"What do you mean I can’t board my flight?"

"I’m sorry sir, but we, and by that I mean all of the Quality Interplanetary Transport Service Corporation employees, have been told not to let anyone board a flight headed to or leaving this planet."

"And the reason for this is…?"

"Oh, that’s simple sir, this planet’s government is collapsing."

"Oh, alright…IT’S WHAT?" This was not in Orville’s itinerary.

"Collapsing sir. I would say it started, oh, about half an hour ago."

"So why aren’t you letting people board the ships and get off of the planet?"

"Because, sir, the Quality Interplanetary Transport Service Corporation only provides service to happy friendly planets. Planets undergoing a revolution are not happy planets."

"So there is nothing else you can do?"

"That’s right sir. Unless you are a government official."

"What can you do if I’m with the government?"

"I can call security and have you strip searched. The Quality Interplanetary Transport Service Corporation is not the tool of any political body, no matter how collapsed it is."

"No, no, that’s ok, I’m not a government official."

"I can still call security, they always are willing to strip search someone, heck I’ve had several myself."

"No really, I don’t want to trouble you."

"Oh, it’s really no trouble at all. In fact, it’s rather easy to call security, I only have to press one button."

"Seriously, you don’t have to."

"No, I think I will. Even if you don’t want one, all this talk about security and strip searches has gotten me a bit frisky."

It was at this very moment the little voice that gave advice decided to speak up and tell Orville that he should run, fast.

Orville was 5’9 and thin, well, actually more svelte. His brown hair is just slightly unkempt, and his brownish green eyes were mostly hidden behind his glasses. Orville had come to this particular planet for a seminar on the new HW-01821 model, which was supposed to be 38% more efficient than the older HV-01821. It seemed, however, that he was going to have an extended stay. Looking around the public restroom he had hidden in, he found it to be very large and surprisingly nice. The stalls, which were in the front left corner and extended down for a good length of the wall had their own self contained environments to offer maximum comfort. On the opposite side of the room, there was Dura-Marble sinks that dispensed a variety of solvents. The longer Orville looked, the better the placed seemed. There was a lounge in the far left-hand corner of the PURF. To the right of the lounge there was a bar with about fifteen stools and 3 customers. In the far right corner, Orville saw an eatery with several Revalchemy vending machines. In the center of the PURF, there was a sexy cool fountain that had a clear base, allowing Orville to see the variety of fish swimming around.

Slushy McGee enters, walks right past Orville and sits down at the third bar stool from the left.

Orville walked over to the seventh sink from the door. After carefully examining the control panel, he selected the option marked H₂O. He also opted for a pine fresh scented soap. As he was lathering his hands, Orville heard a strange "Hey Buddy!" emit from close by. Not seeing anyone directly to his sides or behind him, Orville continued his lathering. He was about to rinse the soap off of his hands, when again he heard a "Hey Buddy! Down here!" Orville turned his head, looked down, and saw what he assumed to be the oddest colored gelatin dessert he ever saw.

"I wonder what flavor that is." Orville pondered.

"The only flavo’ I got is me extending my pseudopod to smacking that stupid look off of your face!"

"Daaaaaaahhh" is all Orville managed to say.

Unfortunately for both Orville and the uniquely colored talking gelatin, Orville’s scream was the right harmonic frequency to cause the creature to shake violently, which in turn caused Orville to scream more, creating a very viscous circle.

"STOP THAT," the gelatin exclaimed.

Panting, Orville replied, "I’m…I’m sorry…it’s just that I’m not used…to seeing a talking dessert."

"Listen, just ‘cause my cells aren’t as form holding as your skanky ectoderm doesn’t mean you can be callin’ me a dessert! Name’s Gellander!"

"That name seems to insinuate that you are a gelatinous treat."

"Biped, shut it before I get all phagocytosis on you! Now, what’s your name?"

"It’s Orville."

"Well then Orville, I didn’t bring myself to your attention just so you could be talkin’ smack about me!"

"Then why?"

"You looked like the person who needed to hear a story!"

"No, I’m really not in the…"

Before Orville could finish, Gellander interrupted, "Tough luck, your gonna hear it anyway! A while back, in a dumpster not too far from here, there lived a kid. He was homeless, unless you count a dumpster as a home, which most people don’t. Any who, one day I was sliming through an ally when I came across the kid. He was really skinny and ragged, I doubt he had eaten in weeks. He was crying and I asked him what was the matter? He said that he hadn’t eaten anything in two weeks and wondered if I was edible. I said no. Then he ranted about how all he gave the world was love, but all he got back was hate, and how he didn’t see the point in going on."

After a lengthy pause, Orville inquired, "And?"

"And what?"

"What happened next?"

"I sprayed him in the eyes with my spores and he ran away screaming."

"Spores?"

"Yeah, my gametes. I infect someone with my spores, they dissolve the host’s nutrients and grow into clones of me."

"That’s terrible!"

"I’ll say! The stupid kid had rabies! Just about killed half the crop! Say, do you want to be infected with my spores?"

"No thank you."

"Are you sure? It won’t hurt"

"But you just said that the kid ran away screaming."

"Oh, I meant me. It won’t hurt me."

"I’ll pass."

"You sure?"

"100% positive. But, I’ll be sure to pass the word along."

"Really, thanks, you aren’t that bad of a guy after all."

"Uh…thank you, I guess you’re a nice…pseudosolid."

Slushy McGee orders another round of his favorite drink.

Pamphlet Distributor #4 was a simple man. He had found his calling at the age of 15, distributing knowledge about Ritzism via a standard eight and a half by eleven sheet of almost peach colored paper creased twice to form a tri-fold. He was, however, not having much luck passing on his devotion via the very informative pamphlets. The problem with being a pamphlet distributor in a bathroom is that very few people want to read religious pamphlets while they are sitting in one of the stalls. That is why he was in the lounge, figuring people would actually be looking for something more current to read. Unfortunately, the only people in the lounge right now were a couple of kids, who kept drawing mustaches on priest who was on the cover. What Pamphlet Distributor #4 needed was a person who was smart enough to comprehend polysyllabic words, but so bored that he, she or it would stay and listen to what he had to say. Just as he was finishing this thought, Orville sat down right next to him and said, "Hello."

"Now’s my chance," Pamphlet Distributor #4 muttered under his breath.

Orville, not quite hearing what the man had muttered, said, "Pardon?"

"I said…Now’s your chance to hear how to be saved."

"You mean I can get off of this planet?"

"Umm…Sure." Good thinking thought Pamphlet Distributor #4.

Orville was excited now. "How can I do it?"

"Well, here, take this pamphlet for starters."

Looking at the almost peach pamphlet, Orville started having doubts about talking with this man. His doubts were compounded when he read the title of the pamphlet which was almost peach colored. Written across the top, were the words "Get a Life you Idiots, a Pamphlet of Almost Peach Color" written by George Ritz. Orville turned to the man and asked, "Er, what is this about?"

"Wow," thought Pamphlet Distributor #4, "This guy actually read the title and is interested." He wrung his hands with glee and eagerly inquired, "The almost peach pamphlet is about Ritzism, the prominent religion of this planet. Would you care to here the history of this wonderful religion?"

"Actually, I…"

But Orville never finished his sentence. No, Pamphlet Distributor #4 was too excited to be stopped now. He took one deep breath, and then spoke:

"In the year 2147 people were feeling desperate, very desperate. The global stock exchange had dropped a record 9000 points when Totalitarian Corp filed for bankruptcy. The general population needed a savior, and they found one, in George Ritz.

George was a simple hermit who lived in what was then known as Wyoming. He didn’t like people; in fact he rather loathed them. This was due to the fact that he almost immortal. Because of a curse placed on him at birth by an incompetent gypsy, George Ritz always had a very bad stench about him. The second part of the curse was that he could only die if a lobster with a Spork stabbed him. Since there are very few lobsters where George lived, and none of them know how to stab someone with a spork, George had little fear of dying. His grudge against humanity began at an early age, when none of the other children would play with him. It was not that the other kids hated George, it was just that it was physically impossible to get near this smelly kid. George’s smell was so bad that his parents made him sleep out on the porch, which was down wind from the house. This life of isolationism and outdoor living prepared George for his future, which was being a simple hermit who lived in what was then known as Wyoming.

Then one day a bunch of people moved to a spot not too far from where George lived. He did not know why these people were here, just that they made noise, and did not smell. This new wave of settlers was composed of all the former employees of the now defunct Totalitarian Corp who were now prepared for a life of hardship, namely living in Wyoming. Several generations and several more economic downturns later, the people of this Wyoming town began to realize that this smelly guy, who would often write profanities in their vegetable garden, was still alive. They figured that if they could live as long as this guy had, they could save a lot of money on life insurance, and thus move out of Wyoming. So the town slowly moved towards the area where George lived, because they first thought his long life had something to do with the water or soil. When a few people died, they decided that it was not the water or soil, but rather the smell that accounted for George’s longevity, and soon everyone in the town stopped bathing. Surprisingly, they did live longer, and no one could explain it. (Many Scientist maintain that this was because they were not spending so much time in the chemical dumping/bathing pond, but current dogma considers this to be blasphemy.) Word spread quickly all over Wyoming about this guy named George Ritz and his "followers" or "Ritzites." These Ritzites began to expand upon their non-bathing customs, forming holidays such as Stanksgiving Day, Stinksmas, and St. Smelly’s Day to pay tribute to their savior, George Ritz. Each holiday had a specific ritual that generated a specific putrid odor. But the holiday of holidays was Ritzmounion, where devout Ritzites would ingest 5 pounds of Ritz crackers per person. Pending on their denomination, this meant plain or with peanut butter. Those who ate plain Ritz crackers usually tried to spread the word of smelling bad, usually by making others just as ripe as they were. The peanut butter Ritzites or PBR’s would preferred to let others decide for themselves if they wanted to have a strong odor or not. Both denominations got along most of the time, but on occasion, they have been known to partake in some mud slinging, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. The sudden surge in demand for Ritz crackers stimulated the economy, bringing the galactic stock exchange up higher than it had been in the past 200 years. The whole world took this as a sign that Ritzism was legit. Soon everyone was blessed with stinky prosperity. This made George Ritz miserable, because now he couldn’t get a moment of peace. There was always someone asking him for divine inspiration. George usually provided a colorful metaphor for this person, and the follower was left to contemplate the wisdom of George’s expletive remarks. But what really irked George Ritz was that he was not, despite the lifetime supply of Ritz crackers, which he never really liked, getting a cent from this religion. He decided to ask, as he often called them, the prosperous idiots, to find a lobster who could vanquish poverty by stabbing it with a spork and bring it back to him. While many go on the crusade to find the Holy Sporking Lobster, few return from their travels alive, and to this day, the Holy Sporking Lobster has not been found and George is still miserable."

Orville stood there in complete silence, blinked twice, stared at Pamphlet Distributor #4, and blinked twice again. The silence continued until Pamphlet Distributor #4 decided to break the silence. "So…Are you astounded by the wisdom that is George Ritz?"

Orville stammered, "You realize that what you said is exactly word for word what the pamphlet says."

"That is correct. I memorized it," Pamphlet Distributor #4 said, taking great pride that the nice man had noticed.

"Doesn’t the whole story seem a bit, I don’t know, contrived? Like it was written by some amateur?"

"No, not really."

"And this George, he sounds so unhappy."

"That is more of a metaphorical…"

Pamphlet Distributor #4 never had the chance to finish defending his argument. An oddly colored gelatin creature landed on his face. This caused him to scream really, really loud, which in turn caused the creature to release it’s spores into his eyes. Pamphlet Distributor #4 ran screaming, until he tripped over a coffee table and was knocked unconscious. Orville turned his head, looked down at the oddly colored gelatin creature and said, "Thank you Gellander, Thank you. I owe you one."

Gellander replied casually, "No problem, my pleasure."

Slushy McGee heard a loud scream, and decided that now would be a good time for another round.

Orville let out a sigh of relief. He had never had a Lentil Surprise breakfast bar, and he vowed that he never would have one again. Orville was enjoying the serenity of it all, until his stall began to ring. He franticly looks around for the source, when suddenly a panel folded out from the right side and came to a comfortable rest over his lap. Orville noticed that one of the buttons on the panel was flashing. It was marked "37."

"I wonder why it is flashing?"

A synthetic female voice suddenly responded from a speaker above Orville’s head. "Please press 37 to accept your call."

"A call, but this isn’t a phone booth, at least, I hope it isn’t a phone booth."

"No sir, you are correct, this is a MF-SCES3 model bathroom stall, fully equipped with environmental controls ranging from temperature to gravitational force. You also have access to Multi-Purpose Communications Network including all three million channels as well as individual to individual communications, Revalchemy nutrient dispensers, and the Automated Health System which will keep you alive, despite any effort to do the contrary."

"Wow, that is a really impressive system," Orville said with genuine amazement.

"Of course it is," the synthetic female voice stated in a matter of fact tone. "Now please press the blinking button to receive your call."

"Alright…" Orville pushed the button, waited a second or two, and when nothing happened, tentatively said, "Hello?"

"HELLO," a great voice boomed, causing a sharp pain in Orville’s ears.

"AUUUGGGHHHH, my ears!"

"OH, SORry about that," the voice said, now in a softer voice, "I had bumped the volume on my panel, let me turn that down for you."

"Oh thank you, that’s much better."

"So Orville, do you like the MF-SCES3?

"How do you know my name?"

"I KNOW ALL… sorry, I bumped the volume again. The truth is that I have hacked into the security cameras, as well as the audio system. I can see and here everything in this room, and I know that you want just want to leave this planet and get home, am I right? Actually, there is no need to ask if I am right, I know I am right. Anyway, turn to channel 1,928,374, it should be of interest to you."

Orville selected channel 1,928,374 on the selector panel, and was surprised when the door to his MF-SCES3 turned into a high definition video screen with the image of a newscaster. The speakers on the ceiling automatically activated and Orville was able to here what the news anchor was saying.

"…And after a swift turn of events, the new regime has declared that our planet will once again be a happy place in a day or two, thus allowing transportation to and from all QITS terminals. The new government rose to power after the previous administration selling all but two ounces of gold to the Revalchemy Nutrient Dispenser Corporation. While RND Corp’s nutrient dispensers do change gold into any nutritious product and accounts for 18% of this planets tax revenues, the new administration said that such an action was, ‘Very irresponsible of the fat cat bureaucrats.’ The current officials also said that much effort will need to be put into getting the treasury back to a ‘normal’ level, especially since the last administration spent all of it on Public Unisex Restroom Facilities. In other news, a gang of hobos…"

"Yes, this is great, it changes everything," Orville exclaimed.

"Not really," the voice from stall 37 said.

"Huh, oh, you’re still here. What do you mean not really?"

"Well, take this bathroom, it has not changed."

"Yes it has, that pamphlet distributor is dead, the place isn’t the same."

"Do not worry about that, a new pamphlet distributor will be in tomorrow, perhaps even later tonight. I do have to give credit to the individuals who distribute pamphlets; there is always someone in here, despite the painful demise they are almost always going to meet. It is rather inspiring, or extremely stupid, one of the two. Even more interesting is, their actions are helpful to people."

"How so? They seem rather annoying." Orville failed to see the value in handing out pamphlets that no one would read or take seriously.

"The pamphlet distributors cause people to think. As the pamphlet distributors are talking on and on about their religion, the individuals who they are talking to begin to think of what they believe in. I have often wondered what would happen if a pamphlet distributor realized this is what his rants do."

"So, you think we should all just sit around thinking?"

"Not quite. Doing nothing but thinking would be rather boring. No, you need to take action on those thoughts as well. Individuals need to find the right balance of these two aspects."

"And what is this right balance?"

"Oh, I could not tell you. I am I, and you are you. This is something everyone needs to figure out for his or her self. Although in truth, I only know of a couple of other individuals who have accomplished this."

"So you are saying I should just live life?"

"Well, that is always a good starting point."

"You’re awfully philosophical."

"Well, you see, I designed and built the place. Yes, this PURF will most likely see thousands of generations of individuals and still be in a good condition because of my top-drawer work. The thing is, when I was inspecting MF-SCES3 number thirty-seven, a couple of overly rambunctious kids thought it would be funny to put a time lock on the stall while I was working on it. I have been stuck in here ever since, and, due to the Automated Health System and the Revalchemy nutrient dispenser, I have been kept alive. Now all I can do is watch the millions of channels that are available and talk to individuals while they are in one of the stalls"

"That’s terrible."

"You get used to it. Oh, the new pamphlet distributor just entered MF-SCES3 number twenty-six. I think I will have a little chat with him. It was nice talking with you Orville."

"Like wise."

Orville heard a click, and the panel over his lap folded back up into the wall. He made sure that he flushed the waste container, opened the MF-SCES3 door, exited the stall, waved at stall thirty-seven, and heads in the direction of the bar, thinking what an interesting morning he had just experienced.

Slushy McGee rises from the now crowded bar, and makes room for a guy he saw earlier at the entrance of the PURF. McGee had just enough money left to buy his girlfriend’s favorite type of flower.

"That will make her happy and she will smile at me," he thought, "After all, nothing else really matters."