# feel the burning garlic of my stupid magma soul allegedly the hit underground follow up to mark leyner's classic post cyberpunk airport novel my cousin my gastroenterologist the secret sub-title and main subject of which is said to be the notion of infinitus est numerus stultorum (unending is the number of fools) a large strong creature born of strife with sharp angular teeth who smells faintly yet persistently of burnt garlic rages at the eternally overcast ontological overworld for mostly good reasons this is set against the troubled existential backdrop of an active volcanic eruption on mars impossibly ancient basket-weaving myth states all this shouting and raging will directly result in the awakening of an ancient eldritch horror from the unknowable depths of the fourteen mile high dead volcano and together they will do battle most epic readers of feel the burning garlic of my stupid magma soul raw say it's raw it's volcanic and at several desperate dark times expresses a heavy gritty black dust infinity alpha (read: european literary sensibility akin to fernando antónio nogueira de seabra pessoa on cheap chinese imported downers brought online) "it's definitely not weird for it's own sake though magma surfing is present" says fellow researcher henry swanson (who just happens to have dozens of copies for sale around campus) // republic of bob