Beneath a diminuitive, yet respendently beautiful clump of flowers, there was a small smoking hole in the earth. It was not a warm, sandy hole, but a filthy, odourous little pit lined with unspeakable vomit-like substances. Yes, it was a Gobbit hole. Bilgo the Gobbit raised his unlovely head from his pit, totally oblivious of the Fickle Finger pendant over his head. The Fickle Finger went 'Bzzzt!!' and 'Blat!!'; Bilgo's head was blown off. The FF chuckled playfully. Abruptly FF's chuckle ceased as his icy brain clicked into action on the problem that constantly hung around at the periphery of his thoughts. The problem was to eliminate certain disreputable elements that had by chance stumbled upon his existence, or at least the possibility of it.
FF pondered the rapid and direct action he had taken the previous evening, evaluating it's effectivness in the situation. He had picked on a young office clerk to perpetrate the dirty side of the tactics. This young lad, Mervyn Bastard by name, was dispatched with the usual boring homicidal auto'suggestion to one of the sources of the dangerously suggestive fabrication, to eliminate him, and substitute a confusing diversion'version of the Drivel Epic i.e. the Ragen'Barrow shunt. Would a Gobbit'Bastard transformation increase the confusional complexity of the story, mused FF. Yes, it would, he decided in retrospect.
The writer sat in his chair, not even realising that his mind was just a vehicle for the fabrications of the Fickle Finger, though he knew of the existence of FF in relation to the ridiculous story he was trying to write. The writer was an introverted analytical sort of man, as witnessed by his thin, narrow ascetic's face and cool grey eyes. Which is fucking unfortunate for anyone trying to understand the next bit of the story.
Now, thought our little ascetic turd, could the real authors, himself included, be sure that they imagined the Fickle Finger? It could be that FF had insinuated knowledge of himself into their minds by subliminal means; it was already known that FF could auto-suggest with dire results. But how could FF, if imaginary in the minds of the authors, have real effects i.e. kills 'em, stone dead? Furthermore, an imaginary FF is unlikely to resemble a real FF - too many features to match; given that the properties of a real and imaginary FF are likely to be different, how could it be possible for an imaginary FF to act like a real FF? Can an imaginary person have real effects? Or to take this a bit further: if in his imagination, FF has a mental image of himself, which is unlikely to correspond exactly to himself, how is an imaginary imagination possible for FF and how can ... he ... be himself ... if he imagines the real authors but they in turn imagine him ... which is real ... oh my God ... >BANG!<
Exit No.2; Burst'Brain. Had the FF struck again, or was he really imaginary?
Another writer sat hunched over his bloddy little typewriter, fingers bandaged and bleeding from the furious pace of his work, bashing hell out of the little machine - but not necessarily hitting the keys. Boy, this one was really gibbering; FF could get him into the nuthouse really easily ... until the letter box admitted a little envelope with the key to future happiness ... a direction in life ... success, power, status ... he gibbered on, hardly daring to think his thoughts aloud ... but, yes, freedom from the FF at last. Squaring his shoulders and firming his buttocks, the Gibberer filled out his little coupon and proudly stuck his poster on the wall. Will the FF be cheated? By a career in Geology at N. London Poly?!?
