The Writing of Flurp Derbson: cleany boy

“I am a cleany boy, my duty is to clean. My guts belong to the cleany men, I have sworn an oath.”

The writings of Flerp Durbson, 420 DL (During Lyle) *

*Some of these scripts have been translated into earth language for ease of reading

I was on my hands and knees on the floor of The Temple of the 69 Fold Path, scrubbing them with space disinfectant. It had been 2 space weeks (about 69 earth days) since Lyle had released the deadly Corona 69 virus on all of space time. Those that weren’t killed, quarantined, or turned into mutants were left behind to live their lives in the remains of civilization. In the meantime, us cleany boys had our work cut out for us. All available cleany boys and men (even those that had long since retired) were drafted to clean every surface that was deemed still safe.

“What troubles you brother?” I was looking at one of the nutjobs who worked at this place dead in the eyes. He was wearing their custom midnight blue cloak with the number 69 covering its surface. “We’re overworked, tired, hungry, and most of us haven’t seen our partners to come früm beyond in a shaman’s age.” “Brondo has a plan for all of us dear boy, he sees it fit to provide darkness so that we might cherish the light.” If I wasn’t already so overworked and craving a fat goij, I might agree with this clown. This wasn’t just a job, it was my sworn oath to clean and protect the galaxy from dirt… or something like that. Lately it was feeling more like a job then any kind of cool guy destiny. “Look ‘brother’ please leave us alone, we already are working quadruple shifts and we still have to clean Cool Todd’s Tasty Food Hole And Dispensary Of Goij down the street.”

The creep backed off and we continued cleaning, we might get this place done in enough time to…. “BANG.” A shot rings out. There’s an eerie silence as we see what happened, our friend from before is laying on the ground having taken a bullet to his ticker. His midnight blue cloak barely shows the blood soaking into it. He’s bleeding out and leaving us thusly. I turn and see the gunman, he’s got a mad look in his eyes as he stares over his victim.

Before I can react someone is on the mad shooter kicking the gun away and holding him down. “LYLE HAS COME TO SAVE US! WE ARE A DISEASE! LOVE AND SEX WON’T SAVE YOU!” I calmly pick up the gun, not sure what to do. Like a gut reaction I point it and fire a bullet into his friggin noggin, ending this. Suddenly I am keenly aware of my cleany boy training, the instincts that were ingrained into me by the cleany men. “What do we do now?!” My co worker asks.

“What do you mean? We clean… it is our oath…….”