Scientists converged on Exit 186 to examine the fluid that had preserved Fred’s effaced face. It turned out to be a highly extrapolated sublimate of West Texas light sweet crude. A massive tectonic blister of the stuff extended from the Wisp isthmus all the way down to the Mar-a-Lago Trench.
The indigenous word for the fluid was ñiññ, meaning “earth pus.” In Wisp folk medicine it was reputed to be a balm for anal afflatus.
The Department of Wasteland Security reclassified the Wisp protectorate as a national park. This opened it up to intensive melting for earth pus extraction. Exxon-Roxxoff stranded expectant tankers in the Wisp shoals and started a ruptured pipeline to spill product on serial compass points radiating southward.
A device pioneered in labs of the desert converted to CO2 the waste oxygen spewed by earth pus combustion. This removed the last impediment to ruthless monetizing of the miracle goo. It was Katy bar the door — a Klondike level of churn paired with a Niagara of trickle. Not since OPEC times has such untaxed wealth deluged so few nor dampened so many.
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