Chapter XII
Bari and Arthur, in another reality, were entangled in what seemed like an infallible web cast by this moustache. How do you manage to write an essay to prove yourself worthy of being able to travel on? How do you impress a moustache that is in itself so impressive? Truth. That was the strategy that they decided on. And this was the truth:
“The essay written by Arthur Crouton on the subject of why he should be allowed to continue on through the labyrinth”
There are several reasons why I feel that I should be allowed to pass through this labyrinth and continue onward in my quest for the summit of Mount Hockey. The first is that I believe that all the land of this Earth should be free for whoever desires to do so to roam about as they please. I cannot fathom that any man, moustache, or enchanter should possess the voracity allowing them to claim that he has made property that is public private and in doing so, block the paths to other public lands. Furthermore, even if they did have that aforementioned right, and were not detaining us by force of magic, I desire to pass through here and to ascend Mount Hockey, where several magical and mythical tasks await me, the foremost of which is shooting my friend here through a basketball hoop so that he might regain his human form and so that I might find the proverbial new lease on life. And since I know that I am nearing the two hundred word cutoff, and I do not wish to be disqualified by such a triviality as a word count, let me ask you something: why not?
Arthur handed in his paper to the moustache, who looked at it, counted the words, and upon ascertaining that it did indeed contain precisely two hundred words, tossed it aside and declared that he had passed. Bari, scribbling furiously, looked up and asked
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“No, I was charged with the task of making sure you wrote an essay of precisely two hundred words regarding why you felt you deserved to pass through. I’m willing to take your word regarding the subject matter so long as the word count is precise. Only one person has ever gotten to this stage before, and they flunked because they included a salutation in their essay, and assumed that it counted towards the word count.”
Upon hearing this, Bari quickly scribbled something out, and wrote a couple extra words at the end and then handed his essay in. Though we know that the moustache wasn’t going to really pay attention to the subject matter, I’ll share with you the essay that Bari ended up handing in, though it frustrated him that the effort he had put into constructing a reasonable thesis had been negated because this moustache wasn’t a qualified literary critic, and could only count to two hundred, and precisely two hundred.
“Baritone Juicebox’s essay on why he should be allowed to pass through the labyrinth and continue onwards”
When I was younger, my father often told me to think before I engaged in a variety of verbs such as acting, eating, and juggling. One day, he told me, while his own mouth was filled up with verbs and proverbs, to think before I think. How foolish, I thought to myself. Sometimes the stream of consciousness is a wonderful thing, and it’s pretty nice not to filter my thoughts through other thoughts, to just let them come. And so, when you instructed me to write this essay, I decided to ignore your instructions and follow my own format. For I have more of the right to be giving the instructions. And I instruct you to tell me who you think you are that you have any right to prevent me from passing down this road. All I want to do is pass on to Mount Hockey, and I will tell you that this path is not yours. It belongs only to those who wish to tread upwards on it. And so, whether or not you deem my essay worthy, I will do just that. I shall climb Mount Hockey.”
After those 190 words, Bari had heard the moustache say that he wasn’t really reading for subject matter and that the salutation didn’t count, so he quickly scribbled it out and counted his words, and finding himself ten short, chose to make the final ten the first diez palabras that came into his cabesa.
“Sandwich gardyloo gallimaufry zanahorias elefante whippersnapper onion e pluribus unum.”
Upon scribbling down those last few words, he stood up and handed his paper to the moustache, who counted the words, and finding the essay to contain the proper amount, deemed that both of our protagonists had passed, and that all the rewards owed to them would be granted. First, the warehouse-labyrinth fell away, becoming one with the tierra that it had been part of before the magico had enchanted it. Second, each was handed a certificate of completion which could be presented to anyone that they had any sort of need to impress. Even if that person didn’t understand quite what they had succeeded in doing, nobody has the power to deny the fact that a certificate holds a bit of sway at least. Third, and finally, the moustache resigned its sovereignty, was freed of the enchantment, and sat itself upon the faces of Baritone and Arthur, assuming whatever style it was that best suited the contours of the face of its owner. In Arthur’s case, it was an elegant Fu Manchu which drooped down from his face and from then on would journey lower and lower towards the ground, occasionally allowing itself to be trimmed, but never shaven. Who would want to shave such a moustache anyway? For Bari, it became a handlebar, curling outwards and then inwards again in a never ending spiral pattern. Oh, what moustaches our protagonists now possessed. Who would dare challenge a man and a basketball who hoped to become man again who wore such majestic facial hair? Only fools would, certainly. Or one bound by oath and honour, as they would soon encounter.
For right before their eyes there now rose the lofty summit of Mount Hockey. Surely the distance they were destined to climb equaled the entire rest of the journey they had undertaken, or so it seemed. In fact, the mountain was much lower than the distance they had just travelled, having crossed several continents and an ocean, but this mountain rose quite high nonetheless. But, as always, they were up to this challenge.
Now, while all those action-packed plot lines were unfolding, some crazy interdimensional consciousness was at work, all bound by the powers contained within that singular moustache who assumed many guises across just as many dimensions.
To clear up matters for the future, since we’ll be mentioning all three incarnations of Bari interacting with one another shortly, let’s refer to the Baritone Juicebox that turned into a basketball as Bari number one, the one that died, became a deity, and then a cloud porpoise Bari number two, and the one who had embarked on the adventure of the grilled cheese nebula and who presently found himself on the moon Bari number three. Now, at this moment, Bari number two was aware of the existence of Bari number three, having ascertained from the story of the flarks that part of himself was currently present on the moon. Bari number three, reveling in his victory over Milenkoooooo, donned his moustache at the precise same moment as the Bari that had just won the challenge of the labyrinth, Bari number one. Because of this, and the mystical powers that the moustache possessed, Bari number one and Bari number three simultaneously remembered their adventure with the giant squid and the wormhole at Lake Spatula, and that the moustache they had seen after passing through the wormhole was the one they were wearing now. They also became aware of the existence of the other, though not number two, for he was, at the moment, clean shaven. He, though, knew of Bari number three, as we have mentioned. So, as it stands, Baris number one and three knew of each other, and number two knew of number three. Neither number one nor three knew of number two. Since Bari number two was currently flying uneventfully towards the moon, we’ll pass over his story for the moment, and as we just covered a few of the escapades of number one, at this moment we’ll go to the story of Bari number three, who had just defeated Milenkoooooo and was about to embark upon further adventures upon the moon.
A lonely messenger tree descended from the sky and etched its roots upon a spot of dark matter a couple feet above the ground, and from within its bark produced a rectangular box, from which emanated the aroma, along with an aura, of pepperoni pizza. There was a reason for this. Roughly fifteen minutes before the event described above, Baritone Juicebox had sent a telepathi
c message to Jim’s Pancake House of Pizza and Oysters, requesting that, in order to satiate his hunger, they deliver unto his countenance a large pepperoni pizza. Now, Jim’s Pancake House of Pizza and Oysters was not the nearest pizza place to the moon, but it was the only one he had remembered passing by en route from the grilled cheese nebula who claimed to deliver anywhere in the universe, for they had in their employment a full squadron of messenger trees, which travelled more efficiently than any being in the universe, save only the four sided triangles, back when they were called so. They also possessed an unfailing sense of direction. With that combination of talents, it only took this particular tree fifteen minutes to travel four and six-tenths of a light year, and the pizza he carried remained hot upon its arrival. So, while earth would’ve been geographically closer, it would probably take them several years to develop the technology to deliver to space, and then several days after that to get there. Certainly he’d die of hunger in that time span. And if not, well, odds were the pizza would at least be pretty cold. This was not the case with Jim’s Pancake House of Pizza and Oysters!
Whilst waiting, which is truly the hardest part, Bari ruminated upon recent events, as well as a few events that were not so recent. His newfound moustache helped to bring an unprecedented clarity to his thoughts, and illuminated many memories which previously he had suppressed for various reasons. Of course, his stream of consciousness worked very similarly to the manner in which people claim that god works, that being mysteriously. So while he focused mainly on the knowledge of the existence of multiple selves that had come to him upon winning the moustache from Milenkoooooo, it also meandered to several other strange, wondrous places. I’ll attempt to follow it as accurately as I can.
“I entreaty, oh moustache, that you impart upon me the information I require, for surely this is a matter of at least some import.”
Now, the moustache was extremely wise, but its wisdom extended only to events and knowledge concerning its owner and what he was conscious of. So, while it could lend clarity to Bari’s thoughts, it could not provide him with any new knowledge. Upon receiving Bari’s question into his auditory faculties, the moustache considered the subjects about which it was being asked, and replied the best it could.
“Well, all I can tell you is that when you were at the brink of the earth’s atmosphere, the earth noticed that you weren’t very assertive, that your mind was divided about whether or not it wanted to complete the task that it had begun. So, it tried to give you everything you wanted. You know that you yourself were rejected by the Earth and sent back into space, signifying that part of you wanted to continue living, but either you wanted to live elsewhere besides your home planet, or you wanted to live on Earth but return later. I’d go for the latter, as a series of seemingly chance incidents brought you to the satellite of that planet. Now, you also know that part of you with an identical moustache continues to live on Earth, albeit in another reality. So, clearly, part of you wanted to return to life on earth and give it a second chance. When you were thinking that you wanted to live, but not on earth, were there any other options you were thinking of regarding the future?”
“Well, I had been attempting to commit suicide, so I’d assume that I at least casually thought about and maybe even briefly considered dying as an option.”
“Then we can assume that you died in some other reality.”
“Wow, that doesn’t feel as bad as I thought it would. I hear people complaining all the time about not having any sort of significant other or spouse and claiming that they feel that part of them is either missing or dead or had died but had subsequently been resurrected on a remote island and regarded as a deity but was unable to reunite with itself because it was stuck in another universe. I feel nothing though. I wonder why. I also wonder, though, about the time when I first met you. Why didn’t I remember that until now?”
“Because you lied to your father about where you had been. The inauthenticity of your words and also tus palabras took away your right to remember that particular experience.”
“But I remember other things that I’ve lied about.”
“They were not magical.”
“Oh, I see. Enchantments and such. I’ve heard that they work in mysterious ways.”
“They do indeed. Very mysterious.”
“So, will I ever lose this moustache, like Milenkoooooo did when he lost it to me?”
“Theoretically you shouldn’t, as you are by right the one whose face I should adorn. However, by certain fraudulent actions and abuse of the powers I bestow, you could lose that right and I shall free myself.”
“What if I tried to shave you, would that be murder?”
“Yes, but you won’t try to shave me.”
“Why’s that? oh, I don’t care why. These handlebars are amazing. I can’t imagine ever wanting to relinquish my right to this. When will my pizza be here?”
“Soon.”
“Can you do any other magic tricks? Or juggle?”
“Yes.”
Just as Bari was about to inquire about the nature of tricks that the moustache was capable of, the messenger tree arrived with the pizza. Bari handed over the required currency, and set about eating the aforementioned pizza. I’m getting very hungry just thinking about it. I really love pizza. But, I need to put that selfishness aside and relate to you what Baritone Juicebox thought and did as he ate that pizza, for many thoughts came to him, which spurred him on to a great number of actions, generally relevant to the plot of this saga.
Firstly, he offered some to the moustache, who thanked him but turned it down on the grounds that since he was a part of Bari now, they had a symbiotic relationship wherein he was able to garner sustenance from Bari, and needed not to consume on his own. Then, he bit into that first piece.
The first bite of a pizza is always the most satisfying. The initial taste of cheese and bread and sauce, along with toppings on the top, combined with the wonderful carbohydratory experience of the crust on the bottom makes for a truly delightful experience, and a unique one. As he ventured further towards the rear crust of the pizza, and so the mass of pizza that was outside of his body at the moment waned, and as the tree, satisfied that Bari was satisfied, made ready to fly off, Bari put to it a question:
“Oh, tree, would you be able to assist me in some very important matters?”
“Surely, Jim’s Pancake House of Pizza and Oysters has many messenger trees in its service, certainly enough to keep business afloat. What is it that requires my aid?”
At this, Bari imparted upon the tree his tale, concluding with how he would like to find whatever parts of him were out there, and attempt to unify himself with them.”
“Surely, tree, you are capable of inter-dimensional travel, and it would not be beyond your powers to help me scour those other dimensions.”
“Of course I’ll help. We’ll begin when you finish that pizza.”
And isn’t that zany? For the first part of his adventure, he didn’t have to wait very long to find himself. In fact, he encountered himself, some of his flark friends, and some of the other Bari’s cloud porpoise friends within minutes of taking off from the surface of the moon upon the bark of that kindly tree. Now he knew surely that there were at least three parts of him meandering about the universes, for this one that he found was bereft of any traces of a moustache. Instantly he knew that this was the part of him that had wanted to die, and perhaps had died. Maybe he was now finding his own ghost. How spooky! But instead of contemplating what ifs individually, they set off to the surface of the moon to collectively attempt to ascertain the truth, and from there decide what was to be done with it.
Upon landing on the surface of the moon, the Bari with the moustache alighted from the tree, and Bari sans-moustache from the flark he was riding. They set a table in a crater, upon which they put whatever provisions they had on them, and swapped stories. Each Bari was incredulous at what he heard from the other, and could not believe that ther
e existed a part of himself that could have undergone such fantastic adventures. Now, information being properly transferred, the main matter at hand was to decide what to do. It was agreed that they should be unified, but as to how that was to be done, they were both clueless. But the tree knew an oracle that lived out by Jim’s Pancake House of Pizza and Oysters. Perhaps they could find him, invite him over to Jim’s, and acquire various forms of information and advice.