Man will never penetrate outer space.- Albran, August 1942
Man will never penetrate outer space without a rocket.- Albran, August 1962
"HIS POWER came from some great reservoir of distilled water, else it could not have been so transparent yet liquid, so apparently lacking sophistication while at the same time actually lacking sophistication. So tasteless, yet wet."- CLIVE RODNEY FARK
KEHLOG ALBRAN was a lifelong member of the Diner's Club and did much of his most creative writing there. His style was that of a man with a much larger brain. Born in Brest-Litovsk, much of his earlier work was published in his native dialect, in which language he is still greatly revered. In an area embracing several hectares in that city, he is still looked upon as a demi-god. His drawings and paintings have been exhibited in Quito, Ecuador. His artistic and literary style have been compared by Chester Gould to the work of Ernest Bushmiller and by Bushmiller to the work of Gould. Upon moving to America, his great desires were to write in his adopted language, English, to make a million dollars, and to retire from pseudo-philosophy so that he might open a chain of laundromats. It is the world's loss that he never succeeded in writing in English.
During much of Albran's lifetime, he was widely thought to be dead. This confusion was the result of the trance-like state Albran affected at public appearances. Conversely, as one might expect of so mystical a figure, after his death many of his followers continued to believe him still alive. Various schools or sects ultimately developed: the Albran Lives School, the Albran Never Lived School and the Two Albrans Faction.
Though a rationale for these conflicting factions can be attributed to Albran's erratic behavior and lifeless appearance in public, in private life Albran was a different person. Given to high comradeship and practical jokes, he once commented that the Whoopie Cushion had done more for mankind's betterment than Marx, Christ and Oral Roberts together.
Though a man of spirit, he was also a man of the flesh. He especially enjoyed having a thin stream of his favorite beverage (Dubonnet and Diet-Rite) poured into his mouth by a lady friend while he lay in a transparent Plexiglas bathtub filled with blueberry yogurt.
To the accusations that he was a whoremonger and womanizer, he frequently replied, "Oh yeah?" Or, sometimes, "So was Rasputin!"
That he is indeed dead is now an undisputed fact, though the date of death remains shrouded in mystery as a result of Albran's own diabolical scheme. His glossy but perfectly preserved body was discovered months or perhaps years later by his literary agent in the tiny, austere room in which he spent his final years. Apparently sensing that the end was near, Albran had hung a five gallon plastic bag of shellac on the ceiling immediately over the chair where he spent so much of his time watching daytime television. As his hand slipped from the arm of the chair, it pulled a wire releasing the shellac which coated his entire body and most of the chair to a depth exceeding a quarter of an inch in many places. Thus, Albran contributed to his own immortality, as well as that of the chair.