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The Nabob of Bombasta

By Brian Barritt

Illustrations by Youth
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the Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial
License. Some rights reserved.

This book is also available as a paperback from Amazon

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UK (As of April 2010 – subject to change.)

Published by The Big Hand, 1st April 2010

Big Hand Books

PO Box 5277
BN50 9DL

All ebooks given by The Big Hand are DRM free.

Text © Brian Barritt 2010
Illustrations © Youth 2010

The author has asserted his right to be identified as the

author of this work under the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988.

Every reasonable attempt has been made to identify

owners of copyright. Errors or omissions will be
corrected in subsequent editions.

Produced and Designed by Orlando Monk



Dedication 7

Foreword, by Youth 9

1. The DJ & the Harem 13

2. The Nabob of Bombasta 27

3. Intimacy 45

4. The Lady of Drain 59

5. Holmes 71

6. Princess Ee 81

7. Solution 93

8. The Scrubber 107

About the Illustrator 115

About the Author 117

To Sod.


I first met Brian when I lived around Portobello Road

in West London around the early 80's. I was a twenty-one year

old spaced out, Punk rock cult hero. I had been consuming

way too much LSD and was generally disintegrating into a

psychedelic meltdown. A mutual friend had recommended I go

and see Brian for some mentoring and guidance as I had been

in Syd Barrett acid casualty mode for a few weeks.

Brian did just that. He was the first person to

acknowledge that I wasn't going mad but was in fact

undergoing a profound shamanic initiation into the deeper

mysteries of existence. Thus began a lifelong passion and

thirst for all things shamanic, magical and psychedelic.

He really helped me to find the tools re-build my

shredded ego and navigate the deep space within the abyss.

Not least because of his own wealth of experience within the

realm but also because of his seminal work with Tim Leary on

seven-level consciousness maps and the book The

Confessions of a Hope Fiend.

I am really, really humbled and honoured to be

illustrating Brian's genius word play. His mischievous humour

and unique storytelling ability is as timeless and ancient as

his spirit is eternally young at heart.

Youth, London 2010

1. The DJ and the Harem.

They had thatched his house with

cannabis so that in the morning, as the sun dried

the dew, the perfume of the sweet herb would

ease him gently into each new day. Once awake,

he would lie still as death till his eye alighted

upon a suitable bud, then he would reach up and,

using a leaf as a skin, twist his morning joint.

Beside him the girl stirred. As he passed

her the joint he ran a hand over the smooth

contours of her behind and along her slit, then he

patted her bum as a sign that it was time for her

to go. She kissed him gently before picking up her

sarong and melting silently into the morning. He

could still smell her perfume long after she had

gone, mingled with the joint she had taken with

her. Sex and sinsemilla. His dick started to rise

but he switched thoughts. He was in no hurry.

There were fifty two girls on the island and he was

the only male.

The DJ had been making his way back

from a rave in the Rimworlds when, by a stroke of

sheer skullduggery, he had managed to blag

himself a job with the Nabob of Bombasta, the

richest man in the galaxy. His task was to play

divine music to the Nabob’s harem onboard the

star cruiser The Emperor of Sin, keeping them

chilled out till the ship reached the planet of

Krutch and the eager waiting Nabob.

All he had to do was stay ‘ambient’ and it

was a doddle. But the DJ couldn't see or hear his

audience. The frustration of knowing that a

hoard of ravishing nymphomaniacs were only a

few inches away, watching him through the two-

way mirror, played on his mind. Eventually he

was inspired to introduce a 'repetitive beat' into

the mix, got out his dick, and flogged his knob to

the rhythm. He was wanking away with

enthusiasm, brandishing his weapon at his

invisible audience with unabashed pride, when it

dawned on him that this was not his usual mode

of behaviour.

With a rush of delight he realised that he

was reacting to the subliminal suggestions and

hard-core indelicacies which the ladies of the

harem were sneaking into his mind. With his cock

in his right hand and operating the sound system

with his left, he set up a series of telepathic lust

loops with his audience. His fingers became

extensions of the ladies sexual desires and he was

fucking all of them simultaneously, velcroed onto

the same wave of sound.

When the build-up came he fought against

it with all his power, a small lone figure struggling

to hold back the waters of a mighty dam. But the

orgasm grew till it was a roar in his ears and his

erection broke free of his grasp, reared up like a

cobra and struck the key for 'EJECT'.

There was an instant of pure nothing…

then he was swimming through space that

became water that became sand. His last memory

was crawling up the beach of an unknown island,

the sole survivor - apart from the Nabob’s harem.

He was almost dead when the first girl

found him, but she had the tongue of a serpent

and she slid it down the eye of his dick and

sucked the life-force back into his balls from

beyond the grave. He came back to life, flopping

about the beach like a jelly fish. She sucked up

his cum like a Knickerbocker Glory, emitting

incoherent babbles of bliss and frigging herself

frantic with a tentacle.

He had to admit, the Nabob of Bombasta

certainly had superb taste. During the following

months the DJ learned much from the rhapsody

of beauty parading before him. He existed in a

paradise of sensations which engulfed everything

except his diamond hard resolve to appreciate

them. For the first time in his life he could taste

the delicacies of the flesh without becoming

ensnared by them. He couldn’t afford to miss even

a single throb of his knob, so committed was he to

ravishing the joys of the earth.

He liked to lean back in his rocking chair

on the balcony of his villa, sipping a glass of iced

elixir and watching the girls run naked through

the blooming cannabis fields, laughing and

playing and sucking each other's tits as they

clothed themselves in coats of dark brown

hashish. He enjoyed scraping it off them, gently,

lovingly, stoned out of his mind, delving into the

places they couldn't reach.

As there were fifty two girls he initially

planned to screw a different one each week so

that he could get through the year shagging five

days a week, and have the weekends off. But any

thought of control soon went out the window as

he was swept along on the tide of ecstasy. It took

no time at all before he relinquished all attempts

at responsibility, left it to the woman, and

plunged head first into utter bliss.

That evening, just for a giggle, he cut a

hole in the bottom of the hammock and lay on his

face with his prick sticking through, then he tried

to pick out who’s lips were on the other end of it

while a fish girl spanked his arse with her big

webbed tail.

The poppy season filled in the space before

the mushrooms bloomed. Many a balmy

autumnal night was passed with the DJ and his

ladies bathing in the dreams of rich brown opium,

waiting until the scarlet heads of the fly agaric

mushroom dotted the landscape. Then the

mushrooms poured down the side of the

mountain like a river until they touched the

meadows, and the psilocybin carried on the

psychedelic tide.

Throughout the mushroom season the DJ

interfaced his consciousness with a wide variety

of psychedelicacies. With the lust of the woman to

launch his spirit on its journey and look after his

body with tender care while he was away, he was

free to ravish the universe. There were infidelities,

of course, with other females on other worlds, but

the girls on the island had the prerogative of

owning his physical body and considered his

‘internal amours’ to be little more than


One night, arriving back from an orgy in

Seismic Minor, he found himself lying on a carpet

woven from finest cannabis fibre brushed to a

silken sheen, patterned by entoptics and dyed in

the glowing hues of opionic vision. Pubia, a truly

exotic looking bird, was seated on his penis with

her back turned to him, slowly rotating her

behind. Coming in from more refined regions, as

she rippled her muscles up and down his stem he

found the tightness of her arse almost to

pleasurable to bear, while the hot juices of her

cunt slobbered all over his balls. Meanwhile Tazi

was caressing his head between the strange

breasts peculiar to her species, feeding him

nectars from her many nipples. His dick spurted

with such force that the impact lifted Pubia a few

inches up his stem, causing her to flap her wings

and cluck with abandon.

A giant girl abducted from the blue

beaches of Altair had sexual organs that played

sine waves, each containing a world of its own

inside the frequency. He lay beneath a palm tree

with his head against her twat, staring up at the

full moon and the stars, smoking a joint and

bathing in the perfumes of her pussy as she

placed her labia over his ears as a headset and

transported him to the furthest extremities of

sound. By twiddling her nipples he could tune in

to the news broadcasts from the Intergalactic

Federation or listen to the gossip on Interstellar

Reuters, and her clitoris acted as a joystick for

endless neuro-sensual games. With his head up

her cunt they toured the galaxy together, walking

in cathedrals of the finest crystal and freaking out

the Gleeols * in fits of uncontrollable laughter. He

could have lain there forever, eluding the desire to

ejaculate, had it not been for his duty - to service

the rest of the maids.

The Gleeols are entities whose job is to ‘Joy the galaxy’.

They turn even the wildest thing into a joke by the power of their

infectious laughter, but they are deadly dangerous if you want to

get anything done. They are the opposite of the Thrill-Suckers,

whose cynicism sucks the buzz out of everything and leaves them all

alone, in a vacuous void, twiddling their thumbs and complaining.

2. The Nabob of Bombasta.

The Nabob paced back and forth,

thundering in fury at the fate of his beloved

chattels, while Sod, the dwarf who acted as his

stomach support, preceding a few paces before


“Three nanoseconds out! Three fuckin’

nano’s out of hyperspace and the stratocruiser

warps and loses my lovely pets!" Sobbing with

frustration he threw up his arms in despair.

“What shall I do, who shall I kill?”

By keeping in step and performing a little

hopping dance whenever his master stopped, or a

sideways skid when he made a turn, Sod

managed to keep out of range of the Nabob’s

bejewelled slippers.

“A vile scam Master,” he panted, hoisting

the belly further onto his shoulders as he

staggered under the weight of the massive gut,

“engineered by a common DJ, who has ripped off

the exquisite darlings that it has taken you a

whole year to collect. He is, no doubt, at this very

moment, opening the petals of a rare virgin, and

initiating her into the intimate delights of her first

fuck. An occasion, Oh Great One, never to be

repeated or forgotten by her innocent young mind,

and against which all her following fucks will be

compared. The DJ is not only deflowering your

pussy, Oh Great One, but castrating you in the


Red faced and fuming, the Nabob kicked

at Sod, missed, then swung on his heel, sending

his dwarf skidding sideways in a ninety degree arc

and flying off across the chamber.

The Nabob was in the opulent Palace of

Bombasta in the Land of Krutch when Sod had

informed him of his harem’s disappearance. He

vented his spleen on the ferret-faced captain of

the Emperor of Sin who stood before him stripped

to the waist.

"Where are they?" he demanded, stabbing

the lacquered nail of a bejewelled forefinger

against the man's chest. "Where is my cargo?

Where are my pets?"

“Agents already despatched, Oh

Benevolent One, report almost arriving,” jabbered

the Captain.

“REPORT!? A report is not going to get my

nose up the cunt of that Sadian darling, a report

is not going to dangle her tits in the palms of my

fat sweaty little hands”

The captain was as good as dead. He

stood with bowed head, a single bead of blood

crawling slowly down his chest, helplessly

awaiting the axe, when the readout saved his


a moment the Captain was forgotten. The Nabob

grabbed Sod and rushed off to find this Planet

Earth, and reclaim his magnificent women.

Sprawled across a plush divan at

Buckingham Palace, the Nabob of Bombasta

wrinkled his nose at the atrocious decor. He had

been told that Earth would be as civilised as

could be expected for a Third World, so he had

abandoned his usual retinue and left it to the

British Royal Family to entertain him. But he

found the conversation banal, the accommodation

abysmal, and the weather foul. It was certainly a

far cry from his usual receptions, where he

sprawled about wallowing in decadence and

flogging his knob in public.

“This place would be a hovel in the

terminal slums of Kataract” he spat, slapping the

Queen rudely across the face. “Where is the

grandeur, where is the flamboyance and WHERE


The Queen cowered on the floor. “We have

searched all the cesspools of the planet with a

telepathic magnifying glass, Oh Great One, and

there is not a single thought to pick up on. My

Royal Family and I have personally investigated

the filth, the sado-macho gear and the screams

and sobs without finding a single clue”, she

protested. “How do we find your harem when

there is nothing to go on?”

At any time the Nabob could have

despatched Sod with a wave of his hand but he

could not ignore the dwarf's superior guile so,

driven by desperation, he decided to find a quiet

place and seek his advice. Absent mindedly

prodding him with the toe of his slipper he waited

for his massive belly to be heaved upward,

pointed to the garden and followed the staggering

Sod across the floor.

“How sweet of you to need the answer to

such a simple question, Master. If you can’t find

your chicks amongst the sordid crap, then they

are obviously residing in some transcendental

realm to which you do not have access. The past

record of the man who pulled this foul stroke

shows that he was employed as a DJ on the

starcruiser The Emperor of Sin. Therefore, his

music must hold the key to the paradise in which

your ladies reside. I suggest tracking the tracks

on the CD's until we locate the most sublime

sounds. Then all we have to do is take the

Psychedelic Elevator to that level, and retrieve


So it was that the search for the missing

harem reached the clubland of London, and

converged on a club called Heaven. Here a

maestro called Laser Quark conducted a rave

where shaman and wizards dwelt, and vast

roomfuls of earthlings danced entranced to

ecstatic sounds. It was from there, analysing the

tracks of the DJ’s CD’s that the emissaries of the

Queen of England learned of the transcendental


The Royal Family had done their best, but

even wearing their crowns they still looked rather

dowdy in Megatripolis. The Nabob himself

(resplendent in turban and robes of Sirian silk

matching his jewel encrusted bobby-sox) did not

stand out amongst the colourful attire of the other

dancers. They were not all earth people; he

recognised a Ursian bitch who had turned him

over for a flying saucer full of Alfa Weed, and an

android he had nodded to on several worlds but

never spoken. ‘The Baron’ was there, tall and

thin, with a linage that went right back to Sirius

4, accompanied by a beauty called Jiya. Mahesh

‘The Sage of Mysor’ with his hair like a blond

waterfall running down each side of his face. Greg

on his wheels, Susanna the Warrior Queen

dancing with Shawna the Nymph and Jami-boy.

And behind them all was the fabulous figure of

‘Rosy’ adding a massive archetypal glow to the

orchestra of lights, as if enfolding the very room

itself in her all-embracing arms. All were wearing

earth bodies to fit in with the crowd.

“Forget about anyone watching and do

your own dance, Master. If you can't do that,

imagine you are dancing with an invisible

partner.” The Nabob kicked Sod out of the way

and, with a remarkable effort for a man of his

width and breadth and girth, started to dance.

He began with vigour but soon found the

music too fast to keep up with. The blats of

current were hitting his nervous system so

intensely that his body could only react, and he

felt like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Then

without even trying, at the very instant that he

lost his awareness of the other dancers, he found

himself not only doing his own dance but

simultaneously dancing with the rest of the room!

The chi was as thick as smoke. The

sounds twisting through his body became

hieroglyphs that spelled out a magical message of

awe and wonder. He saw his Higher Self and

suddenly the words on the Guest List took on a

tremendous significance: ‘The Nabob of Bombasta

plus One.’

As the night progressed, the intensity

increased. The ravers were so much in touch with

the music that he was left with the impression

that it was they who were playing the DJ rather

than the other way around. A man with wild hair

and the face of a hero was throwing his arms and

legs away from his body, a black cut-out stuck on

the blat of a strobe, biological origami trembling

to the whims of the music. And the music itself

seemed thrown out like the limbs of the dancer,

man, light and sound stuck together in sheer

delight, irrespective of any considerations but

right out-front NOW!

Tecno-birds flew over a sea of shimmering

static and he was rising and falling in a coloured

ocean, his mind a fleck of foam flying from every

cascading wave. Around him people were flipping

and squiggling, some running a hundred yard

race on the spot while others barely moved - just

standing there, hanging on the strength of the


Caught in the whirl-y-gig of sensations,

the Nabob began to feel unusually light. Like it or

no he had to admit that he was feeling extremely

pleasant. His fury at the loss of his harem became

less significant and a feeling that could only be

described as goodwill began to pervade his

system. Vaguely he realised that his ego stood no

chance of combating this communal onslaught of

good vibes, but by then he didn’t care anyway and

a big open smile had spread like a light across his


During a break in the intensity he could

hear the strains of a symphonic version of

Stairway to Heaven from the chill-out room

upstairs, a phrase he had half heard before but

was only just catching its meaning. In a flash he

realised that he was already ON the stairway

walking up the steps - now was the time to use

the 'Psychedelic Elevator!' Without wasting a

further nanosecond, the Nabob dropped a tab of E

and closed his eyes.

The cannabis leaves were rustling slightly

and the sun just beginning to set over the island

when the DJ whispered the last endearment to a

lover from Ursius and flowed back into his body

again. To his surprise there were no girls in sight,

but he could hear laughter in the meadow by the

thermal lake. He moseyed down through the

cannabis plantation, checking the buds, thick

and luscious with resin, and was suddenly all

agog to discover the Nabob carousing with the

females in the shade of the pot plants.

Lying back with his turban all askew, his

silken robes in disarray and his sexual organs

fully exposed, any pretence that the Nabob had

adopted of being of human origin was instantly

dispelled. Fifty two pricks stuck out at angles

from his rumpled garments with a woman of

exquisite beauty spinning round on each one of


“Just enough for a good satisfying screw”

he laughed, and winked conspiratorially. “I only

need one a year and tonight's the night!" Then,

without further ado, he ejaculated simultaneously

from all his organs, sending the girls shooting off

like comets to their homes in the stars.

3. Intimacy

On the curved sands of Grogol where the

Monium meets the Agaleep, little lives save the

poisonous Wriggle Worm and, poised on a single

leg waiting for the worms to show, the Stalks. A

vicious crawling cactus stalks the Stalks, which

in turn is poisoned by the Wriggle Worms. Such is

the extent of the ecosystem of Grogol, a barren

unexciting planet as bald as the cheek of an arse.

Grogol's only virtue is the annual drug and sex

Olympics, which provides the opportunity for

punters from neighbouring star systems to

gallivant around and have a flutter.

One of the more popular events is the

unicorn races. It is an impressive sight to behold

the young satyrs sitting in the sunshine shinning

the unicorns’ hooves with shoe polish whilst the

fauns massage their muscles and the nymphs

pour drugs into their ears and add lustre to their

horns by rubbing them between their tits. It is the

trainers job to get the contestants lustful and

rabid for the heat.

The bait for the 3:30 was a half-breed

Simian/Bulba, a gorgeous equine creature

blessed with an adaptable cunt. She was a

woman that no unicorn, whatever his personal

preferences, could help but drool and slobber

over. At the sight of her steam poured forth from

their nostrils, the corners of their mouths turned

up into wicked grins, and their pricks twanged to

attention so strongly that the vibration caused

champagne glasses to shatter all over the stands.

Heralded by a fanfare of instruments, the

unicorns would rear up on their hind legs, turn

their backs to the object of desire and, at the

crack of the starters pistol, run off in the opposite

direction. They would then run all the way round

the planet until they were back where they had

started, and the winner would ravish his prize.

As well as the Nabob, who was busy

sampling the fresh wriggle worms, all the usual

libertines were on show, sipping absinthe and

chilled sherbet. Mamluk the Cannibal was posing

and posturing amongst his colourful cortege of

eccentrics and freaks. Gnarl was in attendance

with her coterie of glamorous beasts, and Palm

the Naughty sat with his perverts arranged about

him like rare chocolates in a box. As the race

began, Mamluk put down his glass and jerked the

golden chain attached to the ankle of a winged

harlot shackled to his wrist. He had wagered

heavily and chewing her tits helped him to

neutralise the adrenaline and alleviate the stress

of the start.

Xes and Coo, lured by the promise of

adventure and money, were employed as a cameo

act to fill in the time till the leading unicorn

rounded the planet and made the final dash into

his prize. They formed part of a sado-masochistic

collage, seated on either end of a dildo made from

the curved horns of an Agabati ram. They slid

back and forth on the horn and rubbed their

cunts together while Malim, a servant girl,

whipped their asses none too gently and her twin

sister flogged their tits.

Coo had been part of the Nabob’s harem.

As they slide back and forth she gossiped with her

new-found friend about her experiences with the

strange Earth-man who had only one prick. She

was well into her story before she realised that

Xes was staring at her, totally taken aback.

“You made love with a man by yourself,

one to one, without anyone watching?” Xes

gasped in disbelief. “Why that's disgusting, its...

its intimate!” Without further ado Xes slid of the

horn and flounced off with an expression of

shocked incredulity on her face.

That night, when she returned to her

hotel, Coo was firmly told to leave the following

morning. The bar refused to serve her and when

she went to use the sauna everyone else left.

'Intimacy' was unheard of in the Milky Way † .

At first, the thought of making love

without a voyeur was repugnant to Xes, but once

the possibility entered her mind her imagination

began to play with it. It was so daring, to make

love without other people around, just the

It is all a question of moons. As the moon pulls the tides

of the female menses it also pulls the sexual organs of the male,

but in a different way, so that whereas the females of the galaxy

are fulfilled by a single sexual organ, the males of various planets

possess differing amounts. If a planet has fifty two moons like the

planet of Krutch, for instance, then the male inhabitants all have

fifty two sexual organs. If a planet has one moon, such as Earth,

then they will have only one.

thought of a one pricked man made her soak her


She remembered Coo's description of how

she had polished his purple knob with her velvet

lips and how he had moaned in ecstasy as she

ran the tip of her tongue round the rim of his

helmet. Xes began to wonder what she would do,

alone with a strange man with no-one looking.

Although she kept her hidden desires to herself as

long as she could, eventually they began to obsess

her and she was forced to confide in a friend.

“Get away from me you intimate slut!”,

was the immediate reaction. “Why can't you have

holistic fantasies like everybody else?” But her

friend also began to contemplate the 'intimate'

possibilities and found herself confiding to a

friend of hers, until soon everybody in the galaxy

knew that planet Earth was the only place in the

Milky Way where you could have a fuck in


Once the word was out that the Earth was

a 'singles' paradise the sphere was invaded by

trillions of sex mad females hell-bent on screwing

any dude they could get their legs round. The

earth men responded with great enthusiasm, and

the girls experienced more intimacy than in their

wildest dreams. The only drawback was the

catastrophic lack of orgasms throughout the rest

of the galaxy and the rapidly increasing

resentment of the multi-penised males.

Yeeemoo and Taska were walking down

Clapham High Street with their tails entwined

behind them, as lovers do. Taska was pointing out

the star from which she had come while Yeemoo

fondled her sexual organ and lovingly caressed

her tits. "I wish you'd do that to me," Taska said

testily, offering the mother-o-pearl clitoris

dangling like a teardrop from the lobe of her ear.

She never received an answer. At that

moment the invasion of the multi-pricked men

began, and in an instant both girls were horned

upwards by an Algolian sheep sheerer and carried

off protesting vehemently on two of his forty


The invasion hit simultaneously; in every

land females were carried away by multi-organed

sex bulls baying at the moon and stabbing at

random at any orifice in the vicinity. Multi-sexual

flying rapes are an acquired taste but it didn't

take the earth-woman long to appreciate their

finer points. Soon naked celebrities could be

observed doing acrobatics from one organ to

another, or leaping from helicopters and landing

at random.

Everyone was fucking so much that they

didn't have time for wars. So much love was

generated that it spread quickly through the

surrounding systems until even the crudest, most

barbaric worlds such as Grogol, - where the

viscous crawling cactus rape the Stalks - gave up

their bad habits. All aspirations were turned

towards the 'Intimacy Experience', which gave

direction to meaningless lives. In no time at all

the sphere was pollution free and vast hedonic

palaces adorned the ice peaks of the Himalayas

and the lakes of the Sahara. For the people on it,

the earth became a galactic paradise.

And as its reputation spread, word of

Earth’s delights reached galaxies beyond our own.

So it was that from the galaxy of Andromeda a

visitor came, drawn by the erotic scent of the

planet as if hypnotised by a skunk. This visitor

was the legendary Lady Twatania, the ugliest

person in the known worlds.

4. The Lady of Drain

The arrival of the Lady Twatania on the

erotic pleasure planet of Earth caused something

of a sensation. She had a touch of the Medusa

about her - when the unworthy saw her they were

turned to stone which then turned to powder and

was blown away by the wind. But this was only

one of her charms. Her main charisma lay in the

well known fact that she had more than one

fanny. In the galaxy of Andromeda opposite

principals applied, in comparison to the Milky

Way. It is the males who possess a single stalk

while the Andromidian females have a pussy for

each moon. Sometimes this amounts to so many

that they swallow themselves and create what is

known on Earth as ‘black holes’. Gang bangs were

the only satisfying method of intercourse in


Although she was an habitué of the

lewdest dives and the choreographer of countless

bizarre scenarios, throughout all the wealth of

corruption and temptation, the oiled massages,

perfumes, incense and drugs, Twatania had

remained the purist of virgins. The plucking of her

cherry, therefore, was an issue that required the

highest levels of inter-galaxy diplomacy. The deep,

sub-audible throb emanating from Earth was

juicing her something rotten, however, and her

inter-galactic courtiers could no longer delay the

inevitable. It was imperative that the Milky Way

produced a suitor of the highest standing. As the

richest man in the galaxy, The Nabob of

Bombasta was the obvious choice.

For the Nabob, the most valuable virginity

in the neighbouring galaxy was an appealing

novelty. He agreed to the coupling, fully aware of

its political power, and ordered Sod to prepare his

genitalia. The Nabob, jaded beyond belief, was too

idle to analyse his own lusts. Instead, he left them

in the capable hands of his dwarf.

It was Sod’s job to note the rising and

falling of the Nabob’s various penises and record

the stimulus to which each dick reacted. Each of

the dicks had a mind of its own that demanded its

own personal stimulation. Sod would then run

the info through a laptop and define the ‘little

trick’ necessary for each little dick. The Nabob did

not tolerate mistakes. If one prick out of the entire

fifty two did not rise to the occasion when his

grand annual orgy took place the Nabob would be

unsatisfied and Sod, like his predecessor, would

end his days in the dungeons of Krutch or exiled

to Phlegm City in the mucus swamps.

As the Lady Twatania reclined on a

specially built, fur-lined table on top of Primrose

Hill, and the crowds gathered to honour the great

deed, Sod realised that he was in trouble. It had

only been a few months since the Nabob’s annual

coupling, and his regiment of phalli were not yet

reacting in a predictable manner. They seemed to

be changing direction at the merest breeze, a

problem complicated by the breathtaking ugliness

of the Lady. This inverted domino effect caused

much distress to the harassed Sod. Sitting cross-

legged with his laptop amongst the wavering

phalli was like living amongst a shoal of fish,

forcing him, already immersed in an ever

expanding maze of contradictions, to crash his PC

and burst into tears.

The speeches of the dignitaries ended and

the crowd began to grow impatient, eager for the

deflowering ceremony. Lady Twatania lay on her

back with her legs in the air. She was a musical

instrument with the body of a centipede. Her body

twitched and rippled to indicate readiness.

As the pricks flopped around his ears, Sod

knew that drastic measures were needed. Seeing

no alternative, he desperately wrenched the giant

blood-red ruby from the Nabob's navel and tried

to shove his prick in. There was a mighty whoosh

of expelled air. The potentate began to deflate

while the dwarf grew larger by the second. They

both reached the same size, became one and,

propelled by the last of the escaping air, careered

round the hillside. The assembled throng

applauded politely, oblivious to what had really

happened. When the Nabob came to halt and

returned to his starting position, the crowd failed

to see that it was now the Nabob that occupied

the body of the dwarf, while Sod inhabited the

grandiose posture of his former master.

Sod, whose low tastes were the opposite of

his refined master’s, had never seen anything as

erotic as Twatania. At one glance all the nautch

girls, belly dancers and courtesans – from the

seraglio's of Sensula to the allies of Krutch, along

with their bangles, beads, brocades, and

tantalising veils – were swept aside and replaced

by a single transcendental illumination: “The

Naked Lady of Drain.” Sod looked deeply at his

prize and playfully erected each of his new cocks

in turn, in the manner of a Mexican wave.

Twatania giggled her appreciation. For the

grand occasion she insisted on wearing black silk

bloomers with a row of mother-o-pearl buttons

that ran up the side. By the time he had

completely undone her, and fifty pairs of pants lay

wildly about the hillside or covered the faces of

the hand maidens that were ministering to the

couple, Sod’s temperature had risen to an all-time

high. The heads of his newly acquired pricks were

about to explode, and steam was issuing from his

arse and both his ears. Even the Nabob, lolling

back in a hammock slung between two of the

hand maidens, had to admit it was a sight that

would take some time to forget.

Twatania’s fifty cunts left Sod a couple of

pricks spare, allowing him to run them up and

down her clitoris like the keys of a piano and

foreplay ecstatic rhapsodies while her anus's

lovingly coddled his balls. They fitted each other

perfectly. As he entered her she kicked her legs

sending an avalanche of white high heeled shoes

flying in all directions, and the sonic boom of her

50 hymen splitting created such sexy melodies

that the CD was banned on several worlds.

The Nabob, meanwhile, was too stunned

to react. Forgotten, he found himself in the body

of the Dwarf, watching his beloved penis’ being

thrashed in the most unsophisticated manner.

Appalled at what had happened, the thought

entered his head that this was only the start of

his disgrace. How could be reclaim his body?

And what could he do that would persuade Sod to

give up his glorious genitalia?

5. Holmes

During the nights that followed, the Nabob

read up on Sherlock Holmes. He studied videos

and poured over dog-eared manuscripts deep into

the small hours. While the city snored around

him. he pieced together the immaculate character

of fiction until he possessed a palpable image

hovering like a ghost before his inner eye. The

Nabob’s appearance as Sod had not changed on

the physical level, but he now embodied every

thought-form that he had filched from the minds

of all the people who had read of the great

detective. Squinting at his creation from the

corner of his mind, he could see Sherlock himself

dressed in deer stalker with meerschaum and

magnifying glass.

Satisfied, he flipped his consciousness into

the ghostly figure, took an ornate Victorian

syringe out of a draw, and stepped out of fiction

into reality by shooting cocaine in his arm.

While the remarkable sleuth was

momentarily stunned from the rush, the Nabob

thrust a pen in the detective’s hand and prompted

him to make his signature on the bottom of a

contract. Then with a wicked little smile he waited

for Sherlock’s high to dissipate enough to allow


He did not have to wait for long. Holmes’

eyes rolled back from the inside of his skull and

settled on the dwarfen figure in front of him. He

nodded politely.

“I take it sir”, the detective said, “that the

matter you have engaged me in requires the

return of your former body.”

The Nabob gurgled with delight and

clapped with glee. “Incredible! Astounding! How

do you see so much, O great detective?”

Sherlock answered with an effete wave of

his hand. “It is a simple matter. I have of course

observed your base form, and noted a discrepancy

between your mannerisms and your appearance.

From the underhand way you forced me to life

and into your servitude, I recognize the manner of

one familiar with power. The gentle way you are

currently fingering your anus demonstrates a

sensitivity more usually found in the courts of

Emperors than by a dwarf in a damp basement off

Portobello Road. I deduce, therefore, that your

current form is not your usual one, and that a

return to the rightful way of things would be your

highest priority.”

The Nabob nodded, impressed. “You are

correct, Mister Holmes. I am the Nabob of

Bombasta, currently residing in the body of my

dwarf Sod while, only a few yards away my body

is even now in the second week of a coupling with

a 50-cunted female from the galaxy of

Andromeda. In truth I know not what horrifies me

most, the foul body I am forced to inhabit or the

thought of my darling pricks being sullied by the

grimmest female in the seven worlds. I am a

creature of the more exulted realms, Mister

Holmes, a gourmet of high aesthetic pleasures

and rarefied, sublime experiences. Therefore

before they are further tarnished it is of the

uttermost urgency that I get my cocks back.”

Sherlock considered his words. “Indeed,”

he said with a hint of dry humour. “Lacking your

penises it is logical that you would need a private

dick to assist you. We are both readers of the

minds of men, Nabob, you as a seducer and I as

deducer. I take it that contract that you made me

sign relates to your ownership of my soul?”

“Of course. You have signed away your

soul in perpetuity, for me to torment as I wish. In

return I give you my word that, once you have

returned me to my body, I will put you out of your

misery by forgetting you ever existed. You will

then dissolve back into the fiction from whence

you came.” The Nabob ended this promise by

farting in a trustworthy manner.

“This is as I thought,” Holmes replied. “It

is to your ill fortune that you created me as

perfectly as you did. Using the skills you

bestowed on me, I can clearly see how little your

word is worth and I deduce that your torment of

me will never end, regardless of how well I

undertake my duties. My next course of action,

therefore, is elementary my dear Nabob.”

6. Princess Ee

The constellations of the Akian zodiac

mark a procession of twisted bodies outlined in

the stars of the night sky. At dusk, a cowled and

crooked figure emerges from below the horizon

holding a scythe in one hand and clutching the

malformed hand of her male consort with the

other. As the night progresses, The Liar, The

Murderer, The Torturer, The Hangman, The Blind

Idiot and The Thief cavort across the heavens in a

line, with their male and female counterparts

kicking and posturing in lewd glee.

Accompanying them, the ten blood-soaked moons

of Ak reel round the circle like stumbling drunks.

On a rostrum rising above the main

square, with her arms stretched straight out

before her, the ghoulish figure of Queen Hag

orchestrates the night sky. By wriggling her

fingers as if they were snakes, she evokes the red

moons rising like hell-pits above the horizon; one

at a time they appear, as if reluctant but dragged

up by her will in spite of themselves. By the

writhings of her hands Queen Hag conducts the

night sky until the ten moons of Ak are moving to

her will, as if each were attached by an invisible

strand to one of her fingers.

Meanwhile, at the ball, the DJ flipped open

the ring and poured the contents into the golden

chalice that contained the punch. He was

shaking so much that the lid rattled against the

ring and, when he snapped it shut, it sounded as

loud as a gunshot. Feigning confidence he shot

his cuffs, turned with his head high, and studied

the liquid in his glass as if divining its purity.

Then he took in the bouquet, smiled approvingly,

and walked towards the lady sitting opposite to

request the pleasure of a dance.

Forty minutes later the sky changed;

instead of the Hag a beautiful priestess appeared

on the rostrum, the constellation of the Liar

become the Writer, the Murderer had gone pacifist

and the Torturer had become a conscientious

objector. In less than an hour a brilliant future

could be observed outlined in the stars.

After a sip of punch The Queen Hag had

metamorphosised into an entirely different being:

she was now Princess Ee, a fission Queen from

Zal and a flying sorceress of some distinction.

The DJ kissed the back of her hand as he

passed her the joint, and for a moment bathed in

the glory of her smile. He had come a long way

since his days with the Nabobs harem, but the

technique he had learned of masturbation whilst

scratching the vinyl had enabled him to refine his

lust-loops and give exotic orgies to eager

audiences all across the sky's. It was on one such

tour that he had found himself on Ak and had

unwittingly been commandeered into the annual

death rite.

The mood and setting were all important

to his performance so he had spiked the punch

and changed the audience to a more positive

outlook. But he had no idea how intoxicating the

‘other self’ of Queen Hag would be, and her newly

acquired beauty had completely thrown him.

A mist of star-dust followed behind her; as

she walked it clung in an inverted triangle at the

top of her thighs, like a veil that parted and

shredded and reformed in an endless drifting

motion without ever quite revealing the sex

beneath. Her translucent skin glowed in the

ruddy light of Ak and lit her every movement with

a ripple of sparkles. Myriad's of microcosmic

flashes and gleams danced over her flesh, fire-fly’s

span tiny pin-wheels around her nipples and

when she gestured stars flickered from the tips of

her fingers and the palms of her hands.

Her red hair, an entity in its own right

which mimed its mistresses’ actions, haunted the

movements of her limbs like a crimson ghost. It

flamed along her arms, raced up her shoulders,

exploded in an inferno of scarlet heat about her

head and rolled in waves of fire down to the

hollow of her back. There it lay, flaming quietly

and licking itself, reaching out occasionally to

caress her buttocks and the inside of her thighs.

Over the next few hours the relationship

between Princess Ee and the DJ matured till the

distinction between their social stations

evaporated and they became intimate

companions. She, highly sophisticated, had never

been outside a city, and it was an adventure for

her to go for walks in the countryside, while he

was a simple soul who liked to pick up her tail

and bum her a little as they chatted and strolled

amongst the trees. At night as her labia coddled

his dick between silken folds and coursed the rim

of his helmet with a thousand sweet kisses, his

music would reach such a peak that her clitoris

would vibrate in unison, like a tuning fork,

emitting a wavelength of such delicacy and

refinement that his penis had no option but to

extend even further than it was possible to do so,

and transport them to ever more exalted realms.

When he came round the drug had worn

off and she was a hag again, crouched in a corner

observing his naked body with a lascivious grin.

She had a cunt like an inverted hay stack and tits

that hung down to the ground, and she was

frigging herself with a broomstick. It was not the

first time he had seen a witch frig herself with a

broomstick, but this was with the bristly end and

it put his teeth on edge.

As quickly as it was polite to do so he paid

his respects, kissed her gently and said his


“You will never get of this planet until you

have satisfied my basest desires” she cackled. “I

control the moonscape and if you attempt to jilt

me I will shag your ship through all the painful

perversions of the Akian zodiac and fuck your

disfigured corpse until you come back to life out

of sheer disgust.”

And with those words, she thumbed her

clit, leered lustfully up at him and stuck a finger

up her arse.

7. Solution

A chink of light showed along the edge of

the door. It opened and the figure of a bent old

man stepped into the oblong of illumination. He

was dressed as a shambling nonentity, but

Holmes scented the Nabob’s blood group and

recognised the unmistakable characteristics of

Sod’s squat frame.

As the dwarf made his way along Fulham

Road, Holmes followed in the mind of a pop star a

few yards back on the other side of the street. He

had his mind-shield up and gave off no telepathic

transmissions. When the pop star crossed over he

changed heads, jumping into a stiff faced

professional women. In this fashion Holmes

stalked the Nabob, staying out of his

consciousness and awaiting the time to pounce.

It was the Nabob’s fault and he would

have to take responsibility for it. Holmes had

decided that he would never escape the Nabob’s

control, no matter what he did. He was in a

position to be immortally blackmailed, a

permanent chattel of the merciless dwarf. It took

little deliberation to reach the conclusion that the

only way out of this intolerable predicament was

to kill him.

The shade of Sherlock Holmes was

equipped with enough extrasensory faculties to

find the foulest fiend, but he was still a

gentleman. He would never stoop to bloody

murder. Instead, he used his considerable

intellect to devise a far more acceptable plan of

action. His intended method was to move from

mind to mind until he could sneak into the brain

of his quarry, then order him to commit suicide.

Things had not been going well for the

Nabob. He had summoned an Armada of elite

space mercenaries in order to recapture his body,

but the hypnotic hedonic emanations that pulsed

out from the planet Earth had bewitched these

fearsome troops. The last that he heard of the

Armada was that it was anchored beyond the

dark side of the moon, and that entire platoons of

hardened space sailors were knitted together in a

clusterfuck of such depraved proportions that the

military’s ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy was probably

the best thing for all concerned.

It was the last straw. Somewhere amongst

the holocaust of the Twatania Coupling the Nabob

had lost his rag, lost his cool, lost his mind and

completely forgotten the plot and the name of the

game. He was going through such a vulnerable

period that it was only by pure luck that he

became aware that the portion of his

consciousness that held the personality of

Sherlock Holmes was plotting his demise.

It happened whilst he was enjoying an

espresso in the rehab where he was undergoing

treatment, to erase some of the dreadful sights he

had recently witnessed. All of a sudden he

experienced a suicidal relapse and had just

decided to end it all, when a waiter whispered in

his ear.

“A cluster of thoughts inhabiting your

cranium have got loose Sir, and their sinister

behaviour is distressing some of the other


Only when the image of the interloper was

projected onto his mind-screen did the dazed

dwarf click-on to the presence of his interior rival.

It was analogous to a web-site blinking into

existence. As the Nabob opened his third eye he

beheld Holmes lurking through cyberspace with

as much stealth as his form allowed. He

downloaded the sleuth onto the screen of his

laptop and greeted him with a stream of abuse.

“You tried to kill me you traitorous

bastard” he screamed “and I will take the greatest

pleasure in slowly dismembering you for it. Piece

by piece I shall erase the elements of the montage

of which you are composed, and you will slowly

suffer the anguish of protracted annihilation while

I sit here and wank.”

“My actions were merely the logical

outcome and rational solution to an otherwise

insoluble problem.” said Sherlock, his confident

demeanour apparently unruffled by the Nabob’s

threat. “As to the question of my annihilation,

that is in your hands alone, but I would inform

you that with the disintegration of my personality

will go the solution to your problem.”

“You have one, you honestly have one?

Tell me and I will forgive you everything and set

you free.”

“I have delved too deeply into your

unsavoury psyche to fall for such a ploy.”

“I swear on my mother’s life”

“You never had a mother,” Holmes said

tartly “your genetics were pissed up against a

wall in Whitechapel by Jack the Ripper and

hatched in a flesh-pot by syphilitic hags well

versed in perverse humour”. He drummed his

fingers irritably on the inside of the screen

causing the Nabob to gasp at the audacity and

hug his computer to him protectively.

Holmes continued, “Only when you tear

up the pact we made together will I divulge the

secret. Set me free to find my own soul and I will

be in your debt and consider it my duty as an

English gentleman to aid you.”

With a reluctant scowl the Nabob ran his

short stubbly fingers over the keyboard and

watched the contract appear on the screen with

Sherlock’s signature at the end. He deleted the


Holmes smiled.

“Thank you. I now ask you to consider

how your desires differ to those of your dwarf. For

just as you were too prudish to enjoy the extreme

base charms of the Lady Twatania, he too would

have difficulty humping the most divine maiden in


Nabob considered this. “I agree, but

where would I find a lady too exquisite for my

Dwarf? He has been on duty as I have cavorted

with the finest females imaginable. Despite his

character, he has grown used to such splendour

and rarely vomits. I am the richest man in the

galaxy. The most knowledgeable dealers in the

highest forms of womanhood bring their finest

specimens to me. Surely there is no-one with the

aesthetic understanding needed to procure an

even more divine female?”

“There is one such person, your Grace, a

man who you have unwittingly trained in the

most sublime pleasures.”

The Nabob understood immediately. “That

damned DJ”, he said.

Sherlock nodded. “Exactly, his

considerable experience of playing his lust-loops

all across the galaxy has educated him in all the

finesse of elegant fucking. I had a text from him

earlier. He is at the moment engaged in

pleasuring just the female that you seek.

Moreover, with respect to your previous

misunderstanding, he is willing to trade places as

gesture of goodwill. Here is his phone number.

Now if you excuse me, I am drawn to the natural

home of fictitious characters like myself.” And

with that Sherlock Holmes bowed slightly, turned

away, and emailed himself to Hollywood.

8. The Scrubber

The Nabob was sprawled out in clouds of

steam and perfume in the Turkish baths while

Sod supervised a bevy of handmaidens who were

shampooing the genitals of his master. He

whacked Sod over the head with a rugged

erection, an act that gave him immense pleasure.

Earlier he had grabbed the dwarf and

transported him to the Planet Ak, where he found

that the DJ was true to his word. So glorious was

the Princess Ee that she scared Sod straight out

of the Nabobs body and back into his own.

“Thank you for forgiving me, master”,

said the dwarf as he worked amongst the

perfumed steam. “In return I will ensure that you

are in immaculate condition for your forthcoming

intercourse with the Princess Ee. I promise I will

prepare each penis with more care and attention

than they are worth.” As his words sank in, one of

the Nabobs pricks felt insulted and with an

involuntary knee-jerk flicked him across the

chamber and sent him skidding across the blue

and white tiles.

Humbly, Sod continued with his task,

holding his temper and clenching his fists as the

Nabob drooled on, punctuating his complaints

with an occasional blow or a vicious little jab in

the kidneys. He waited until his master had

finally cooled out and relaxed into a state of

glowing rapture, then, pushing a handmaiden out

of the way, he rolled back the foreskin of the

gnarled and throbbing erection that had knee-

jerked him, drew out a wire brush hidden in his

armpit, and scrubbed avidly behind the gnob.

The Nabob screamed in agony,

ejaculated, and in so doing fired the dwarf out of

the door and into the safety of the corridor. Sod

was surprised a short time later when, in a

wheedling tone, the Nabob asked him to do it

again. Eventually, having resigned himself to the

inevitable, he picked up his wire brush and strode

majestically back into the clouds of scented


The handmaidens had risen all his dicks

to maximum height and the Nabob was glowing

with self satisfaction when Sod observed the

steam parting above him. To his amazement he

saw that it was not Princess Ee but the Hag who

appeared, riding her broomstick like a

skateboard. The potion that the DJ had slipped

her had worn off and he had legged it to the other

side of the galaxy before the Nabob had come


The Nabob lay with closed eyes unaware

of the impending danger, while she circled above

him, slowly expanding her pussy until it covered

the entire assembly of thrusting cocks. Then she

stepped off the broomstick and did the splits.

The handmaidens fled as she revolved

her cunt like a demented cement mixer, emitting

the sounds of a rude, crude, grind of the lowest

kind. Sod saw the horror on the Nabob’s face as

he opened his eyes and witnessed the Hag, and he

was overcome with an unexpected wave of pity.

Without thinking, an uncharacteristic wave of

kindness propelled him to aid his master. The

dwarf dashed forward, lifted the skirt-like labia,

and ran in.

The next second he was gasping for air

as he ducked and dived to avoid the forest of

sexual organs thrashing about all round him. It

was with a sigh of relief that he found himself

staring up the Nabob’s anus, knowing that the

blizzard of pricks had passed him by. Then,

leaning forward, he whistled a sweetness up his

masters bum.

The result was immediate. All 52 cocks

shuddered, paused and ejaculated as ONE! The

Hag crashed through the roof of the Turkish

Baths and flew up into the Heavens. From that

night on, the people of Ak had a eleventh moon in

the night sky.

In the sauna, a highly potent silence

reigned, with Sod and the Nabob locked into each

other's eyes. Then, in a cajoling voice the Nabob


“Thank you dear dwarf. I owe you one for

that, you lovely little sod”

Sod had never been addressed so

tenderly before and for a single sharp second he

saw the huge bloated nose of the Nabob as

possessing an highly erotic significance. The

Nabob, meanwhile became suddenly transfixed by

the large round nostrils of the panting dwarf,

which dilated and contracted tantalisingly before

his master’s eyes.

Without the bidding of either, a sizzle of

current passed between them, and the next

second their faces had plunged into each other.

Hands were clawing off garments, tongues

grasping for a hold.

Later, when they told the story to guests,

they would describe it as love at first sight – the

first time they had both really 'seen' each other.

Then the Nabob would laugh, and

emphasise that it was only after this event that he

discovered that Sod had fifty two assholes.


Youth was born in Africa in 1960. He co-

founded the band Killing Joke and has worked as

a musician or producer with artists including The

Orb, Embrace and Primal Scream.

Youth won the Brit Award for Best

Producer in 1998 for his work on The Verve’s

album Urban Hymns. He runs Dragonfly Records,

a psychedelic trance label, and has published a

collection of poetry and illustrations titled Poetica

Mystica :: Kissing Nettles.

Youth has recorded three ambient albums

with Paul McCartney under the name The

Fireman and was one of the first people in the UK

to be arrested for creating graffiti art. His

websites include www.myspace.com/youthsound

and www.youth.me.uk.


Brian Barritt was born in Coventry in

1934. Over the years he has been a sailor,

soldier, krautrocker, hippy and punk - an

adventurer with 50 years experience in

psychedelics and expanded consciousness. He

hitched to India in the mid-60s and accompanied

Timothy Leary during his exile from America in

Algeria and Switzerland in the early 70s. He took

Youth under his (bat-like) wing in the late 70s,

during the early days of Killing Joke, and was

later taken under Youth’s wing in the early days

of Acid House. His psychedelic autobiography,

The Road of Excess, was published in 1998.

He currently lives in Battersea, South

London, with a squirrel.


Whisper: A Timescript

(Whisper Promotions, 1971)

Confessions of a Hope Fiend

(Co-authored with Timothy Leary, Bantam 1973)

The Road of Excess: A Psychedelic Autobiography

(PSI Publishing, 1998)

The Road to Tir Na n’Og: The Journal of a Psychedelic


(Grooved Ware, 2003)


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