Final Round and Subsequent Follow Up

Hey there, people. I hope y'all had yerselves a nice Christmas. Me, I ate some ham, lounged around, watched my nephew open some boxes and stuff and then brood because he got a game where you kill people one way when he really wanted that other game where you kill people another way. I told him if he wanted to learn how to kill people different ways, he should join the CIA or somethin instead of wasting his time sittin in front of the TV. He just rolled his eyes and scoffed at that, then put his headphones back on and slunk away. I mostly just stayed on the couch and watched the lights twinkle. That'll make more sense here in a little bit. Also, Charles sent me a nice summer sausage and cheese log set, so, I been eatin a lot of sausage and cheese. Now, I'm sure y'all didn't pop in dyin to know that I was eatin sausage, but because I promised to tell you how the final round of the Makin Stuff Up Championship went. I'm gonna warn ya, it's gonna be bad there for a couple of minutes, but your ol' pal Pat got through it just fine, I can assure you. If not, I wouldn't be sittin here writin this now.

So, there I was, gettin Squimassaged by Alistair, who was encouragin me to get back out there and do my best. We was also brewin a pot of coffee, into which Douggy added this 'Red Bull' stuff that he says he likes. I'll tell ya, that was the horriblest coffee I've ever tasted. It was as if you come into the office bright and early Monday mornin to discover that Edna has left the coffee pot on all weekend and that coffee has hardened to a solid powder at the bottom of the pot and, instead of rinsin out the pot and havin it explode on ya nearly costin you your eye, for which Edna later apologized pretty profusely and then offered to buy you dinner in recompense, which you accepted on a friendly only basis because Edna's married to a friend of your from elementary school named Marky who owns the biker bar in town and has always been a pretty tough cookie, but who is nice enough if you're on his good side, and so, when you go out with Edna, she starts touchin your hand and playin with your feet under the table and you can't figure out what to do so you get up to go to the salad bar and you spend 15 minutes starin at the beats before you notice Marky is sittin at another table in the restaurant and so you gotta try to slip out somehow but you can't go through the bathroom because Marky's table is on the way to the bathroom and you can't go through the front door because Edna's over that way and so you have to go through the kitchen and you get back there and can't find your way around and then the manage comes and yells at you and you think it's because you're not supposed to be in the kitchen but it's really because he thinks you work there and are just slackin off and so he keeps yellin until you spend the rest of the night washin dishes and then things are really awkward with Edna at work after that, instead of that, you just pick up a spoon and eat the coffee. It's just like that, only with a week old orange in it. 'Course, after drinkin that muck, I felt ready for anything because my mind was workin again.

"You know what I just realized?" I said aloud, hopin someone would ask me, 'What?'

"What?" someone asked me, and that someone was Douggy.

"Every time it's Earhart's turn to tell a story, she takes a swig from that water bottle and then her breath smells like she's been drinkin seawater," I explain.

"Why didn't you say anything before?!" yelled Alistair. "That bottle's not water, that's orphan tears! She's gaining strength before each round!"

I didn't think that was very good for me, so I said, "Well, that ain't good for me."

"Unless..." prodded Alistair.

"Unless..." thought Douggy.

"Unless we can find a way to get that bottle away from her!" I blurted out triumphantly.

"That's how you're going to beat her, Pat," explained Alistair, "You just keep talkin your stream of nonsense like you do and we'll work out a way to get the bottle away from her. Be prepared to run, though, you don't want to be up there on the stage faced with an angry Ice Giantess."

So, armed with a belly full of burnt-awkward-semi-date-and-week-old-orange coffee, a group of squimonk ready to steal a bottle of orphan tears and a penchant for telling long winded, pointless stories, I returned to the final round of the competition.

I had to pick up the story where it left off, which had Captain Duck and his men of the SS Shoe wrapped in grey blankets searching for a magic potion to lift the curse of the were-polar bears, which had been shaved in areas to give them spots. I came out heavy with the men falling through the ice and being rescued by the arctic mermen, who would have like to soothe the travellers with their stunning viola skills, but couldn't because the strings on their violas kept freezing and snapping and the wood kept warping, what with it being underwater and all. So the mermen offered to help Capt. Duck and his crew if they would bring something to keep their violas warm and dry. After that, and some lingering on the way that arctic mermen would have gained any sort of skill in the viola with the enormous obstacles that stood in their way and then some pontificatin on whether mermen would play stuff more like "Oh, Susanna" or "Danny Boy" or even "The Rite of Spring," it was Amelia's turn to go. She took a big swig of orphan's tears and shot back with the problem of size. The container for the viola needed to be warm and dry, yes, but it also had to be big enough and pliable enough to play the viola in. The only thing that met this qualification, and which generated its own heat was the bladder of the Giant Arctic Chimera, which one could only see when snow blinded. That bein the case, the men had to take a volunteer to stare at the snow for hours and then lead them to the Chimera. As she was speakin and gesticulatin and whatnot, I saw a squimonk being lowered from the ceiling on a bunch of rubber bands that had been tied together, carrying a water bottle in his, or her (it's really hard to tell unless you pick them up and they get really offended when you do) paws. It looked like someone was remaking mission impossible with genetic mutants and a budget of four dollars and eighty two cents, a dollar of which was spent of catering. Before Earhart could get to the Chimera tracks, bingo bango switcheroo, the bottles had been swapped and the squimonk was away into the ceiling again.

I got up for what was to be my final story, telling myself not to get nervous. I was a little woozy and I'm not entirely sure what I said, but there was something in there about the Giant Arctic Chimera being a fan of things wrapped in bacon and a search for the only bacon in the Arctic circle, which I said was available at the only gas station near the North Pole, which charges exorbitant prices. Well, after spinning this out for awhile, I took my seat and tried to scoot as far away from the center of the stage as I possibly could.

Amelia grabbed her bottle, took a big swig, wrinkled her nose up, smelled the bottle, took a smaller swig, then looked around suspiciously.

She was taking her sweet time with the water, so the judge said, "Miss Earhart, it is your turn."

Well, she started lookin under her seat and pokin around the table where her water was, then she went into the audience to look under their seats.

Finally, the judge said, "Miss Earhart, if you do not begin your tale in 30 seconds, you will be disqualified."

This didn't phase her one bit. She kept wanderin around and lookin around and stuff until, with 5 seconds left on the clock, she returned to the mic and said, "I will have my revenge!" Then, she tore off her face! I kid you not, she reached up, grabbed her own face and pulled it off. I thought I was gonna see that coffee again. But then, it turned out that her face was actually a mask. It came off and revealed a hideous head. It was shaggy and bearded, with white skin and pink eyes, like a baby rat. The whole face was flat and broad, like she'd been hit repeatedly with a shovel, and she had two long fangs poking up from her swollen bottom lip. When the mask came off, she started to roar like that tornado that ripped through town when I was a kid. Then, she just started swingin. She pulverized everything in her path.

I turned to run and heard Douggy yell, "Pat! Duck!" just as she hit me in the back. It felt like I'd been playing dodgeball and someone filled up one of the red balls with concrete. The wind got knocked out of me and everything went dark.

When I woke up, we were back on the zeppelin, on our way back to Iowa. Alistair told me that Douggy had carried me out of the building as the squimonk swarmed over the Giantess, distracting her long enough for me to reach the Zeppelin. A couple of them were hurt, but those little ones recover pretty fast. As for me, that strike in the back cracked a couple of my ribs and knocked by back outta place again. So for the past week, I been sittin on the couch watchin the twinkling lights and takin this pain medication, which makes the lights sparkle even more and has got me in a serious Christmasy mood. Also, NAMSU called and told me I'd been officially declared the 2008 Makin Stuff Up champion and they'd get me a trophy as soon as the funerals were over and a new president was found and all.

It also turns out that we gout ourselves a nice write-up in the local paper:


As I was layin there on the couch, thinkin about that trophy, I asked Alistair what set Amelia off so much. I mean, I knew she'd be weakened by the lack or orphan tears and everything, but I didn't think she'd go off like a badger with a burr in his butt over gettin water.

"Actually," Alistair told me, "That wasn't water, we peed in the bottle."

So, that was the championship. I'm gonna recover for a few days, see what happens, but I'm sure I'll be back out on the road for Lindbergh in the next couple of days.