ran in. The next second he was gasping for air as he ducked and dived to avoid the forest of sexual organs thrashing about all round him. It was with a sigh of relief that he found himself staring up the Nabob’s anus, knowing that the blizzard of pricks had passed him by. Then, leaning forward, he whistled a sweetness up his masters bum. The result was immediate. All 52 cocks shuddered, paused and ejaculated as ONE! The Hag crashed through the roof of the Turkish Baths and flew up into the Heavens. From that night on, the people of Ak had a eleventh moon in the night sky.


In the sauna, a highly potent silence reigned, with Sod and the Nabob locked into each other's eyes. Then, in a cajoling voice the Nabob spoke. “Thank you dear dwarf. I owe you one for that, you lovely little sod” Sod






tenderly before and for a single sharp second he saw the huge bloated nose of the Nabob as possessing an highly erotic significance. The Nabob, meanwhile became suddenly transfixed by the large round nostrils of the panting dwarf, which dilated and contracted tantalisingly before his master’s eyes. Without the bidding of either, a sizzle of current passed between them, and the next second their faces had plunged into each other.








grasping for a hold.


Later, when they told the story to guests, they would describe it as love at first sight – the first time they had both really 'seen' each other. Then






emphasise that it was only after this event that he discovered that Sod had fifty two assholes.



ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR Youth was born in Africa in 1960. He cofounded the band Killing Joke and has worked as a musician or producer with artists including The Orb, Embrace and Primal Scream. Youth







Producer in 1998 for his work on The Verve’s album Urban Hymns. He runs Dragonfly Records, a psychedelic trance label, and has published a collection of poetry and illustrations titled Poetica Mystica :: Kissing Nettles. Youth has recorded three ambient albums with







Fireman and was one of the first people in the UK to be arrested for creating graffiti art.


websites include and



Brian Barritt was born in Coventry in 1934. soldier,

Over the years he has been a sailor, krautrocker,





psychedelics and expanded consciousness.









hitched to India in the mid-60s and accompanied Timothy Leary during his exile from America in Algeria and Switzerland in the early 70s. He took Youth under his (bat-like) wing in the late 70s, during the early days of Killing Joke, and was later taken under Youth’s wing in the early days of Acid House. His psychedelic autobiography, The Road of Excess, was published in 1998. He currently lives in Battersea, South London, with a squirrel.



Whisper: A Timescript (Whisper Promotions, 1971)

Confessions of a Hope Fiend (Co-authored with Timothy Leary, Bantam 1973)

The Road of Excess: A Psychedelic Autobiography (PSI Publishing, 1998)

The Road to Tir Na n’Og: The Journal of a Psychedelic Archaeologist (Grooved Ware, 2003)


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