The Recipe for Ranflesmeknurian Klefaster Sauce with Poultrayns

By Jennifer Diane Reitz


There are precisely seven genuinely Immortal and Utterly Impervious Beings in the Universe.  There used to be eight but one died. 

These seven truly Eternal beings, who are all exactly eight feet, three and five sixteenths inches in height, are possessed of no special powers or strange magical arcane abilities, save for their very real immortality, and perhaps an inexplicable talent for the precise measurement of great distances.

One striking aspect of the nature of the immortality of these Eternals can be found in the Absolute Impregnability of their forms.  Nothing, quite literally, can scratch, etch, damage, alter, reshape, bend, spindle, compress, or mutilate their Physically Perfect bodies.  Their muscles, or whatever passes for muscles within the vaguely Human figures of the Immortal Beings -- for, being impregnable, they are unable to know their own construction -- are consequently of infinite strength. 

This quality of infinite strength does not put them in the position of a certain Kal-El of Krypton, however.  While it is true that they probably have the power to lift mountains, the lack of any surface dense enough and cohesive enough to provide a solid base from which to indulge in such displays of force makes such strength rather impractical.

One Immortal, who -like all the others, unconcerned with such matters as possessing a unique name- we shall refer to simply as "Bob", actually attempted just such a thing very early on in the history of our cosmos, upon the surface of the very first neutron star. 

The mountain in question, which, for lack of any moniker whatsoever we shall refuse to dignify with a name, was precisely six and three thirteenths centimeters high. 

This veritable Everest of neutronium, indeed the highest protuberance upon the entire body of the star, except of course for the eight foot three and five sixteenths tall form of the immortal "Bob", had the dubious distinction of weighing slightly over seventeen million tons.

Said "Bob", after digging twelve impervious and immeasurable strong fingers beneath the base of this incredible mount, proceeded to powerfully insert his body hip deep in the not quite infinitely cohesive surface. 

Disappointed, "Bob" brooded on his failure for twenty six million years, until finally worming his way to the core of the neutron star, where a few hundred thousand swift kicks dislodged the surrounding mass from about him, heralding the dawn of the second generation of stars already forming.

All Immortals weight exactly nine hundred and sixty-four standard English pounds, even.  It is believed that this is an important prerequisite for immortality.

Another prerequisite for immortality which is almost universally agreed upon is the lack of having not only an end, but also of having a beginning.  An Immortal can literally reminisce forever, which is precisely what one of the Seven Remaining Immortals is, and will forever continue to be, doing.

An Immortal's psychology is immeasurably affect by the fact of being able to remember already having done everything that it is possible to do.  Understandably, most Immortals simply avoid their memories like the plague. 

One immortal has perfected the art of memory avoidance so perfectly that his existential NOW has been shortened to the space of zero point three eighths of a chronon.

This singularly minded individual floats insensate through Eternity, oblivious to the creations and deaths of the universes through which he passes, yet still Voyeur to all, forever living NOW

At the time of this writing, this singularly minded individual is currently floating inside the core of our own largest planet, wreathed in metallic hydrogen, as mellow as any being is ever likely to get.

Only one of the True Immortals ever bothers to interact with the other, ephemeral, intelligences of our cosmos. He flits about, across the universe, landing, or impacting, or otherwise managing to get to the surface of a populated world.

This Immortal has been known by many names, and by none, but what is curious is what he - if indeed the sexless forms of the Immortals can even be given a pronoun - chooses to do with his time among mortals. The Immortal Who Interacts With People seeks only to do one thing upon each world he visits, in the vastness of eternity.

He first learns the local language, yet says very little once he has been trained.

He will walk the streets, or paths, or tubes, or whatever is the nearest equivalent of a street, find some lonely soul, walk up to them, place his mighty hands softly upon them to gain their full attention, and softly speak in perfect form, as close as is possible relative to their unique culture , the same simple phrase. Then the immortal turns, and walks away, striding with the terrifying speed of invincible muscles, never to return.

The phrase that is spoken?

" you are IT".



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