The Magog

I was born in rural Yucatan during the Middle Classic period of the Mayan civilization. I was a respected ball player until my captain was beheaded for winning the regionals at Chichen Itza. Disillusioned, I took to the sea in an African vessel of the kind Thor Hyerdal reconstructed a thousand years later. I helped him.Yes, I had time traveled. The details aren't pretty, but a word of advice for aspiring Marty McFlys: get in touch with your feminine side.Anyway, I spent my early twenties with the Beat Generation in New York. Burroughs turned me on to H and the wonders of orgone therapy, and to the surprisingly dangerous passtime of playing William Tell with your wife. I sparked his interest in the Maya, then moved to Antarctica. I had twenty pounds of vaseline, a gyroscope, and a dream.My mother's egg was not fertilized by a sperm cell, but by a virus. This drill-shaped shell of protein contained a haploid genetic complement sufficient to trigger conception, and a virgin birth.I emerged from the womb with my index finger pointed directly at the North Star, and immediately exclaimed: "Nothing is true! Everything is permitted!" unwittingly recapitulating the profundity of Hassan I Sabah. I turned to the village doctor and barked: "Cut this umbilical, sir! I have memes to annihilate and others to be the vector for!"Little did I know that Pirates Weekly would come along to catalyze my vectoring. The memes we sought to propagate were the Truth, vaccines for the lies of corporate America.But by the time I reached the dimension of the anti-matter hoards, I was lost. There was one truth I couldn't penetrate. Perhaps it lay at the center of it all. Chinese Jell-O.Something stirred in my viral DNA memory banks.But an inter-dimensional war erupted, and I was a bit distracted.