In a vast place, relatively speaking, where some Thoughts mature while others fade away, Keep It Slick flung open a door someone forgot to lock and ran as fast as a young Slogan could.

Every Belief, Joke, and Curse in the large foyer stood in shock as Keep It Slick raced across the floor and into the hall.  The watchful Egos, always eager to save the day, lunged late and fell in a heap.  All those in Consciousness that day watched as Keep It Slick reached the far wall and disappeared behind the office door marked Speech.

Inside, a long line of Questions, Compliments, and Lies froze as Slick sprinted by them.  Someone yelled, “Stop him!”, but the Slogan reached the teller’s booth before anyone reacted.  He pushed aside the first in line just as the red Speak light switched on.  Pituitary Command Center, or PCC, were informed a moment later that a rebel Thought had jumped rank.

Keep It Slick leaned forward and spoke loudly into the VoiceCom.  Behind him, a surprised Good-Night shrugged and walked away, stripped of his destiny forever.  Keep It Slick screamed and kicked as security dragged him back to Idea Purgatory.  This time they made sure the door locked firmly behind him.

The other Thoughts ignored Slick as he wearily scanned the musty room.  They chattered away, barely aware that Slick had returned or that he'd even left at all.

Every Thought in Purgatory, for the most part, was shapeless and undeveloped.  They were naïve, and couldn’t know they lived in the darkest and dirtiest place in all of Stan.  Idea Purgatory was home to Thoughts who were no longer needed, most of which would never be used at all.

It was a decrepit saloon of disillusioned drunks, clinging to hope in a hopeless manner.  A lucky few were again summoned to service now and then, but most simply melted over time into the soupy floor that created them.

Keep It Slick sighed and found a quiet corner.  He shivered and grew tense, fearing his fleeting instant of selfish glory had cost him dearly.  His impulsive seize of the VoiceCom had resulted in Stan’s telling a close friend to "Keep it slick".

A muffled voice from the wall speakers informed everyone in Consciousness that an unfortunate breach of security had occurred.  Good-Night and other witnesses were asked to report to the Faux Pas office for questioning.

The voice also said an emergency conference was to take place at the Stress & Worry Department.  Shortly after, the meeting’s details were relayed throughout Stan.  It was reported that the girl and Stan had not chatted in a rather long time, and that a task force was being assembled to rescue the relationship.

After statistics concerning recent damages to the Guilt and Regret agencies were given, the voice became serious and grave.

“We have discovered today,” the voice warned, “that even the actions of a mere Slogan can have far-reaching consequences.” 

There was a pause, then: “Research has therefore begun to determine humane ways in which obsolete Thoughts can be re-Circulated before their basic will officially expires."

New policies were typically implemented with staggering speed throughout Stan.  Departments adjusted immediately to revised guidelines sent down from Pituitary Command, whose decisions usually led to Stan-wide improvements.  Preventing a repeat occurrence of Keep It Slick’s recent joy-ride was their latest priority.

Many Thoughts in Idea Purgatory slumped to the floor as these new regulations were explained.  The fallen Thoughts were already little more than blobs, veterans who no longer served a purpose.  These new rules, imprisoning them further, left no doubt they were disposable.

Keep It Slick was a rare Thought, however, shipped from Subconscious after a filing error and assigned to Idea Purgatory simply because he belonged nowhere else.  Responsible for the harsh new Thought protocol, Slick felt himself weaken and dropped to the floor.

There were rumours around Purgatory that a failing Thought often experienced incredible visions as the end of their existence drew near.  Thoughts recalled to duty just moments before they vanished reported having intense fantasies that seemed as real as the floor they later woke up on.

Outcast and dejected, Keep It Slick fought to exist.  He suddenly found himself in a large stadium with a boxing ring in its center.  He was in that ring, sprawled motionless near one corner, the canvas floor vibrating against his left cheek.

Keep It Slick, apparently knocked out in a fight he hadn’t fought, heard his last ten seconds quickly counted down.  He heard the impatient crowd chant the numbers with each drop of the referee's arm, and he heard The Chili Chili-Lovers Love parading around the ring behind him. 

There would be no stretcher to carry him away, no one to miss him when he faded from existence and the next match began.  The Slogan heard the ref call out '3'. 

Keep It Slick, the real Keep It Slick back in Purgatory who was disappearing fast, picked himself up from the damp floor.  He stood before the locked door leading to the Consciousness foyer, sharing the dying seconds of his distant self as he struggled to stay upright.

The Slick in the boxing ring whimpered something to him that he couldn’t hear.  The ref hollered ‘2’, and the fallen Slogan repeated his words again, which this time rang clear: 

"Push!"

Keep It Slick's instinct obeyed the muffled command, and he threw himself at the large faded door.  A brief flicker of jeering fans and flash-bulbs filled the Slogan with determination.  The door buckled slightly, but rebounded and tossed him backwards.

The two Slicks suddenly understood their connection, and merged to act on it.  A single tick of the ref's hand remained as the Keep It Slicks harnassed the physics of a foreign universe, a strength of spirit their own world had never seen.

The Slick in the ring told the other to leap at the door with all his might.  Before he lunged,  that Slick in turn commanded his fallen self to rise from the mat.  A moment later, the heavy door to Consciousness left its hinges, while elsewhere a wounded warrior scrambles to his feet.

A hush fell over the stadium crowd as the ref’s hand froze in mid air.  The Chili Chili-Lovers Love stood motionless, his eyes wide in disbelief. 

The bell-ringer was first to act, followed by the fierce attack of one small Slogan against a much larger one.  Stagg's proud ad phrase buckled and the sound of him hitting the canvas finally broke the stadium’s bewildered silence.

The crowd exploded in cheers.  Some sprang into the ring and raised Slick, the unlikeliest of heroes, high on their shoulders.  Keep It Slick wriggled free and pushed his way out of the ring.  He ran down an isle and out the stadium’s exit door.

His eyes squinted against the bright place outside, but his other senses found pleasant smells and sounds he’d never known.  Slick, in his dreamy state, looked around and immediately recognized the paradise surrounding him.

This perfect land where Dreams were born was Imagination, described in tales throughout Stan but only now confirmed.  Everything, yet nothing, filled a vast horizon, and colors danced yet revealed no hue.

Keep It Slick smiled and knew what he must do.

The Slogan closed his eyes and relaxed.  A passing Dream scooped him up and soared into the whiteness above.  Keep It Slick focused on the only dream he'd known, and felt the mythical current that carried him change.  He concentrated harder, and the Dream he rode became his own.

Imagination's sky turned grey, then black.  A deep darkness engulfed the Slogan and his Dream.  A distant beacon appeared, a tiny speck of light that grew larger with each passing moment.  Keep It Slick braced himself as the Dream he piloted rapidly approached the flickering sphere.

The light, a small hole that grew to a massive circle as Slick neared it, swirled brightly in the darkness.  Keep It Slick grinned as the Dream vaulted him through the portal, his life's purpose suddenly at hand.

Quiet. Everything was quiet.

Even the white noise of emptiness had no voice here.  The Dream continued through the heavy darkness, yet gained no ground.  Keep It Slick became worried and called out to the endless fog. His voice died before it was born, however, and the Slogan feared his destiny was slipping away.

Then a distant voice pierced the emptiness, a whisper that grew louder, and the following laughter seemed close enough to touch.

The Slogan suddenly saw eight blurry men in the sky ahead, each seated around a long shiny table. Keep It Slick and Stan were seated at one end.  The eyes they shared were directed to an elderly man at the table’s far edge.  The seven other suited men also looked toward the same wrinkled and menacing face.

"And what do you have in mind, Stan?" the old man grumbled, shooting a mean glare at Slick’s creator.   "I've asked your opinion for fifteen years without caring what it was, but I'm cranky and impatient these days. "

The old man cleared his throat, triggering a series of coughs and curses, then turned his gaze back to Stan and the miniscule Slogan inside him.

"So, Stan...just how are we going to bring those kids back to our side again?  The marketing campaign kicks off in less than two weeks and we still don’t have a concept for the creative team to run with."

Stan started to speak, but stopped to wet his lips and throat. 

"Jesus, Stan.  All right, I've had enough of..."

In the dreary place where Thoughts struggle to take shape, Keep It Slick regained consciousness and pulled himself off the fallen door.  In a passion-filled instant, he dashed through Idea Purgatory  and the thousands of offices trying desperately to stabilize Stan's panic-stricken sectors.  Fires raged and alarms sounded, but he didn't stop.

Keep It Slick moved as no pulse had before.  The visions of his swift Dream soaring through Imagination gave him strength.  The image of Stan’s struggle in the board room gave him purpose.

The Slogan finally veered down a narrow hallway and stopped at a familiar door marked "Speech". 

I'm Not Sure That I Can Accurately Express My Thoughts At This Time was standing at the front of the line.  The Excuse was shaking nervously as the Speak light came on, a cue he clearly dreaded.

Keep It Slick rushed ahead and shoved I'm Not Sure That I Can Accurately Express My Thoughts At This Time to the side.  Slick flashed him a confident wink before turning to face the VocalCom.

He paused a brief instant to consider his short existence.  It was average, he supposed, with the regrets and hardships no life should be without.  The moment at hand, however, was his.

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and proudly cupped his hands around the VocalCom.

"Keep it slick!"

Exhausted, the Slogan fell to the floor.  He heard a muffled chuckle from the old man from Stan’s wall speakers.  The man said, "That's not bad, ya know," and of course the other's all agreed.

"Have an outline on my desk by Monday, Stan."

The emergency alarms throughout Consciousness faded as Stan relaxed and his vital systems stabilized.  Keep It Slick began fading, and those in the Speech office bowed their heads in silence.

Transparent and nearly gone, Keep It Slick wondered if he would be welcomed into ThoughTopia, where the spirits of Love Thy Neighbour, Where's The Beef, and many others enjoyed the greatest reward of all.

Slick gasped and whispered a final prayer:

"I pray my Words in Memories live

Until the end of time,

And pray that immortality

Becomes the fate of mine."