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Long, Strange Trip with Sun Roof and Wet Bar

A hand, gloved in sheer black silk, reaches out the open door of the very long limousine. The arm is covered in an abundance of black hair. The finger beckons you inside, where techno music blares at a teeth-rattling volume. You decide to roll the dice and jump in.

The limo tears off into the night. As you settle into its luxurious pleather interior, you realize you are knee to knee with none other than BiancaTroll, darling of the international jet set, perv-eyor of smut, and all around übergeek party gURL. You've read about her in Mondo 2000 and seen the footage of her at Comdex - you know she's trouble.

You rage through an industrial neighborhood in San Francisco. BiancaTroll is clad head-to-toe in dark veils - her signature look - all of them translucent but in such quantity that they conceal the dark secrets beneath. Mysterious and sleazy. All you can see is the mass of Slash-esque black curly hair quadrupling the size of her veiled head.

You then notice FreeForm, BiancaTroll's side-kick, henchman, and personal DJ, working the turntables at the far end of the car. "Hey maaaaan, want a beer?" he asks.

"Sure," you say.

"Relax maaaaaaan," FreeForm says, handing you a can.

BiancaTroll spreads and recrosses her legs. She's clearly rented Basic Instinct one too many times. You take a deep pull from the beer and notice an odd aftertaste.

You start to sweat and feel a little nauseous ("Actually, the correct usage is 'nauseated'," the disembodied voice of Mattmarg whispers in your head). The limo hits a pothole, and there's something unnatural in way the car moves through space - too fluid. The techno music starts to feel comfortable and organic. How odd, you think. Usually you just get a headache.

"Man, listen to this new tune, man," FreeForm wails over the din. "BiancaTroll says it's gonna be a teen anthem! 'Remain Awesome,' man, what a song. Black Kali Ma, maaaan, what a band! I don't usually go in for this rock stuff, man, but they rock, man! Ha hahahaha! Mattmarg can sure rock the house with that guitar!" FreeForm mixes in the new track but it doesn't sound like rock to you, and now the limo is really beginning to float. The window panes start to flutter.

My god! your mind cries. I've been dosed!

FreeForm giggles uncontrollably. "Starting to kick in, eh, man? Well, just relax and enjoy it, man. Might not be so relaxing once we get to the lair of Dr. Neck."

Dr. Neck? Your eyes dart! BiancaTroll shifts in her seat. The music blares. FreeForm chortles.

BiancaTroll removes her gloves. She takes your mousehand in hers and begins to remove the veils from in front of her face. You fight to retain your concentration - you're about to see the face of the infamous BiancaTroll and have total access to her wondrous brain. You fight to see through the colors pulsating from the speaker. You see her desktop in your head, rippling like the surface of a forest pond. Focus! Is that five o'clock shadow you see beneath the ever-unwinding veils?

You struggle to read the undulating directory structure of her mind. Why would she have a directory called thau.fav.theater? You double-click it. The images from the song become too distracting - naked rodeos and violence - and you feel a little dirty. You close your eyes to concentrate, but it doesn't help. Your eyelids make a more receptive surface for your mind's projections. thau.fav.theater opens: Hair, Jesus Christ Superstar, Equus, Peter Pan. You don't like the images these create. Hippies, Nam, saviors, shrinks, horses, Tinkerbell, flying boys. This really isn't going to be good. You open your eyes. You struggle to focus on BiancaTroll. She bears an astounding resemblance to someone you know. You recognize that stubbly cheek, so similar to ... must focus ... must ... must ... focus. So familiar ...

The door flies open, bright sunlight flooding the car and momentarily clearing your head. BiancaTroll quickly re-veils her face. You hear FreeForm's echoing voice fade in and out of the rhythms and enigmas of BiancaTroll's boundless directories. "Dr. Neck, maaaan!" FreeForm cries. "So very cooooool, man!"

Suddenly you're being grabbed by three burly nurses who quickly strap you to a gurney. As you are wheeled away from the limo, you look around and realize this is no ordinary health-care facility. The nurses' uniforms are made of shiny white leather, and a wicked cackling fills your ears.

As you crane your neck to the side, you catch a glimpse of your new captor. Things have gone from bad to Monday-morning worse. There before you stands the evil Dr. Neck, the Mr. Hyde persona of Webmonkey Evany. And by the look of the blood-spattered dominatrix outfit she's wearing, you know your fate will rival the worst horrors of Joyce's hell. You thank your god for the amnesia that BiancaTroll's drug will later provide.

"Welcome to Hello Kitty General," Dr. Neck purrs. "Take a look inside my exquisite belfry."

She places your mousehand to her temple and laughs softly as the images from her mind hit you like a cannon blast, blowing you down a bottomless pit of kitsch and perversity. The nurses then wheel the shell that is your body into a freight elevator that will take you down to Evil Evany's lair.

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