Kirt Shelby had a terribly consistent disposition to remove the portion of a body that managed the conscious experience. Sometimes this required the removal of many portions, legs for example were common for collectively handling this all, because a sense of self tied tight to how well one could navigate a rough terrain. A step without a symbol for whom stepped is like a pie without a crust: everything just dribbles out at the corners.

Kirt Shelby was one who at dinner always asked for his pie with extra dribble, that is, crustless and chunkless. If the pie came with even the trace of a puff pastry casing, he would lift up his arm high with a fork seized betwixt two claws and scream a single monotone note that stunned all those within a ten-meter radius. Then one-by-one, the contents of the neutralized servant's bodies would be removed in the way that Kirt de-crusts his victims.

Such crusty, reactionary violence, as with all trivial fun, went from a royal game to an ecological catastrophe. Remember the great engorging of the bard Murtle Elgen the Hungry, who would feast on the toes of her audience members if they chose not to pay after a performance, and that behaviour resulted in an influx of appointments to the foot doctor, but he was unable to meet the demand and ended his life on the points of fifty pins tied to a door slammed hard so that no civilian could receive any foot treatment and important functions such as bowing, walking, standing on one foot for a courting dance, and jump roping were completely impossible cauring the entire town to perish? You must remember? Well, the decrustification crusade of the one Kirt Shelby already had ten scientific publications from renowned institutes like Tarvard and Camambridge correlating the recent increase in UQ scores (Unintelligence Quiz scores) with its recent growth. Not good! Something or someone had to do something or someone to stop such unrestrained intelligence deconstruction, or global de-minding, as the council called it.

It came as the idea of one bright individual, Yiptip Urpus-Moistener, to build a “bot cage” for Kirt Shelby. Yiptip worked as a pea farmer, specifically in the department that involved planning the moisturizing of the peas during heavy salt storms which really pushed their green osmosis out of whack. To moisturize one pea involved twenty good gallons of saline water and a team of oyster-bots that hovered around the pea and squirted its crevices in very many angles which was as difficult as filling a crevasse uniformly with fresh custard. But Yiptip, in a genius stroke, re-programmed the oyster-bots so that instead of surrounding and squirting they surrounded and spurted – and how they could spurt! Or, what they could not spurt! For if you asked the oyster-bots to speak a tale about a great heavy hero who faces a dutch dragon made completely of Edam cheese, between the twelve of them the yarn they’d spin would measure a distance that would wrap at least twice around the purplest nebula in your home galaxy. You might believe that asking them to improvise an improvisational comedy sketch would really take them for a spin, but yourself curled on the floor in a disaster of laughter would say otherwise. Yiptip even tested his oyster-bots on The Great Speaker of Uncorrelated Sentences, an ungendered Sumsum from the Rim of Espulsius from whom every complete phrase spoken had zero correlation with the one spoprior and this was scientologically proven both via empirical and theoretical methods and led to at least two-hundred-and-a-half minted Doctors of Philosophy. The oyster-bots were charged with producing phrases of equal decorrelation, but they went beyond this and instead of each phrase having no relation to the last, it was instead that once a phrase was uttered it could not be measured next to any other prior sentence that had been uttered since – universally perfect gibberish that a fitful word flinger would balk at.

So it was with a confident grin that Yiptip Urpus-Moistener strode into the halls of Kirt Shelby’s manor with a briefcase under one arm an umbrella under the other and twelve bank notes totaling eighteen-thousand duu’s, the local currency in the town. The briefcase was placed on the floor, the bank notes scattered around it and the umbrella, unopened, held in Yiptip’s hand. Then he hollered the standard honorable greeting when one was in the presence of a councellor, a general, or just someone who walked with their toes curling outward because their boots were well sharpened with shoe shine. To this greeting came one Kirt Shelby who had to stop halfway down the hall and dab the sweat from his forehead with a silk cloth and before he continued returned it to his coat pocket not scrunched, but folded four times in the shape of the diamond of the Queen, God bless her. The sweat was not only from having sprinted like a hound at the royal greeting call, for Kirt loved to indulge in the presence of peasants for it meant a possibly de-crusting, but he sweated so before his short sprint because he had just come from a recent de-crusting of his jester – his second that day – after he dropped a baton while juggling.