Greegs & Ladders - Zack Mitchell, Danny Mendlow (book recommendations based on other books .txt) 📗

Can it be changed? Will it ever be different? Can Greegs be changed back to their original form en masse? Is there a more effective way of stopping them from degenerating into Greegdom and keeping their Greegeromody under wraps than the current method of dividing them up into Carnivals? These are the sorts of bets we hope to settle on the Ultimate & Grand Greeg Carnival. You’ve provided us with much insight into the forces that initially lead a species down the path to Greegery. We long suspected that the domination of Investment Bankers of the species was a major catalyst on the road to Greegeration, but have learned so much more from your observations; such as the role that this ‘religion’ plays, and sexuality and unexpectedly having your solar system thrown into chaos by a Galactic Gobbling Groobin. There is still so many things to sort out before we can write our definitive scholarly volume on Greegs. But when we do, it will surely outsell Dr. Kipple’s pompously under-researched Purified Procreation: Greeg Sex and What it Says About Their True Nature as the definitive work on all things Greeg!”

“Wait a minute, are you implying that all of this is happening so that you can write a bestselling book?”

“What else would this kind of chaos and insanity be happening for!? We’ve got some really unique and unheard of things we’re going to include in just the first couple chapters that’ll really get ‘em hooked. For example, the last remaining Obotron Crew Members in our last trailing Obotron fleet ship… became Greegs! No one could have possibly predicted that! They did so at a staggeringly swift pace, without even having a home planet to reside on. Evidently, in a last ditch attempt to gain control of the fleet, several of them converted themselves into Investment Bankers so as to have an independent fuel source for the ship. Except once they saw how much quick cash could made at the expense of each other in the investment banking field, they quickly forgot all ambitions of gaining control of anything other than more things to invest in and bank on. This quickly caused a complete erosion of what little civility was left onboard the ship and before long they were as Greeged out as the next Greeg. They created Schmold via a large vat of all the evacuated disgustingness they’d collected from being hurtled through time so many times on our exploits to collect more Greegs! It was also likely a factor that the remaining ship they had all been crammed into was increasingly being overcrowded with all of the Greegs we had collected from around the many Universes… so perhaps there is something to be said for the ability of other Greegs to have an affect on non-Greegs become Greegs? We’ll have to wager on that sometime.”

“Unbelievable,” I said. “Don’t you two have any sense of remorse or consciousness about all the horrible things you have done to all of these innocent creatures and worlds? Just to prove a few points and win a few bets and write a book about it?”

“No, of course they don’t,” came the spooky sound of thousands of eerie ghost like creatures, seemingly infiltrating our brains and the walls at the same time. “They have no feelings at all. They recklessly destroy and kill on a whim, just to settle a bet or a wager. They care not about the consequences of their actions. This is the curse of the Immortals.”

“Who are you?” asked Rip and Wilx.

“We are the ghosts of the Obotron Crew Members,” proclaimed the ghastly voices. “We have banded together in the invisible dimension, where we are better known as Algreenian-Fog Specters. We have returned to the physical dimension to exact our revenge on these careless fools who used us, who murdered us, for nothing more than their silly games and whimsical wagers. By infiltrating the highest ranks of Kroonum Law Enforcement, we are now ready to do what most dead folks can only dream of. We are going to put the very cosmic dirt bags responsible for our death on trial!”

“No wait! I’m not one of them!” I cried out. “I’m not immortal at all!”

“Errrr…” began Rip.

“Well… that’s not entirely true, persay, any more,” said Wilx.

“That longevity formula you injected in yourself was kind of a bit more of an… immortality formula.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Congratulations!” said Rip. “It means you’re the first ever Greeg to become immortal. You also won me this nice pile of invisible money by not having your internal organs burst into ice flames as soon as the formula hit your bloodstream, as Wilx predicted would happen.” I finally understood why Rip had been holding his arms outstretched like he was carrying firewood.

“Yeah, we’ll be confiscating that,” said the former Obotron Crew members reincarnated as judicially vengeful Algreenian-Fog Specters. “Now get your ass into the courtroom. The judge awaits you.”

Windy gusts began uncomfortably tugging, pulling and prodding us out of the cell and into the courtroom.

“I still can't understand what would drive you to have such a lack of emotions and care for the consequences of your actions,” I said to Rip as we walked the long glass tubeway leading to the courtroom.

“Boredom, you will learn,” Rip said matter of factly, “is the most torturous thing that exists.”

We entered the courtroom.

“Hello again,” said the judge.

“Hello Reg,” said Rip. “You probably want your Greeg back now don’t you?”

CHAPTER 34

The Trial

It’s true.

Reg, my former carnival Greeg-keeper, was now an official first-rank judge for the Kroonum Courts of Law. I suppose that’s justice. Or not.

Reg was still very much a scary goblin-like creature with fangs and claws and red eyes, yet in recent years he had somehow succeeded in making himself far more frightening. I think it had something to do with the black hooded robe he wore whilst perched atop a throne made from the skeletal fragments of the convicted. He was the embodiment of fear, so much so that hundreds of film scripts were being pitched to Reg on a daily basis, all of which requesting he fill the inimitable role of the Grim Reaper. Thinking himself too short for the role, Reg had yet to reply to any of the filmmakers. He was also worried his carpel-tunnel syndrome would prevent him from being able to hold the heavy scythe prop during tedious hours of re-shoots, as there were sure to be reid was show up on set and improvise some of his characteristic creepiness. Nowadays his name frequently tops the charts of magazine polls concerning topics like “the scariest movie villain of all time and space” and “the #1 cause for sleep deprivation amongst children.”

This all happens, of course, in another dimension where Reg is not dead by the end of this novel.

Reg had only earned the status of a Kroonum judge because of the illegal wrangling and bribery performed by the Algreenian Fog-Specters.

The Specters did not want Reg to become a film star, so they filled his mind with all sorts of ideas to cause low self-esteem. For the success of the Specter's revenge plot it was imperative that Reg stay in the courtroom. Algreenian Fog-Specters (or anyone else that is dead) are unable to perform tasks on a physical level, hence the reason they didn’t just kill Rip, Wilx and I and call it a day. They are, however, adept at using their mental prowess to influence the actions of the living. The Specters ensured our judge was someone who personally hated us, so that we would be sentenced with the most brutal of verdicts regardless of the evidence. Reg had been promised several million dollars worth of invisible money that he would never see, literally or figuratively.

It is good that Specters cannot personally harm anyone. Many specters are dangerously angry about being dead. They cannot control their jealousy towards the living. Their scene usually degenerates into a violent revenge plot. Reg was now in control of our fate. Each unappealing scenario seemed to cancel out the last.

“I said you probably want your Greeg back now don’t you?” repeated Rip.

“No,” said Reg from his skeletal perch. “I have hundreds of Greegs locked up in the chambers. That doesn’t mean I feel any less angry for being ripped off.”

“But this Greeg is intelligent,” said Rip.

“And immortal!” added Wilx.

Reg was thoroughly against the idea of an immortal greeg. “Who wants an immortal Greeg? My favorite part of Greeg-keeping is watching them drop dead from the slightest of parasitic infections. And besides, once he's intelligent doesn't he cease to be a Greeg?”

“Great question,” said Rip, sensing an opportunity for stalling. “Let's debate that with lengthy philosophical discourse.”

“Why don’t we get started with the trial instead?” suggested the Specters.

Reg pounded his gavel. It shattered into fine crumbs.

“Why has my gavel shattered?” he angrily bellowed.

“Er… it is made of Crabbit skulls?” replied a Specter.

“So? I make everything out of Crabbit skulls.”

“They have weak bones, your honor.”

“Why do they have weak bones?”

“I believe it comes from a dietary deficiency of vitamin A.”

“Why are Crabbits so low in vitamin A?”

“We’ve recently figured that out, your honor. It seems Crabbits follow a strict diet of cannibalism. The only thing they would be caught dead eating is each other.”

“And?”

“Well… Crabbit meat does not contain vitamin A. Therefore if you only take sustenance from Crabbit meat you will merely continue to weaken yourself. Itquests for many unneeded hours of re-shoots made by the group of perfectionist auteur student filmmakers busy competing for the honor of directing Reg's first Vehicle Movie. Reg was unaware that height is now a minor inconvenience solved by the art of trick-photography, and that his scythe prop would be made of feather-lite styro-foam.

Reg eventually accepted his calling as an actor. He would go on to star in countless blockbusters. Only he wasn't acting. He played himself in every film. All he d is one of those annoying Catch-22s. The evolutionary cycle of the Crabbit has long been disastrous... a story of ill-fated choices, mutated genes and easily broken bones that is rapidly reaching its necessary crescendo. I expect the Crabbits will have killed themselves off within the next few seasons.”

Reg pointed to a group of Specters in the far corner. “You! Go out and present alternative food to the Crabbits. I want this cannibalism stopped immediately. And then introduce a source of vitamin A into their diet. I’ll not have their weak bones causing my brilliant inventions to shatter so easily!”

“I protest, your honor,” replied the specter. “Doesn't it seem right to let the Crabbits die off naturally? I don't think the Crabbits will respond to other food anyway. They are not forced into Cannibalism. Apparently there is an abundance of natural food surrounding the Crabbit population, yet they choose to dine on each other based on palette preference.”

“Palette?” asked Reg.

“You know... taste, texture, consistency. All the factors that determine a meal as good or bad. I personally died before ever having tried them, but I've heard Crabbits are superb.”

Reg pondered. He did not like the taste of Crabbits at all. The only food his species enjoys is Gahooleb. On Reg's home-world, the only place where Gahooleb can be harvested, it is merely the word for 'food.' It is a demonic sustenance not entirely dissimilar to Schmold, a gloppy green sludge that isn't properly defined as either a liquid or a solid. Most creatures would be horrified to find it resting on their dinner plate, and further horrified to find themselves stone-dead after having been curious enough to