A Prologue
"Ladies and gentleman: I am Dr. Brian Ewell. This is Dr. Patricia Randall. Today we will be performing a lobotomy." Dr. Ewell slid on latex gloves. "As future brain surgeons, you will need to know—if you already do not—that the lobotomy is the foundation of twenty-seventh century neural reconstruction. Our patient is a thirty-five year old male, and he’s called Thomas Olen. Tommy here has been institutionalized for some ten years, since he was first committed for a suicide attempt." Ewell’s class didn’t look impressed. "Thomas here attempted to commit suicide because he failed to create an aquatic society for his hamsters." That did the trick. "It is believed that a cyst has developed on the outer lobe of the patient’s cerebellum. This morning we will remove that cyst. Note that the patient has already been shaved and is heavily sedated. Now, watch carefully." Both doctors put on medical masks.
Curious students widened their goggled eyes and pressed their faces against the glass that separated them from the operation. They glared like terrified fish. Dr. Randall, by far the younger, began to dab alcohol onto Thomas Olen’s blad head.
"You know, Brian," she whispered, without raising her head, "I’m beginning to think we’ve gone too far. Just in general. These students are just… well they’re too entertained by all of this." She applied more alcohol. "It’s almost… insane."
The patient was little more than a corpse. His chest rose and fell softly. He was emaciated. His rib cages played staring games with the students. They seemed to compensate for his eyes, which had retreated to the recesses of Thomas Olen’s skull. His skin was pale. The tiniest droplet of blood trickled from his right ear.
Ewell nodded in acknowledgment. "Ladies and gentlemen, the patient has been sterilized. I will proceed to check the patient’s scalp for anomalies." He began to probe the skin on his patient’s skull with his fingertips. Then his voice decelerated to a whisper, and he covered his microphone. "It’s precision, doctor."
"What? What’s precision?"
The student’s hadn’t uttered a word. They couldn’t hear the doctors, and assumed from behind their glass barrier that they were simply to discussing medical superficialities. Even if the glass were removed, or Ewell hadn’t covered his microphone, the students were too fascinated by Thoman Olen to have given a damn.
"Everyone’s so precise these days. They’re picky. We’re all perfectionists, I suppose, and that is why this world is so deranged. There are protocols, textbooks, directions, expectations--hell, Randall, you went to med school; you know what I’m talking about. Everyone wants everything done perfectly. With a smile. On time. And, I guess because we’re human, we think we deserve it that way. It’s precision, doctor. It’s why everything’s gone so fucking awry."
Dr. Randall nodded. "I see your point. And it’s a shame, doctor."
"Not completely."
"How do you mean?"
"Natural selection."
"What about it?"
Ewell raised his voice and spoke into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, the patient’s scalp is free of abnormalities. We will soon make the first incision. First, however, we must ensure that our instruments are sterile." He picked up his scalpel and a washcloth, the latter of which he dipped in alcohol.
The medical students were practically trembling in suspense.
There was an inaudible drip as the tiny globe of blood rolled off the patient’s earlobe and fell onto the paper beneath. It was quickly absorbed. It would be disposed of and never mentioned, and it would not exist even as a memory. Dr. Ewell cleaned off his scalpel.
"Natural selection," he whispered, "is the process by which the universe weeds out those creatures lacking adaptations necessary to survival. The strong subsist and thrive. The weak die. In our world…" He paused to adjust his grip on the scalpel. "…it seems that the most essential of these adaptations is insanity."
He lowered his blade, resting it on Thomas Olsen’s scalp.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the first incision."
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On Dr. Brian Ewell’s desk, in St. Andrew’s hospital, in Boston, Massachusetts, there rests a volume of the Intergalactic Encyclopedia published in 2590 AD, and it is opened to the following entry.
LILIPATAWATAMILIWOOSHIN. A member of subterranean race of humanoids that dwell beneath the foundations of Miami, Florida, on planet Earth. This history of this race is enigmatic as it has had no contact with mankind for many centuries.
Anthropology. On January third of 1961, in the heart of the Cold War, the United States government learned that a certain Soviet pizzeria had produced an almost uncannily tasty stromboli. Immediately, Congress apportioned an emergency grant of five point nine billion dollars to its newly enacted Project Pepperoni, in a full-scale effort to usurp the superiority of the Communist product. (The high funding was rationalized by a derivative of McCarthyism, which asserted that if the Soviet superiority was permitted, evil communist strombolis would slowly filter into the American populace and forever endanger the nation’s way of life). High-caliber international scientists cooperated to generate, two months later, a super-stromboli. The super-stromboli, if it had succeeded, may well have provoked an international stromboli race.
John F. Kennedy, a president of the United States in the late twentieth century, opted to test the super-stromboli, and did so in May of the same year. He was disgusted. The failed stromboli was cast, with the rest of the government’s nuclear and biological blunders, into the sewers of Miami. And there it was forgotten.
Immersed in chemicals for several years, the stromboli eventually dissipated, releasing stromboli particles. These particles, in turn, reacted with unknown compounds to create life. The resultant protozaic organisms proved astonishingly adaptable. By 1990 the primitive life forms had evolved into a humanoid race known as the Lilypatawatamiliwooshins.
Physical Characteristics. The Lilypatawatamiliwooshins, who to this day are believed by scholars to populate the sewers of South Florida, are notably similar in appearance to homosapiens. The only ostensible difference, in fact, is the race’s hair, which is either blue, green, or purple depending on heredity. They wear no clothing and are unashamed of their nakedness. Unfortunately, the Lilypatawatamiliwooshins developed a relatively advanced language known as English, which is entirely indistinguishable to the inhabitants of Miami.
Society. Unlike humans, the Lilypatawatamiliwooshins have lived in complete harmony with their environment, including with parallel, less intelligent creatures also spawned in Miami’s sewers. These creatures include several species of glowing rodents, flying rat’s asses, and a curious lizard with a head almost identical to Ross Perot’s (a relatively unpopular politician at the time who was, later, to be elected president).
Biology. The Lilypatawatamiliwooshins’ ability to live peacefully may stem from the fact that they evolved in such a way that food and drink are to them unnecessary. Instead, their bodies burn cancerous cells for energy. Cancer, essential to the race’s health, is ubiquitous in the sewers, and is contracted by the Lilypatawatamiliwooshin infants at an early age. In recent years, it is believed, the population has experienced an unprecedented increase is both hygiene and life span, as cancer is now caused by everything.
Human Relations. In March of 1997, the Lilypatawatamiliwooshins attempted for the first time—and the last—to surface. Several weeks were spent studying the dress, culture, and habits of the humans above, which they accessed primarily by intercepting television and radio signals. Clothes, food, and even hairs colors resembling those of mankind were forged. On the fifteenth, six disguised Lilypatawatamiliwooshins emerged at 3 a.m. in South Beach, expecting empty streets. They were sorely mistaken. A small horde of nudist punk rockers with strangely-died hair immediately mocked and laughed at what they perceived as overly-clothed ‘preps.’ Thoroughly discombobulated, the Lilypatawatamiliwooshins retreated to their sewers.
Current Status. A great deal of mystery still enshrouds the Lilypatawatamiliwooshins. Their current technologies are unknown, though they may well have surpassed mankind in light of their near-rampant rate of both biological evolution and socio-technological progress. Most of what information has been published on this race, including the information in this article, is more scientific speculation and conclusion than first-hand observation.
Legends and Hearsay. It is rumored that Dennis Rodman was in fact a Lilypatawatamiliwooshin.
Last Contact. The last trace of Lilypatawatamiliwooshin existence was an excerpt from what must have been the race’s religious book. The excerpt, a prophecy printed on paper not unlike our own, was unearthed by civilian Red McGill in 2001. This prophecy still exists, but confidential and in the security of the Cosmic Coalition.