A poker of hoci molested
By gangstas succinctly protested
“Get out of my path
Or prepare for my wrath”
Then he left their remains predigested
Ever since the Egglantians and Middle Oithlings opened the metaphorical arcane floodgates, zazzular energies have coursed through the figurative veins of Mutha Oith like blood through the literal veins of someone with real veins (I got expelled from analogy school). Zazz imbues just about everything nowadays. Of course, you’ve still got to be sensitive to it, trained, as it were, in the manipulation and detection of such energies, to make any use of it all. That’s where hocus pokers come in. As Oith’s quintessential wagglers of zazz, they really get into the whole waving your arms around and chanting like an idiot thing.
That’s pretty much the essence of hocus poking. You gesticulate wildly and babble nonsense until something interesting happens. If you know what you’re doing, some pretty fascinating things can ensue. A skilled hocus poker can do just about anything, from launching flaming balls of snot out of his ears to flying without wings. Hocus Pokers are pretty much the most versatile and widespread zazz wagglers around. Sure, they can’t heal the sick, wrangle the dead, or take over people’s minds, but who needs to do that when you can fire a bolt of lightning from your belly button?
Don’t get the sense that hocus pokers (or any zazz wagglers, for that matter) are common or anything. They aren’t. It takes a great deal of discipline and skill to unravel the nigh unfathomable mysteries of the arcane. It’s just that, of a rare bunch, hocus pokers are the least rare. Sort of medium rare.
Unto the Floomites there verily came
A daddy who earned vast acclaim
By healing the scabrous
And clothing the glabrous
And setting the sinners aflame
Holy rollers are religious fanatics. They spout the gabs and gospels of various faiths and the zazz they waggle is supposedly hand delivered by the gawds themselves. Apparently all it takes is a bit of prayer, the laying on of a few hands, and a coprolite hard devotion to whatever dogma a holy roller’s particular creed espouses. Well, that can’t be all it takes, but that’s what I’ve been told by those who claim to know. According to most holy rollers, the only reason the gawds aren’t constantly laying solids down on peeps like me is that we don’t believe hard enough. Whatever. Oith’s countless boorgthedrals, sin-o-gogues, and dingdom halls are overflowing with the devout, and most of those peeps waggle less zazz than a souseburger sandwich. There must be more to holy rolling than blind conviction. Credulous Shmeckle, no doubt, has more to say on the subject. I sincerely recommend you nab yourself several copies of his forthcoming treatise The Whole Hole – A Gadabout’s Guide to Mutha Oith – Volume 02: Holy Crap at your earliest convenience.
Regardless of the reasons why some ecclesiastical peeps are gifted with zazz and others aren’t, there’s no denying the miracles (and damnations) blasted by those who are. I’ve seen savvy holy rollers do some amazing things. There’s the normal assortment of expected miracles, tales of which are seemingly spouted from every street corner in Floom by obsessed zealots of one faith or another. We’re all familiar with stories of holy rollers healing the hungry, feeding the sick, clothing the naked, and washing peep’s feet for some reason. That stuff’s all great, and I’ve benefited from such zazz myself on occasion (buy me a mug of suds at the Salty Bean sometime and I’ll regale you with gags about Toalla Limpialente, a Hoomanitarian mommy and former traveling companion of mine), but there’s zazz far more potent than that in a holy roller’s arsenal. I’ve seen a sinister of Stan goose a horc to death with a phallus of infernal fire (the memory still occasionally haunts my nightmares). I’ve witnessed a batch of Jemimah’s Witnesses turn a bodul to glass and smash him to pieces with mallets of divine angst. I’ve cowered in fright as a big daddy repulsed a horde …of the Danged just by sanctimoniously waving his lower case “t” in their general direction. When the Boorgthedral of Imago Coleop was set to the torch by disgruntled Stanismists Puparch Aphod snuffed the flames with nothing but a prayer and a ball of dung. Remember that time last year when the Ding of the Dong was assassinated, his body chopped into tiny pieces and tossed into the Big Drink? No? That’s because his templars glued the pieces back together, waggled some robust zazz, and now he’s good as new. The gawds don’t play around (or if they do, they play dirty).
A stinker with powers undoubted
Brandished the reeks that he touted
“My stench, funk, and gust
Is acutely robust
Because I’m so righteously snouted!”
Smellements are the Fundamental entities that govern, embody, and represent all of the universe’s various stinks, odors, and fragrances. Without the smellements we wouldn’t need noses, except to breathe and to look sexy, because there wouldn’t be anything to smell. The smellements imbue all things, for all things have a scent. They are generally content to mind their own business, which is basically to just sit there, invisible and intangible, and stink. There is, however, great power in the smellements, as essences of nature, but it remains, for the most part, untapped and unnoticed. In general a smellement can’t do much more than inflict a bit of nausea, seduce a potential mate, or cause a room to clear, but in the trained hands and schnoz of a smellcaster, it can do far more indeed.
Smellcasters are zazz wagglers who have mastered the arcane rituals, languages, and recipes needed to coax, combine and harness the smellements, exploiting their supernatural faculties and coalescing them into mystical vapors known as reeks. Reeks are extremely potent gasses, bestowing numinous powers upon those who inhale them.
A smellcaster is armed with an assortment of reeks, contained in bottles and flasks, ready at a moment’s notice to be opened by a cork-popping thumb and inhaled through questing nostrils. Smellcasters either sniff their reeks themselves, blow them in the direction of others, or hurl the flasks to shatter elsewhere, releasing the reek to do its thing upon impact.
I’ve included a vast amount of information about smellcasters, smellements, and related jazz in my previous tome The Whole Hole – A Gadabout’s Guide to Mutha Oith – Volume 01: Keister Island. Read it, if such things interest you.
Oily Nad, a weirdo by trade
Demonstrating some jazz that he made
Said, “Touch it right there
And it styles your hair
But jiggle this stick and you’re flayed”
Weirdos are artificers and crafters of zazzular wonderments. They construct and enchant all sorts of crazy devices, like spatulas that flip incendiary pancakes and floppy hats with brims that flap like wings (the spatulas don’t flip the hats, just the pancakes). If an object’s infused with zazz, chances are a weirdo made it happen. Such peeps are in high demand across the glob, possessing skills and talents beyond those of (or at least different than) ordinary craftspeeps and hocus pokers. In fact, a weirdo is sort of a cross between those two guys. He builds stuff and then fills it with poked hoci. In some ways the art of a weirdo is like that of a contanimator infusing a minion with contanimants, but usually less disgusting.
Most weirdos specialize in a particular type of device, or at least in handiwork that displays a signature style or affectation. Wondrous Weegle of Floom’s Bucket Turf, for example, is all about the zazzular peeper-gleamers. His fabulous eyewear (retrospectacles, introspectacles, circumspectacles, disrespectacles, etc…) is stylishly sported by clammy peeps in Floom and elsewhere. Oily Nad, also of Floom, is a bit more eclectic in his proclivities, but his devices characteristically feature a number of moving parts and more intricate mechanisms, often adorned with embellishments depicting or adulating his contanimant kin. In Doop there’s a bodul called Steamnostrils who produces fascinatingly weird saws and sleds. He makes a hoard of clams selling such things to the hair harvesters thereabouts. A sporksmith in New Oorlquar, Desper the Pleasant by name, provides cutlery that feeds a peep without assistance and bibs that wipe his chin for him afterwards. Of a more bellicose bent are weirdos such as Smelfsnuffer Coshwalloper, who cobbles enchanted smelf smashing mallets for the bosses of Aggogg, and Urflehanius Hujimenxalooph of the Auricrap Toenail, who crafted the mighty Jumbossus of Gargle Twice. Weirdos make all sorts of crap for all sorts of reasons, but it’s apparently uniformly awesome (even if we aren’t awesome enough to understand what it does or why they made it).