"Sweet Sally McGee!" I shouted upon seeing balls of flame shoot into the sky over the moon base. Now, I'm aware that "Sweet Sally McGee" is somethin strange to be yellin when you see a gout of flame shoot into the sky, but it all goes back to third grade. Douggy and I attended elementary school with this girl named Sally McGee. I'll even go so far to admit that she was my first crush. I would watch her skip to school in her frilly dresses, red pigtails flappin in the breeze, but I never got the nerve to say nothin to her.
That went on for weeks. I would make sure that, in the morning, I was positioned somewhere I could see her approaching school. Even on the coldest days, with a nor'easter blowing and the snot freezing as it came dripping out of my nose and then being sculpted by the wind so that, by the time school started, I looked like I had dragon whiskers. Three times that winter, I was nearly transferred to the Dragon Elementary down the street by the vice-principal, but I was lucky enough to sit in his office for thirty minutes, allowing my snot whiskers to melt and, when I had to go into his office to discuss my dragonocity, he was willing to admit I wasn't a dragon.
Despite the cold, the being mistaken for a dragon, the almost losing my nose to frostbite, and the nearly being carried off by a yeti in that one snowstorm, it was all worth it to see Sally McGee skipping to school. That girl loved skipping. Even with two foot drifts on the ground, she would still skip to school. Keep in mind, this was back in the day, before kids got spoiled and expected schools to send buses to their homes and pick them up like they was some kind of celebrity of somethin, back in the time when a hill could run upwards both ways and before we expected school to be cancelled just because it was snowin a foot a minute and yetis were out snatchin people and takin them back to their winter lairs to do strange, awful things to them, like challenge them to a nacho eating contest and then cheatin at it. It was also back in the time where schools were just one little room, and we were lucky if some student or another brought a lump of coal with them to heat the place.
All that changed when Sally McGee came to school, and that was prolly why I loved her. You see, Sally's pa was a jalapeno farmer, and, though he made enough to pay the mortgage on their farm, he didn't make enough to feed his family any more than what he grow. The McGee family lived on a steady diet of jalapeno peppers. Keep in mind, now, that jalapenos is vegetables, just like any other pepper, and theys full of vitamins and nutrients and whatnot that growin and grown people need to get about their days, so the McGee family wasn't sufferin from malnutrition or nothin like that, so I don't want y'all gettin down on Mr. McGee, who was a good, upstandin man and a friendly citizen to boot (even if you couldn't touch your eyes or face after shakin hands with him).
Mrs. McGee did what she could to add some variety to her family's steady diet of peppers, but it couldn't have been easy. Sally would come to school carryin herself jalapeno crackers, jalapeno stews and, near the holidays, turkey sandwiches made entirely of jalapenos, which Mrs. McGee had painstakingly molded into turkey form and then dried in the sun to get that turkey color. Sure, it still tasted like jalapeno, but at least it looked like turkey.
The result of this steady diet of peppers was that the entire McGee family, Sally included, had an internal body temperature of, I would estimate, about three hundred degrees Fahrenheit. I can only estimate because every time the nurse tried to check Sally's temperature, which only happened three times, the mercury in the thermometer would start to boil and shatter the glass holding it in, spraying boiling mercury everywhere, which is why we always had our temperatures taken outside and at least 200 feet away from the nurse.
Because of her elevated body temperature, Sally's popularity varied depending on the season. In the winter, she was the most popular girl in school and the children all scrambled to get a desk near hers. It didn't help that the teacher, Mrs. Crowley, would sit Sally and her cast iron desk in the middle of the room, replacing the stove that only worked occasionally, or that other students would set tin cups of water with tea bags floating in them on Sally's desk and then never offer to share their tea with her. Some students were downright rude, bringing raw eggs from home and frying them on Sally's desk when she went up to go to the bathroom and then never even offering to trade their eggs for some jalapeno concoction that she brought in her lunch.
In the summer, Sally would be placed at the back of the room, as far away from the other children as she could get. When it started gettin above ninety, usually in the last week of school, Mrs. Crowley would go so far as to put Sally's desk outside so Sally had to look in the window in order to see what was written on the board. It was heartbreaking, I tell ya. I went home every day that year feelin bad for Sally McGee, and wonderin what I could do.
Then, one Tuesday afternoon, after studyin brave men of the past and how they did things even though they was scared, I got up the courage to speak to Sally. At lunch, I saw her go through her ritual of opening her lunch box, lookin in, sighin and then starin to weep a little before liftin whatever new jalapeno thing her mom had made out of the box and slowly start stuffin it in her mouth. This was my chance.
I walked over to Sally's desk and help my sandwich out to her. "Hey Sally," I said, profferin my lunch, "you wanna trade?"
"I dunno," she replied coyly, "what kinda sandwich ya got?"
"Tuna salad."
"Oh yeah?" she leaned back in her chair, "and whatchoo want for it?"
"I dunno." I scanned her lunchbox. "How 'bout that fried chicken?"
"That ain't really fried chicken, you know."
"I know, but it's ok."
She squealed with delight, digging into my sandwich with relish as she tossed me the jalapeno chicken leg with such disdain that it might as well have been a week old dead possum. We sat next to each other the rest of that lunch, but didn't say anything. She was too busy enjoyin the tuna salad and I was tryin my darndest not to cry from the heat. And I don't wanna hear no lip outta you about how jalapenos ain't that hot and how you've had a lot hotter stuff in your time, I was nine for heaven's sake, and I'd grown up mostly eatin tuna salad and potatoes and cabbage. The hottest thing I'd ever had up to that point was yellow mustard, and even that my mom mixed with water do it didn't upset our humors.
That trade was the beginning of a beautiful relationship spanning 3 whole months. Every day, Sally and I would trade a bit of our lunch and then enjoy it together. She gained a whole new appreciation for food and I, well, I raised my heat tolerance and got to see all the wonderful and ultimately terrible things that could be done by a determined mother with a near-endless supply of jalapenos. As we ate, we would talk. Just a little at first, but we learned more and more about each other.
Then, on the last day of third grade, I took the ultimate step. I told Sally I loved her.
"Well," she said, taken aback, "I didn't expect that."
I was crestfallen. "I understand if you don't feel the same way, Sally, but I had to tell you."
"No, no!" she said, "I just thought I was the only one who felt that way. I...I love you, too, Pat."
It was like a flock of doves had wrapped taffy around my heart and carried it into the clouds. I was elated. Sally apparently was, too, because she was more flushed than I'd ever seen her.
"So, now that we're in love," I said, prolly less slyly than I thought, "how's about we kiss?"
"Oh, I dunno," she blushed even redder, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"It's all right," I cajoled, "I won't tell no one."
"It ain't that, silly. It's just...I ain't never kissed no one, and I'm afraid I'm gonna burn you."
"That's a risk I'll take," I said bravely, and leaned in, puckerin my lips like I'd seen Gary Cooper do.
Sure enough, Sally was right, she burned my lips right off my face. It took me two whole months to grow them lips back, and it caused me to miss the Iowa Whistlin Championships at the sate fair that summer, but it was worth it, I tell ya. I ain't never had no kiss like that since. It was like touchin the sun with my face, glorious and painful all at the same time. I think Sally felt the same way, but I never got a chance to ask her.
After the kiss, her face kept gettin redder and redder, sweat pourin out of her in pints.
"Oh, oh!" She shouted, "Oh no! OH NO!"
Then she burst into flame. It think it was the sudden rush of blood and increase in body temperature that inevitably follows a Pat O'Neil kiss, but I ain't no scientist. All I know is that, right there on the bench, she caught fire. She kept gettin hotter and hotter. I tried to brave it out the best I could, and I lasted long enough to burn off all my clothes and get first degree burns over half my body. But then I had to back away, wishin I could do somethin to help and feelin selfsh about kissin her. Sally burned hotter and hotter, gettin brighter and brighter, like a star about to supernova. We all had to shield our eyes and so we didn't see exactly how it happened, but we all heard the WHOOSH and felt the heat gettin farther away. We looked up to see Sally flyin through the sky, leavin a trail of flame behind her. And we all heard the boom as she went supersonic. Then, she was gone. When we looked into the sky that night, we saw an extra star in Orion and, though we couldn't be sure it was Sally, we all agreed to say it was as a way to honor her memory.
I never saw Sally McGee after that. Her dad decided that feedin his family nothin but jalapenos was a dangerous thing and so he sold his farm and moved back to the old country. As for Sally, n one ever saw her again. Tom Blickenstein, another kid in our class, kept track of the "Sally Star" every night, and updated us every day through high school. He ended up takin a career in astronomy, but was drummed out of the university where he was teachin when he delivered his paper on the burnin woman flyin through space. I guess it just wasn't sciencey enough for them egghead types.
In the years since then, I've had women come and go, but I ain't never lost my love for Sally McGee, and there ain't never been no woman that stacked up to her. I guess that's why my relationships ain't never lasted that long.
The long and the short of it is, whenever I see a ball of fire shootin through the sky, I'm taken back to that May day that I got my first kiss, and I remember my sweet Sally McGee and wonder when I'll ever see her again.
It was not to be this day, sadly. I saw the fireball erupt from the moon base, but soon saw it come back down. Then it shot into the air, and back down again. That fireball went up and down and up and down and...well, you get the picture.
"Get in closer," commanded Alistair, "let's get a look at what's going on."
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Post #100: Aboard the Deus Ex Machina
I may not be the brightest knife in the drawer, but I sure as heck know a reference to eighth grade English class when I hear it. Sure, I may have no idea what it's talking about, but I sure as shootin remember that it is a reference to something from eighth grade English. And that's what that there Deus Ex Machina thing was. Now, I been around these here Squimonk for a time now, and I know they's hardcore nerds who talk about their fancy schmancy stuff all the time, tryin to act all uppity because they got big brains and they weren't dropped on their heads when they was babies and wasn't raised by an inarticulate family of harbor seals whose only literary discussion was one of 'em gettin into a coughin fit after forgettin to unwrap a cheeseburger before eatin it. Come to think of it, I prolly can't remember what Deus Ex Machina means because I was still relearnin English in the eighth grade. Either that or that's the week we put on that old Greek play and I was playin Zeus and at the end, when I was supposed to be lowered on this kinda machine thing, but Douggy was at the other end of the boom arm, and he was busy chattin up Helga Leibowitz, who he'd had a crush on since the third grade, but had never had the nerve to talk to, especially since her parents homeschooled her and never let her out except to go see "cultural events" like Greek plays and Kiss concerts. So Douggy wasn't really givin that boom arm his all and the whole machine that had the god Zeus (me) in it came crashin down on the stage, knockin me right out. I was out for three days, dreamin that I'd actually become Zeus and had to spend all my time wanderin around and gettin people out of impossible situations that they'd got themselves in because apparently, as a god, I didn't have nothin else to do but sole people's problems and get yelled at by my wife. I thought it was quite a headache until I realized the fly I swallowed was really causing me a headache and I had to take drastic measures. The doctors tell me that, in my sleep, I kept a running commentary of all this, which they'd neglected to tell Douggy, which is why I woke up from my coma to see him over my bed with his axe. I gotta say, for almost killin me twice in a week, he was bein a real stand-up guy.
I'm sorry, I got distracted there talkin about my role as a god in a machine, but I meant to be talkin about the Deus Ex Machina. Kinda funny how you can start talkin about one thing and end up talkin about somethin totally different. My first area of concern was not the name of the ship, though, but how it got there in the first place. But, not wantin to give away my intentions right away, I kind of sidled up to the question by askin about the name first.
"You see," Alistair explained to me, "we were working for some time on cracking the secret to faster than light travel. As I'm sure you know, due to the properties discovered by Einstein in his theory of general relativity, an object will increase its mass as it approaches the speed of light. If anything of any mass were to achieve the speed of light, it would become infinitely massive. Obviously, this is impossible. Even if it were possible, it would make travel even AT the speed of light a fatal proposition. This seemed to be a problem at first because everything with physical existence is supposed to have mass. Thus, theoretically speaking, travel at or above the speed of light should be impossible.
"However, after doing some research into cutting edge particle physics, we discovered a theory for the Higgs boson, which was said to be a particle with the special property of bestowing mass upon things. We built a pretty rudimentary particle accelerator in your backyard, did some experiments and came up with conclusive evidence of the existence of the Higgs boson. Then we developed a series of machines that would extract Higgs bosons from all of the atoms in a given area the size of this ship, developed an interstellar drive that takes advantage of gravity wells and we had an FTL ship."
"Well," I said, scratching my head, "that sounds fascinatin and everything, but it still don't say nothin about the name."
"Right. Well," he snickered, "That's a little joke. You see, the Higgs boson is known in some circles as the 'God particle' and, since we're taking the God from the Machine, we thought Deus Ex Machina was the most appropriate name."
I didn't know if that was clever or not, so I gave him a polite half-chuckle and moved on to what was really on my mind. "How in the heck did y'all find me?"
Alistair furrowed his brows. "You do remember running into Charles, do you not?"
"I sure do! We had pork sandwiches."
"Do you remember him giving you a button?"
I looked at my overalls. Sure enough, the button was still there. I pushed it out proudly, "You mean this button?"
"Yes," he said bluntly, "that button. As he was supposed to have told you, it contains a tracker. We can use it to follow you in the known universe."
"So let me get this straight," I said, "you got this Zeppelin that can go faster than the speed of light, and a machine that can track me anywhere in the universe..."
"KNOWN universe," he corrected.
"Fine, known universe, whatever. If you got all them fancy things, then what the heck took you so long to find me."
He closed his eyes and rubbed the spot between them. "Seriously? SERIOUSLY?! I tell you we research particle physics, build a faster than light drive AND a machine that extracts ALL mass in a small area and you think it took us TOO LONG?!?! AUUUUGH!!!"
Then he turned around and stomped off, his furry little hands wavin above his head.
I looked at Douggy. "What's got his panties all in a bunch?"
"Man," Douggy put a hand on his shoulder, "if you think this is bad, you shoulda seen him when the blip that was you moved from one side of the screen to the other. I thought his furry little head was gonna explode. How ya been?"
"Well, I been in a robot fight on a world taken over by meth, taken a trip to the moon with space pirates that was really copies of me, drunk moon spider poison, and came here to be almost killed by a coupla ninjas dressed like unicorns, but other than that, I got no complaints. How bout you?"
"Good," he said, "good."
Alistair came back, lookin a little less ruffled. "Let's get you debriefed. Then we can figure out where we're going next."
So, I told them all about what had happened to me since I last saw em. When I told em about my newly found and then lost ability to teleport, Alistair said, "That explains the movement in the tracker. It wasn't a malfunction!"
It took me a little while to get through the whole tale. I digressed some, but Alistair kept me on task like he was an 1800's school marm and I was Huck Finn. After hearin everything, we decided it would be best for everyone involved if we travelled back to the world of the moon base and helped them in their invasion plans. All agreed, we set the coordinates and jumped back just in time to see the first of the fireballs shoot into the sky.
I'm sorry, I got distracted there talkin about my role as a god in a machine, but I meant to be talkin about the Deus Ex Machina. Kinda funny how you can start talkin about one thing and end up talkin about somethin totally different. My first area of concern was not the name of the ship, though, but how it got there in the first place. But, not wantin to give away my intentions right away, I kind of sidled up to the question by askin about the name first.
"You see," Alistair explained to me, "we were working for some time on cracking the secret to faster than light travel. As I'm sure you know, due to the properties discovered by Einstein in his theory of general relativity, an object will increase its mass as it approaches the speed of light. If anything of any mass were to achieve the speed of light, it would become infinitely massive. Obviously, this is impossible. Even if it were possible, it would make travel even AT the speed of light a fatal proposition. This seemed to be a problem at first because everything with physical existence is supposed to have mass. Thus, theoretically speaking, travel at or above the speed of light should be impossible.
"However, after doing some research into cutting edge particle physics, we discovered a theory for the Higgs boson, which was said to be a particle with the special property of bestowing mass upon things. We built a pretty rudimentary particle accelerator in your backyard, did some experiments and came up with conclusive evidence of the existence of the Higgs boson. Then we developed a series of machines that would extract Higgs bosons from all of the atoms in a given area the size of this ship, developed an interstellar drive that takes advantage of gravity wells and we had an FTL ship."
"Well," I said, scratching my head, "that sounds fascinatin and everything, but it still don't say nothin about the name."
"Right. Well," he snickered, "That's a little joke. You see, the Higgs boson is known in some circles as the 'God particle' and, since we're taking the God from the Machine, we thought Deus Ex Machina was the most appropriate name."
I didn't know if that was clever or not, so I gave him a polite half-chuckle and moved on to what was really on my mind. "How in the heck did y'all find me?"
Alistair furrowed his brows. "You do remember running into Charles, do you not?"
"I sure do! We had pork sandwiches."
"Do you remember him giving you a button?"
I looked at my overalls. Sure enough, the button was still there. I pushed it out proudly, "You mean this button?"
"Yes," he said bluntly, "that button. As he was supposed to have told you, it contains a tracker. We can use it to follow you in the known universe."
"So let me get this straight," I said, "you got this Zeppelin that can go faster than the speed of light, and a machine that can track me anywhere in the universe..."
"KNOWN universe," he corrected.
"Fine, known universe, whatever. If you got all them fancy things, then what the heck took you so long to find me."
He closed his eyes and rubbed the spot between them. "Seriously? SERIOUSLY?! I tell you we research particle physics, build a faster than light drive AND a machine that extracts ALL mass in a small area and you think it took us TOO LONG?!?! AUUUUGH!!!"
Then he turned around and stomped off, his furry little hands wavin above his head.
I looked at Douggy. "What's got his panties all in a bunch?"
"Man," Douggy put a hand on his shoulder, "if you think this is bad, you shoulda seen him when the blip that was you moved from one side of the screen to the other. I thought his furry little head was gonna explode. How ya been?"
"Well, I been in a robot fight on a world taken over by meth, taken a trip to the moon with space pirates that was really copies of me, drunk moon spider poison, and came here to be almost killed by a coupla ninjas dressed like unicorns, but other than that, I got no complaints. How bout you?"
"Good," he said, "good."
Alistair came back, lookin a little less ruffled. "Let's get you debriefed. Then we can figure out where we're going next."
So, I told them all about what had happened to me since I last saw em. When I told em about my newly found and then lost ability to teleport, Alistair said, "That explains the movement in the tracker. It wasn't a malfunction!"
It took me a little while to get through the whole tale. I digressed some, but Alistair kept me on task like he was an 1800's school marm and I was Huck Finn. After hearin everything, we decided it would be best for everyone involved if we travelled back to the world of the moon base and helped them in their invasion plans. All agreed, we set the coordinates and jumped back just in time to see the first of the fireballs shoot into the sky.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Run Through The Jungle
After the feast, it was time to watch the magma giant wrasslin. So we all climbed into our asbestos suits, drank some ice water and took our seats behind the heat shields. I won't bore ya with all the details. Not to say the match was borin or anything. Far from it. There was lava and fire flyin everywhere. Magma giants was risin out of the middle of the volcano, hurlin rocks and fireballs at one another, gettin each other into fiery bear hugs and explodin like beer cans filled with gasoline and then shot out of a water balloon sling shot. I ain't sayin I done that, or that I recommend doin that but I heard, from this guy I know (his name's Michael), that if you can do it and manage to keep your hands and face intact after a can of gasoline goes off five feet from you, singein off all your body hair and a good portion of your skin to go with it, requirin months of exhaustive plastic surgery, after which you look a little like Elizabeth Taylor melted and your skin's a hundred or so shades lighter than it used to be and you gotta put up with people all over the world tellin you that you're startin to look like a white woman instead of the black man you used to be and there's all this speculation about what happened and you can't tell em all the truth because there's kids worldwide that look up to you and you're afraid that, if you were to tell the truth, there'd be a worldwide rise in the number of kids hurt by explodin beer cans full of gasoline and you can't abide by that because you just love the children, then it can be a wicked good time. Like I says, Michael told me that. I ain't advocatin doin it, though. There's just too many risks.
I guess in that way, flaming cans fill of gasoline is a little like watchin a magma giant wrasslin match. They're both pretty risky in a gettin-plastic-surgery-to-replace-1/3-of-your-skin sorta way. I only says that because, just as I was gettin ready for Waldo and Jimmy to pay up on the bet we made, a splotch of magma broke off one of the giants, sailed over the heat shield and landed not three feet from us, ignitin our snacks. We jumped up and tried gettin out of the way, but then another blob landed not a foot on the other side of us. I turned to see what kinda accident it was and saw that the giants was makin balls of magma and INTENTIONALLY lobbin em our direction.
"Holy crow!" I yelled, "We best get up on out of here!"
And so we did. We started runnin away from the wrasslin ring just as fast as our ten legs could carry us, with fire fallin down all around us. Waldo was runnin so fast that his whole head started flappin backwards and hittin himself in the back. He kept reachin back and tryin to pull it back up, but it kept flyin backwards. He looked sorta like a pez dispenser with a broken spring in a wind tunnel. Only this must have been licorice flavored pez because it was black as night spent blindfolded under a velvet Elvis painting. I don't know which direction we'd headed, or even really how far, but by the time the blobs of fiery death stopped rainin around us, we was deep in the Hawaiian jungle. And believe you me, that ain't a place you want to end up when one of your unicorn friends has his head all floppin to the side, showin whole other head inside that one. I got to wonderin if maybe unicorns had heads like russian dolls, just head after head, gettin smaller and smaller until, way down inside, there's candy.
I didn't get to follow that train of thought because, before I could decided if it'd be more likely to be hard or chocolate candy, Jimmy looked around and shouted, "What was that all about?"
"I dunno," said Waldo, "but I heard some intelligence that said the magma giants were suspected of discovering our alliance with the ice giants and took poorly to it. It was all word-of-mouth stuff, so it wasn't actionable. But it now appears they're out to get us for some reason."
Jimmy turned to look at him, "You can say that again!" Then he saw the floppy head.
"Um, Waldo..." he gestured towards his head. "It's..it's off."
Waldo's inner head looked at his outer head. "Ah hell," he burst out. Then he looked at me.
This one time, I was at a family reunion. I was feelin right jovial and tellin some jokes. You know, keepin the party goin. Then I told this joke about a snake which I thought was hilarious, but my cousin Maureen thought was in bad taste. It turns out her sister Cynthia had found herself a snake by the side of the road in the winter and taken it home to nurse back to health. They lived pretty happily all winter but, when spring came, that snake bit her and then had the temerity to blame it on Cynthia's own ignorance. Well, turns out that Maureen had just come from the hospital, where she was visitin Cynthia and wasn't in a mood to hear no snake jokes. Had I known, and known that the funeral would be a week later, I prolly woulda just told my bear joke. But I didn't know and so I told the snake joke and the look that Maureen shot me when I finished the snake joke was, up until Waldo looked at me, the scariest look I'd ever seen.
Waldo's look was, I would estimate, eight and a half times worse that Maureen's, especially accompanied with the words, "Here's as good a place as any."
He and Jimmy unzipped their own bodies, which I was ready to chalk up to another unicorn talent, and stepped out. I got a good look at em in the light and figured it out.
"Wait just a cotton pickin minute!" I shouted, putting my hands out. "You boys ain't unicorns! You look like ninjas!" Then I saw the platypus embroidered on their suits and my heart sank.
Jimmy just nodded. "That's right, Pat, We're ninjas."
I sighed deeply. "Yeah, yeah you are. But how'd you know I'd be here?"
Waldo explained, "Our informants told us all about your new 'ability' Pat. We know you can split yourself to move through space and time. And we also know how much you love going to the various Mauis around. Our leadership, in their infinite wisdom, placed ninjas on every Maui we could find in order to ambush you. All we had to do was wear these stupid unicorn costumes for three weeks, learn how to vomit rainbows and wait. I must say, I'm glad you've chosen our world to be ambushed on. We will be rewarded handsomely when we return your head to the Great Clan Council."
It sounded almost air tight, but I found the flaw. "You seem to have me," I told em. "But what's to stop me from just teleportin my big fluffy beard on out of here?"
Jimmy looked at Waldo and winked. "If I may."
"Be my guest," responded the other ninja.
"That green stuff in the crystal skull? That destroyed all the supersymmetry in the elementary particles you were relying on to transport you from place to place. Now, with no particle association, your particles no longer share quantum spin with the other particles elsewhere in the universe."
"I understood very little of that," I admitted.
"It's no jump juice," he summarized.
"That I understood."
"Good," Waldo interrupted, drawin his sword. "I think you'll understand what this means as well."
He drew his sword back and swung. I was focusin on the sword, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jimmy throwin somethin shiny. I figured it was a ninja star aimed for my eye or my heart or somewhere else vital.
I've had a good run. And if I die anywhere, it might as well be on Maui. I mean, I'd prefer to have a little time to say good bye to Frank and the rest of my family, instead of just disappearin into nothingness. I would also like to have made a dent in Clan Platypus, but, like I said before, I ain't really cut out for fightnin ninjas, I'm just not fast enough. And my senses just aren't good enough. I spose I deserve to go like this for gettin tied up in this whole mess.
These were the things I was thinkin when I should have been noticin what was goin on around me. Like, first, I shoulda noticed that Jimmy and Waldo were frozen in place, Waldo's sword millimeters from my throat and Jimmy's ninja star nearly pokin me in the eye. I should also have been noticin there was a giant grey cigar-lookin thing covered in blinkenlights hoverin a hundred feet or so above me. But I didn't notice any of that until the blinding light hit me and I was lifted into the air, up into the belly of the cigar. But then, the only thing I noticed was Douggy and Alistair breathin a sigh of relief.
Douggy yelled, "Thank goodness, Pat! We got you in the nick of time!"
Alistair told me, "Welcome aboard the Deus Ex Machina Pat!"
Then I needed to sit down.
I guess in that way, flaming cans fill of gasoline is a little like watchin a magma giant wrasslin match. They're both pretty risky in a gettin-plastic-surgery-to-replace-1/3-of-your-skin sorta way. I only says that because, just as I was gettin ready for Waldo and Jimmy to pay up on the bet we made, a splotch of magma broke off one of the giants, sailed over the heat shield and landed not three feet from us, ignitin our snacks. We jumped up and tried gettin out of the way, but then another blob landed not a foot on the other side of us. I turned to see what kinda accident it was and saw that the giants was makin balls of magma and INTENTIONALLY lobbin em our direction.
"Holy crow!" I yelled, "We best get up on out of here!"
And so we did. We started runnin away from the wrasslin ring just as fast as our ten legs could carry us, with fire fallin down all around us. Waldo was runnin so fast that his whole head started flappin backwards and hittin himself in the back. He kept reachin back and tryin to pull it back up, but it kept flyin backwards. He looked sorta like a pez dispenser with a broken spring in a wind tunnel. Only this must have been licorice flavored pez because it was black as night spent blindfolded under a velvet Elvis painting. I don't know which direction we'd headed, or even really how far, but by the time the blobs of fiery death stopped rainin around us, we was deep in the Hawaiian jungle. And believe you me, that ain't a place you want to end up when one of your unicorn friends has his head all floppin to the side, showin whole other head inside that one. I got to wonderin if maybe unicorns had heads like russian dolls, just head after head, gettin smaller and smaller until, way down inside, there's candy.
I didn't get to follow that train of thought because, before I could decided if it'd be more likely to be hard or chocolate candy, Jimmy looked around and shouted, "What was that all about?"
"I dunno," said Waldo, "but I heard some intelligence that said the magma giants were suspected of discovering our alliance with the ice giants and took poorly to it. It was all word-of-mouth stuff, so it wasn't actionable. But it now appears they're out to get us for some reason."
Jimmy turned to look at him, "You can say that again!" Then he saw the floppy head.
"Um, Waldo..." he gestured towards his head. "It's..it's off."
Waldo's inner head looked at his outer head. "Ah hell," he burst out. Then he looked at me.
This one time, I was at a family reunion. I was feelin right jovial and tellin some jokes. You know, keepin the party goin. Then I told this joke about a snake which I thought was hilarious, but my cousin Maureen thought was in bad taste. It turns out her sister Cynthia had found herself a snake by the side of the road in the winter and taken it home to nurse back to health. They lived pretty happily all winter but, when spring came, that snake bit her and then had the temerity to blame it on Cynthia's own ignorance. Well, turns out that Maureen had just come from the hospital, where she was visitin Cynthia and wasn't in a mood to hear no snake jokes. Had I known, and known that the funeral would be a week later, I prolly woulda just told my bear joke. But I didn't know and so I told the snake joke and the look that Maureen shot me when I finished the snake joke was, up until Waldo looked at me, the scariest look I'd ever seen.
Waldo's look was, I would estimate, eight and a half times worse that Maureen's, especially accompanied with the words, "Here's as good a place as any."
He and Jimmy unzipped their own bodies, which I was ready to chalk up to another unicorn talent, and stepped out. I got a good look at em in the light and figured it out.
"Wait just a cotton pickin minute!" I shouted, putting my hands out. "You boys ain't unicorns! You look like ninjas!" Then I saw the platypus embroidered on their suits and my heart sank.
Jimmy just nodded. "That's right, Pat, We're ninjas."
I sighed deeply. "Yeah, yeah you are. But how'd you know I'd be here?"
Waldo explained, "Our informants told us all about your new 'ability' Pat. We know you can split yourself to move through space and time. And we also know how much you love going to the various Mauis around. Our leadership, in their infinite wisdom, placed ninjas on every Maui we could find in order to ambush you. All we had to do was wear these stupid unicorn costumes for three weeks, learn how to vomit rainbows and wait. I must say, I'm glad you've chosen our world to be ambushed on. We will be rewarded handsomely when we return your head to the Great Clan Council."
It sounded almost air tight, but I found the flaw. "You seem to have me," I told em. "But what's to stop me from just teleportin my big fluffy beard on out of here?"
Jimmy looked at Waldo and winked. "If I may."
"Be my guest," responded the other ninja.
"That green stuff in the crystal skull? That destroyed all the supersymmetry in the elementary particles you were relying on to transport you from place to place. Now, with no particle association, your particles no longer share quantum spin with the other particles elsewhere in the universe."
"I understood very little of that," I admitted.
"It's no jump juice," he summarized.
"That I understood."
"Good," Waldo interrupted, drawin his sword. "I think you'll understand what this means as well."
He drew his sword back and swung. I was focusin on the sword, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jimmy throwin somethin shiny. I figured it was a ninja star aimed for my eye or my heart or somewhere else vital.
I've had a good run. And if I die anywhere, it might as well be on Maui. I mean, I'd prefer to have a little time to say good bye to Frank and the rest of my family, instead of just disappearin into nothingness. I would also like to have made a dent in Clan Platypus, but, like I said before, I ain't really cut out for fightnin ninjas, I'm just not fast enough. And my senses just aren't good enough. I spose I deserve to go like this for gettin tied up in this whole mess.
These were the things I was thinkin when I should have been noticin what was goin on around me. Like, first, I shoulda noticed that Jimmy and Waldo were frozen in place, Waldo's sword millimeters from my throat and Jimmy's ninja star nearly pokin me in the eye. I should also have been noticin there was a giant grey cigar-lookin thing covered in blinkenlights hoverin a hundred feet or so above me. But I didn't notice any of that until the blinding light hit me and I was lifted into the air, up into the belly of the cigar. But then, the only thing I noticed was Douggy and Alistair breathin a sigh of relief.
Douggy yelled, "Thank goodness, Pat! We got you in the nick of time!"
Alistair told me, "Welcome aboard the Deus Ex Machina Pat!"
Then I needed to sit down.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Flufferchunk
Boy howdy, I loves bein on vacation. For starters, I got to sleep in a bed as big as my house. For another, they got a credit card on file here with my name on it and it seems to have no limit. And for a whole other, it's a whole bunch easier to make friends with unicorns after a buffet breakfast and a coupla Mai-Thais at ten in the mornin. Don't judge me, I'm on vacation and it's noon somewhere. And Bobby turned out to be true to his word and got me hooked up with some great vacation stuff.
In fact, just this mornin, after the aforementioned Mai-Thais and buffet lunch, I got on a bus and rode out to see a couple of the famous Maui volcanoes. I always wanted to see the volcanoes, but I was a little put off after that whole divin-into-a-volcano-and-runnin-into-some-crazy-penguins thing I did a while back. I mean, I'm still pretty interested in magma and all that, but fightin giants turns out not to be my thing. But that's where this vacation had interest for me. Not only was I assured that the volcano would be safe and I would get lunch cooked on magma, but the only giant fighting would be done by other giants. All we would have to do is watch the magma giants wrestle each other and, if we card to, make a wager on the match. And this trip has taught me a couple things about the world. First, it is right tough to judge which magma giant is gonna be a better wrestler. I mean, first of all, I ain't never seen no magma giant wrestlin another magma giant. Sure, I saw Hulk Hogan wrestle that magma giant at Wrestlemania IV, but I'm pretty sure that was rigged. Then, I saw Andy Kaufmann wrestle that magma giantess, but that could very well have been rigged as well, and even if it wasn't, it's not like Kaufmann was really a wrestler. Plus, he was wearin that asbestos suit the whole time. It could have been anyone under that mask. So, like I says, I ain't never seen a real giant on giant, magma a magma match, so I didn't know if I should be lookin for speed or power in the fight. Turns out, if you're gonna be bettin, the biggest factor is heat.
Them magma giants, as I've discovered, don't wrestle like you and I wrestle. I feel silly for not thinkin of it earlier, but, when you can just melt back into the loving bosom of the volcanic lava what spawned you, gettin pinned is a near impossibility. Also, not havin bones makes it right tough to get yerself into a submission hold. So, it seems that there's a weird combination of poundin on the other guy and tryin to hold him long enough that you can catch him on fire so he'll just quit. Some of these matches go on for days, the unicorns tell me. We was just watchin a fake match put on for the sake of tourists, though, like the kick boxing matches down in Thailand, or people in Maine pretendin to be friendly and folksy during the summer. But, unlike real Thai kickboxin or modern, surly Mainers, it's not possible for someone with a sense of adventure to go see a real magma giant wrestlin match. Well, that is, if'n that person wanted to come back alive and unsplashed with molten rock.
I gotta say, I'm ok with that, though. I got to hang out and cheer with some of the unicorns on the trip. I met a couple of nice fellers named Jimmy and Waldo. Those boys was a hoot, I tell ya. It started with us enjoyin the open bar on the way to the volcano. I tell ya, I seen some open bars in my time, but them unicorns know how to do it up right. There was a full bar right there on the bus, most of it filled with things I ain't never seen before. There was bottles filled with purple fizzy stuff, jars topped off with red swirlin stuff and this crystal skull sat at the back filled with green stuff that was smokin, but when you drank it, it was colder than a witch's funbag at the bottom of a well. Tasted just like that, too. But after the first couple of sips, it was like there was fireworks goin off in my head, but instead of burnin sulfur comin out when they exploded, there was puppies carryin balloons made out of candy. I ain't never felt nothin like it, so I had me another one. By then, Jimmy and Waldo had moved on to the purple fizzy stuff. I tried a sip of it, but it tasted like someone had lit a diaper full of curry and cat hair on fire, so I decided to pass.
By the time we got off the bus to watch the wrestlin, we were in pretty bad shape. The tour company had planned for that, because they had a golf cart waitin to take us up the mountain. On the way up, Jimmy and Waldo explained to me that unicorns was hard drinkers, but were always fun drunks. To illustrate the point, Jimmy climbed to the top of the cart, yelled the extended "WHOOOOOO!" cry of drunks everywhere and promptly vomited. Which brings me to another lesson I learned today. When unicorns vomit, they vomit rainbows. And I ain't talkin rainbow colored vomit like what you get when you eat skittles while you got the flu, but a real, honest to goodness rainbow. And it smells like nachos.
Even if a rainbow smellin like nachos has the effect of makin me hungry, it has the same effect on unicorns as human vomit does on humans. So Waldo saw Jimmy "cheese sauce the rainbow" as they say, and he cheese sauced his own rainbow. Then there was rainbows and nacho smell shootin everywhere. I was just laughin at it all until, one guffaw too far, I joined in the festivities in my own ways. I don't know if it was the breakfast I'd had or what I was drinkin, but it wasn't my usual throw up. I may have been in the middle of deep heaves that was clearin my stomach and my head, but I swear I saw a puppy come out of my mouth. It was a pug. And it was carryin a balloon. Made of candy. The unicorns found this incredibly funny, which made me feel a whole lot better about it.
By the time we got to the wrestlin match, we had our heads cleared and we was in a right jovial mood, and hungry to boot. Lucky for us, there was a personal chef at the wrestlin match that was willin to cook whatever we wanted. Me, I was lookin forward to a grilled cheese and tomato. When the chef didn't know what that was, and I had to explain it to him, Jimmy and Waldo yelled, "EW! You can't be serious!"
Apparently, that is the worst concoction imaginable for unicorns. For me, it's a sensible, light lunch. We got some understanding of cultural differences and they allowed me my lunch. Those two ordered something called "Flufferclunk". When I asked them what it was, they just told me, "you'll see".
And see I did. My sandwich was delivered on a paper plate by a gloved waiter wearin a gas mask, presumably so he would cheese sauce the rainbow while serving me. Conversely, the Flufferchunk came out on a royal palanquin carried by four stout horses wearin togas. This was all preceded by a coupla unicorns playin a revile on some trumpet-lookin horns and flag bearers, well, bearin flags. In the background, there was fireworks bein shot off and a whole gaggle of women unicorns throwin flower petals and weepin for the beauty of the thing.
Jimmy and Waldo was right excited when they set down the palanquin and the dish was visible. It was a towering mountain of rainbow colored substance that could have been meat or a vegetable covered in what appeared to be marshmallow sauce. There was sparklers in the top. It made my grilled cheese and tomato look like the vilest concoction known to man-or unicorn kind. Then the smell of the thing hit me. Imagine the smell of your grandpa's feet after bein peed on by a musk ox that's been eatin nothin but stinkbugs all day. It was exactly the opposite of that. As soon as I smelled this thing, my mouth watered so much that saliva started pouring out my nose and ears.
"What is that?" I asked, awed.
"That, my friend, is Flufferchunk!" beamed Waldo.
"Yeah," I responded, "but what IS it?"
Jimmy asked, "Why, do you want some?"
"Yeah," I shouted.
"Are you sure?" asked Waldo, winking at Jimmy.
"I'm completely sure."
Jimmy leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It's unicorn."
I was shocked! "What? Really?"
"Oh yeah," Waldo said. "We're not all caught up in that human morality. And, really, just smell it. Doesn't that smell delicious?"
"It sure does," I concurred. "But I feel weird eating it."
Jimmy told me, "Nah, don't worry about it." Then he turned to a waiter, "Some Flufferchunk for my friend here."
They brought me a tray piled high with the rainbow colored meat. I was really torn. On the one hand, I was gonna be eatin unicorn in front of unicorns, which made me feel that guilt you get eatin a fish sandwich at the Aquarium, only much bigger. On the other hand, my nose was tellin me it was gonna taste like a Philly with donuts for the bun. After a short, but valiant, struggle, my guilt gave up and wandered away to nurse its wounds for the next battle, and I lifted a piece to my mouth.
As my teeth sank into the meat and it exploded into a taste flavor in my mouth like, well, I ain't sure, but somethin hot and salty that can explode in your mouth, like, maybe a water balloon filled with crackers, but they'd have to be liquid crackers. It ain't important right now. The important thing is that just as the flavor was makin rockets go off on my tongue, I heard bales of laughter.
"Oh my god! He did it!" yelled Jimmy.
"I can't believe it!" retorted Waldo.
"You sick bastard!" they yelled in unison.
I felt my heart sink. "I'm sthorry," I murmured around the food, "you sthaid it'd be all right."
They doubled over in laughter again. "It's fine!" Jimmy said. "It's not really unicorn! We were just seein if you'd really eat it when you thought it was. AND YOU DID!" This set them off laughing again.
Waldo slapped me on the back, "You may be a rube, but you're allright, Pat."
I figured if they weren't telling me to spit it out, I'd just keep eating. When they were ready to talk again, about ten minutes later, I got to ask them what it really was. Turns out Flufferchunk is a kind of fruit that grows on unicorn Maui. It also turns out that all unicorns are vegan, which explains their disdain of my grilled cheese. Of course, with fruit that tastes like this, I could be vegan, too.
In fact, just this mornin, after the aforementioned Mai-Thais and buffet lunch, I got on a bus and rode out to see a couple of the famous Maui volcanoes. I always wanted to see the volcanoes, but I was a little put off after that whole divin-into-a-volcano-and-runnin-into-some-crazy-penguins thing I did a while back. I mean, I'm still pretty interested in magma and all that, but fightin giants turns out not to be my thing. But that's where this vacation had interest for me. Not only was I assured that the volcano would be safe and I would get lunch cooked on magma, but the only giant fighting would be done by other giants. All we would have to do is watch the magma giants wrestle each other and, if we card to, make a wager on the match. And this trip has taught me a couple things about the world. First, it is right tough to judge which magma giant is gonna be a better wrestler. I mean, first of all, I ain't never seen no magma giant wrestlin another magma giant. Sure, I saw Hulk Hogan wrestle that magma giant at Wrestlemania IV, but I'm pretty sure that was rigged. Then, I saw Andy Kaufmann wrestle that magma giantess, but that could very well have been rigged as well, and even if it wasn't, it's not like Kaufmann was really a wrestler. Plus, he was wearin that asbestos suit the whole time. It could have been anyone under that mask. So, like I says, I ain't never seen a real giant on giant, magma a magma match, so I didn't know if I should be lookin for speed or power in the fight. Turns out, if you're gonna be bettin, the biggest factor is heat.
Them magma giants, as I've discovered, don't wrestle like you and I wrestle. I feel silly for not thinkin of it earlier, but, when you can just melt back into the loving bosom of the volcanic lava what spawned you, gettin pinned is a near impossibility. Also, not havin bones makes it right tough to get yerself into a submission hold. So, it seems that there's a weird combination of poundin on the other guy and tryin to hold him long enough that you can catch him on fire so he'll just quit. Some of these matches go on for days, the unicorns tell me. We was just watchin a fake match put on for the sake of tourists, though, like the kick boxing matches down in Thailand, or people in Maine pretendin to be friendly and folksy during the summer. But, unlike real Thai kickboxin or modern, surly Mainers, it's not possible for someone with a sense of adventure to go see a real magma giant wrestlin match. Well, that is, if'n that person wanted to come back alive and unsplashed with molten rock.
I gotta say, I'm ok with that, though. I got to hang out and cheer with some of the unicorns on the trip. I met a couple of nice fellers named Jimmy and Waldo. Those boys was a hoot, I tell ya. It started with us enjoyin the open bar on the way to the volcano. I tell ya, I seen some open bars in my time, but them unicorns know how to do it up right. There was a full bar right there on the bus, most of it filled with things I ain't never seen before. There was bottles filled with purple fizzy stuff, jars topped off with red swirlin stuff and this crystal skull sat at the back filled with green stuff that was smokin, but when you drank it, it was colder than a witch's funbag at the bottom of a well. Tasted just like that, too. But after the first couple of sips, it was like there was fireworks goin off in my head, but instead of burnin sulfur comin out when they exploded, there was puppies carryin balloons made out of candy. I ain't never felt nothin like it, so I had me another one. By then, Jimmy and Waldo had moved on to the purple fizzy stuff. I tried a sip of it, but it tasted like someone had lit a diaper full of curry and cat hair on fire, so I decided to pass.
By the time we got off the bus to watch the wrestlin, we were in pretty bad shape. The tour company had planned for that, because they had a golf cart waitin to take us up the mountain. On the way up, Jimmy and Waldo explained to me that unicorns was hard drinkers, but were always fun drunks. To illustrate the point, Jimmy climbed to the top of the cart, yelled the extended "WHOOOOOO!" cry of drunks everywhere and promptly vomited. Which brings me to another lesson I learned today. When unicorns vomit, they vomit rainbows. And I ain't talkin rainbow colored vomit like what you get when you eat skittles while you got the flu, but a real, honest to goodness rainbow. And it smells like nachos.
Even if a rainbow smellin like nachos has the effect of makin me hungry, it has the same effect on unicorns as human vomit does on humans. So Waldo saw Jimmy "cheese sauce the rainbow" as they say, and he cheese sauced his own rainbow. Then there was rainbows and nacho smell shootin everywhere. I was just laughin at it all until, one guffaw too far, I joined in the festivities in my own ways. I don't know if it was the breakfast I'd had or what I was drinkin, but it wasn't my usual throw up. I may have been in the middle of deep heaves that was clearin my stomach and my head, but I swear I saw a puppy come out of my mouth. It was a pug. And it was carryin a balloon. Made of candy. The unicorns found this incredibly funny, which made me feel a whole lot better about it.
By the time we got to the wrestlin match, we had our heads cleared and we was in a right jovial mood, and hungry to boot. Lucky for us, there was a personal chef at the wrestlin match that was willin to cook whatever we wanted. Me, I was lookin forward to a grilled cheese and tomato. When the chef didn't know what that was, and I had to explain it to him, Jimmy and Waldo yelled, "EW! You can't be serious!"
Apparently, that is the worst concoction imaginable for unicorns. For me, it's a sensible, light lunch. We got some understanding of cultural differences and they allowed me my lunch. Those two ordered something called "Flufferclunk". When I asked them what it was, they just told me, "you'll see".
And see I did. My sandwich was delivered on a paper plate by a gloved waiter wearin a gas mask, presumably so he would cheese sauce the rainbow while serving me. Conversely, the Flufferchunk came out on a royal palanquin carried by four stout horses wearin togas. This was all preceded by a coupla unicorns playin a revile on some trumpet-lookin horns and flag bearers, well, bearin flags. In the background, there was fireworks bein shot off and a whole gaggle of women unicorns throwin flower petals and weepin for the beauty of the thing.
Jimmy and Waldo was right excited when they set down the palanquin and the dish was visible. It was a towering mountain of rainbow colored substance that could have been meat or a vegetable covered in what appeared to be marshmallow sauce. There was sparklers in the top. It made my grilled cheese and tomato look like the vilest concoction known to man-or unicorn kind. Then the smell of the thing hit me. Imagine the smell of your grandpa's feet after bein peed on by a musk ox that's been eatin nothin but stinkbugs all day. It was exactly the opposite of that. As soon as I smelled this thing, my mouth watered so much that saliva started pouring out my nose and ears.
"What is that?" I asked, awed.
"That, my friend, is Flufferchunk!" beamed Waldo.
"Yeah," I responded, "but what IS it?"
Jimmy asked, "Why, do you want some?"
"Yeah," I shouted.
"Are you sure?" asked Waldo, winking at Jimmy.
"I'm completely sure."
Jimmy leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It's unicorn."
I was shocked! "What? Really?"
"Oh yeah," Waldo said. "We're not all caught up in that human morality. And, really, just smell it. Doesn't that smell delicious?"
"It sure does," I concurred. "But I feel weird eating it."
Jimmy told me, "Nah, don't worry about it." Then he turned to a waiter, "Some Flufferchunk for my friend here."
They brought me a tray piled high with the rainbow colored meat. I was really torn. On the one hand, I was gonna be eatin unicorn in front of unicorns, which made me feel that guilt you get eatin a fish sandwich at the Aquarium, only much bigger. On the other hand, my nose was tellin me it was gonna taste like a Philly with donuts for the bun. After a short, but valiant, struggle, my guilt gave up and wandered away to nurse its wounds for the next battle, and I lifted a piece to my mouth.
As my teeth sank into the meat and it exploded into a taste flavor in my mouth like, well, I ain't sure, but somethin hot and salty that can explode in your mouth, like, maybe a water balloon filled with crackers, but they'd have to be liquid crackers. It ain't important right now. The important thing is that just as the flavor was makin rockets go off on my tongue, I heard bales of laughter.
"Oh my god! He did it!" yelled Jimmy.
"I can't believe it!" retorted Waldo.
"You sick bastard!" they yelled in unison.
I felt my heart sink. "I'm sthorry," I murmured around the food, "you sthaid it'd be all right."
They doubled over in laughter again. "It's fine!" Jimmy said. "It's not really unicorn! We were just seein if you'd really eat it when you thought it was. AND YOU DID!" This set them off laughing again.
Waldo slapped me on the back, "You may be a rube, but you're allright, Pat."
I figured if they weren't telling me to spit it out, I'd just keep eating. When they were ready to talk again, about ten minutes later, I got to ask them what it really was. Turns out Flufferchunk is a kind of fruit that grows on unicorn Maui. It also turns out that all unicorns are vegan, which explains their disdain of my grilled cheese. Of course, with fruit that tastes like this, I could be vegan, too.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Maui
The next few days passed in relative quiet. Relative, that is, compared to a mortuary holding a funeral for a deaf mime attended only by church mice who are, themselves, mimes. I ain't never been nowhere quite so dull as this spaceship. I swear, I musta played eight hundred million hands of cribbage. It was just gettin to the point where I was thinkin about not attendin the next makin stuff up contest and just sittin myself down in the hammock instead. I guess it was really the first time I've had to slow down since this whole thing with Clan Platypus had got started and it gave me a little time to think.
On the one hand, I got to thinkin about how I was just a regular guy from Iowa, and I don't know why I was in this mess in the first place. I mean, if my Mable Lou had never got herself hit by that flamin couch all them months ago, I coulda prolly just got myself a job workin with Douggy or even gotten that job my cousin has where he writes Slayer all over them bar walls. I coulda done that. Sure, I've never actually heard of the band, but I don't think that matters a whole lot. I can write all right, especially on walls. In fact, I nearly got myself a PhD in Literature once. No kidding. I wrote my dissertation on the use of Vodka to represent sadness and a loss of self in Russian literature and how that led directly to the sense of overwhelming sadness present in post-modern literature. I was runnin around with this theater troop at the time and they was doin all this performance art stuff like smearin themselves with eggs and ham while yellin "McMuffin!" I thought it was neat, and there was a girl in the troupe I was interested in, so, to impress them, I wrote my entire dissertation on the wall of a bathroom, hopin that'd give it the extra oomph it needed. Sadly, the day before I defended it, the whole bathroom went up in flames when some farm kids from around town decided it'd be fun to drink Everclear and then light their farts on fire. My advisor didn't believe that'd happened and thought I was treatin him like he was stupid so he got me thrown out of the university for ever and had my entire record expunged, so now it looks like I just got myself a sixth grade education. Wait a second, I think I just confused myself with this guy I saw on the teevee news once. I actually only have a sixth grade education and I spent the years I woulda been in college stuffin paper into the toes of shoes and drinkin beers with Douggy when I got off work. This one time, we was drinkin Everclear and, well, I'd tell ya the rest if the court order allowed it. Suffice it to say, we had ourselves a hot time. But if anyone ever calls you about me puttin that on my resume, you just go ahead and tell them the first story. I'll cover for you, too, if you need me to.
Point bein, I wasn't really qualified to get pulled into this whole big ball o' mess. I'm sure there's people more suited to travellin through space to help some hyper-intelligent genetic mutants fight ninjas tryin to sell meth, also interstellarly. I mean, there's gotta be at least ONE space travellin, meth hatin, good ninja out there somewhere, right? But then, that got me thinkin about how all them people down on that planet was havin their lives turned inside out by these ninjas and their crazy robots and their drugs and all. And I thought that, if I was the only one who could do this, I might as well do it as best I could. I just wish that I could get a vacation every now and again.
It was that second line of thought I was on when we landed on the moon and I was shuffled through immigration, shown an orientation video, given a name tag (which I thought was silly until I saw it was full of numbers, which I was told were the space coordinates of the Earth I came from), given a shower, checked for ticks and finally escorted into a doctor's office. In the miracle of all miracles, the doctor was there just nearly as soon as I sat down. I know, it shocked me, too. I was under the impression that there was nowhere in the universe you could go see a doctor without waitin at least an hour in the office only to be told something like, "I don't know what's wrong. Go home and come back if it gets worse. Oh, and that'll be $250." Well, that doctor didn't do none of those things. He checked me over, talked to me like I was a person, moved quickly and efficiently and then didn't charge me nothin. Turns out the Squimonk buy their insurance on worlds that are about 30 years behind ours where, when someone buys insurance, the insurance actually pays for doctors and stuff, without the insurance holder havin to pay anything. I know, I was shocked, too.
At the end of the checkup, the doctor told me that my cholesterol was at the right level and asked me if I'd like to drink the spider poison. In the three or four times in my life up to this point that I have been offered spider poison to drink, I have generally turned it down. That one time I didn't, I regretted it in the morning, boy howdy. But, after hearin everything that Captain Pat and the other Pat had told me about interstellar travel and whatnot, I figured, what the heck, I wouldn't mind teleportin. So, I took the shot.
Then I was in a hotel lobby.
I didn't have too much time to be confused before a bellboy came over me and said, "Mr. Pat O'Neil?"
"Er, yeah," I responded.
"Your room is ready, sir," he explained and then gestured for me to follow. "No luggage, as usual, sir?"
"Er, yeah," I said. He talked a little more, mostly just bein officious, but I wasn't payin much attention. I was too busy starin at how nice this hotel was. There was marble everywhere, for one. And the guests looked a little different than what I'm used to seein in a hotel. I didn't know if it was just me or if there was something else. I mean, I'm used to stayin down there at the Motel 6 when I travel, and they rarely have cavernous lobbies with four star restaurants and gold piping everywhere. They also don't usually have bellhops. I kept it to myself for a bit, just tryin to take in the scene.
Lookin through one of the restaurants, I saw there was a white sand beach with clear blue water and palm trees outside. I thought so. "I'm in Maui, ain't I?" I asked.
"Indeed you are, sir," the bellhop responded. "And I'll never get tired of you asking me that."
I chuckled, rememberin what the other Pat's had told me about most Pats goin to Maui when they first got hit with the spider poison. I figured, I might as well enjoy myself for a while. After all, I was just sayin I deserved a vacation. And, if I remembered right, I should just pop back into the doctor's office at the same time as I left.
The bellboy and I stepped into the elevator, which gave me a better chance to get a glimpse of him in the mirror. He was kinda pale and had long hair stickin out from under his cap, which would be unprofessional where I come from, but I guess it's allowed on other planets. Even without the hair, he was a kinda strange lookin fella. He had a pretty long nose that rounded at the end and nostrils I could almost see into from the back of his head. He also had some kind of funny growth or somethin on his forehead. He didn't seem to be tryin to cover it up, so I don't guess he was too embarrassed by it.
That's all I got to see before the elevator dinged and he announced, "Penthouse, sir."
The doors opened onto a room that looked like I always imagined an Arabian palace would. There was pillows and drapes everywhere. They also had a bunch of them weird lamps you hear about genies comin out of that don't look like real lamps but look a lot more like gravy boats with string stickin out of 'em. "Well, thank ya kindly," I told the bellboy. I turned to see him holdin his hand out, waitin for a tip.
"Oh, yeah," I stammered. "I ain't got no money on me right now, but could I bill a tip to the room?"
"That would be acceptable, sir," he said, less snotty than it sounded just now in your head when you read it. He was actually a pretty nice guy, just tryin to make his way, you know.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small clipboard. "If you'll just fill this out," he said, handing me the clipboard, "it will all be taken care of. We already have your card on file."
I took the board from him, "Oh, yeah, sure." I filled it out, givin him a pretty generous tip, signed it, then handed it back to him.
As he took the clipboard, our hands touched briefly. His hand was harder than I really expect for a person, even one that works in the fields all the time. Then I looked at him a little closer. "Wait a minute..." I said.
"Yes, sir?"
"You're one of them...them, oh, what's the word?"
"A bellhop, sir?"
"Nah, that ain't it...ah, I got it! You're one of them unicorns, ain't ya?"
He looked blankly for a second. "Yes, sir. As I explained last time, I and everyone else in this hotel is a unicorn. I don't understand why you make the same joke every time you check in, but, honestly, it's beginning to grate."
"Now, don't get me wrong," I back peddled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just I ain't never seen a real live...you know, one of y'all, before."
"One of y'all?!?!" he bellowed. "And just what do you mean by that!?!?! You know what you are? You're speciest! You filthy speciest!"
I was real embarrassed now. "Nah, it ain't nothin like that. I..look, I'm sorry."
He broke into a girn and then started laughin. "Hahahahahaha! I'm sorry, I couldn't resist! The other bellhops told me about you and your copies jumpin in here every once in awhile seemin all confused. I didn't believe it but they told me, they told me, you..." he broke down into hysterical laughter.
"Told you what?" I was curious.
He doubled over for a bit. When he was ready, he stood up and wiped his eyes. "Ok, ok...whew! I'm sorry about that, sir. But they told me you'd say 'You're one of them unicorns, ain't ya?' right after you tipped me. They also told me they always pull the old speciest joke on ya because you got a good sense of humor and can take it."
"You know," I told him, "that is pretty funny. You got me good, friend. What's your name?"
"Bobby," he said, shakin my hand. "And if you need anything, anything at all, Mr. O'Neil, just ask for me."
"Sure will, Bobby."
He stepped back into the elevator. "Enjoy your stay, sir."
"I will," I told him. Then I settled down to enjoy a week in unicorn Maui.
On the one hand, I got to thinkin about how I was just a regular guy from Iowa, and I don't know why I was in this mess in the first place. I mean, if my Mable Lou had never got herself hit by that flamin couch all them months ago, I coulda prolly just got myself a job workin with Douggy or even gotten that job my cousin has where he writes Slayer all over them bar walls. I coulda done that. Sure, I've never actually heard of the band, but I don't think that matters a whole lot. I can write all right, especially on walls. In fact, I nearly got myself a PhD in Literature once. No kidding. I wrote my dissertation on the use of Vodka to represent sadness and a loss of self in Russian literature and how that led directly to the sense of overwhelming sadness present in post-modern literature. I was runnin around with this theater troop at the time and they was doin all this performance art stuff like smearin themselves with eggs and ham while yellin "McMuffin!" I thought it was neat, and there was a girl in the troupe I was interested in, so, to impress them, I wrote my entire dissertation on the wall of a bathroom, hopin that'd give it the extra oomph it needed. Sadly, the day before I defended it, the whole bathroom went up in flames when some farm kids from around town decided it'd be fun to drink Everclear and then light their farts on fire. My advisor didn't believe that'd happened and thought I was treatin him like he was stupid so he got me thrown out of the university for ever and had my entire record expunged, so now it looks like I just got myself a sixth grade education. Wait a second, I think I just confused myself with this guy I saw on the teevee news once. I actually only have a sixth grade education and I spent the years I woulda been in college stuffin paper into the toes of shoes and drinkin beers with Douggy when I got off work. This one time, we was drinkin Everclear and, well, I'd tell ya the rest if the court order allowed it. Suffice it to say, we had ourselves a hot time. But if anyone ever calls you about me puttin that on my resume, you just go ahead and tell them the first story. I'll cover for you, too, if you need me to.
Point bein, I wasn't really qualified to get pulled into this whole big ball o' mess. I'm sure there's people more suited to travellin through space to help some hyper-intelligent genetic mutants fight ninjas tryin to sell meth, also interstellarly. I mean, there's gotta be at least ONE space travellin, meth hatin, good ninja out there somewhere, right? But then, that got me thinkin about how all them people down on that planet was havin their lives turned inside out by these ninjas and their crazy robots and their drugs and all. And I thought that, if I was the only one who could do this, I might as well do it as best I could. I just wish that I could get a vacation every now and again.
It was that second line of thought I was on when we landed on the moon and I was shuffled through immigration, shown an orientation video, given a name tag (which I thought was silly until I saw it was full of numbers, which I was told were the space coordinates of the Earth I came from), given a shower, checked for ticks and finally escorted into a doctor's office. In the miracle of all miracles, the doctor was there just nearly as soon as I sat down. I know, it shocked me, too. I was under the impression that there was nowhere in the universe you could go see a doctor without waitin at least an hour in the office only to be told something like, "I don't know what's wrong. Go home and come back if it gets worse. Oh, and that'll be $250." Well, that doctor didn't do none of those things. He checked me over, talked to me like I was a person, moved quickly and efficiently and then didn't charge me nothin. Turns out the Squimonk buy their insurance on worlds that are about 30 years behind ours where, when someone buys insurance, the insurance actually pays for doctors and stuff, without the insurance holder havin to pay anything. I know, I was shocked, too.
At the end of the checkup, the doctor told me that my cholesterol was at the right level and asked me if I'd like to drink the spider poison. In the three or four times in my life up to this point that I have been offered spider poison to drink, I have generally turned it down. That one time I didn't, I regretted it in the morning, boy howdy. But, after hearin everything that Captain Pat and the other Pat had told me about interstellar travel and whatnot, I figured, what the heck, I wouldn't mind teleportin. So, I took the shot.
Then I was in a hotel lobby.
I didn't have too much time to be confused before a bellboy came over me and said, "Mr. Pat O'Neil?"
"Er, yeah," I responded.
"Your room is ready, sir," he explained and then gestured for me to follow. "No luggage, as usual, sir?"
"Er, yeah," I said. He talked a little more, mostly just bein officious, but I wasn't payin much attention. I was too busy starin at how nice this hotel was. There was marble everywhere, for one. And the guests looked a little different than what I'm used to seein in a hotel. I didn't know if it was just me or if there was something else. I mean, I'm used to stayin down there at the Motel 6 when I travel, and they rarely have cavernous lobbies with four star restaurants and gold piping everywhere. They also don't usually have bellhops. I kept it to myself for a bit, just tryin to take in the scene.
Lookin through one of the restaurants, I saw there was a white sand beach with clear blue water and palm trees outside. I thought so. "I'm in Maui, ain't I?" I asked.
"Indeed you are, sir," the bellhop responded. "And I'll never get tired of you asking me that."
I chuckled, rememberin what the other Pat's had told me about most Pats goin to Maui when they first got hit with the spider poison. I figured, I might as well enjoy myself for a while. After all, I was just sayin I deserved a vacation. And, if I remembered right, I should just pop back into the doctor's office at the same time as I left.
The bellboy and I stepped into the elevator, which gave me a better chance to get a glimpse of him in the mirror. He was kinda pale and had long hair stickin out from under his cap, which would be unprofessional where I come from, but I guess it's allowed on other planets. Even without the hair, he was a kinda strange lookin fella. He had a pretty long nose that rounded at the end and nostrils I could almost see into from the back of his head. He also had some kind of funny growth or somethin on his forehead. He didn't seem to be tryin to cover it up, so I don't guess he was too embarrassed by it.
That's all I got to see before the elevator dinged and he announced, "Penthouse, sir."
The doors opened onto a room that looked like I always imagined an Arabian palace would. There was pillows and drapes everywhere. They also had a bunch of them weird lamps you hear about genies comin out of that don't look like real lamps but look a lot more like gravy boats with string stickin out of 'em. "Well, thank ya kindly," I told the bellboy. I turned to see him holdin his hand out, waitin for a tip.
"Oh, yeah," I stammered. "I ain't got no money on me right now, but could I bill a tip to the room?"
"That would be acceptable, sir," he said, less snotty than it sounded just now in your head when you read it. He was actually a pretty nice guy, just tryin to make his way, you know.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small clipboard. "If you'll just fill this out," he said, handing me the clipboard, "it will all be taken care of. We already have your card on file."
I took the board from him, "Oh, yeah, sure." I filled it out, givin him a pretty generous tip, signed it, then handed it back to him.
As he took the clipboard, our hands touched briefly. His hand was harder than I really expect for a person, even one that works in the fields all the time. Then I looked at him a little closer. "Wait a minute..." I said.
"Yes, sir?"
"You're one of them...them, oh, what's the word?"
"A bellhop, sir?"
"Nah, that ain't it...ah, I got it! You're one of them unicorns, ain't ya?"
He looked blankly for a second. "Yes, sir. As I explained last time, I and everyone else in this hotel is a unicorn. I don't understand why you make the same joke every time you check in, but, honestly, it's beginning to grate."
"Now, don't get me wrong," I back peddled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just I ain't never seen a real live...you know, one of y'all, before."
"One of y'all?!?!" he bellowed. "And just what do you mean by that!?!?! You know what you are? You're speciest! You filthy speciest!"
I was real embarrassed now. "Nah, it ain't nothin like that. I..look, I'm sorry."
He broke into a girn and then started laughin. "Hahahahahaha! I'm sorry, I couldn't resist! The other bellhops told me about you and your copies jumpin in here every once in awhile seemin all confused. I didn't believe it but they told me, they told me, you..." he broke down into hysterical laughter.
"Told you what?" I was curious.
He doubled over for a bit. When he was ready, he stood up and wiped his eyes. "Ok, ok...whew! I'm sorry about that, sir. But they told me you'd say 'You're one of them unicorns, ain't ya?' right after you tipped me. They also told me they always pull the old speciest joke on ya because you got a good sense of humor and can take it."
"You know," I told him, "that is pretty funny. You got me good, friend. What's your name?"
"Bobby," he said, shakin my hand. "And if you need anything, anything at all, Mr. O'Neil, just ask for me."
"Sure will, Bobby."
He stepped back into the elevator. "Enjoy your stay, sir."
"I will," I told him. Then I settled down to enjoy a week in unicorn Maui.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Ropin a Spider
"So then, where was I?" asked Captain Pat when I entered his cabin.
"You was right there in that chair," I told him.
"No, no," he protested, "where was I last time we talked."
I never knew I was so dense. "Like I says, you was sittin right there in that chair. It may have been an inch or two to the left or right, but I don't think that makes much of a difference. I mean, we're pretty much the same guy, so there's no need to stand on ceremony."
He looked for a moment and then told me, "You know, I just realized somethin. I'm either the densest man in the known universe or I am an absolute genius. I'm sittin here tryin to out think you, and my brain's just runnin in circles like a doberman on coffee tryin to catch its tail."
I wanted to be polite, so I shot him a, "Thank ya kindly."
"Yeah, sure," he said, distractedly. "I meant, um, hold on, let me word this carefully...Uh, ok. What was the last part of the story I told ya last night before you went to sleep?"
I had it. "You left off on a sort of cliffhanger. I thought it was a little contrived, myself, but I just went ahead and let it slide. I done the same thing myself once in awhile, cause, sometimes, there just ain't nothin else you can do. I mean, unless your story is totally contained in one neat little package, you're gonna have to leave off somewhere. And, really, who wants to hear a story that comes in a neat little package? I mean, except for all those lovers of short stories and news clips. Just don't feel right, though. Just don't feel right."
"Why, you hit the nail right on its flat little head there, Pat. Why, I tell ya, any story wrapped up in a little package leaves a lot of questions unanswered. I figure, the longer the story, the more likely you are to answer all the questions. And I mean ALL the questions. Even the big ones, like 'Why are we here?' and 'Why are we so unhappy all the time?' and 'What's for breakfast?' I gotta say, for me, those long stories, if they're told right, can answer all them questions."
"I'd say that's true," I confirmed, "but I don't want ya thinkin all them long stories answer them questions. And most of em answer the questions in a couple different ways, which is confusin to me. I mean, what do they expect me to do? Figure it all out for myself? That'd be rich, wouldn't it?"
"Sure would, Pat, sure would," he nodded like we'd said something actually meaningful, even though both of us really knew we were just passin the time by tryin to sound smart. I didn't think much would come of it.
Then, he broke the spell by sittin bolt upright and shoutin, "I got it! The spiders! We was talkin about catchin the spiders!"
"Actually," I had to tell him, "you was talkin about almost catchin the spiders. In fact, you'd just told me about the one that got away. And then you implied that later, you made it so's they couldn't get away."
"Ah, well, then I misled you, I'm afraid. You see, the problem with the moon spiders, as I think I've said, is that they could teleport anywhere in space, so it's right hard to keep them from gettin away. What we did instead is figure out a way to make it so gettin away didn't do them a lick of good. We was strugglin to do just that, and the discovery that the spiders could be trapped by their own webs was the first thing we needed. The second thing we needed was a way to keep them from chewin through that web once they was in it.
"Tha solution came from the other side of the moon base construction site. It was totally by accident, too. You see, a couple of them Squimonk was cleanin out a coupla spider tunnels that we was gonna use for storage. They was rollin up the webbin and passin it to one another when, because of their furry little hands rubbin on each other, they worked themselves up some static electricity and shot a tiny bolt of lightning, which latched onto that there spider silk they was handlin. Well, lickety split it goes straight and stiff like, uh, well, like somethin that's long and round that gets stiff for some reason. I think you know what I'm talkin about."
"Sure do," I told him, "a tube of peperoni in the freezer."
"That wasn't exactly what I was thinkin," he told me, sheepishly.
"Then what?"
"I was think more like a spaghetti noodle in reverse," he admitted.
"Yeah, I can see that. But I don't know why you didn't just spit it out in the first place."
"I guess I didn't think it was an apt metaphor. I bet someone else could think of somethin that's sotra tube or noodle-like that goes from floppy to stiff that would make a better image here, but I can't think of anything off the top of my head."
"Yeah," I shrugged, "sometimes, that's how it goes."
"Sure is, sure is. So, there they were, holdin a web-cum-stick in their little hands when the other Alistair, what had caught the spider, came runnin in with his news. I wasn't there or nothin, but I imagine them Squimonk got a little twinkle in their eyes and then they got to work. They spent a whole day braidin and tyin together the webbing and wirin it all up to a switch. Then, they spent the whole next week collectin information about where the spiders landed when they jumped into being on the moon.
"Once they analyzed that information, they found there were certain spots that were more commonly used for spider materialization. Their theory at the time was that the spiders had themselves a system for jumpin so they didn't run into each other. But that proved to be wrong, just so's you know. I don't want you thinkin that just because them Squimonk is super smart that they know everything, cause they don't. In fact, what they don't know could fill a book. Sure, it wouldn't be a thick book, but it'd still be a book. And not no little novella, neither, which isn't really a book. It would be a real book, prolly 200 pages or so, and titled, "Things Squimonk Don't Know. Course, you'd prolly have to ban them from readin the book or hearin about it in any way cause, you know, if they read it, then the book would have to be smaller on the next go round until it was nothin but a little pamphlet. And, really, who'd gonna buy a pamphlet about what Squimonk don't know. You'd have to give it away in a doctor's office or somethin with other 'What you don't know about...' type pamphlets. But we didn't find out they didn't know this until they'd learned it, but by then, it was already too late for it to go in the book."
"This has almost nothing to do with capturin spiders," I told him, "unless you bashed them on the head with a copy of that book."
"You're right," he said, "and we didn't. In fact, all we did was sit next to a switch and wait. We musta sat there for days, just playin cribbage and havin a good ol' fashioned makin stuff up contest. I got second place for my story about a block of cheese becomin president because of his skills with a bow and arrow. I think the clincher was when I named him Cheester A. Archer.
"I was just acceptin my prize, a medal made out of an old donut, as is traditional, when a spider jumped into the webs we'd laid out. The Alistair there whispered to me, 'Now!' and I threw the switch, electrifyin the webs.
"That webbing, which the Squimonk had braided and tied together jumped up into a perfect cage right around that spider, lookin like a soccer ball made out of chicken wire. Fearin for itself, it jumped away, but it took the cage with it. It kept flickerin in and out of view, presumably jumpin about the universe, and every time it flickered, there was more stuff in the cage. I don't know how many worlds it must have jumped to, but when it came back, there was all sortsa weird stuff stuck in the holes of that trap. Unmentionable things and one pair of ladies' unmentionables. I don't know what world that was, but after seein them unmentionables, I ain't sure I wanna know.
"As I know now, teleportin is tough business. It can tire ya out more than diggin a ditch in the middle of an asphalt road with an ice cream sample spoon. And eventually, that spider just collapsed in the middle of the cage, plum tuckered out.
"Once he had awoken from his swoon, he just hung his spider head and said, 'Just kill me and get it over with.'
"I say he said it, but he didn't exactly use words. Them spiders is telepaths, if you didn't know, so he just sorta broadcast his feelin to everyone in the room, like our brains was wads of silly putty and he laid his comic on top of em. At that, one of the Alistairs sidled up to the cage, laid a paw on the spider's leg and said, 'We have no intention of killing you, and we don't want to harm you, either. We're just here to bargain with you.'
"Well, the spider looked mighty surprised at this. A whole bunch of thoughts went racin through out heads from the spider, the most powerful of which was, 'You can't bargain with meth addicts, even if they are building a moon base.'
"That Alistair explained that we wasn't no meth addicts, and then laid out our position. Then the spider told all of us that he would speak to the spider high council, but not to expect help in our fights because spiders is pacifists. That's why they didn't kill none of us. They said they got compassion and love for every living creature because we all live in a cold, uncaring universe and we continually try to convince ourselves otherwise and this makes us unhappy on such a deep level that we think unhappiness is built into the very fabric of existence, when, in actuality, the real problem is that we expect the universe to turn around and be nice to us, even though most of it is just blind processes with no morality whatsoever and so the real problem ends up bein our expectations and not anything about the universe itself. In the final analysis, our consciousness is really to blame."
"Huh?" I asked. "I didn't get most of that."
"Yeah, me neither," he said, "I basically just memorized it cause it sounded fancy. I don't think there's much to it, though, so I wouldn't worry too much about it."
"I won't then. What happened with the spiders?"
"Like I says, they're hardcore pacifists, so they wasn't willing to join in the fighting. But they did allow us to use the moon to build a base from which we could mount an invasion. They also agreed to give us some of their venom in small quantities so that new Pats can be given the ability to teleport anywhere in the universe they want."
"Am I gonna be gettin that?" I asked.
"If you want. I gotta warn ya, though, it ain't the most pleasant of experiences."
"Needles and stuff?
"Nah, it just tastes like a week dead skunk on the highway soaked in patchouli. I nearly vomited," he explained. "But if you hold your nose, it ain't so bad."
"You was right there in that chair," I told him.
"No, no," he protested, "where was I last time we talked."
I never knew I was so dense. "Like I says, you was sittin right there in that chair. It may have been an inch or two to the left or right, but I don't think that makes much of a difference. I mean, we're pretty much the same guy, so there's no need to stand on ceremony."
He looked for a moment and then told me, "You know, I just realized somethin. I'm either the densest man in the known universe or I am an absolute genius. I'm sittin here tryin to out think you, and my brain's just runnin in circles like a doberman on coffee tryin to catch its tail."
I wanted to be polite, so I shot him a, "Thank ya kindly."
"Yeah, sure," he said, distractedly. "I meant, um, hold on, let me word this carefully...Uh, ok. What was the last part of the story I told ya last night before you went to sleep?"
I had it. "You left off on a sort of cliffhanger. I thought it was a little contrived, myself, but I just went ahead and let it slide. I done the same thing myself once in awhile, cause, sometimes, there just ain't nothin else you can do. I mean, unless your story is totally contained in one neat little package, you're gonna have to leave off somewhere. And, really, who wants to hear a story that comes in a neat little package? I mean, except for all those lovers of short stories and news clips. Just don't feel right, though. Just don't feel right."
"Why, you hit the nail right on its flat little head there, Pat. Why, I tell ya, any story wrapped up in a little package leaves a lot of questions unanswered. I figure, the longer the story, the more likely you are to answer all the questions. And I mean ALL the questions. Even the big ones, like 'Why are we here?' and 'Why are we so unhappy all the time?' and 'What's for breakfast?' I gotta say, for me, those long stories, if they're told right, can answer all them questions."
"I'd say that's true," I confirmed, "but I don't want ya thinkin all them long stories answer them questions. And most of em answer the questions in a couple different ways, which is confusin to me. I mean, what do they expect me to do? Figure it all out for myself? That'd be rich, wouldn't it?"
"Sure would, Pat, sure would," he nodded like we'd said something actually meaningful, even though both of us really knew we were just passin the time by tryin to sound smart. I didn't think much would come of it.
Then, he broke the spell by sittin bolt upright and shoutin, "I got it! The spiders! We was talkin about catchin the spiders!"
"Actually," I had to tell him, "you was talkin about almost catchin the spiders. In fact, you'd just told me about the one that got away. And then you implied that later, you made it so's they couldn't get away."
"Ah, well, then I misled you, I'm afraid. You see, the problem with the moon spiders, as I think I've said, is that they could teleport anywhere in space, so it's right hard to keep them from gettin away. What we did instead is figure out a way to make it so gettin away didn't do them a lick of good. We was strugglin to do just that, and the discovery that the spiders could be trapped by their own webs was the first thing we needed. The second thing we needed was a way to keep them from chewin through that web once they was in it.
"Tha solution came from the other side of the moon base construction site. It was totally by accident, too. You see, a couple of them Squimonk was cleanin out a coupla spider tunnels that we was gonna use for storage. They was rollin up the webbin and passin it to one another when, because of their furry little hands rubbin on each other, they worked themselves up some static electricity and shot a tiny bolt of lightning, which latched onto that there spider silk they was handlin. Well, lickety split it goes straight and stiff like, uh, well, like somethin that's long and round that gets stiff for some reason. I think you know what I'm talkin about."
"Sure do," I told him, "a tube of peperoni in the freezer."
"That wasn't exactly what I was thinkin," he told me, sheepishly.
"Then what?"
"I was think more like a spaghetti noodle in reverse," he admitted.
"Yeah, I can see that. But I don't know why you didn't just spit it out in the first place."
"I guess I didn't think it was an apt metaphor. I bet someone else could think of somethin that's sotra tube or noodle-like that goes from floppy to stiff that would make a better image here, but I can't think of anything off the top of my head."
"Yeah," I shrugged, "sometimes, that's how it goes."
"Sure is, sure is. So, there they were, holdin a web-cum-stick in their little hands when the other Alistair, what had caught the spider, came runnin in with his news. I wasn't there or nothin, but I imagine them Squimonk got a little twinkle in their eyes and then they got to work. They spent a whole day braidin and tyin together the webbing and wirin it all up to a switch. Then, they spent the whole next week collectin information about where the spiders landed when they jumped into being on the moon.
"Once they analyzed that information, they found there were certain spots that were more commonly used for spider materialization. Their theory at the time was that the spiders had themselves a system for jumpin so they didn't run into each other. But that proved to be wrong, just so's you know. I don't want you thinkin that just because them Squimonk is super smart that they know everything, cause they don't. In fact, what they don't know could fill a book. Sure, it wouldn't be a thick book, but it'd still be a book. And not no little novella, neither, which isn't really a book. It would be a real book, prolly 200 pages or so, and titled, "Things Squimonk Don't Know. Course, you'd prolly have to ban them from readin the book or hearin about it in any way cause, you know, if they read it, then the book would have to be smaller on the next go round until it was nothin but a little pamphlet. And, really, who'd gonna buy a pamphlet about what Squimonk don't know. You'd have to give it away in a doctor's office or somethin with other 'What you don't know about...' type pamphlets. But we didn't find out they didn't know this until they'd learned it, but by then, it was already too late for it to go in the book."
"This has almost nothing to do with capturin spiders," I told him, "unless you bashed them on the head with a copy of that book."
"You're right," he said, "and we didn't. In fact, all we did was sit next to a switch and wait. We musta sat there for days, just playin cribbage and havin a good ol' fashioned makin stuff up contest. I got second place for my story about a block of cheese becomin president because of his skills with a bow and arrow. I think the clincher was when I named him Cheester A. Archer.
"I was just acceptin my prize, a medal made out of an old donut, as is traditional, when a spider jumped into the webs we'd laid out. The Alistair there whispered to me, 'Now!' and I threw the switch, electrifyin the webs.
"That webbing, which the Squimonk had braided and tied together jumped up into a perfect cage right around that spider, lookin like a soccer ball made out of chicken wire. Fearin for itself, it jumped away, but it took the cage with it. It kept flickerin in and out of view, presumably jumpin about the universe, and every time it flickered, there was more stuff in the cage. I don't know how many worlds it must have jumped to, but when it came back, there was all sortsa weird stuff stuck in the holes of that trap. Unmentionable things and one pair of ladies' unmentionables. I don't know what world that was, but after seein them unmentionables, I ain't sure I wanna know.
"As I know now, teleportin is tough business. It can tire ya out more than diggin a ditch in the middle of an asphalt road with an ice cream sample spoon. And eventually, that spider just collapsed in the middle of the cage, plum tuckered out.
"Once he had awoken from his swoon, he just hung his spider head and said, 'Just kill me and get it over with.'
"I say he said it, but he didn't exactly use words. Them spiders is telepaths, if you didn't know, so he just sorta broadcast his feelin to everyone in the room, like our brains was wads of silly putty and he laid his comic on top of em. At that, one of the Alistairs sidled up to the cage, laid a paw on the spider's leg and said, 'We have no intention of killing you, and we don't want to harm you, either. We're just here to bargain with you.'
"Well, the spider looked mighty surprised at this. A whole bunch of thoughts went racin through out heads from the spider, the most powerful of which was, 'You can't bargain with meth addicts, even if they are building a moon base.'
"That Alistair explained that we wasn't no meth addicts, and then laid out our position. Then the spider told all of us that he would speak to the spider high council, but not to expect help in our fights because spiders is pacifists. That's why they didn't kill none of us. They said they got compassion and love for every living creature because we all live in a cold, uncaring universe and we continually try to convince ourselves otherwise and this makes us unhappy on such a deep level that we think unhappiness is built into the very fabric of existence, when, in actuality, the real problem is that we expect the universe to turn around and be nice to us, even though most of it is just blind processes with no morality whatsoever and so the real problem ends up bein our expectations and not anything about the universe itself. In the final analysis, our consciousness is really to blame."
"Huh?" I asked. "I didn't get most of that."
"Yeah, me neither," he said, "I basically just memorized it cause it sounded fancy. I don't think there's much to it, though, so I wouldn't worry too much about it."
"I won't then. What happened with the spiders?"
"Like I says, they're hardcore pacifists, so they wasn't willing to join in the fighting. But they did allow us to use the moon to build a base from which we could mount an invasion. They also agreed to give us some of their venom in small quantities so that new Pats can be given the ability to teleport anywhere in the universe they want."
"Am I gonna be gettin that?" I asked.
"If you want. I gotta warn ya, though, it ain't the most pleasant of experiences."
"Needles and stuff?
"Nah, it just tastes like a week dead skunk on the highway soaked in patchouli. I nearly vomited," he explained. "But if you hold your nose, it ain't so bad."
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Sleepy Time
That first night in the Pirockate ship was one of the worst I've ever had. There we were, rocketing through space towards the moon, not in water at all, but that boat was still a rockin and a creakin all night. And, on that rocky, creaky boat, I was expected to sleep in a hammock. Sure, a hammock is all well and good if you're a sailor from the 1500s, out to explore new lands if you don't get eaten by a sea monster or thrown of the end of the world to fall, tumbling through the blackness of space, seeing only a stack of turtles for the rest of eternity. But this is the 21st century, or maybe the twentieth century. Wait a minute, let me see here. We're startin with 20 here, so, maybe it's the 20th. But then again, the first would have to start with nothin. So, then, we'd have to go back all the way to the year zero, when dinosaurs fought mammoths all over the Earth, everyone wore tiger skins and all the sexy cavewomen looked like Raquel Welch. Then Jesus came and Satan turned all the dinosaurs into stone to trick the Romans and then Jesus taught everyone English. So that was the first century, I think. Look, I'll be honest here, I ain't much of a historian. Most of what I know about history is stored in this biography of Charles Martel that I read for an eighth grade project, and sometimes I confuse that with that episode of Growing Pains where Alex and Snuffleupagus journeyed to Math Land to play pool. Or maybe I'm mixing that with something else. I guess that doesn't matter, though. The point is that, in these advanced times, you'd think that someone could make a rocket ship shaped like a pirate ship that didn't have to rock back and forth all the time. I mean, there's not even any water, for heck's sake! How does a ship rock without water?
I imagine the hammocks are a great help to others on that ship, but me, I got that weird sleepin habit where I like to wedge myself into a corner, rest the top of my head on the top of my feet, and slowly drift to sleep with my back end stickin in the air like mailbox flag. Except my heiney ain't as square and red as a mailbox flag. It's just square. And because I sleep like that, I spent most of the night bangin into the walls, bangin my head on the floor and fallin over. It wasn't till neigh on three in the mornin that I discovered the secret. I'd been sittin in the corner, refusin to open my eyes because I knew that the moment I did so, my entire night of tryin to get to sleep would be wasted.
Eventually, rounds about three like I say, I gave up tryin to sleep and opened my eyes. What I saw was both brilliant and disturbing. Line after line of Pat was sleepin just like I do, but none of em was bumpin into walls or nothin. In fact, they was standin comfortably in their hammocks, gently rockin with the swell of the ship. The secret, as I shoulda known, was duct tape. Them Pats had made themselves harnesses out of duct tape and taped the ends to the hammocks. They was each held in place by about a roll of tape, but they looked mighty comfortable. I decided that it couldn't make me sleep less that what I'd already slept that night. The worst that could possibly happen would be the duct tape becoming detached, allowin me to slip out of my harness, fallin on the ground and breakin open my head, causin me to think that I was a giant chicken for days, leadin the other Pats to have to corral me everywhere they wanted to go until they got sick of my antics and locked me up in the Bellview Home for insane Pats, where I would spend my golden years scratchin at the ground and tryin to lay eggs. But, like I says, that was a worst-case-scenario and so, with a roll of duct tape and sleepiness (which is when all the best ideas happen, in my opinion), I was ready to take the risk.
I gotta say, tapin yourself to a hammock so you can sleep standin up like an ostrich isn't easy to do. You gotta make sure you got stabilizin points at the waist, knees and ankles if you don't wanna be a crazy chicken man, which I don't. I mean, sure, just like anyone, I think about it now and then; how it would help me get out of all this responsibility I have, how it would give me more time to get into my hobbies of scratchin at the ground with my feet and swallowin small pebbles to help me digest my food, and how it would help me with the one thing I've always wanted to do, give birth. Sure, I know now that I wouldn't really be layin eggs, but if I were crazy chicken man, I wouldn't be able to know that my eggs weren't real. And even if I did only fill my pants with fudge, I'd like to think the joy I took in motherhood would still be real. But I wasn't ready for that yet, so I taped myself up nice and secure and, I have to say, I had the best night's sleep I've had since that time I got the job as a tester in the down pillow and blanket factory.
I don't know if it's the kind of life I lead or what, but I get myself some pretty disturbing dreams. Most nights, I dream that I'm in some big warehouse-like, windowless room with exposed pipes runnin over the ceiling. There's all sorts of other people in this room wearin some weird clothes. For some reason, the men is all wearin these strips of silk around their necks. I don't know what they're called, but they look a little foppish. For the time being, since they're tied around the neck, I'll just call them 'tienecks'. All the people in this warehouse place are sittin in their own little territories that are marked off by these things that look like walls, but are cheaply carpeted and only come up about three feet. In each little cube, there's a desk, a phone and a computer over which each person is hunched, trying to ignore everyone and everything around them. I look down at myself and see I'm dressed just like them, in this weird tie neck thing and wearin shiny black shoes that hurt my feet. When I reach up to my face, I find my beard's gone and my hair's cut short. "In accordance with company policy," I think to myself, not knowin where it comes from. I know that any minute, the "boss" is gonna come and "chew me out" for misplacin a comma on "Form 800" and that it's gonna get me a "writeup". I don't know what any of these words mean when I'm awake, but when I'm dreamin, they all seem to make sense to me. In the dream, I start gettin the shakes. The worst part about it all is that I know I can't leave this place of soul destroying horror.
It's usually then that I wake up screaming.
That morning, I learned that the only thing worse than screaming yourself awake out of a nightmare is doin it while about a hundred copies of you are doin the same thing. Well, that and panickin from all the screamin, forgettin you've taped yourself to a hammock and losin about a yard of leg hair when you stand up. The only thing that can make your day go well at that point is the timeless remedy of two packs of bacon, a cup of coffee and a jelly donut.
When breakfast was over, I went back to Captain Pat to hear more about the fight with the moon spiders.
I imagine the hammocks are a great help to others on that ship, but me, I got that weird sleepin habit where I like to wedge myself into a corner, rest the top of my head on the top of my feet, and slowly drift to sleep with my back end stickin in the air like mailbox flag. Except my heiney ain't as square and red as a mailbox flag. It's just square. And because I sleep like that, I spent most of the night bangin into the walls, bangin my head on the floor and fallin over. It wasn't till neigh on three in the mornin that I discovered the secret. I'd been sittin in the corner, refusin to open my eyes because I knew that the moment I did so, my entire night of tryin to get to sleep would be wasted.
Eventually, rounds about three like I say, I gave up tryin to sleep and opened my eyes. What I saw was both brilliant and disturbing. Line after line of Pat was sleepin just like I do, but none of em was bumpin into walls or nothin. In fact, they was standin comfortably in their hammocks, gently rockin with the swell of the ship. The secret, as I shoulda known, was duct tape. Them Pats had made themselves harnesses out of duct tape and taped the ends to the hammocks. They was each held in place by about a roll of tape, but they looked mighty comfortable. I decided that it couldn't make me sleep less that what I'd already slept that night. The worst that could possibly happen would be the duct tape becoming detached, allowin me to slip out of my harness, fallin on the ground and breakin open my head, causin me to think that I was a giant chicken for days, leadin the other Pats to have to corral me everywhere they wanted to go until they got sick of my antics and locked me up in the Bellview Home for insane Pats, where I would spend my golden years scratchin at the ground and tryin to lay eggs. But, like I says, that was a worst-case-scenario and so, with a roll of duct tape and sleepiness (which is when all the best ideas happen, in my opinion), I was ready to take the risk.
I gotta say, tapin yourself to a hammock so you can sleep standin up like an ostrich isn't easy to do. You gotta make sure you got stabilizin points at the waist, knees and ankles if you don't wanna be a crazy chicken man, which I don't. I mean, sure, just like anyone, I think about it now and then; how it would help me get out of all this responsibility I have, how it would give me more time to get into my hobbies of scratchin at the ground with my feet and swallowin small pebbles to help me digest my food, and how it would help me with the one thing I've always wanted to do, give birth. Sure, I know now that I wouldn't really be layin eggs, but if I were crazy chicken man, I wouldn't be able to know that my eggs weren't real. And even if I did only fill my pants with fudge, I'd like to think the joy I took in motherhood would still be real. But I wasn't ready for that yet, so I taped myself up nice and secure and, I have to say, I had the best night's sleep I've had since that time I got the job as a tester in the down pillow and blanket factory.
I don't know if it's the kind of life I lead or what, but I get myself some pretty disturbing dreams. Most nights, I dream that I'm in some big warehouse-like, windowless room with exposed pipes runnin over the ceiling. There's all sorts of other people in this room wearin some weird clothes. For some reason, the men is all wearin these strips of silk around their necks. I don't know what they're called, but they look a little foppish. For the time being, since they're tied around the neck, I'll just call them 'tienecks'. All the people in this warehouse place are sittin in their own little territories that are marked off by these things that look like walls, but are cheaply carpeted and only come up about three feet. In each little cube, there's a desk, a phone and a computer over which each person is hunched, trying to ignore everyone and everything around them. I look down at myself and see I'm dressed just like them, in this weird tie neck thing and wearin shiny black shoes that hurt my feet. When I reach up to my face, I find my beard's gone and my hair's cut short. "In accordance with company policy," I think to myself, not knowin where it comes from. I know that any minute, the "boss" is gonna come and "chew me out" for misplacin a comma on "Form 800" and that it's gonna get me a "writeup". I don't know what any of these words mean when I'm awake, but when I'm dreamin, they all seem to make sense to me. In the dream, I start gettin the shakes. The worst part about it all is that I know I can't leave this place of soul destroying horror.
It's usually then that I wake up screaming.
That morning, I learned that the only thing worse than screaming yourself awake out of a nightmare is doin it while about a hundred copies of you are doin the same thing. Well, that and panickin from all the screamin, forgettin you've taped yourself to a hammock and losin about a yard of leg hair when you stand up. The only thing that can make your day go well at that point is the timeless remedy of two packs of bacon, a cup of coffee and a jelly donut.
When breakfast was over, I went back to Captain Pat to hear more about the fight with the moon spiders.
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