“Arpleeweepoo!” he shouted. But nothing happened. Carson the Supremely Magic magician walked back and forth on the edge of the rooftop, while a scattering of fans watched from 12 stories below. Disappointed, he looked across the street to the adjacent building, where his competitor and rival, Moosejuice Slingbad, laughed and danced on the top of the structure’s water tower. Every one of Slingbad’s fans were embedded in the windows of his building, their eyes turned to him in awe and adoration, but since he was out of sight, their eyes were rolled back in their heads. For the third time, Carson flourished his hands in the air, and tried another magic phrase, “Groping candylops!” Generelda, his number one encourager from Outer Space, slowly began to rise from the street like a bird with one wing. Her lovely form floated to the level of the roof, and Carson stared into her black eyes and winked. “I feel funny,” she said, then she opened her mouth and vomited a spray of bile into Carson’s face. Just then, dual apparitions of Slingbad appeared, one beside Carson, which wiped the vomit off his face with a violet hanky, and another in the air aside Generelda. Kissing and embracing her, Slingbad’s Other said, “I love you so much, even the taste of your vomit doesn’t bother me. You should be mine, deary.” Laying her head on Moosejuice’s shoulder, she stuck her tongue out at Carson. Moosejuice’s Other cackled, and squeezing her tight, they flew off, landing on his roof entwined. “Never, never try to best me, Carson,” said Slingbad’s Other Other. “Only I can command the forces that make the ladies shudder into butter. You’re as powerful as a Grandma’s eyelash. Maybe you should try cooking. I heard you’re good at that.”
Putting his hands together, the Other threw his hanky at Carson and vanished. “Quit?” Carson said. “Remember, Moosejuice, you’re an indolent talent, a lion in a hammock. Nobody loves magic as much as I.” Standing erect with his back to the sun, he pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket and directed a small beam of concentrated sunlight onto Slingbad’s vomit-soaked handkerchief. The circle of light quickly began to smoke, and soon a vine of black smoke twisted up from Moosejuice Slingbad, who grunted, then shrieked in agony as sunbeams of fire pricked out of his body in dozens. “Understand, Slingbad,” said Carson. “I am not a short-order cook, I mean, I am not to be mocked.” “Vote for me!” Slingbad yelled, before his body was consumed in a sphere of yellow fire, which promptly shrank to the size of an eyeball and rotated beside Generelda, who remained unscathed and still floating. Waves of applause came from his fans below, causing Carson to preen his hair and offer another magical flourish, causing Slingbad’s embedded fans to melt into butter and slide down the building. “Xenophobia is what inspired me to learn all of these tricks, master them, multiply them, and then kill everybody,” said Generelda. “You first,” she said to Carson, and the shining orb disappeared into her eye; she glared at Carson the now-Supremely Beshitted Magic Magician and a ragged line of lemon fire punched through his head, burned through the fans, raged through the world. Zero people survived, but all the domestic animals were spared, because Generelda loved cats.