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collapsing outward in sparks of rainbow chunks and the womans face stiff with false worry while she chewed on a piece of the mans skull and brain. Simon half-closed his eyes and said a prayer to King Dallas and his wife, Jackie Skull-Eater. For the next two minutes, Simon squeezed out an intense orgasm that sent his green-yellow seed all over the quivering chunk of harem-meat. Im naming you Ruby Gaping, Simon said to the mass of flesh. It looked up at him with five eyes and two mouths. Thank you, your holiness, the mouths spoke in unison. * * * Simon left his fortress and traveled to the east side of Om-Am where the stench of sex and disease was always thick in the air. Instead of walking the three miles, Simon had decided to take his favorite mode of transportation: the Phord Gracilis, a moving cart made entirely of human legs held together by stringy loops of 29 Jordan Krall blond hair. It was controlled by thought alone. If Simon wanted to go left, the feet went left. If Simon wanted to go right, the feet went right. It was as simple as that. Leaning back on the Phords front seat, Simon took in the sights and smells of the short journey. To the left of him was shop after shop selling everything from candied fish guts to rare tomes; several weeks ago Simon even managed to find an original edition of the Bizarronomicon (though he was disappointed to realize that the rumors werent true, that it was not bound in goat cheese and mustache hair). Then on one occasion he stumbled upon a life-size black bean and tree bark replica of King Dallas himself. It delighted him to no end. There was always a place in Simons heart for these rare treasures. To the right of Simon were a whole slew of business establishments that were the most common in Om-Am: skin oracles. Scraps of flesh harvested from the First World (otherwise known as Scitte-Earth, the land of the unenlightened) were used in divination rituals. Most of the customers were native newcomers from the surrounding villages; they werent aware of the frauds perpetrated by the sneaky business people of Om-Am. Most commonly the skin oracle rituals were gruesome but simple. A sliver of skin from the back of some poor unfortunate human would be stretched across two poles. Candles would be lit and the diviner would claim to see that skins remnant consciousness and use the visions to predict the future. Most of the time it was nonsense but Simon believed that a small percentage really could use those visions in order to interpret and change the future actions of the truth-seeking customers. He himself had tapped into Scitte-Earth on several occasions. Hell, he thought, Ive even tapped into the Third World. Finally he reached his destination: the Orange Dukkha, a two-story tavern that offered not only exotic brews but weekly bare-knuckle boxing matches that satisfied the citizens lust for 30 Piecemeal June primitive First World bludgeoning. It was Simons favorite place to get away from daily responsibilities. Simons childhood friend, Steven Sigil, worked here as a fortune-teller. Instead of flesh, however, he used only a deck of cards that stank of onions and glowed in the dark. Simon didnt just go there to talk to Steven, however. Another one of his friends, Latrina, also worked there. Simon believed that she was one of the most beautiful beings in all of Om-Am, if not the entire Second World. She was tall but wide and had a shaven head that put her perfectly shaped skull on display. Like Steven Sigil, Latrina was a fortune-teller except she used her own body; her back was a large hole of bubbling feces. For the right price, Latrina would go on all fours and have the customer stand over here, looking into her back, into the whirlpool of brown-black divination. The stench was overpowering but her readings were almost always accurate. Her powers did not end there, however. Simon had heard some strange stories though he was reluctant to believe all of them. As he walked into the place, he