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Zendoscopy book. Read reviews from world's largest community for readers. Zendoscopy is the story of one Sherman Alt, from his somewhat.
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USD Sign in to Purchase Instantly. Overview Zendoscopy is the story of one Sherman Alt, from his somewhat unconventional birth to his settling into marital bliss, albeit with plumbing problems. Along the way, Sherman faces occasionally serious and frequently hilarious adversity as he tries to gain worldly experience, especially with the opposite sex. Told in discrete episodes, the sum total is a story of social awakening, along with a dollop of philosophy, and even a bit of cosmology.
You did that? This only caused Missy to begin sobbing again, and Horace silently berated himself for the stupid thing he had just done. He turned and retreated, overwhelmed and saddened by the knowledge of what she must have sacrificed to get them the gig at the Vroom Vroom. Back in his room without the decaf, emotions churning, he drank a glass of water and paced in circles. Horace bolted into the hallway. Again, he heard the scream, and he knew from where it came. He tried the door but it was locked. Open the damned door!
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Open it! Out of nowhere, Henrietta was suddenly there, pushing him out of the way. That did it. The bolt tore through the jamb and the door flew open, the two would-be rescuers tumbling into the room behind it. Missy lay crumpled on the floor, blood flowing freely from both slashed jugulars, bubbles spewing from a lacerated trachea. In the corner, rocking in a fetal position, was Sleazy Freddie in his coat and fedora. The bloody knife was on the floor next to him. One of them, out of anxiety, had crapped on the floor. With a throat-sung cry of fury and anguish, Horace lurched forward, reaching the knife before the regressed murderer could react.
Then, the crazed magician was on top of him, waving the knife in his startled face, shrieking. What did you do? You putrid sack of shit!
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You killed her! Henrietta took it all in and reacted, throwing herself across the room and into Horace, knocking him sprawling to the floor. Horace was crying and pretty much useless, as useless as was Sleazy Freddie, who only cowered, whimpered, and had begun banging the side of his head against the wall. Others had heard the screams and ensuing commotion, and someone had called the police, several of whom now rushed into the cramped hotel room and attempted to sort out what had happened.
Henrietta was able to give the essence of what she assumed had transpired, and after considerable further questioning, the police took the nearly catatonic Freddie into custody. Henrietta stood at his side, ready to catch him if he folded under the strain of it all. Finally, it was just the two of them, alone save for the cockapoos, staring at the blood, still pooled but clotting, slowly sinking into the carpet. Slowly, they made their way along the now-deserted hallway.
Having been a rock through the acute crisis, she was, at last, unable to contain herself any longer. Breaking out in blubbery sobs, she unburdened her hitherto heavily laden heart before the already overwhelmed magician. Ever since the first time I watched you saw Susie in half. Horace was nonplussed. Fumbling for his key, he tried to find something to say to her, but still in shock from the events of the evening and unable to think of any coherent response, he finally unlocked his door and started to enter.
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Horace turned, giving her a long but surprisingly kindly look. You mean, like be your onstage girl? And turn into a tiger, or a butterfly or something? In the morning, Horace borrowed a hand truck from the hotel maintenance man to wheel his new creation to the club, where he spent the remainder of the day working feverishly to get the device ready for its big moment. The final step was to get the box onto a matching, decorated dolly so it could be maneuvered about the stage with ease. He hefted it into place and then stood back to admire his creation.
The bartender, himself an ethanolic lout known only as Zits-the-B, was drafted by default to fill in as M.
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Somewhat nervously and with all the enthusiasm of a three-toed sloth, he stumbled his way to center stage and managed to mumble that the honorable proprietor Frederick was indisposed and also that, due to certain, most unfortunate circumstances, Missy Lamb and Her Frolicking Cockapoos would no longer be performing at the Vroom Vroom Room. This latter revelation elicited groans of disappointment from a certain subset of the male regulars, but was otherwise met with the singular absence of anyone giving a shit.
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Backstage, Henrietta was positively frothing over with excitement. In contrast, Tibbles was the very picture of composure, appearing more sure of himself than anyone could remember, simply smiling knowingly every time Henrietta met him with a coy look, a jiggle and a giggle.
The Dance of the Seven Veils this particular night was an event to remember. There was pandemonium in the audience as the inebriated masses were engaged in pelting the vice cops with peanuts, shot glasses, and the occasional beer stein.
It took about ten minutes to restore order, after which the police were informed by Tibbles that the naked ecdysiast who was the cause of it all had fled the club and was likely streaking through downtown at this very moment, and what the hell were they doing hanging around the club when they should be out chasing her down? The facts appearing irrefutable, the cops rapidly retreated to the safety of the street.
It was time at last for The Great Tibbles to etch his name into the annals of legendary stage magic. He began with the usual crappy dime store routines, eliciting the usual crappy responses from the audience. For the penultimate, he performed his usual climactic piece, Sawing a Party Doll in Two. The trick went by both uneventfully and unimpressively, as regulars in the audience only waited for their chance at winning the prize: a brand new fille de joie named, of course, Susie.
Since most had seen his act more times than they cared to admit, and since Missy would not be taking the stage, it was now assumed by the unruly mob that the show—despite whatever pathetic acts might still technically be waiting for their moments in the limelight—was for all practical purposes over. Undaunted, Tibbles began his spiel.
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He opened the five panels and rotated the whole apparatus, demonstrating its lack of gimmicks. He then closed all but the front panel. Henrietta, beaming, entered from stage right, causing Tibbles to gulp hard. The besotted members of the audience attempted bravely to withstand escalating nausea in the face of growing curiosity. This was certainly an unexpected event.
To a person, he had them all. Henrietta looked at the three-by-three-by-four cabinet, and from there to Tibbles. Looking highly dubious, Henrietta approached the open front of the apparatus. Unsure of how to climb into the thing, she first stuck her head in, and then tried to insert her left knee.
This had the unfortunate effect of forcing her giant buttocks straight at the audience. Henrietta backed up and turned around. With considerable effort, she planted her bottom in the box and slid rearward. Achieving success, she next drew up her knees and ducked her head. Finally, she folded her arms across her face, leaving only frightened eyes staring in barely concealed panic above her elbows.
Incredibly, her entire mass was now well within the confines of the box. A cheer arose from the onlookers.