Morbid's RDA of vitamins, minerals, jejo, smack, X, weed and hash...

The Place in Between” LegumeMan Books, 2010The Grim Reverend Steven Rage

The Good Doctor used to reside in Bogota, Columbia. Just below the equator it’s still quite cold, but the sun shines brightly and reliably. If you dressed warm enough, you can still breathe fresh air and get the vital vitamin D, direct from the big golden orange-yellow
source above. The jungles have long ago vanished. Not done in by the Little Ice Age, the human populace took care of de-spoiling the entire continent before anyone knew for sure that the ice was coming. Afterwards, as ice was sliding down from the north, the Amazon River spread far and away, covering scores of square kilometers. The fresh water seeped into the spongy earth, essentially becoming a giant swampy lake. It was a vibrant Petrie dish, just waiting for the next wave of life.

“Hello! I am such a HUGE fan of The Grim One! And boy-howdy does he give a good reach-around!”

When the cold of the Little Ice Age did come this far south, the terrain of the Amazon basin quickly
evolved into a sub-arctic zone. The boreal forest hosted abundant ferns and thick evergreen conifer
forests. There weren’t enough humans left to fuck any of it up. So, in time, new animals and those that crawled out of the water were able to flourish in this brand new environment.
The United States on this side of the world, and New India (which finally absorbed Pakistan,
Afghanistan and every-other-stan that touched its borders), on the other side, saw the writing on the wall. As a last gasp effort, both of these remaining Superpowers used their increasingly de-valued wealth and still powerful military might to gobble up all the scattered hot spots around the globe. Any place thatcould in any way support life, be it on, or even under ground, was invaded and claimed. Any locals that remained weren’t nearly strong enough to do anything about it.
The three cataclysmic events had happened so quickly and one right after the other. A little under
two thirds of humanity was wiped out. Human beings were that close to going under for good. It was a drastic reduction in human stressors but there was something good to come of it: there was
now plenty of space and scads of left-over durable commerce to be had for the taking.
The stunned remaining populace then spent the vast majority of its days, salvaging the shit-tons of
shit that was left behind. When they weren’t busy laboring, they became gluttons, consuming the endless supply of man-made chow.
The automated factories kept churning out the processed foodstuffs, even after the dead, saved and
frozen were all long gone. And, in the case of The Indian-controlled Harbor anyway, the general public stayed as wonderfully stoned as humanly possible.
As the rest of the western hemisphere crumbled
beneath the events, the United States grasped the opportunity and invaded Columbia. They toppled Bogota, making the Old City in the New World the new US capital.
Only those with money and influence were allowed
to live there. The Good Doctor used to be blessed with both. Not anymore. The disgraced physician/
scientist had been banished to the true hinterlands, at the ass-crack of Lake Michigan. It was in the upper middle region of what used to be thecontinental United States of America.
The Good Doctor had got himself into some hot water down in the sunshiny below with the powers that be.  No-one knew exactly what he did to shite in the big bowl of proverbial oatmeal. It must have been both political and personal. He was banished and teleported to The Harbor.
He was allowed to bring with him only the two suitcases and a vastly diminished credit account of
Indian Rupees. The US official currency of Federal Reserve Notes is more stable and therefore more
valuable.
Teleporting The Good Doctor to the frozen north with barely the clothes on his back and second class currency was to be the ultimate insult. Of course The Good Doctor being the man that he is, he tucked up his long silver-grey dread-locks and went right to work taking over The Harbor. We were ripe for the plucking anyway, and soon after he began pumping out the organic narcotics, everyone
calmed right down and queued right up.
Even though it was a frozen stink-pit full of mouth-breathing dip-shits, The Good Doctor became
king of the dip-shits. It seemed to make him happy. You know the ancient saying: I’d rather be a king in Hell than a servant in Heaven? When The Good Doctor staked his claim, he made his stance literal.
He found a rusted-out behemoth of a steel refinery with its multi-level basements. His careful exploration revealed that at some time before the events, the refinery was a fully functional hospital.
He sealed the floor from the instant frozen death above and turned out any squatters. The Good Doctor transformed it into something rather palatial. Hell’s Mouth Determining Hospital was born. At this time he lived on the grounds, to be near his work. The Good Doctor conducted his experiments.
People disappeared around that time and Halflings of all human-animal mixes emerged. Then the doomed and damned crawled up from the Great Pit. Since there was no god to stop them, they began living and breeding with the humans. The Good Doctor welcomed them all, and why not.
All sorts of creatures lived in The Harbor by this time, and with his blessing. The Good Doctor remained king. For it was just when an uprising of the pure humans had began in earnest that he bentdouble to the task of anesthetizing the populace with
his organic narcotics. He had test samples ready in just a few weeks time, less than one full lunar cycle.
The Good Doctor located the nocturne to deal the organic narcotics to the huddled masses. His illicit drugs were a smashing success. Almost the entire Harbor climbed on board. There were still a few holdouts that refused to capitulate and indulge in the new goodies. They were quickly and severely dealt with. The remaining resisters and dissenters were thrown out of the top hatches by The Good Doctor’s goon squad, and into the bleak white-out conditions above. The rebels were all frozen solid before they could walk ten feet.
The Good Doctor had completely de-railed the brewing civil war. He did it without even one shot
being fired. He continued being the unofficial king of The Harbor. He did whatever he wanted, to whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Souls and Halflings and even some of the doomed and damned began to vanish at an alarming frequency.
No-one could do anything to stop The Good Doctor, though. To be honest, no-one cared enough
to even try. Everyone learned to steer a wide path around the king. It was much easier than coming up missing.
In The Good Doctor’s defense, his drugs are stellar.

— end excerpt

 


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