Prologue: 
 
     Suppose, gentle reader, that there were some specific place
upon this earth, almost but not quite totally unlike a college.  In
this particular place, let us call it the Land of Hoodlums, for
lack of a better term, there lived a kind and noble people who did
indeed call themselves Hoodlums.  With the mind's eye, then, look
into an unassuming place in this kingdom, a small town known as
Memorial.  One might picture a closed door, and behind that door,
a young woman diligently studying in an attempt to broaden her
horizons and make the most out of her academic experience.  Her
name is Emanuelle, and she has nothing to do with this story.  Next
door to Emanuelle, one might picture another closed door, behind
which another woman is poring over a document of some sort.  This
is Nilrem.
     Nilrem has an air about her of not quite being grounded in the
real world (She wears weights on her ankles to avoid flying off. -
eds.).  If one should look around her room while she is immersed in
her reading, one would find several articles of interest.  On her
walls, one should imagine posters of wizards, unicorns, dragons,
Klingons, and Albert Einstein.  She has a number of photographs set
around the few remaining horizontal spaces in the room, including
one of a red-haired young man, who has a striking resemblance to a
duck, set in the place of honor: atop the television.  There is
presumably a desk beneath the pile of papers and stack of "Knight
Life" magazines beside the computer.  Over her shoulder, one might
read the title of the book she is currently examining: Prentice
Hall Encyclopedia of Multiculturally Aware Terms.  This is where
our story begins.
 
Chapter 1: Michael Thomas, or Beware of the Duck in the Red Plaid
                              Jacket
 
     Nilrem finished reading, closed the book, and sat back with
her eyes closed.  There was so much to learn for her to become more
fully multiculturally aware!  New expressions, the likes of which
she had never before heard, danced primly through her head,
delicately holding hands.  Speciesism lined up carefully with a
Bovine American, while new terms for old possessions flittered like
moths to the flame of her imagination.  Who would have guessed that
the item holding her computer, sorry, "silicon-based companion,"
preferred to be known as a "multipurpose horizontal workspace"
rather than the derogatory "desk?" (Note: although multipurpose
horizontal workspaces cannot give evidence of preference in terms,
we at Prentice Hall believe that to be no reason why one should be
referred to in a less than mutually respectful manner. - eds.)
     Her eyes made a tour of her room, resting for a brief moment
on the picture on her differently-colored electromagnetic wave
viewing device.
     "Michael Thomas," she whispered in a reverent tone.  Gently,
she put her eyes back in her head after dusting them, then picked
up the picture and held it close.  "Oh, Michael Thomas!  You are
indeed the kindest, sweetest human to ever drive the Dual Highway
in Hagerstown!"  She placed a soft, chaste kiss to the picture
frame, set it back in its position, then knelt before it on her
right knee.
     "I pledge, dear sir, that I will take up the cause of
Multicultural Awareness in your name!  For you, I will spread the
words of Prentice Hall throughout the Land of Hoodlums, righting
injustice for the oppressed, corrected the unenlightened, and
telling one and all the truth of Cultural Sensitivity!"  She broke
her stance to go rooting under her bed for her fencing foil. 
Holding the finely crooked blade before the picture, she whispered,
"By this sword, which shall henceforth be known as Paglia, which in
the old language means 'She filled with very warm vapours,' I swear
it shall be done!"
     Realizing immediately that she would need help in this
endeavor, she pondered upon names for a travelling companion.  With
a start, she knew exactly on whom to call.  She dashed out the
door, forgetting in her haste to turn off the lightbulb that had
appeared over her head.
     Down to the stables she ran, towards the parking space she
knew so well.  She approached a small, green, petroleum-wasteful
vehicle.  She placed a tender hand on its roof, and stroked it
fondly.  "Ah, Rita!  You who are indeed the meaning of your name
("Most assuredly a benevolent canine." - eds.).  I again require
the use of your services, my dear one, for we must be off to the
town of Smith to find a friend."
 
Chapter 2: Morag, or Great Scot!
 
     The town of Smith was much as she had remembered: a near clone
to the town of Memorial, with some interesting differences.  She
recalled fondly an old friend she had met in the town.  Her name
had been Brin, and she had been a real treasure: kind, gentle and
virtuous.  Brin had always been the definition of chastity and
temperance to their circle of friends.  Surely she would join her
on her new quest to right wrong, correct intolerances and serve the
name of Michael Thomas.
     She asked directions of a passing freshperson, identifiable by
her bookbag, makeup, stylish clothes and large red "F" stenciled on
her forehead.  The freshperson pointed out the way to Brin's home,
then laughed oddly at Nilrem.  She thanked the freshperson, and
reminded herself that there were many people who needed help.
     As she reached Brin's door, the unmistakable sounds of music
touched against her ears.  At least, she thought it was music.  The
deep bass made her internal organs tremble in time, while the
singer seemed to be chanting something about various interesting,
and physiologically damaging, sexual acts.  Nilrem tapped on the
door.  There was no response.  Nilrem knocked again without
success.  At last, she resorted to pounding against the frame.  The
door opened.  A woman's face appeared.  The rest of her body was
hidden by the door, and Nilrem had the feeling that there was a
very good reason.
     "What?"
     "Hello!"  Nilrem had to shout to hear herself above the music. 
"I'm looking for Brin.  Perhaps you know her?"
     "Hey Brin!" came a masculine voice from the room, "will you
hurry up?"  Nilrem's eyes opened wide.  This was Brin!  This was
.. Brin?  Indeed, the same face that had once laughed at a
thousand elephant jokes now stared at her unknowing, and smelling
slightly of stale alcohol.
     "Yeah?  What do you want?"  Nilrem thought quickly; this woman
surely could not be a true and faithful companion on her quest for
the sweet and virtuous Michael Thomas.
     "Would you like a subscription to 'Knight Life,' the only
magazine dedicated to wandering knights errant?"
     "No."  The door slammed in her face.
     Ah well.  She still needed to locate someone with whom she
could travel.  In every issue of "Knight Life," there was an
article about choosing the proper sidekick, errr, differently
victorious traveling companion.
     She walked down the street, trying to get away from the
excessive pounding from Brin's door.  As she passed by one door
covered in dragon-lore, fantastic pictures, and a sign that said
"Morag, Professional Sidekick," she heard a distinctive song, one
that she'd thought never to hear again.  Quickly, she knocked on
the door.
     "Who is it?" came a softly accented voice from the other side.
     "I am Nilrem of Memorial.  May I come in?"
     "Yes."  She opened the door, and entered a fantasy.  Dragons
of an hundred shapes, sizes, colors and bank account numbers stared
at her from the walls, and lined the tables.  Truly, this was the
domain of a dragon-keeper!  Coming from the television were the
delightful strains of music she'd heard in the street: the theme to
"MacGyver," the last true knight-errant.  She'd found her traveling
companion, if only she could convince her to go.
     "My dear female human being, I am on a quest.  I wish to right
wrongs, pursue justice, correct the ... "
     "Shh!  It's back on!"  Just as surely, "MacGyver" had returned
from commercial break.  They sat in silence until the next
commercial.
     "As I was saying, I am on a quest to right wrongs, correct the
unenlightened, and teach the truth of Cultural Sensitivity to all
I encounter.  I would like you to accompany me on my travels."
     "I can't.  As you can see," she spread her arms to indicate
the spotless room, "my home is a mess, and I have homework that
might be due in two months that I should start, and besides, I'd
really much rather ... "
     "I have a TV Guide article about Richard Dean Anderson that I
can give you when we're done."
     "When do we leave?"
 
Chapter 3: Meyran, or How to Not Win Friends and Influence People
 
     Nilrem and Morag started out immediately.  They headed towards
the small metropolis of Coblentz, known far and wide as the best
provider of foodstuffs both tasteless and unidentifiable.  They
took from the place the Holy Ringed Bagels of Lender and a small
canteen of Fruit Something to drink, and began their journey.
     "Where shall we go first?" asked Morag, still growing
accustomed to Rita's unusual gait.  Most cars in which she had
ridden actually owned a transmission.
     "To the city of Meyran ("Meyran - a. smells of yearbook
paste." - eds.), a city known for its quiet hospitality and gentle
citizenry.  There shall we find friends to aid us on our quest for
righting injustice for the oppressed, enlightening the masses, and
promoting the cause of Multicultural Sensitivity."
     They entered the gates and stood looking in awe at the
surroundings.  The finest formica and plaster covered every surface
but the plexiglas windows.  Nilrem clasped her hands together
gleefully.  "Indeed, this shall be a goodly place in which to find
allies."
     "Oh dear," said Morag.
     They approached a door and knocked.
     "Who is it?"
     Nilrem whispered to Morag, "Let me do the talking."  Louder,
she said, "We are adventurers on a quest seeking aid and friendship
from all we meet."  She smiled, satisfied.
     "Go away.  I'm trying to study."  The smile faded.
     "Perhaps you did not understand me.  We come asking for help."
     "I heard.  I don't have time right now.  The natives have gone
quiet for a little while and I need to study."
     "Natives?  Do you mean indigenous Meyranites?"  Oh joy!  She
had always wanted to meet one.
     "No, just a pair of idiotic freshmen.  Tell you what: get them
to turn their radio off and I'll do anything you say."
     "Indeed, so shall it be done!"  Nilrem drew Paglia, while
Morag stepped back out of harm's way.  Nillie rapped on the
offending door with her blade.  "Open up in there!"
     The door creaked open, and in a case of deja ear, Nilrem
recognized the same noise she'd heard from Brin's room.  A woman
who resembled Brin closely stuck her head out the door.
     "What do you want?"
     "Pardon me, but your music is too loud for the comfort for
some residents.  Could you be so kind as to turn it down?"
     "No!  It's my right to play my radio as loud and as long as I
want!  If you think differently, you're prejudiced against me and
my music.  My parents will sue this place for bias!"  She slammed
the door in Nillie's face.
     Nilrem stood there a moment in thought, then knocked again. 
The woman appeared again. "What now?"
     "Your music is still too loud.  Kindly turn it down."
     "Blow me!  I'll keep it up if I want!  That busybody next door
put you up to this, didn't she?  I'll get her ..."  The woman never
finished, as Morag's dagger was suddenly at her throat.
     "As she was saying," said Morag in a quiet tone, "your music
is too loud."
     The woman turned down the radio as Nilrem and Morag watched. 
Then, to make certain that it stayed there, Nilrem pulled off the
volume knob and ate it.
     "Thank you."  They left without another word.
     Outside, the first young woman met them.  "You did it!  You
stopped the music!"
     Nilrem bowed.  "It was the least I could do."  Morag glanced
at her but said nothing.
     "Please, come in.  I cannot offer much, only some Australian
chocolates and bottled springwater."
     The pair graciously accepted her offer.  The three of them
spent an hour tasting chocolates and listening to the minstrel
Lavin singing "Prisoners of Their Hairdos."  When they had
finished, they took their leave.
     "If you are not busy tonight, come to our meeting.  I'm sure
everyone would be glad to meet you," said Lady Abigail (which was
indeed the woman's name).
     "What meeting would that be, pray tell?"
     "The Talk of Atheists.  It is a fun club."
     "Indeed we shall join you.  Come, Morag.  It is time to go
seek adventures as we right wrongs, champion the weak, enlighten
.. "
     "Yeah, yeah.  I know.  Get on with the plot already!"
 
Chapter 4: Apple Towne, or He's a Ho
 
     Nilrem took out her Prentice Hall Encyclopedia to find a
suitable place for their first adventure.  "Hmm.  Apple Towne looks
interesting.  It says here that there are 'Foreign lands to
explore, along with the place of all records old and meaningless.' 
It also mentions a monster called Vax, but doesn't offer any
details other than it rips out the minds of humans and replaces
them with strawberry gelatin.  It sounds like a lovely vacation
spot."
     "Charming.  Ummm...  How about I sit this one out?  You come
and get me when you're done slaying Vax monsters."
     "I could never leave you behind, trusty traveling companion! 
How else can I help you expand your horizons other than to bring
you along on these journeys?"  Morag shrugged.
     Apple Towne was impressive.  Older than Coblentz, near the
same age as the town of Meyran, and covered principally in brick
and drop/add forms, the land hosted a goodly population.  The two
adventurers found a pleasant-looking place with the cryptic name
"Registrar."
     "In The Prentice Hall Encyclopedia of Multiculturally Aware
Terms," read Nilrem, "the name Registrar means 'place of long lines
and chessboard floors.'"  They entered the building.
     "May I help you?" asked the man behind the counter.  He looked
to Nilrem, then to Morag, and kept looking.  He began to smile and
wink at her.  Morag shuffled a little closer to Nilrem.
     "Yes.  We are travelers in search of adventure, who are on a
quest to promote multicultural sensitivity, right wrongs, champion
the good, and protect the innocent, all in the name of Michael
Thomas the kind and gentle."
     "In that case, you'll need the General Petition Form on the
wall.  Fill it out and bring it back."  The man went back to
playing Droids on the computer terminal.
     For a split second, Nilrem considered rephrasing her speech,
then decided against it.  After all, the man appeared to be of a
formerly oppressed racial group and therefore could be absolved of
being an idiot by virtue of the oppression of his ancestors by her
own.
     In the corner, Nilrem saw a young woman attached to the
photocopier by a long steel chain around her ankle.  She looked up
at them, and said simply, "Work-study jobs suck."  Nilrem and Morag
merely nodded in agreement.
     They were preparing to leave the town of Apple, to Morag's
intense relief, when suddenly, a noise came from a building not far
away.  It sounded ... like people actually working!  This merited
further investigation.  Nilrem and Morag carefully turned the
corner from the Registrar and saw a mound of paper at least fifteen
feet to a side, and half that in height.
     The stack of paper moved.
     "Hello?" said Nilrem uncertainly.
     "Just a minute," said the walking paper stack as the phone
rang.  A hand shot out of the paper to grab the receiver. 
"Associate Dean's Office.  May I help you?"
     After a brief chat during which the stack of paper appeared to
program a mass transit of students across Europe, redefine the
boundaries of two countries and make a pot of coffee while typing
up letters for the Dean's list, the stack hung up the phone.
     "All right then.  How can I help you?"
     "Perhaps," started Nilrem.  "We are on a quest to ... "  Morag
stepped on her foot.
     "We're just looking around.  What is this place?  It's not on
any of the maps."
     "You've found your way back to the Office of the Associate
Dean of Academic Affairs and Study Abroad.  I'm the Dean's
secretary."  Another hand shot out of the paper.  Gingerly, Nilrem
shook it.  It withdrew.  "So what's the weather like outside?"
     "It is the most aesthetically pleasing, in my frame of
reference, of Spring days, filled with flower petals and age-
challenged grass."
     "Spring?"  The hand came out again and scratched what could
have been the location of a head.  "The last time I was outside, it
was midsummer.  At least when the Great White Elephant arrives,
I'll be able to get out from all these forms."  As they drew
closer, Nilrem could see the various petitions, Change of Status
forms and little unreadable postcards from people who might be
interested in studying in France but would probably not go.  For no
reason, another feeling of deja vu swept through her like a cool
breeze.  Then Morag shut the window.
     "What is the Great White Elephant?"
     "I've heard of it," said Morag.  "The Evil Queen Martha, who
as you know stole the throne from the rightful ruler Princess
Shirley, decreed some time ago that a Great White Elephant named
Beneficial ("Beneficial - a. 1. Like one who has too much money and
too little of a social life 2. Ancient God of Flattery and
Donations, worshipped by the Early Yuppies of the Metro Era [10
BCE].  Yuppite drawings of Beneficial depict him as a large man
with crossed eyes and an open wallet." - eds.) should be placed in
the center of the kingdom as a symbol to all Hoodlums of her power
and majesty."
     "I have not heard of such a morally-impaired biological
organism.  However, my studies have kept me far from the mundane
affairs of life."
     The stack of papers said, "The Elephant is going to be placed
inside of Apple Towne, right where we stand.  Our home will be
destroyed to make room for it.  I don't worry so much for myself,
but I know it will kill Lady Loretta."  The papers shook gently, as
if sighing.
     "Could we possibly meet the Lady?" asked Morag.  "Perhaps we
could do something to help her."
     Nilrem took her arm and whispered into her ear, "May I remind
you just who is supposed to be the knight-errant in this story?"
     "You may.  But since you've got everything else in the satire
backwards, this might as well be, too!"
     "That is for me to decide.  This is my satire.  If I wanted
to, I could write you as a pink dragon, like the last story!"
     "I keep telling you, pink dragons don't exist!"
     "And why not?" asked a soft voice from the other side of the
room.  "Pink dragons are just as lovely as any other dragons."  The
three of them turned to see a woman watching them, mirth in her
eyes.  The stack of papers handed her a tissue to discreetly wipe
it away.  She was of medium height, with short dark hair just
silvering.  She appeared to be at or around fifty years, and wore
it well; the few lines on her face were from laughter.  If it were
not for the sadness in her occasional glance, Nilrem would have
sworn her to be the happiest person she'd ever met.
     "You must be Lady Loretta."
     "I must.  What are your names?"
     "This is Morag of Smith.  I am Nilrem of Memorial.  We are on
a quest to" she glanced at Morag, then hurriedly continued "right
wrongs, protect the weak, promote cultural awareness, and do
generally hero-type things all in the name of the sweet and good
Michael Thomas."
     "I see."  She gave them another radiant smile.  "Would you two
knights errant like something to eat or drink?"
     Before Morag could reply, Nilrem accepted, then whispered to
her trusty companion, "Rule 1 for knights errant: Never turn down
a chance to eat or use the bathroom."
     Morag whispered back, "But we've already eaten twice since the
story started!  When are we going to have some action?"
     "Shh!  Your character doesn't like action.  She's supposed to
be the foil for mine, who goes gallivanting off getting herself
into trouble, while you say 'I told you so.'"
     "I do that anyway.  I want a fight scene!"
     Nilrem turned to Lady Loretta, sighing.  "We would love to
stay and partake in your wonderful comestibles, as you are rumored
far and wide to be the best chef in the kingdom.  Alas, my
associate" with a significant glance to Morag "wants us to have a
fight scene, so I am afraid we shall have to decline.  Do not
worry, though.  I can tell by the fact that you actually got a
description, unlike the rest of us, that we shall meet you again. 
I imagine that you are the equivalent of the archetypal 'damsel in
distress' for this mentally-challenged story, so we will surely
come back to champion your cause and slay the Great White Elephant. 
If we had the time, we could have had a dinner scene comparable to
Trimalchio's, with much satire on the ways and means of manners in
polite society, but ... "  Morag tugged at her arm.  "We're going! 
Hold on."
     "It's not that."
     "Oh.  Down the hall to your right.  Knock first, in case Henry
the Hormonally-Enhanced is in there."
     "Thanks."
 
Chapter 5: The Vax, or Night of the Living MUD
 
     The lair of the Vax was deep in the bowels of Apple Towne. 
The pair huddled together as they walked down the winding staircase
to the dungeon where the Vax lay waiting.  Morag had her dagger
out, pausing now and then to file her nails, while Nilrem clutched
Paglia tight.  The darkness closed in on them like a hug from Great
Aunt Alice wearing her floral-patterned dress and cheap perfume.
     "Nice image."
     "Thanks."
     They reached the lair, and opened the door with an unsure
hand, then stood flabbergasted at the horrible sight before them.
     Lined up in two neat rows, fourteen formerly bright and
upcoming students sat drooling before glowing blue screens,
chanting "Vax!  Vax!" softly.  A small fog rolled at the floor,
conveniently provided by a bucket of dry ice left in a corner. 
(What?  You want high-budget special effects?  You pay for them!)
     "Lo, Morag," Nilrem began.
     Morag turned to her and raised an eyebrow.  "'lo, Nilrem."
     "No, lo!  These poor students have been drawn in by the curse
of the Vax!  Look at their glazed eyes, their happy smiles, the
drool slowly pooling at the keyboards.  Vax has them sure."
     "Your point?"
     "Now is the time of our great fight scene, in which I will
engage the creature in battle.  It will prove to be treacherous,
and attack me from behind, then you will come in for my defense,
which will cause the beast to look at you instead.  It will kill
you, then get away as I strike it a hard blow.  I will then pledge
to hunt it down and swear to it upon your grave."
     "Hold on here.  We get the fight scene, finally, and I die at
the end of it?  I don't think so."
     "Come now, Morag.  It happens in all the good fantasy novels."
     "I have a better idea."  Morag slowly approached the wall,
where an enigmatic gadget hung. which seemed to be attached to a
long cable that snaked around the terminals.  Morag took hold of
the serpent's head, and tugged it free of the wall.  All the
screens went blank.
     "Indeed, Morag, you have proved a most worthy companion!  Now
these good people can be free of the spell of the Vax."  She turned
to the students at the now living-impaired terminals, and said:
"Arise, ye people, from your slumberous states at the computer, and
breathe in the fresh Spring air!  You are free!"
     Anticipating their gratitude, she thought of the questions she
would pose to them concerning the location of the Mother Vax and
the current whereabouts of the Great White Elephant.  The students
turned to her and to Morag, and as one, they opened their mouths to
speak:
     "Kill them!!!!!!!!"
     Realizing that the gratitude of the students would not be
forthcoming, Nilrem and Morag decided that it would be a lovely
time to break for a new chapter.
 
Chapter 6: Hodson, or We're Off to See the Wizards!
 
     The pair slipped out of the dungeon through a convenient plot
hole, and found themselves in front of a large, formidable looking
castle, complete with high towers, slimy walls, and shrieks of
terror coming from within.  There was a large sign reading "Castle
Hodson, from whose gates no Traveler returns."
     Nilrem took out her Prentice Hall Encyclopedia to look up the
name.  "Here it is!  'Hodson - a. Smells like the stomach of an
unhealthy bovine.'  It looks like a delightful place."  They went
inside.
     The first thing that was apparent to them was the smell. 
Prentice Hall had named it correctly.  They wandered around the
ground floor of the castle, looking for someone, anyone.  They
found only a long vine that stretched from the greenhouse to a room
down the hall and to the left.  It was an interesting plant, very
large, and it appeared to be growing, even pulsating.
     "Darn," aid Morag, "I forgot my high heels!"
     "High heels?"
     "To trip in when we run from the giant man-eating plant."
     "That's 'living-being-consuming vegetable American,'" said
Nilrem absently, as she brushed the side of the vine with her foot. 
The vine burped.
     They decided that it might be prudent to go upstairs to the
top floor of the castle.  They found the stairway, which stretched
up into darkness.
     "Morag, you have been such a brave and hardy soul on this
quest.  Please feel free to go up the stairs before me."
     "Nilrem, I wouldn't dream of depriving you of the glory that
is so due to you.  You may go first."
     "No, I insist."
     "Please, go ahead."
     After much arguing and wasting of time and term paper space,
they went up the stairs together, holding their swords close.  At
the top of the stairs, darkness and dead quiet sank over them like
a torpedoed whale.
     "Ewwwww," said Morag.
     "Sorry.  I couldn't think of any other description."
     They walked forward into the darkness, and then stared upwards
at a sign reading "Welcome to the Department of Alchemy,
Metaphysics and Astrology."  Never mind how they read it in the
darkness; there was a greenish light conveniently around it. 
Really.
     Suddenly, the greenish light was gone in an amazing display of
special effects and technical wizardry (too bad you can't see it). 
Instead, there was a large puff of smoke, from which emerged a man
with a goatee wearing a bright purple wizard's hat and a Celtic
dragon pin.  He pointed a long, sharp fencing foil at them, and in
a booming voice, proclaimed: "You're It!"
     He touched Nilrem, then ran down the hall.
     Nilrem and Morag looked at one another.
     Morag shrugged and said, "It's your story.  If you want to put
your adviser in as a wizard who goes around tagging people with a
fencing foil ... "
     "~p
e!"
     "Whatever.  If you want him to run around tagging people with
an 
p
e, it's your business, but you're not tagging me It!"
     Nillie grinned and tagged her anyway.
     "Thank you," said Morag.
     They continued down the hall after the wizard.  The hallway
gradually lightened, until they could see comfortably.  There were
tapestries hanging along the walls, and they looked at the names
lovingly magic markered on them.  The first they came to was of a
man in a large suit of armor, with the title "Sir Albert (A
Knight)."  Nilrem fell to her knees before the tapestry.
     "Indeed, this is a good sign!"
     "No, that's a good sign!" said Morag, pointing to a strange
glowing sigil over their heads that said "EXIT" in large red
letters.  Nilrem chose to ignore the hint.
     They continued their walk, following the story of Sir Albert
as they went.  The next tapestry showed Sir Albert rescuing a woman
from a tower.  The one after that showed Sir Albert jousting with
a knight dressed all in green.  The fourth had a picture of Sir
Albert engaging a giant pink dragon.  The fifth and last tapestry
showed the dragon picking its teeth with a spear with some
familiar-looking armor strewn around it on the ground.
     They came upon an open room, and looked cautiously inside. 
There seemed to be a vast meeting of wizards and witches taking
place.  The one who had tagged them before was speaking.
     "First, one needs must obtain the bean of the plant, which may
only be found atop the highest shelves of Safeway.  It should be
ground into a fine powder thus."  He demonstrated while the others
took notes.  "Then, place the powder onto a bit of thin paper and
place it into the machine."  He put the brown powder onto a piece
of wrinkled paper, then ceremoniously set it into a large, smooth
crucible with a hole at the bottom.  "The most important part is
the water.  One should use only the purest waters from the Falls of
Cunningham.  The water should be distilled using a wood flame with
one branch each of the oak, beech and black walnut trees.  Place
the water in the receptacle like this."  He poured it into the
machine at the back, then placed his container, made of finest
crystal, under the crucible.
     He raised his hand over it and began to chant: "Cappuccino! 
Java!  Irish Cream!  Mocha!  Latte!  (With a dash of Jim Beam!)" 
He touched his hand to the device, and a light began to glow.  In
a few minutes, the device began to make coughing noises, then
spurted out brown liquid into the crystal.
     The wizard, whose powers were now more than ever feared above
any other's, fixed his colleagues with a steely eye, and said: "Now
you know the secret of making the sacred beverage.  You have no
more excuses for not refilling the pot when it's empty!"  He
stalked out.
     Nilrem and Morag shared a glance as the others looked
reverently on the gurgling device.  One of them saw them standing
there.
     "Who are you, young wanderers, and do you clean test tubes?"
     "We are travelers on a quest for ... "  Morag stepped on her
foot.  "We're selling subscriptions to 'Knight Life.'"
     The wizard looked crestfallen.  Fortunately, one of her
colleagues picked up her crest for her and returned it politely. 
"I wish we could order a subscription, but alas!  We have no
resources to spare.  The Evil Queen Martha of Church has decreed
that we should receive no funding because she needs to buy food for
the Great White Elephant."
     "What if I told you that we are on a quest to vanquish that
very beast?"  The wizards gathered round them, looking excited,
which is in troth a difficult thing for a wizard to do for anything
less than a new HPLC (Hocus Pocus Laso Change-o).
     "Really?  Do you think you can?"
     One of the wizards spoke up.  "I can help you.  Let me show
you some spells that will melt its mind."  The pair eagerly agreed,
and he led them to a large room with a great chalkboard.  "Now this
is your typical magnetic field B.  Nothing unusual about it.  Then
take the dot product of B with a function we call del ... "  Within
five minutes, their eyes had glazed over, but he had just begun. 
"Then, using the square root of 2 pi r times r-hat, the answer is
trivial from here."  He paused, looked at the board, which was
filled with ancient runes and symbols incomprehensible to the
uninitiated, and nearly so to the informed, then erased a positive
sign and replaced it with a negative sign.  "Ooops.  My mistake." 
He crossed out all the quantities on the board but one.  "So now
you have a charge q.  What do you get when you put a large number
of q's together?"
     "A continuum?" suggested Nilrem.
     Fortunately for their sanity, an explosion was heard in the
background.  They raced from the room, grateful for the diversion. 
Three women, covered in soot from head to toe, emerged from one of
the rooms.  The head wizard joined them in the hall.  The tallest
of the three spoke.
     "Next time, I play with the trinitrotoluene.  She noticed the
head wizard.  "Ummm...  Hi Dad!  Nothing wrong here."  The other
two vigorously nodded their heads, trying to dust themselves off
surreptitiously.
     "Did you at least turn off the Sacred Flame of Bunsen?"
     The two in the back, who looked to be twins, said
simultaneously, "Oooops."  The closer to the door, the darker-
haired one, ran inside.
     "Hey Dad!  Is this thing supposed to run backwards?"  The head
wizard went pasty white and dashed inside.  Morag grabbed her
dagger again and followed him with the others close behind. Morag
reached the strange machine first.
     "Get back!  It's going to explode!"  The group turned as one
and ran back out the door, just as an even bigger explosion rocked
the building.  One of the wizards thought to yell down the stairs 
"Sorry 'bout that!"
     "Morag!" shouted Nilrem.  Her trusty companion had not made it
out of the room!  She ran back in, desperate to find her.  She
choked on the oily smoke that stung her eyes and filled her lungs. 
Just as she thought she might pass out, she saw a shape in the
darkness.  She latched onto it, and tugged with all her might.  She
had to save Morag ... who seemed to have gained a bit of weight
this past day.
     The smoke cleared, and she could make out Morag's shape. 
However, Morag's shape was no longer quite what it had been. 
Rather than a slim Scottish woman, around five foot two, with brown
curly hair and grey eyes, Morag was now a twenty-foot long pink
dragon.  She opened her eyes and looked down at her body.  She
turned back to Nilrem and yelled: "I'm goint to get you for this!"
     Nilrem could not prevent a massive case of the giggles to
overcome her.  "I must say it suits you."
     The wizards attempted a spell to change Morag back, but since
the author was still peeved at Morag for rushing in first, she
stayed a dragon.  Sadly, they bid their farewells to the wizards
and departed the castle.
 
Chapter 7: Rosenstock, or Just the Vax, Ma'am
 
     They passed under an ancient birch tree, sacred to the Druids
of the area.  There was a sign on it reading: "Watch This Space for
the Great White Elephant!"  Scribbled on the sign was a thoughtful
little note from one of the Druids of the area: "Evil Queen Martha
eats worms."
     They neared a great metropolis, which could be seen from yards
away by the giant stature of Superman standing on top.  A bustle of
people scurried to and fro around it.  They stopped a woman who was
walking quickly towards it, and asked her what the city's name was.
     "That is Rosenstock, the largest city in the kingdom.  All the
Hoodlums must go there eventually."  They thanked her, and Nilrem
looked up the name in her Prentice Hall Encyclopedia.  "Rosenstock
- n. Ancient Grungese goddess of Liberal Arts and Lentils. 
Rosenstock was usually called upon by those Grunges who did not
desire employment after their education.  See History Majors."
     "I take it we're going there."
     "Have I ever told you that you are indeed a bright woman? 
Errr... dragon."
     They rode Rita up to the front gate, or at least Nilrem did. 
Morag sat on top trying to balance.  The guard at the gate looked
at the small, green, petroleum-wasteful vehicle with the large pink
dragon on top, then decided to take the rest of the day off.
     They entered the city proudly.  Around them, massive groups of
people swarmed to classes or work.  People pushed and shoved and
generally ignored them, not an easy task, as they wandered through
the streets.  Eventually, the clamor died down, and they could hear
the lectures and conversations coming from in various places: "They
were manly yams!" "Why do they do it?  They don't get any M&M's for
it." "Can't you understand simple Ancient Greek?" and like
expressions that had nothing to do with the courses being taken but
nevertheless made interesting sound bites for the professors, and
were nice tidbits to write down in one's notebook for any students
who happened to still be awake after staying up half the night
reading the book in preparation for class, then arriving only to
discover that the professor had no intention of even mentioning the
book at hand, but would rather follow any and all trains of thought
that struck her or his fancy all the way to Poughkeepsie and points
north, which brings to mind a funny story about cheese balls and
Bob Barker but this sentence is already way too long as it is and
besides, it would be very difficult to relate cheese balls to the
mamu of Australian Aboriginal myths.
     Eventually, they found their way to a suite on the second
level of the city.  It was ominously quiet.  They tried to muffle
their footsteps, but Morag's scales scraped along the floor.
     "Is someone there?" came a soft voice from behind a chair.
     "Yes."
     A small face darted out from the chair and quickly hid again. 
It returned, staring at Morag.
     "What?  You've never seen a pink dragon before?"
     "No."
     "Well now you have.  What's your name?"
     "Piera," she whispered.
     "Piera, what are you hiding from?"
     "Her."  This was getting nowhere faster than the story, so the
author prodded Piera along a little.  "The Witch K'holmert'n.  She
wants to make me go back, but I won't!"
     "Back where," asked Nilrem helpfully (for the plot, anyway).
     "To Utopia.  She keeps her students there, feeding them on her
own personal doctrine, giving them papers to keep them from getting
sleep, and filling their minds with thoughts of overthrow.  She
finds them in The Program, which she pushed through just to hide
her real purpose."
     "Which is?"
     "She and the Evil Queen Martha want to use the Program and the
Vax to build an army of feminist soldiers to invade Congress with
the help of the Great White Elephant."
     "That might not be such a bad idea," murmured Morag
thoughtfully.
     "Oh, it gets worse than that!  They also want to take over the
world's production of tapioca."
     "What?!"  Nilrem felt a wave of anger pulse through her. 
"They would take tapioca from the mouths of innocent children? 
Where is this woman?"
     "Hopefully far away.  She wants to take me back to Utopia, the
place where she's training her army.  I'll never go back there!"
     "How did you escape?"
     "The Duke of South Carolina rescued me."  Nilrem nodded; she
had heard many things of that Duke.  "Who are you, anyway?"
     "I am Nilrem.  This is Morag.  We are on a quest to right
wrongs, protect the innocent, and promote cultural sensitivity, all
in the name of the gentle Michael Thomas."
     Piera looked at her askance.  "Of course.  Look, I'm going to
leave while I can, maybe emigrate to Australia.  You two can come
with me."
     "We would, but alas!  Michael Thomas lives in the next kingdom
over.  I would not do well to be away from him long."
     "Speak for yourself," said Morag.  "I'm outta here."  She was
stopped by Paglia at her throat.
     "Not so fast.  You must be with me through all adventures. 
It's in the plot."
     "We have a plot?  Anyway, I thought I was supposed to die in
the Vax lab."
     "It was a misprint."
     "Oh."  She turned to Piera.  "Guess I won't be going with you
after all."
     "Oh well.  Bye!"  And she was gone.
     "So where to next?"
     "To slay the Mother of all Vaxes."
     "How did I know you were gonna say that?"
     They approached Computing Affairs with a mixture of dread and
anticipation.  They had slain the child Vax, but could they now
destroy the parent?
     The Keeper of the Vax was named Trudy, and she looked little
like her charges.  There was, however, the same kind of sly "follow
me" look in her eye.
     "So you two killed my machines, did you?"  They could only
nod.  "Handy piece of work that, I'll grant you."  She smiled
slightly.  "You do realize of course that now I'll have to kill
you."
     "We know," said Nilrem, ready to draw her blade against the
Keeper.  They circled one another, each looking for an opening.
     Nilrem knew that this could very well be her last battle,
especially if the author said to hell with it and went to bed.  She
thrust Paglia straight out and lunged.  Trudy dodged easily and
brought a mouse pad down on Nillie's head.
     "Hey Trudy!" yelled Morag, distracting her.  Trudy turned,
giving Nilrem just enough time to shove a disk into the drive of
the mainframe.  She turned back in time to see Trudy throw Internet
for Dummies at Morag.  The heavy book flew towards her head.
     "Morag!" she screamed.  Morag blasted the thing to cinders. 
Trudy turned to the mainframe and did some screaming herself.
     "What have you loaded to this computer??!!!"
     "Nothing major.  It was merely a little virus I picked up in
Mexico called 'Montezuma's Revenge.'  Enjoy!"  They sped out of the
lab, listening to Trudy's fading cries of dismay as the Vax crashed
permanently.
 
Chapter 9: Tatem, or All I Ever Really Needed to Know Was Never
                         Taught at Hood
 
     Rosenstock City had lost its charm.  The pair quickly made
their way to the town of books across the way.  The books were
delightful, and the staff was courteous, but as the library had
been hooked into the Vax, and as the Vax no longer worked, there
was no way in which to look up book titles, since the original card
catalog had been thrown away.  The librarians muttered among
themselves about murdering whoever killed the Vax.
     They made a hasty retreat from the library.
     Their next stop was the bookstore in the dungeons of Tatem
("Tatem  - Middle Edmajor, lit. 'Creativity bites.'" - eds.), where
they spent an hour trying to determine the price of a book of home
spells.  The cover price said one thing, the label said another,
the register said it was free, and the bookstore manager was out of
the store at the time in an intense business discussion with an
attractive young woman.  The entire process took a long enough time
to justify switching the scene.
     Tatem seemed to be an interesting place, with people speaking
three or four different languages in one class.  Unfortunately,
they were all attempting to speak the same one.  Badly.
     Another part of the town ended in a brightly colored room with
a large amount of toys around it.
     "We must have found the home of a great many children," said
Nilrem happily as she inspected a Slinky [TM].
     "I have a bad feeling about this."
     Just then, the door flew open and out the window.  A woman
stood in the doorway pointing at the toy in Nilrem's hands.
     "Put that down immediately!  Teachers do not play with toys. 
Teachers do not allow their inner child to come out.  Teachers do
not show independent thought.  That would be dangerous for the
students.  Some of them may try to exhibit it themselves.  Teachers
follow the textbook without breaking a smile.  The students stay
happy in their normal social groups.  Everyone prospers."
     Nilrem looked up at the professor and grinned.  "Fortunately,
Lady Loretta likes you, so I won't let anyone else know your name
in this."  She went back to playing with the Slinky [TM] as the
professor disappeared in a puff of logic.
     "Y'know," said Morag, "this satire is getting far too long for
its own good, not to mention it's getting silly and pointless.  Can
we go home yet?"
     "Not yet.  First, we have to save the kingdom, remember?"
     "Oh yeah.  In that case, can we do it now?  This questing
stuff is for the birds."
     Nilrem sighed.  It had been a long day.  "All right, we'll
save the kingdom now so you can go home.  Happy?"  Morag jumped up
and down.  However, in her present state, this was not a good idea. 
The floor collapsed, sending them sprawling.
     Nilrem dusted herself off, then helped Morag up.  She looked
around her.
     "Ah well.  Never did like this building much anyway."
 
Chapter 10: The President's House, or A Quick Ending for a Long
                              Story
 
     They rode in silence to the home of the Evil Queen, preparing
to do battle.  Morag sharpened her dagger on her nails again, while
Nilrem stroked Paglia's edge lovingly.  It was about time she
tasted blood.
     They reached the fortress far too soon.  Steadily,
purposefully, they walked side by side to the door.  Nilrem reached
out with Paglia and rapped on the door: "Hey!  You!  M.C. Church! 
Don't leave us out here in a lurch!"
     There was no answer.  Nilrem tried again, this time louder. 
Again, no response.  Then, Morag pointed to a piece of paper stuck
to the door.  Nilrem pulled it off and read it aloud: "Due to the
refurbishing of the President's House for President-Elect Shirley,
I will no longer be living in the kingdom.  Take care of the place
for me; I might come back to see it now and then.  Also, tell Carol
K. that, as my last action as Despot for Life, I hereby abolish The
Program.  Love, Martha of Romulus."
     A sound of cheering was heard faintly in the background, as a
hundred grateful Honors students lifted K'holmert'n and tossed her
into Culler Lake.
     "So," said Morag, "Martha's leaving, the Honors Program is
abolished, and Shirley is about to take over the kingdom."
     "Yes.  I love happy endings, don't you?"
     "Yes I do, but the author doesn't.  What's she setting us up
for?"  Morag glanced down at her pink bulk.  "I'm still a dragon."
     Nilrem looked innocently up at the sky.
     At that moment, a huge flock of starlings flew overhead. 
Without even thinking about it, Morag fried them.
     "See?  You have neat powers now!  Be thankful."
     "I don't want to be thankful.  I want my own body back.  Pink
dragons don't exist."
     Nilrem looked her up and down.  "They do now.  Look on the
bright side.  Maybe we can take you on the road.  I can see it now:
'Come Meet Nilrem's Talking Pink Dragon Morag!'"
     "Hey!  Why do you get top billing?"
     "Because I wrote it."
     "Oh.  Well, Madame Author, you forgot one little problem:
there's still this matter of a Great White Elephant to be taken
care of."
     "You're right, of course.  I imagine he'll want top billing."
 
Epilogue:
 
     Using the Prentice Hall Encyclopedia of Multiculturally Aware
Terms, they lured and caught the Great White Elephant, whose name
turned out to be Stanley.  They never did make it to the Talk of
Atheists meeting, although afterwards there were rumors of a
religious war afoot in the kingdom.  However, by this time, the
three of them had their act ready and went on the road with "The
Purple Cow Show," which would have been "The Violet-Shaded Bovine
American Show" if Stanley hadn't eaten Prentice Hall.
     The three of them travelled all through the kingdoms of old,
touring, righting wrongs, promoting awareness, and getting rave
reviews from the theatre circuit, who thought that their blending
of color, sight, sound, and poetry in the act brought a deeper
level of meaning to the performing arts.  Morag decided that
reading Shakespeare to an amazed crowd could be fun.  Yet, in all
their travels, they never once saw hide nor hair of Michael Thomas.
     The three of them became famous throughout the Kingdoms, and
stayed popular for years until a much-publicized breakup over
Stanley's fiancee, a pink elephant who wanted to take over the
group.  Eventually, both Nilrem and Morag made it back to the Land
of Hoodlums under the rule of the young King Dylan, Queen Shirley's
nephew.  Nilrem gave Morag the article on Richard Dean Anderson,
and they parted ways.
 
 
     Nilrem opened her door for the first time in years.  The walls
still held pictures of dragons and fairies, as well as at least a
dozen pictures of the Great Bald God, Patrick.  She looked around
for a moment, then looked to her television, which had never really
been a differently-colored electromagnetic wave viewing device, but
only a little black and white tv.
     She went to her desk, which was only a desk now, and opened it
up to find a blank piece of paper.  She found a pen and began to
write: "I have come home.  I think.  There is a darkness inside me
that I have felt for a long time now, a darkness that says I am not
much longer for this Land of Hoodlums.  Morag at least will live
for centuries, even if she is a creature that she swears cannot
exist.  Stanley and Oko will be fine, as well, if they can support
themselves and the kids.  They require large amounts of food, which
of course in the fullness of time will come back, once again
proving the old maxim that Great White Elephants really are full of
sh*t.  I keep asking myself if Martha saw that near the end, before
the Romulans came back for her.  She is not the only one to have
gone.  Many of those I once knew have gone away from the Land of
Hoodlums forever.  I will not see them again, and that fills me
with a strange sadness that I cannot define.  Righting wrongs and
balancing injustices are jobs for younger souls than I.  Alas,
waxing poetic in the darkness has always been a weakness of mine. 
For now, it is time to sleep, and to dream of what might have been. 
Multicultural sensitivity is a thing of the distant past.  It's
time to accept things for who and what they really are, be they
pink dragons or bloody shovels.  Still, as I think back on all my
many adventures, and all that I've learned, I can't help thinking
that there was one thing more true than all the rest: work-study
jobs really do suck."
     A dust-covered photograph still sat on the television, waiting
patiently for her.  Softly, reverently, she traced the beloved face
once more, the layers of dust easily coming off under her touch. 
His smile was still as bright, his face still as sweet, and he yet
looked, for better or worse, not like a virtuous hero, but like a
duck.
     "Michael Thomas," she whispered, but no one heard.
 
The End