From Newsgroup: rec.arts.comics.creative

*shakes the dust off* Jeez. Cycles of executive dysfunction, going all
the way back to... August!? Jeez louise, I gotta get to work!
Original post: https://lists.eyrie.org/mailman3/hyperkitty/list/racc@lists.eyrie.org/message/ZEFUUS7TQKNLMFOCNKPFHFC6IDBEOTKF/
On Sun, Mar 16, 2025 at 4:58rC>PM Arthur Spitzer <arspitzer2@gmail.com> wrote: <snip>

Access is granted. Access is denied. In the eternal cycle of
this there is always Access... Granted... Denied.

Hmmmmm, yes.

A four bedroom suburban in the sub-uber-burbs of Greater San Fran-gridlock built in the TownHouse stylie waits. A void floor dwelling,
it provides quick escape and endless entertainment. A bolt-hole for a knothead and a polymath, it may host any of the Room-Continuum that have
been granted Access.

Oh, sure. ...what?

The second floor is cool in the dark hallway, but warm in the sun-
drenched study facing the coastal hills. The heater is getting old,
but it has just enough left to cut the morning dampness. Here, in the
study, there are small clues to a unique life, The smell of gun oil,
the back-folded paperclips, the open copy of the Vedas. Reference works esoteric and exoteric march along the walls. A study that recalls a
different time.

I appreciate the outrush of stylistic fervor~

When the woman called back in the afternoon
there was no paper. She assured him that he would definitely get his
paper tommorrow. When he called the next day, she didn't believe him.
She had delivered the paper herself. There was no way that he could
not have received the paper, unless someone in the neighbourhood was
stealing them from him. He stayed up all night, watched the paperboy
go by. But there was no paper on the landing after he rushed downstairs.

Ahhhhh, that particular kind of weirdness.

Deft has six foot executive good looks and a mohawk, an aging
"An opinion..."> skate-punk as skate punks go. He is looking up from the living room
rug in front of the television, satellite dish controls at the ready.
He resembles a puppy-dog as he expectantly studies Ramaj Singh for a reaction. Ramaj is a middle-aged Indian prematurely grey and waiting
for Deft to get on with it.

I see, I see

"Okay, Mr. Excellent is on a rampage after the Texas Hijack
Asylum won the Universal Key from the offices of Wrestling Amalgamated.
With the Universal Key they have two of the five Amalgamated Regalia and
can challenge whoever they chose. Mr. Excellent wrested Gravedigger's
shovel from his grasp and pummeled him so severely that Gravedigger
had to be hospitalized. Gravedigger will not be able to defend the
Foolish Chain in their upcoming bout which would give Excellent two
items as well. Smash and Grab faced off against the Plantagenet Twins,
Edward and James in an Ice Rink Freewheeler and the Plantagenets threw
them out of the rink. Electric Cassie escaped from WA Detention and has challenged the Belt holder Vikki Glory to an unsanctioned revenge match.
I don't know how that fits in, but the rest is obvious".

X3 God damn, this is a wrestling JRPG!

"Someone is mucking around with Access, someone trying to
impose order on the Chaotic System... You know, act unlike God".

An excellent description of the Office.

"The Kitchen God has a special dispensation that goes with the
job. Neither Heaven nor Hell would deny him Access, especially Hell".

That immediately makes sense.

He began life as a food mage in Charlemagne's court. As
time went on he applied himself assiduously to the task of making
delightful (and magical) goodies on a budget and in the least hygenic situation imaginable.

oooooooh.

"No, he passed with flying colors... and his reputation circled
the magickal realms until some frequently retconned being tricked him
into one of the kitchens in the Room-Continuum and bound him there,
extending his mortal span a tad. Hell was just on the edge of becoming overcrowded and the press at messtime was becoming awful. The other
situation that begged for his talents were the dimples in the pit...
Daemons that took after Lucifer Morningstar and started up their own
private hells containing things of power that were managable as long
as they were fed.

Oof, the price of fame! But I love that level of detail to an infernal bureaucracy.

So the Kitchen God has
had more leisure time since about 1950 and he will occasionally visit the womb substitutes that will accept his room

Sorry the *whats* D:

"It's worse than that. We won't be receiving vistors this
evening. Someone has denied the Kitchen God's Access."

GASP!!

"If I pack my trenchcoat what will I wear?"
"Something is attacking Trenchcoats and we are going into a
fatally high concentration of the things. Get out your pinstripe three- piece, the one with all the inside pockets. I will wear mine."

Camouflage, of COURSE!

"Reception is lousy in an airplane, how will I keep track of
what is going on?"
"Deft... man... what can possibly go wrong in six hours?"

DUN DUN DUNNNN...

"It must have returned with a new victim" thought 13.
Yes, 13 had discovered that it wasn't really the guy running the office that was the problem, it was the office controlling the guy.

"The system is the problem" is some good trenchcoater shit.

13 had worked out that a way to the office might be possible through L space, the parallel dimension that was created by libraries and second hand bookshops.

Ahhhh yes |D

Half an hour, and 2 lamb kebabs later 13 was ready. He entered the small second
hand book shop and walked around.
Eventually everything seemed to change. He was in L-Space.

A little undramatic but whatever works~

"Lets hope the others got my message and can find a way to get to the office, with luck we will meet there. Providing I survive L-Space."

Drew "okay, time to catch up" Nilium
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