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Wednesday, March 9, 2011

The King of Room 179 is Dead

The King of Room 179, of the Super 8 Motel, in Jacksonville, Florida died suddenly last night, when the heel of a Titan stepped on him in the middle of the night causing severe trauma to the upper thorax, and immediate loss of his internal organs. The King died swiftly. It is possible his Highness had reared onto his hind quarters and was preparing to do battle with his killer’s vulnerable heel, however the mismatch in size made the King’s chitinous pincers useless against the beach hardened epidermis of the Giant Killer.

Authorities were not notified of his death, though the King's absence will surely be noticed by hotel cleaning staff.

The King’s opponent, a giant of another order, smashed through the King’s skull, sending him to Hades to join all creatures of the night. Asked to comment on the contest, Miami Raider’s defensive-end Wade Williams simply smashed a potato chip with his fist, and later commented that the Astrodome itself would have had more of a chance against an incoming asteroid. The crackle of the King’s chitin shield, forged in the protein workshops by his underground Vulcan, was audible above the triumphant cries of his murderer.

We spoke briefly with the King’s killer as he bathed luxuriantly in the cheap fiberglass shower that he is accustomed to when traveling for battle. We saw with our own-eyes those titanic Roach-killing hands and feet. We shook with wonder and fear as he sung of his fallen enemies:

    “Some called him soldier, some called him thug.
      No warrior was ever bolder, than this vanquished waterbug.”

We asked the bug-killer why no warriors came to the aid of the King during his duel with the Titan:

    “From a nether city the King ascended
      And rose that his domain might be well defended.
      He took up arms, to protect his palace
      Alas to Death I consign him, without shame or malice.

Asked to comment further on what fight the King put up before dying the bug killer spoke again:

     “Leave now this hallowed place,
      Else your grave will soon be dug.
      Journalistic eyes have no grace,
      Beside this Waterbug.”

We perused the entrance to the palace, through a half inch hole in the floor. Beneath this entrance, we are told, laid a vast network of tunnels and rooms, exquisitely furnished.

The King was often in the habit of sunbathing beneath the florescent lamps on the cool tile floor outside his palace.

Famous for his colossal size the King often strolled the stucco walls and ceilings of his city. His subjects certainly miss him dearly. Many will remember him crawling over their bed in the evening, or across their toiletry accoutrements during the day.

The king preferred the hot musty climate of Room 179 whilst the air conditioning was turned off. Cold air made him sluggish, and probably contributed to his death. The visiting giant had left the AC on, and the king probably fell asleep amidst one of his mid-morning strolls. It was to be his last.

The hotel staff has yet to acknowledge the King’s demise though they will most certainly morn his passing, as he lies in state atop the watery surface of his beloved toilet bowl and favorite eating place.

Quipped the King-killer:

     "Circle there for Hades’ boat,
      In Loo of Styx, you're set afloat.
      Outside your fortress, beyond ramparts,
      No match for my force, or martial arts."

The Titan who executed the king by stepping on him with his bare feet, decided that a water bug would prefer interment in water. However as the King stubbornly refused to sink, and would not descend into the bowels of the Great Water, so the giant let his body remain in state, afloat so that others could take note of his passing.

Most giants are unaware that the King, and his insect kind, are largely hollow. They do not possess lungs. They respire through passageways in their exoskeletons called aveoli. This, combined with the lightweight chitin of their exoskeleton, makes them light in weight despite their large appearance.

The King left many offspring, some of whom no doubt will take up the continuing fight against other less noble Titans. The King fought in the insecticide wars of 1999, and lately the bug wars of 2008 conducted by the corporation Bug-Off, when the state conferred ownership of the King’s domain to a Mr. Vijay Patel. The King survived that battle. Most of the King’s relatives died in that conflagration.

The King’s friends during old age were Maria, a Cuban refugee (aged 72, who works by lying about her age), and Trish, a part-time worker who chain smokes, has no teeth, and cusses the management during her spare time. Trish smoked so much in Room 179 that she and the king became good friends, despite the fact that Room 179 was a non-smoking room.

It is not certain what sustained the King during his old age, but conjecture has it that his diet consisted of bits of fecal matter, tobacco residue, or the odd nasal hair tweezed from a visiting giant, as well as other such delectables left by loyal friends.

Room 179, was territory of issue to pre-paid guests of price-line dot com, who thus pay far less than the regular rate. The King may have been employed by the owner, Mr. Vijay Patel, to exact revenge upon these low-paying guests, as he was powerless to impose an additional tariff.

Aside from these duties of showing himself to his visitors, and causing them to vacate the premises, the King lived a leisurely life, attended by an underground staff of numerous queens who groomed him, and regurgitated refreshments of the King’s preference. He was noted for his profligate life style with the ladies and was said to be considering a TV series starring himself, modeled after that of the Titan of “My Antonio”, which played often on the TV in Room 179, thought it is believed the King has long outlived his own mother.

As far as the cigarette smoke exhaled by Trish, the King enjoyed it. Smoke has an inhibitory soporific effect on insects, particularly large ones. Native American giants used to prepare ground for burial, eating and sleeping, by burning a ‘smudge’ composed of white sage, cedar, or other aromatics. The slight decrease of the oxygen content in the air caused by smoke is enough to put most insects to sleep, or at very least in a daze. The size of insect growth is severely limited by this equation. Without moveable lungs with which to respire, insects cannot become again the giants they were during the great age of plants.

Despite this the King was a giant of his own kind, and will be remembered as such.
His passing leaves a rent in the dream-time of Jacksonville, as great as the loss of the Cummer live-oak, were it ever to be torn from its roots by a passing tornado.

There will be no service, only a memorial burned in the collective unconscious of all living creatures, whereupon this eulogy is inscribed:

    “Every cursed thing's a king, and every appalling being a slave,
      In all the universe you are seeing, every crawling thing’s a knave!”

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