For Posterity!
-or, the first step toward the scholarly investigation and long overdue, inarguably deserved accolades of the greatest fiction author of all time-
Newly minted PhD candidate, Xavier Wondertoss, breathed in the smell of the archives. It was not the smell of the old University library to be sure, not yet; the scent of intellectual depth, dignified in their purpose and age, the faint gently pervading aroma of paper, leather and ink.
Nevertheless, perhaps one day, it could and would be. Books were still pouring in from around the country. The years of war had made historians fear the worst. So much was digital, so much left unarchived.
But here, he had carved out his own intellectual acreage. With civilization being very much back, there was finally time to make sense of it all, to exam and investigate, to fall in love with what was, which had influenced what had come to be.
A scholar of Comparative Literature, he had taken on the task of investigating the founding literary groups that had collected on the Old Internet, shortly before the conflict began. Now a few months in, he was finally beginning to get some answers.
He had set his focus on an incredibly talented and prolific writer, who would eventually go on to try his trade as a militant propagandist, P.C.M. Christ.
Xavier couldn’t help but wonder at the self-named “Frog” writers and their distinct habit in naming conventions; almost always, a set of at least two, sometimes three, initials, followed by a surname, or simply a single signifier.
A consequence of their extremest ideology? Who knows! What mysteries lay ahead to be uncovered. The ancient depths of personality that were made manifest under the freedom of anonymity were Lovecraftian! His entire life’s work lay ahead of him, and it all started with this, P.C.M. Christ.
Having got to know the man, or at least the general outline of his story, over the past several weeks, Dr. Wondertoss was still in awe.
Apparently, after being exposed to RWBB [sic] Christ began typing each story with his phallus. This was no small feat as he would eventually write seven hundred and eighty nine short stories, alongside twelve novels.
Less than three months after he began this practice (much of this information recovered from archived 'Direct Messages’) he would confide in his friends, with rumors also abounding, that he was preparing for divorce after this vitalist practice had partially destroyed his now calloused member, allegedly including a potentially permanent imprint of the letter ‘t’. He would go on to describe his prized appendage’s condition to his ‘Flash Fiction Group Chat’ as “somewhat flattened, thicker, but now at a disturbingly obtuse angle”.
But in a feat of strength that Dr. Wondertoss had yet to witness, neither PCM’s self-inflicted deformity nor his divorce would effect his prolific output, most of which consisted of fiction, much of it published online or in right-wing journals, all of which he continued to type with his phallus.
His single published work--self-published and into which he would sink the entirety of his life savings--was a whopping fifteen pound tome of esoteric knowledge defending the psychological, physical and sexual benefits of variants in penial geometry. All without a single hint of homosexuality. Amazing.
Following its completion, he would go on to become a founding member of the notorious ‘Provincial Retards’, a biblio-militant group turned right wing death squad, which grew out of the ‘Frog Writers’ eventually turning their gaze toward the hostile takeover and eventual destruction of the Manhattan publishing industry.
Wondertoss grinned with adulation; the grapefruits on this guy! What’s more his literary merit and writing skills were impeccable. Near peerless. His tweets left something to be desired though.
NOTE: This one is for my writer frends. May the scholars of tomorrow sit with their jaws gaping in disbelief at our audacity, their bellies aching with laughter, their spirits and minds enthralled by our genius and vitality. -PCM
Follow P.CM. on Twitter: @plzcallmechrist