Chevy’s wheels unzipped the American highway opening the plains’ to their eyes like an octogenarian before a Geriatric Doctor. Mesa melted into chess board and wheat headed the way of corn to the lazy fallacio of oil rigs.
Lonely diners sat begrudgingly at diners that expected some sighs of respite despite their trite decor and rancorous tripe. With each unsavory Anti-Savoy that salted their palates, the Travelling Trio gained in artery blockage what they lost in will to live. 

Cannoned beetles and Polaroid overexposed flashes negated the land. Over-hot engines roared their dissapproval of what God had done with the place. A blasted existence of half myth and much too much religion, the American Middle Earth was the outie belly button of a porcine dead and bloated carcass: the most accessible sign of a great creature’s once held dignity and tragic beauty. Trailer trucks loaded with lethal appliances and drivers loaded with reds, vitamin C, and cocaine combated sleep and each other in a fight that assured busier lands and people their daily mounds of unneeded and unappreciated ‘needs’.

Two Kings, a Prince, and a Pooch on way to Atlantis City stepped from their hoop skirt shaped TARDIS and blinked at the unforgiving Sol Invictus. Menelaus hung the dress over a rusted and derelict gas pump as Argo made water on a Ford parked nearby. King of Ithaca and his only begotten son argued over the last stick of beef jerky.

Wayside hotels of highways littered the plains giving sup at the teets of road warriors and shelter to the lecherous from leering eyes. Mornings come early in these placard thin walled ant farms, with wake up calls coming in screaming wet sheeted children, boot galloping galoots, and the shrieks of tattooed shieks and their crystaled harems.

Coordinates collected and stars sextanted, Argo hailed the group back into the hoop skirt TARDIS The Lora. Ambling rambling back in, they blipped out of one particular existence. The web of universes is infinite and bubbling always with new and unnecessary permutations. Famously, in one universe, there is but a three volume set of The Complete Works of Thomas Mann floating in endless space. But all universes and their respective times have one hub, one place/time in common within their possibilities: Topeka Kansas.

All beings will at some time be incarnated within the city’s limits. To honor the TopekaHub, in the exact center of Jupiter there is an exact replica of the Cypress Ridge Golf Course made out of rubies and emeralds. Many thetans have played both golf courses and attest that the Fourth Hole is crazy difficult.

A few more blips about the American Plains, and the Trio’s Hoop Skirt appeared in front of the Helen Hocker Center for the Performing Arts and soon, with a number of aligning worm holes, the group was able to punch in Atlantis City in the NavCom.

O Topeka! Somehow it is true that you are a little bit of heaven. Even though heaven is infinite and any portion of infinity is also infinite. O Magic! O Wonder! O What Convenient Parking Ramps! What Quality City Sewage Services!

O Topekaaaaaa!
Gonna give you bunions, rickets and perturbations,
Pestle fer the mortars,
Syphilis and accusations!
Flowers on the prarie like the canker sores bloom,
Plenty of beer to help you cope,
Plenty of room to hide and elope!
Plenty of meth and plenty of dope.

O Topekaaaa!
Where the wind comes sweepin’ down the slacks
And the wavin’ sheets can smell like meat
When trapped wind is followed by the ‘rain’.
O Topekaaaaa!
Ev’ry night my honey hand and I
Sit alone and ‘talk’ while peeper toms stop to gawk
At me makin’ crazy circles on my thigh.

We know we belong to the land
And the land we belong to is grand!
And when we say
Yeeow! Ayipioeeay!
We’re only sayin’
You’re doin’ fine, Topeka!
Topeka, you’re less than great but better than O.K.