Chapter 23: Towards the future my son.

The future had worked out well for Morty. The man he had strangled had settled out of court for Morty’s fancy hat, because it was really nice. That was the closest Morty had ever come to being in trouble and he felt revitalized.


He began to study real estate. Not just the empty feel-good seminars, but he began staying up all night studying the similarities in infomercials, he learned what they all had in common, and what they all promised, he began to look at different ways of influencing people and, most importantly, long-winded justifications of why it was right to do anything for money because all he wanted to do was right, but he needed the money to do right so he should sell real estate.


He had an awfully shiny smile to begin with, but he shined it down, nothing chemical, he just used tree bark, pumice, and water from the industrial bleaching pool, another great industrial product designed to make your life better.


He never went back to Dales flower shop, but his trauma from working there, and the only life experience he had thinking on his feet in the presence of really bad ideas provided him more than enough motivation to work tirelessly through other dead end jobs to afford more time to study his real estate seminar motivations.


He used the constantly transient civilization to his advantage, he practiced his ultra-shine, he focused his eyes and trained his voice, he learned the nuances of eye-flutters with very very shiny smiles. He would entrance the homeless kids and move them through town, he spoke with the others and learned their patterns. This provided ample base for negotiating life with the rest of his non-transient community. He had a social life, he managed to work smoothly and was invited to all the parties. He did well to stay away from the Sweltering Fish Boat​, but occasionally went in for a nightcap or an eye-opener.


He had occasional relapses, but mostly avoided mainstream advertising. He never could remember or make a connection to a certain international athlete, but he knew that he had to keep everything face-to-face, or directly, through his now famous home page.


Morty had learned persuasion, slight-of-hand, and the perfuntory mores of the sages decadence. Morty had learned bantering, bartering, flirting, being bashful and all sort of other stupid shit. Morty had finally taken a lifetime of absorbing poorly scripted sitcom fraudelence and had made a rapid adaptation between his new social cues learned from giving seminars to appearing confident and successful to other lonely people that expected the same from life. Morty had learned that he could shine all of his achievements up so that they sounded spectacular. He didn’t have much of a mission. He spoke passionately and directly.


His seminars were hardly a spectacle, taking most of his inspiration directly from the sole power of positive real estate seminar he had seen, and trying to maximize the profits he could make, he sparingly provided styrofoam cups and diluted black coffee to attendees. He held his seminars in modest motels off of the interstate, and simply spent the rest of his time stapling flyers to telephone poles. He really lacked a global vision.


Morty didnt mind, though, he didnt see the costs of assistants or vertical branching to be beneficial because it would dilute the stream of profit coming in. He decided what he really needed was cross brand appeal, so he went back to his market research.


He spent days taping and reviewing syndicated cable infomercials and home shopping networks. He watched the most common trends, and although he kept no notes, he did enjoy many an evening in his underwear in a cheap fold out chair, sitting in his light less apartment drinking vodka and beer out of a boot and watching pre-recorded infomercials on VHS.


Morty needed to tap in to other markets, he needed to know what kind of books people would buy if they didnt just watch real estate infomercials. He was truly over his head. He went through book stores, churches, bus stops, restaurants, he read everything he could, he tried to get a grip for other people’s weaknesses, but was unable.


Then, by just as much of a poorly written chance as his walking into a real estate seminar in a library, he walked into a self-help meeting because he saw it advertised as a social event in the paper.


It was a ‘Self-Entitled Anonymous’ meeting, for the unnecessarily self-entitled. It was full of pasty, whiny snobs, talking about how they should have been more accepted in to a society that they believed existed. Well, that was their problem, at least. It did get in the way of their lives because no one could stand to be around them except for other self-entitled slobs who could sympathize with them, and they could share their angsty tales of lifes woes.


Morty walked in with his extra fancy suit, dressed to wow, breath sparkling of carrots and oil, and said:


“Is this the ‘self-entitled anonymous’ meeting?”


He heard a few polite scoffs and was greeted with a room of indifference, the people already seated continued their endless conversation.


“Well, I should have gone to brown, because my uncle knows someone on the board, really, I had great grades and they wouldnt give me an interview. My dad and uncle are in a feud. Its politics, I tell you.” One whiny little fucker said.


“Yeah, its just not right. I was accepted for a one time study with the banking gnomes of Zurich, I just needed to provide a 118,000 deposit, which I didnt have, and my grandparents wouldn’t give me the money. I mean, I know they have it, they seem like they are living pretty well.”


Morty sat down and just listened. The others continued to ignore him, assuming he was just a newcomer, yet to find his own self-indulgent voice. The conversations varied, but all portayed the person as a victim, somehow deprived of lifes great offerings because of the unreasonableness of the cards stacked against them.


Y’know, the types of folks who should just be dropped off in a bush in the middle of the African plains?


Eventually, the conversations — unmoderated because the organizer was so dissatisfied with his post in life, being relegated to being the organizer, that he abandoned his post to complain about how he should be leading rehab meetings between aging rockstars – came around to self-help books, one member piped up:


“Yeah, they are such a scam, I have an uncle that wrote the original self-help book, but the publisher took his idea for a self-help guide to whale calls and instead published a self-help guide to weight loss two months before his was due to hit the shelfs and buried it. Because of that, I have to work at a donut store!”


Morty balked: “People buy these books? This self-help?”


The crowd murmured and nodded asycopatedly in agreement.


“Why … why don’t you read them?” he asked, puzzledly.


“Its a scam! I fucking told you already!” spat the young whiny self-entitled fucker.


“The real help is in communities, like these, where we can find like minded people with the same victimized past and move beyond it. Or hypnosis.”


Morty had never considered hypnosis.




A dark figure with black eyes stepped through the crowd and up to Morty. Morty had seen the man before, but could not place it. The man stared directly at him, and the bells began to ring in his ear again. It was the disappearing man from the bar a couple chapters ago. Remember?


“And this will still not break you. You have found the answer you sought. Go now.”


From his locked gaze, Morty could begin to see time on the spectrum, he saw the last decade of his own reinvention, he saw his blank life prior. The view receded and he saw his parents lives fade back into post present futurism. He saw his towns shrink and the industry erode back into an agrarian state, he saw giants walking the earth and hordes of indians fighting buffaloe. He pulled back further and saw the earth hanging in space, he saw the contiental drift recede to panacea, and with that, he felt the presence shift.


He drew into the lone continent and viewed it in the prehistory. The jungles were overgrown, each vine tangled and beautiful, the deserts miniscule, only a highlight in the path of desolation they would carve over time. The magnificent mountains absent. He was drawn from the roving plains of the dinosaurs and endless giant reptillian conquests. He was pulled far from the main continent and left hovering over a relatively tiny island.


The island was filled with lizards. He felt time begin to move again, but he stayed focused on the lizards, he watched them grow in size. He watched the larger strains grow, he saw them camp stategically around the smaller society, then gradually organize the smaller into working units.


He saw the rebellion, he saw the inbreeding, he saw the shadowy lizards living outside, growing back in to roles amongst the others. They were marked to his eyes, so he saw them reassimilate, he saw through their chameleon guises, that they had kept while in the shadows. To him, the society hadn’t changed, the separation was more pronounced. The underlings had shed their scales and their blood had turned warm. They grew playful and unassuming. Eventually, they grew tits, and they all jumped in the water, and swam back to the great continent. The dinosaurs were all dead by then.


As the tiny mammal-lizards moved back into the water and shluffed off the dolphins, he hovered, watching the now stranded lizards crowd around the water. Time seemed to slow again, as the lizards created the first piece of mechanical technology: a kickass yach which took them to the mainland much faster than the furries evolution.


And when the mammals crawled back on to Panacea, the lizards were ready.


Morty felt time speed up again. His view pulled from the landing point, and he saw the lizards cautiously mingling back in with the mammals, this time, they would stare down each of the underlings as it approached it. Keeping its gaze, then working with it almost seamlessly. The animals were so quickly duped into this ruse that many smaller species were wiped out from being far too trusting.


Trusting of the lizard hypnosis. Because thats where hypnosis comes from. The overlord lizards, thats how you can’t tell what they are, because you are too busy being in their reality when you see a picture of them oof watch them on TV. In the earlier days it was easy, because the kingdoms were small, and the kingdom always drew a crowd. Naturally there were rebellions and assassinations in the later organzed human tribes, but the malevolence that could disorganize society always came from lizards. Even in modern mutant dolphin tribes, there are undercover lizards that have mastered the sonic tone that can make dolphins brains explode.


Morty kept a broad view of time and space and watched as the continents quickly rearranged themselves, animals evolved, deserts creeped and forests were felled by draughts and fires.


He saw the evolution of humanity, of tribes, societies and kings, and yet he could still see the marks of the lizards. Never a majority, but always in the concentrations of power. They had long since abandoned the lesser species when primates had begun to fasten tools, and stayed closely around each one.


The lizards had been subject to their own evolution. The ones that were too greedy or violent commonly wiped out a specialized species and then were unable to move freely among the mammals and were stomped like their stupid dinosaur cousin lizards. As the millennia turned, the overlord lizards of the past had ripened into man-sized free-thinking lizards that were parasites off of society in a complex way. Having no way to hide their strange personal tastes, these lizards stayed in the fringes of society, but managed to maintain their hypnosis skill and generally used it sparingly to keep a quiet life.


Morty felt himself floating farther out to space as time sped through in to the modern age, as he reapproached the ground, he could see that human society had grown quite advanced, but he could still sense the lizard presence in the context of power.


The vision pulled him down to england, where, he could see the rapid expansion and destruction of many towns around him. He could see patches of destroyed forest, and the occasional village burning like a super-fucking-nova.


In the haze of constant destuction, he could occasionally see a small being, running fleetfoot across the contry side, and razing villages in his path. He would watch it retreat through the the woods, and through tunnels in the land, and lie creeping about. He watched it changed size and lumber through the water. He felt the breeze of time sifting through his hair.


And then he saw Jimmy Beckham move into a small town, he watched all the same trials and tribulations, he saw him struggle to make friends with anyone, and saw him slaughter nunneries full of nuns. Through the countless tragedies, he saw the giant Jimmy Beckham retreat and wait, and reenter society. He saw him treated like a simpleton or outright avoided.


And then he saw him get direct control.


Through hypnosis.


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