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Updated: July 8, 2025
The Ipplinger starship, come to Earth to bring the blessings of Ippling's culture to this backwards planet. Ippling will save you from wars and ills, from poverty and hatred. Ippling will be your destiny. Follow me, Boswellister! Ippling will lead you to the stars! Glory for all!" Boswellister patted the boy on the head. "Keep your hands off me, you big stiff!"
My precious equation, buried under a mass of pills, lotions, toys, food, clothes and everything sold with a bump and grind!" They fought to the ship with him, while the crowd opposed each step, yelling for entertainment, for TV cameras, for samples of anything. "How could I have missed it?" Boswellister moaned. "I should have sold them with sex, right from the beginning."
It was too bad there wasn't a better crowd. Most of the Boulevard's regulars were at the Arena opening, but there were a few loiterers, standing along the curb, watching the free show. And all he had to do was make a beginning, Boswellister felt. He was sure that everything would roll by itself after that. He had faith in his superstition equation. Dodie peeled.
"I'll call you when I need you." Boswellister walked confidently down the road to town. He congratulated himself on having learned, also on his wise humility in admitting the fact of his having learned. He smiled now at the naiveté with which he had approached his first try at establishing a realm for his Ipplinger Princedom rights.
He stood out onto the white fur rug and sneeringly allowed his handmaidens to pat him dry and powder him down. They held up the large hand mirror and allowed him to view his handsomeness while his short-cropped, blond curls were carefully combed. "Now." Boswellister spoke the order into the lapel receiver.
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