Rattlety, bang! Bang Bang! Biff! Clunk clunk! Thwap! Ooof! Zowie! Thwonk! went the molybdenum lunchbox in every direction, and it made so much clatter bumping against the heads of the bony symphoros that they were much more frightened than hurt and fled in a great panic. Those wearing diapers moistened them.

  All fled, that is, except their leader. This symphoro had toppled over and fallen off his wooden skateboard, and before he could clamber back on Cydroidobot's son had dropped the lunchbox and extended his nubby orange fingers until they were long enough to wrap around his neck. This symphoro was one of the ones whose bodies ended right under their belly-buttons, leaving you curious as to how they went to the bathroom. Using his orange upside-down-funnel-shaped feet the robotic boy kicked the bricks out of the gross monster’s skeletal hands. The symphoros’ leader vomited out of nervousness, all over the robot’s arms.

  "Tell those dork-butts to stay away," commanded Cydroidobot’s son.

  The leader of the symphoros hesitated to give this order, so Cydroidobot's son shook him as a Vira would a rat, until the symphoro's rotten teeth rattled together with a noise like kidney stones on a linoleum floor. Then, as soon as the wretched yokai could get its breath, it squawked to the others to retreat, which they did.

  "Now," said Cydroidobot's son, "you shall come with us and tell me what I want to know." The android picked up the lunchbox and carried with one hand, and with the other dragged the legless symphoro by its scrawny neck.

  "You'll be sorry for treating me in this way," whined the symphoro. "I'm a terribly fierce overlord."

  "Well, I’m an emotionless hunk of plastic and tubes and microcircuits," answered Cydroidobot's son. "And I don’t do ‘sorry’. Tell me, who rules Farshtunkener Kingdom now?" asked the machine.

  "There is no ruler," was the strained answer, "because the kween and her children are imprisoned by the Fartmeister. But the princess named Paskudnyak occupies a wing of the castle.”

  “Who is that?” asked Mono. She walked along side the symphoro and robot, holding her pal Vira. Cockadoody the Cocky Cockfightin’ Cockadoodoo followed close behind.

  “Ugh, Princess Paskudnyak,” answered Cydroidobot’s son. “She’s a step-niece of our late king and takes as many dusted diamonds and videotapes out of the royal treasury as she can.”

  “Princess Paskudnyak is not exactly a ruler,” said the symphoro chief, “because she doesn't rule; but she is the nearest thing to a ruler we have at moment."

  They had just passed out of the forest and their attention was fixed upon the scene before them- a beautiful vale in which were many fruit-baring fleshtrees and brown hairy fields, with pretty chalets and wigwams and tepees and chateaus and quonset huts and outhouses and video stores and movie theaters scattered here and there and broad, smooth roads that led in every direction.

  In the center of this lovely vale, about a mile from where our friends were standing, rose the tall spires of the royal palace, which glittered brightly against their background of pinkish blue sky. The palace was surrounded by charming grounds, full of black, brown, and red humped bladderworts and topiaries shaped like internal organs. Several tinkling fountains could be seen, and there were pleasant walks bordered by rows of Mukusian plastic statues of famous squishball players and feature film motion picture stars.

  Montana was still looking at the pretty sights when her little party entered the grounds and approached the big front door of the palace. To their disappointment they found the door tightly closed. A sign was tacked to the panel which read as follows:

  "OWNER ABSENT."

  Cydroidobot knocked anyway. Then he made an airhorn noise. The door was opened by a little pink fleshy queezimp in a sailor suit and a cap trimmed with gay ribbons, who bowed respectfully and asked:

  "What do you wish, good people?"

  "Are you the princess known as Paskudnyak?" asked Montana.

  "No, miss; I am her handmaiden, Zhlob," replied the lady queezimp.

  "May I see the princess, please?"

  "I will tell her you are here, miss, and ask her to grant you an audience," said the handmaiden. "Step in, please, and take a seat in the foyer."

  Cydroidobot’s son, having no further use for the symphoro, permitted him to depart and rejoin his fellow bony veiny wheeled weirdos. He immediately began dragging himself away at a slow pace. Montana entered the palace, followed closely by the robot and Vira the brown-and-white puppy-dog-shaped yokai. But as Cockadoody the brown cockadoodoo-shaped yokai tried to enter after them, the little handmaiden queezimp cried "Shoo!" and flapped her tiny hands in Cockadoody's face.

  "Shoo, yourself!" retorted the street-tough cockadoodoo, drawing back in anger and ruffling up her feathers. "Haven't you any better manners than that? Get out of the way, so that I may enter with my friends!"

  "The princess won't like it," said the handmaiden, hesitating.

  "I don't care whether a member of so-called royalty likes it or not," replied Cocka, and fluttering her wings with a loud noise she flew straight at the queezimp's face. The little rotund servant at once ducked, and the cockadoodoo reached Cydroidobot’s son’s head, in safety.

  "Cockadoody is our friend,” declared Mono, “and must go wherever we go."

  "Very well," sighed the handmaiden while picking up her teenie weenie sailor hat that had fallen off when she ducked; "if you are all ruined because of this obstinate cockadoodoo, don't blame me for it. It isn't safe to annoy Mistress Paskudnyak."

  "Tell her we are waiting, if you please," Montana requested, with poise and dignity.

  Without more words the portly handmaiden led them to a richly furnished home theater, filled with comfy recliners and couches. The queezimp servant picked up the remote and put a stylistic, futuristic sci-fi movie on the 100 inch TV.

  "Remain here," she said. "What names shall I give the princess?"

  "I am Montana Shingles, of Toosh Island," replied the tween; "and this plastic gentleman is the son of Cydroidobot the Robotic Emperor of Mukus Quadrant, which I guess makes him a prince. This is my best friend Elvira Daisy Shingles-" Vira yipped. "-and the cockadoodoo is my new friend Cockadoody. She’s a cockfighter."

  The diminutive, nautically-dressed servant bowed and withdrew.

  Princess Paskudnyak's bedroom (where she kept her Rejuvinatrix brand sleeping-pod) was paneled with great mirrors, which reached from the ceiling to the floor; also the ceiling was composed of mirrors, and the floor was also, predictably, a mirror. The room looked like an art installation at a mattress factory. When Paskudnyak sat in her recliner and watched feature film motion pictures on her 100 inch T.V. set or played soft melodies upon her zither, her form was mirrored hundreds of times, in walls and ceiling and floor, and whichever way the lady turned her head she could see and admire her own features.

  The princess’s bedroom contained an aquarium with a single specimen: A large blue blobfish. Zhlob the Queezimp Handmaiden glared at the fish as she entered. Every time the princess or her servant spoke the blobfish tried to drown them out with his belches.

  "You have company, your highness," shouted the handmaiden over the fish’s bubbly burps.

  "Who is it?" asked Paskudnyak, yawning.

  "Monica Shambles of Boosh Island, a robotic prince, and Elmyra Dizzy Shambles," shouted the queezimp. "Oh, and Cockadoody the Cockadoodoo."

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  "What a queer lot of names!" murmured the princess, beginning to be a little interested. "What are they like? Is Montana Shingles of Toosh Island pretty?"

  "She might be called so," the handmaiden replied.

  "And is the prince attractive?" continued the princess.

  "That I cannot say, your highness. But he seems very bright. Will Your gracious highness see them?"

  "Oh, I may as well, Zhlob. But I am tired admiring this head, and if my visitor has any claim to beauty I must take care that she does not surpass me.” Again the princess yawned. Then she said:

  "Help me to rise so I may pick a new noggin."

  The blobfish let out a huge belch that ended with him coughing up a bunch of slime.

  Now I must explain to you that Paskudnyak the princess had sixty-nine heads. But of course she could only wear one of them at a time, because she had but one neck. These extra heads were kept in what she called her "head office," which was a beautiful walk-in closet that lay just off of the mirrorful bedroom. Each head was in a separate cupboard lined with blood red Quirkian velvet. The cupboards ran all around the sides of the closet, and had elaborately carved doors with bronze numbers on the outside and gold dusted diamond framed mirrors on the inside of them.

  When the princess got out of her pod in the morning she had a raw red neckstump. She went to her head office, opened one of the velvet-lined cupboards, and took the severed head it contained from its shelf. Then, by the aid of the mirror inside the open door, she stuck on the head- as neat and straight as could be- and afterward called Zhlob to robe her for the day.

  Of course the sixty-nine heads were in great variety, no two formed alike but all being of exceeding loveliness. There were heads with golden hair, brown hair, fluorescent cyan hair, jungle green hair, pistachio hair, amaranth-colored hair, no hair, auburn hair and black hair; but none with gray hair. The heads had eyes of blue, of red, of hazel, of brown, of fandango, of brandeis blue, of moonskinstone, of black; but there were no grey eyes among them. Many of the noses were retroussé and the lips were of assorted sizes and shapes, displaying pearly white or pale yellow teeth when the heads smiled. As for dimples, they appeared in cheeks, chins, and forehead wherever they might be most charming, and one or two heads had freckles upon the faces to contrast the better with the brilliancy of their complexions. One of the heads had a goatee, three had van dykes, and three of them were cyclopian. She also had a very striking fart ghoul head, a molybdenum head with scouring-pad hair, a badger head, and two very different squid-dwarf heads.

  One key unlocked all the velvet cupboards containing these treasures- a curious key carved from a single bone- and this was fastened to a strong but slender chain which the princess wore around her left wrist. As Princess P entered the head office- trailed by Zhlob- she thought out loud:

  “The head with the baker-miller pink hair and black eyes is quite attractive. I must wear it more often than I have done of late, although it may not be the best of my collection. Actually, now that I think about it, it smells a bit like iguana cheese. No, I will change to No. 42, which I think is my best appearance. Don't you?"

  "Your No. 42 is exceedingly beautiful," answered Zhlob, with another bow.

  When Zhlob had supported Paskudnyak to a position in front of cupboard No. 42, the princess unlocked the door with her dusted diamond key. Then she tore off her own head with a sound like moist velcro handed it down to her handmaiden. Then she took No. 42 from its shelf and fitted it to her neck. It had red hair and dark eyes and a lovely orange complexion, with purplish blue dustings on the lips and around the eyes. When Paskudnyak wore it she knew she was remarkably beautiful in appearance.

  There was only one trouble with No. 42; the temper that went with it was fiery, harsh and haughty in the extreme, and it often led the princess to do unpleasant things which she regretted when she came to wear her other heads.

  But she did not remember this today, and as her blobfish let out a particularly noxious belch she went to meet her guests in the screening room with a feeling of certainty that she would surprise them with her beauty.

  However, she was greatly disappointed to find that her visitors were merely a chubby girl in a jumpsuit, a smallish black and orange plastic boy, a small puppy dog with glistening antennae, and a brown cockadoodoo that was sitting contentedly in Zhlob’s best work-basket, where there was a china terd used for darning socks.

  "Oh!" said Paskudnyak, slightly lifting the nose of No. 42. "I thought some one of importance had called."

  "Then you were right," declared Montana. "I'm a good deal of importance myself, and this here is the Robotic Prince of Mukus Quadrant--"

  "Stop- Stop!" commanded Princess P, rubbing the bridge of her orange nose. "How dare you annoy me with your senseless chatter and mindless prattle?"

  "Well that’s kind of a jerk-face thing to say!" said Montana, who was not accustomed to being treated so rudely.

  Paskudnyak the princess looked at her more closely.

  "Tell me," she resumed, "are you of royal blood?"

  "Better than that, ma'am," said Montana. "I’m Missouri Shingles’ daughter."

  "Huh!" cried the princess, scornfully. "You are a foolish child, and I cannot allow you to annoy me!"

  Montana was so indignant that for a moment she could find no words to reply. The princess, who had been scanning the girl's face, then said, more gently:

  "Come nearer to me."

  Montana obeyed, without a thought of fear, and stood before the princess while Paskudnyak examined her round face with careful attention.

  "You are rather attractive," said the lady, presently. "Not at all beautiful, you understand, but you have a certain style of prettiness that is different from that of any of my sixty-nine heads. So I believe I'll saw off your head and trade you No. 27 for it."

  "Well, I believe you won't!" exclaimed Montana. Vira yipped and Cockadoody squawked in agreement. Cydroidobot’s son stepped forward.

  "It will do you no good to refuse," continued the princess; "for I need your head for my collection, and in Farshtunkener Kingdom my will is law. I never have cared much for No. 27, and you will find that it is very little worn. Besides, it will do you just as well as the one you're wearing, for all practical purposes."

  "I don't know anything about your No. 27, and I don't want to," said Montana, firmly. "I'm not used to taking hand-me-downs, so I'll just keep my own head."

  "You refuse?" cried the princess, with a frown.

  "Of course I do," was the reply.

  "Then," said Paskudnyak, "I shall lock you up in a tower until you decide to obey me. Zhlob," turning to her queezimp handmaiden, "call my army."

  Zhlob saluted, then rang a silver bell, and at once a big fat command sergeant major in a bright pink uniform entered the room, followed by ten lean soldiers, who all looked sad and discouraged. The eleven men saluted the princess in a very melancholy fashion.

  "Carry that girl to the north tower and lock her up!" cried the princess, pointing to Montana.

  "To hear is to obey," answered the big pink command sergeant major, and caught the tween by her arm. Vira began yipping angrily and jumping at the man. At that moment Cydroidobot's son extended his black tube legs and arms, raised the lunchbox, and bashed it so forcibly against the command sergeant major's head that the big officer sat down upon the floor with a sudden bump, looking both dazed and very much astonished.

  "Ugga magugga, that smarts!" he shouted, and the ten lean soldiers sprang to assist their leader.

  There was great excitement for the next few moments. Cydroidobot's son spun around at the waist, swinging the lunchbox, and Cockadoody flew into the soldiers’ faces and clawed at their eyes, and soon they had knocked down seven of the army, who were sprawling in every direction upon the carpet, when suddenly the robot paused, with the collectible molybdenum Yellow Yeti lunchbox raised for another blow, and remained perfectly motionless. A big spark shot out of the back of his head, blowing open the brain compartment and emitting a big plume of yellow smoke.

  "Oh krud, his microcircuits came unstuck again!" exclaimed Montana. She tried to get to the android to fix him up but the big command sergeant major had by this time managed to get upon his feet again and grabbed fast hold of the rotund tween. Two soldiers were able to wrestle Cocka into submission. Another soldier picked up the apoplectic puppy-dog shaped yokai Vira, who squirmed and wriggled and tried to break free of his grasp.

  "Will you exchange heads with me?" demanded the princess.

  "No way, craphead!" cried Montana.

  "Then lock her up," said Paskudnyak to her soldiers, and they led Montana to a high tower at the north of the palace. They shoved the tween into the room, threw Vira in after her, and locked the door securely from outside. Back in the home theater a pink soldier asked the princess:

  "Do you want us to move the ‘bot, ma’am?”

  "Leave it right there. Visitors will think I have a new statue," answered Paskudnyak.

  "What shall we do with the bird?" asked another soldier, gesturing to the avian-class yokai struggling to free herself.

  "Lock her in the cockadoodoo-coop," answered the princess. "Tomorrow I'll have her fried for breakfast."

  "She looks rather tough, your highness," said Zhlob, doubtfully.

  "That is a base slander, I’m tender and delicious!" cried Cockadoody, struggling frantically in the soldier's arms. "But the breed of cockadoodoos I come from is said to be toxic to all princesses."

  "Then," remarked Princes Paskudnyak, "I will not fry you, but keep you to lay terds; and if you do not do your duty I'll have you drowned in the monkey trough."

  And that was that.