Codename Prague by D. Harlan Wilson

“Shiny Demon” period of his career, the play’s title underwent a torturous evolution as a result of Gitt’s chronic indecisiveness, but also because whenever producers decided they liked a title, he considered it a Tier One order of business to fuck with their sense of complacency. Whale Fin Goes Hogwild!!! was the final title authorized by Gitt during his lifetime, although it was posthumously revised on numerous occasions ( Whale Fin Goes Extremely Hogwild!!! , Whale Fin Fucking Kills the Whole Goddamned World!!! , Whale Fin vs. Special Agent Prague , Vrooom!!! , The Queequeg Factor , W Is for Whale Fin , etc.) by the playwright’s many offspring and heirs. The script of the stageplay remained fixed, however, until its appropriation by the machinery of Hollywood cinema. Pop filmmaker Buddy Napoleon went in a different direction, shifting the focus away from the antagonism of the Camaro’s whale fin to that of an impish vigilante (a.k.a. The Undeniable Essence) hired to kill Vincent Prague by the Ministry of Applied Pressure. Napoleon reduced the whale fin’s role to a thirty second symbolic encounter with a “Walrus Man” who attempted to sexually abuse the automotive accessory but was apprehended by the BILWM (Bureau of Investigators against Lascivious “Walrus Men”) before any serious damage could be done. But the scene that the Anvil-in-Chief now watched had nothing to do with whale fins, “Walrus Men,” the BILWM, a vigilante, or even Prague himself. It was a conversation between an alien with an exobrain in a bubble helmet and a Julie Andrews simulacrum whose apparel and personality fluctuated between Mary Poppins, Maria Von Trapp, and Victoria Grant.
    “I come in peace,” synthesized the alien.
    “Like in that Dolph Lundgren film?” asked Maria Von Trapp. “Who names a film I Come in Peace ? That’s an assertion, not a title.”
    “What is Dolph Lundgren?”
    “Only, like, the biggest badass that ever lived,” said Mary Poppins.
    “He’s hot as balls, too,” added Victoria Grant.
    The alien removed its bubble and began to cough. For a moment it appeared as if it would suffocate, but it acclimatized. “What species of balls heat up to the degree that they are worthy of being deployed in the aforementioned simile?”
    “What simile?” asked Maria Von Trapp.
    “The one you used in that sentence. That one.”
    “Dolph Lundgren is a simile?” wondered Victoria Grant.
    “Of a sort, I suppose,” said Mary Poppins. “ The Amerikan Heretic Dictionary of Exegesized Poltergeists explains that a simile is ‘an instance of one thing representing (i.e. standing for ) another thing, as in the context of a literary work.’ That’s the first definition, mind you. Whatever the case, we must think about this issue in terms of representation, i.e., what is it that Mr Lundgren stands for ? Swedish pride? Cold War dick-swinging? Aryan wish-fulfillment? Mankind in general? All this is assuming Mr Lundgren is preceded by a like or as. Otherwise the man is sheer metaphor.”
    Electricity skimmed across the cerebral cortex of the alien’s exobrain. “According to our records, Dolph Lundgren has been dead for over 8,000 years.”
    “Are you calling me a liar?” asked Maria Von Trapp.
    “Is that question intended for me or one of your other personalities?” replied the alien.
    “Spit spot.”
    A troupe of burlesques poured onto the gel-screen and everybody danced the Time Warp. Then the Julie Andrews simulacrum attacked the alien with a Xingyiquan crotch shot. It chased the move with an earsplitting Kwisatz Haderach weirding word. The alien’s head exploded like a corn stalk, tendrils of gore spraying from its neck…
    Prague sighed. The Julie Andrews didn’t work for him—a poorly written character, he thought, and miscast to the hilt. Regarding the movie as a whole, it wasn’t the first shitty cinematic depiction of his life, and it wouldn’t be the last: at least 100 shitty Vincent