Free Zorgamazoo by Robert Paul Weston

criminal too!
I’d say that you’ve got some explaining to do!”
    Â 
    But the man only stared. He was cold and aloof.
He twisted his gaze to the curve of the roof.

    The stranger peered up, looking suddenly meek,
and decided, at last, he was ready to speak.
    Â 
    He spoke as if listlessly reading a script.
“Welcome,” he said, “to Moonagerie Crypt.
    Â 

My name is
Dullbert
Hohummer, the Third,
and you’ll be here forever…I give you my word.
    Â 
    So there’s no going home. You’re all here to stay.
Your planet, like mine, is a loooooong ways away.”
    Â 
    He said to Katrina. “But, maybe it’s true.
I imagine I’ve got some explaining to do.
In that case, I’ll make it abundantly clear,
as to why you were taken, and why you are here.”
    Â 
    So that’s what he did.
He plunked down on the ground.
He began to explain, to recount and expound…

Chapter 12
    graybalon-four

    The story of Dullbert Hohummer, the Third is not like the rest of the story you’ve heard.
    Dullbert had come from a faraway place.
In fact, he belonged to an alien race.
    He came from a place called Graybalon-Four,
a planet well-known as a bit of a bore.
    Â 
    It was smaller in size than even the Earth.
It had nothing of Jupiter’s generous girth,
and nothing like Saturn’s magnificent rings.
It had none of those wondrously singular things.
    Â 
    This was a planet where day after day,
the weather was always the rainiest gray,
and not only the sky, but the sea and the land,
everything gray and stupendously bland.
    Â 
    Why, even the people were grayer than gray,
as if all of their color had faded away.
    Â 
    They had built up their planet with cities and lanes
traveled by Graylian trolleys and trains,
from Graylian houses to Graylian shops,
while traffic was guided by Graylian cops.
    Â 
    Most of them toiled at monotonous jobs,
manufacturing gadgets and thingamabobs.
    In the evening, they drove along Graylian roads
to the uniform gray of their boring abodes.
    Â 
    And then, climbing into their Graylian beds,
with Graylian reveries filling their heads,
the Graylian people would finish the day,
with dreams that, of course, were entirely gray.
    Â 
    (Think of counting the granules of sand on a beach,
or imagine a lengthy political speech.
Just think of the utmost deplorable bore.
That’s ten times as thrilling as Graybalon-Four!)
    Â 
    But why, you may ask, was it lacking in spice?
Like, wouldn’t a little excitement be nice?
    Â 
    As with much of this story, the answer is found,
by digging a bit, looking under the ground…
    Â 
    Because under the surface of Graybalon-Four,
there was little to look at, even less to explore.
It wasn’t like Earth, full of boulders and stones,
and minerals, metals, and dinosaur bones.
    Inside of this planet was hollow and bare,
like a ball that was filled with unusual air.
    Â 
    But the air wasn’t air . It was more of a mist.
It quietly wafted and billowed and hissed.
It would sluggishly swirl. It would languidly teem,
and the name of this vapor was:
Tedium Steam.
    It was dreary and almost invisibly pale.
It rolled and it flowed at the pace of a snail.
It curdled and churned in swishes and swarms.
It was boredom , you see, in its purest of forms.
    Now, before you begin to protest or object,
believe me, good reader, my facts have been checked.
    Â 
    It may strike you as weird, and I know how you feel,
but Tedium Steam, I assure you, is real .
It’s also on Earth. Yes, we’ve got it too.
No ifs, ands, or buts! What I’m saying is true!
It’s produced as a residue, deep in the brain,
in people whose lives are indelibly plain.
You’ll find it near braggarts and prattlers and snobs,
or people with overpaid clerical jobs.
It clouds around people with limited views,
and salesmen with products that no one can use.
    Â 
    It builds up in such people, ’til over the years,
there’s so