Dirk Destroyer Part 12 Chapter Six and Chapter 6 Part 1

You’ve navigated to an excerpt from Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother. If you haven’t been following the previous posts, I don’t think I can help you. Just hang on and see if any of this makes sense.

Chapter Six

Transition

Usually when a story is told, it comes in three parts. You have the set up, the body, and the conclusion. When you move from one to the other, you have a transition. Transitions are typically the hardest things to describe in a story, and frequently the story teller has to resort to bad grammar in the process.

For example.

“Anyway, that’s when we…”

Or

“So like after all that…”

Professional story-tellers have imaginative ways of accomplishing transitions, but I’m just the seven or eight thousand and something-year-old brother of a planetary pariah, and curiously, making a smooth transition in story-telling is not one of the skills you pick us if you live long enough.

That being said (typical amateur transition phrase,) I will move on to the next morning when the members of our quest consisting of Lustavious, Mage-e-not, Ono with Swampy firmly attached to her shoulder, Lip Ton Tease, and the Jonma Claim incarnation of Uriculous Wisehind gathered in the director’s lab prior to leaving the ministry in search of Dirk Destroyer (who’s real last name was McFarland, by the way.)

Chapter 6

Fellowship of the Bring

“Ah HA,” said Lustavious with relish and a musical lilt. “Now we seek out the great criminal of our times… and several other times as well. Let us step lively now, my comrades!”

“One moment,” said Youtickubus Akwar who while not in the room previously, nor invited, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. This surprised me less than when she appeared among the mops in the janitor’s closet – which despite my seeming calmness at the time, had been a reoccurring theme in my nightmares the previous evening. At least she was near the doorway, and not standing behind me. She motioned in a tall gangly, stiff looking creature that may or may not have been alive.

“I found this Jonma,” said Akwar, “and I think he will be helpful to our director with his little control problem.”

“Youtickubus,” said Jonma Claim in a harsh whisper, “We agreed not to mention my little problem in front of the other members of the quest.”

“But this Jonma will help you.”

“Huh?” said Ono, “can one ghoul plink and plop into two Jonma Claims?”

“It can’t,” said Akwar, “but this creature is not a Jonma Claim; he is a Jonma Carry.”

“Call me Jon,” said the stooped, but statue-like Jonma.

“I am not familiar with a Jonma Carry,” said Lip Ton Tease.

“Please call me Jon,” said the mask-like face of Jonma Carry.

“A Jonma Carry,” said Akwar, slapping the hand of the creepy tall creature before it could ask us to call it Jon again, “is not inhabited like a Jonma Claim, as a matter of fact, it does not even start out profoundly stupid – merely below average.”

“Then how does it become a Jonma,” asked someone, but I don’t remember who.

“A Jonma Carry is developed through brain-abusive behavior like excessive tanning, overexposure to tomato-based condiments, and the injection of poisons into the skin to make all facial muscles immobile.”

“That sounds pretty stupid to me,” said Mage-e-not who, getting a hard stare from Akwar, disappeared from the neck up.

“Perhaps,” said Akwar.

“So how will the grotesque creature be of help to us?” asked Lustavious.

“Please call me Jon,” said Jonma Carry.

“A Jonma Carry,” said Akwar, “helps prevent the original personality of a Jonma Claim from filibustering.”

“What’s filibustering?” I wanted to ask, but Akwar kept talking about something unrelated so I couldn’t get my question heard.

“Big group,” said Swampy after Akwar finally shut up, “Too big. Too many names.”

“I’ll leave,” said the invisible face of Mage-e-not.

“No,” said Jonma Claim. “You are all essential. I will need your considerable powers Mage-e-not to assist Lustavious.”

“No more pork chops,” said Swampy.

“Then I volunteer to remain here,” said Akwar, “unless any of you feel you want me along.”

I’d never noticed that they had crickets in the ministry building before, but sure enough, I could hear them chirping. Swampy flew off from Ono’s shoulder leaving a trail of defecation on Lustavious’ bandage.

Swampy liked crickets for breakfast.

Akwar looked up expectantly at Lustavious, who stared down at his crappy bandage. Then she looked down at the Jonma Claim, who looked almost as blank-faced as the first time I’d seen him. She started to back out of the room, attempting to establish eye contact with every member of the party. Even the Jonma Carry looked away.

A half hour latter, the invisible head of Mage-e-not asked, “Is it safe?”

“She’s gone,” said Swampy flying back into the room, crapping on Lustavious, and landing on Ono’s shoulder once again.

“Then let us venture forth,” said Lustavious in an uncharacteristically low voice.

Without uttering another word, or looking anywhere but forward, we left the ministry and walked three miles north.

“All right,” said Mage-e-not, “somebody tell me why we’re walking north.”

“Weren’t you leading?”

“I wasn’t leading, I thought Jonma Claim was leading.”

“I wasn’t leading,” said Jonma Claim, “I thought Lustavious was leading.”

“I’ll lead,” said Jonma Carry.

“Shut up, Jonma.”

“Call me Jon.”

“North is the path to Celestial enlightenment,” said Lip Ton Tease.

“Is that what we’re looking for?”

“No,” sputtered Jonma Claim. “We’re looking for Dirk Destroyer.”

“Where is he?”

Suddenly everyone was looking at me. “Look,” I said. “I’m a go-along, get-along type of guy, but you’re asking me to find my brother so the rest of you can cast him and me into oblivion forever. Do you think I want to help you do that?”

“Ah!” said Lustavious energetically, while keeping a wary eye on Swampy. “Of course we understand your feelings, but the time for selfishness is past. It’s time to think of the greater good! The whole planet is in trouble. People are starving. The sheep are annoyed. We need your help. We need it now!”

There it was again, that empty-headed-feeling I had experienced before. I knew there were obvious fallacies in what Lustavious was saying, but my mind couldn’t catch one of them, much less wrestle it to the ground, master it, and put it into words.

“He enjoys carving caricatures in the wool of sheep,” I offered.

“So we need to find sheep!” said Jonma Claim.

“Look around you,” said Mage-e-not.

He was right. There were sheep everywhere – dozens of little groupings across the landscape, mostly gathered around grassy places that were getting harder and harder to find.

“Not very helpful, Comrade,” said Lustavious, “but I know you can do better,” which he sang rather than said. “You can lead us to where we need to go.”

He hit a high note on go that was truly impressive. I couldn’t remember any male older than thirteen hitting a note that high.

“And he likes smoking…”

“Look,” said Mage-e-not, “smoke!”

So, if you’re keeping score, we have a caricature of a pol from the R party and one from the D party. For proper symmetry, we need an independent (with R tendencies,) for our next post. After that, symmetry will go out the window, (though in a balanced, even-handed fashion before it hits the messy scrapheap of chaotic satire.)

Speaking of smoke, here’s a clip of a moment from the Beverly Hillbillies when Granny gets busted for drugs. 

Bumble Starts a Tradition

In last Tuesday’s post I gave Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer a pass on my list of failed paragons. Not content to leave a tradition unbashed, I decided to return to this claymation classic, and provide a brief sequel.

Bumble Starts a Tradition

by Headley Hauser

Since meeting Rudolph and Hermey, Bumble had a problem. Sure, it was fun to put the star on the top of the Christmas tree, and he enjoyed cheers and clapping he got for it, but Bumble couldn’t shake the impression that he was being applauded by a roomful of delicious steaks and roasts.

When an abominable snowman wants to make a day special, he (or she,) eats something special. For Bumble, nothing gave him that warm feeling of the holidays quite so much as a pair of elves or reindeer roasting on an open fire. Standing there in the workshop surrounded by his new, edible companions, Bumble started drooling. Drooling for a creature his size, and a member of his species was embarrassing and, as he was a frozen creature, dangerous. Bumble quickly wiped his mouth, knocking down a four-foot saliva icicle, which narrowly missed Mrs. Claus’ punch bowl and still peppered the elfin choir with ice shards as it shattered.

“Ewww,” said Noresta, a plump elf that Bumble thought looked particularly delicious, “we almost got frozen monster drool in our punch!”

“You know,” said Hermey, Bumble’s oldest friend, having known him for two days without gnawing on him, “saliva serves a number of useful purposes. It says so here in my Dentistry for Dummies book.”

“What this fellow needs,” said Yukon Cornelius, “is a new food source to drool over, and the quicker the better!”

“There’s that walrus outside,” said Rumbo the formerly misfit toy elephant in a clear case of tusk-envy.

“No-ho-ho!” said Santa, “We can’t have Bumble eating animals that can talk, and blow-ho-ho. He’s already eaten too many a buck and doe-ho-ho. We need to find him the perfect food and tie it with a bow-ho-ho. Otherwise, our Bumble will have to go-ho-ho.”

“Hey Santa,” said Rumbo, who was a bit of a wisenheimer for a stuffed animal, “what was that writer’s name, Edgar Allan…?”

“Poe-ho-ho!” said Santa.

“That’s what I thought,” said Rumbo.

“But Santa,” said Hermey, “we can’t kick Bumble out.” Hermey was quite sympathetic for an elf that wanted to pull out people’s teeth, root and all. Bumble thought that Hermey looked particularly appetizing when he was sympathetic.

“Then feed him some chow-ho-ho.”

“Now Santa,” said Mrs. Claus. “Chow doesn’t rhyme with ho-ho.”

“Give him food to grow-ho-ho!”

“To grow?” said Rumbo. “We’re already in danger of being beheaded by his toe nails!”

“Nap time, Santa,” said Mrs. Clause. “You always start stretching your ho-ho rhymes when you’re overtired.”

shameless product placement

“Ho-hos!” said Rudolph, as Santa obediently schlepped his bowl-full-of-jelly to the bedroom. “Ho-hos are sweet and delicious. Everybody likes ho-hos. I bet Bumble would like them.”

“Tried that,” said Hermey, “in spite of my better judgment regarding tooth decay. We also tried cookies, candies, sugarplums, and an asphalt shingle that fell off the roof.”

“Asphalt chewy,” said Bumble.

“But bad for your teeth,” scolded Hermey.

“Besides,” said Mrs. Claus, “we can’t have Bumble eating us out of house and home.”

“Better than eating us and home,” said Rumbo.

“But Bumble preferring the shingle to traditional treats gives us a lead,” said Yukon Cornelius. “We’ve been offering Bumble things that we like to eat, but monsters are different from us. After all, we don’t want to eat each other.”

obligatory Trump slam

There was a snort from the crowd that may have come from Horno, the elf.  Horno shook his head and pointed to the Hispanic elf next to him.

“So what you’re saying,” said Hermey “is that we need to find something that there’s a lot of, and that isn’t alive, and that nobody likes at all.”

“Fruitcake!” said too many people to list in this story.

“I have one here,” said Mrs. Claus, “but I don’t have anything to cut it with.”

“Don’t ruin a perfectly good knife trying to cut fruitcake,” said Yukon Cornelius. “It’s already bite-sized for our little friend.

“Catch, Bumble!” Yukon Cornelius threw the disgusting fruitcake into the air, and Bumble caught it in his mouth.

“He’ll probably lose half his incisors biting it,” said Hermey.

There was no rain of broken teeth as the giant monster chewed, and then swallowed. “Uutecake good!” said Bumble, “Better even that broiled elf.”

He probably would have gotten more of a cheer if he’d left out that last part.

So Bumble the abominable snowman began a new holiday tradition by eating a mound of fruitcake the size of Santa’s sleigh…

Unfortunately, his new tradition was short-lived as he got a job with the EPA eating hazardous waste sites. The sites generally tasted better than fruitcake, and, according to Hermey, were better for his teeth.

What's that your say?  There's no walrus in Rudolph?  Alright, I cheated.  Here's the 1986 claymation short the walrus comes from. 

 Dirk Destroyer Part 11 Chapter 5 Part 2

This is the middle of a chapter that is about a quarter of the way through a novel that became obsolete before it could be published because Donald Trump is not mentioned.

For those of you still reading - my apologies.

“You’ve heard of Jonma.” said Akwar, somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Necromancy,” I said. “You find a Same, and the Same channels the thoughts of a dead person. But the Same retains his or her personality and thoughts; you’re never really sure when a Same is telling the truth. Even if you’ve dug up old Uriculous from his hellish vapors, that’s a pretty unreliable way of running your ministry. That’s why people don’t use Jonma much anymore.”

“That would be true,” said Akwar, who was suddenly no longer behind me, but standing in front of a door at the end of the hall, “if we used a Same.” She opened the door into a laboratory. Wires, tubes, and busy photons festooned the lab-like furnishings. Facing the door was a round-faced little man with a blank expression. Three clear tubes sprang out of his largely bald head. Each tube had a different color liquid running through it, blue and red liquids flowed in, brown sludgy liquid flowed out.

Suddenly, the face animated. The unfamiliar features took on a familiar expression. I shook my head in unbelief. “You found a Claim?” I asked.

“That’s right,” said Akwar. “Meet our Jonma Claim, but you may call him Director of MOIST, High Priest of the Thirty-Seven Really Good Ideas, Uriculous the Great!”

“Hello Elmer,” said Jonma Claim with just a hint of a lisp. “I’m happy you’ll be here for the end.”

“The end of what?” I asked, stupidly.

“The end,” said the Jonma, but before he could complete his sentence his face spasmed. A second expression, you might see on a frequently angry person of low intellect momentarily took over the visage.

“Too shmuch money in shpoliticsch!” he sputtered, throwing a gob of spittle onto Lustavious’ bandage. “No sHouse or Shenate member can do sche right shing with sho musch temptaschion!”

“One moment,” said Akwar, adjusting tubes. “Even a Claim sometimes fights back.”

Claims were people of sub-human intelligence. I wasn’t surprised that the Claim said something political; that’s where they were most often found.

Uriculous’ expression reclaimed Jonma Claim, though his eyes looked a little wild, like he’d just been thrown from horse he’d been told was safe and now found himself back in the saddle.

“Don’t think my little… interruptions are going to save you and your Brother, Elmer,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of time to realize my mistake. Now I have a chance to remove the Destroyer curse forever, and in Light Bringer Lustavious Brachenhun, I have just the tool to do it.”

Brachenhun smiled his wide smile. Some people enjoy being called a tool.

“The problem all along,” said Jonma Claim, “was you.”

“Me? I don’t make any trouble.”

“You bring your brother back,” Uriculous’ host sputtered, reliably finding Lustavious’ bandage once again.

“I don’t do a thing!” I protested. “I have no idea how Light Bringers send Dirk into oblivion, or how he comes back. Most of the time I don’t even know he’s back until I run into another Light Bringer.”

“That’s true,” said Jonma Claim. “You are stupid…” Again the Jonma Claim’s face sputtered and spasmed. “Schtupid, I say! I hardly knew Charles Keeting! We shared an elevator once – that’sch it! I didn’t take any money! I didn’t fall into temptation!” This was followed by a screeching caterwaul punctuated by intermittent hisses. It sounded like two cats were fighting inside the Jonma Claim. Akwar was busy working tubes. Lustavious was trying to remove spittle from his bandage using glass cleaner and a rag.

Jonma Claims are, by definition, among the stupidest humanoids that walk upright. There was only one reason that Uriculous’ ghost was having trouble controlling his Jonma Claim – it was that he wasn’t too bright either.

This came as no shock to me. I knew Uriculous Wisehind. Dirk used to torment the man mercilessly, and Uriculous’ only response was the use of governmental power. When people are too stupid to think for themselves, they gravitate to large punitive collectives like government to make them feel smart and relevant. Maybe Akwar and Lustavious were those kind of people as well, because I was the only person in that room that seemed to be comfortable with the empirical evidence that Uriculous the Great was actually Uriculous the Dim.

Who else would retranslate a whimsical “don’t bugger the sheep,” into a planet ruining, “don’t bug the sheep?”

“The transplant is incomplete,” said the restored Uriculous as if he knew what I was thinking. “Millennia of death spread my consciousness across the planet. Soon, I will be complete, and in complete control of this body. Then I will go with you and the Light Bringer’s party myself and make certain that this time – not only will Dirk Destroyer be cast into oblivion for all time… but you will be as well!”

Maybe I was as dim as Uriculous, but I hadn’t seen it coming. All this time doing everything I could to stay out of trouble and now I was to be cursed with eternal oblivion?

And what about Dirk? If I was the reason he was able to return from his torment, was it fair to take that away? Dirk wasn’t a bad guy. He was kind of fun. Sure, he didn’t have a lot of respect for Uriculous and others who abused power, but that didn’t seem to be a crime worthy of eternal oblivion.

Oh no, trouble for our protagonist! ‘Oh no,’ said my publisher, ‘it took you this long to create trouble for your protagonist!’ So much of life is perspective. What’s that? You don’t see it that way?

Now that we’ve introduced our first true character-caricature of an active politician, they’ll start coming faster. If you’re having trouble identifying these ne’er-do-wells, you can email me at gfreads@yahoo.com, or you can start a group to read the excerpts together and discuss it among yourselves.

Then your friends can buy Trouble in Taos link and Volition Man link.

What? You thought I didn’t like money?

And now, a political spot from Mr. Bean.

Christmas Paragons Lost

As we’re now well into the holidays, I thought I might pay tribute to those paragons who inspire us all with the ideals of the season. What would Christmas be without these animated and clay-mation stalwarts of holiday goodness? They serve to inspire us to be the kind of folk that makes Christmas last 365 days a year.

Or maybe they’re just total frauds.

Let’s have a closer look as these perennial icons of December prime time.

Santa Claus:

The man lives so far north that no sane adults live near him. He forces a diminutive ethnic minority to labor 364 days a year creating products that he takes credit for on the one day a year he get’s off his overfed be-hind and works. Eight “tiny” indigenous creatures are forced out of their natural habitat to propel an uninspected flying vehicle from icy rooftop to icy rooftop, contrary to several OSHA regulations.

Santa a paragon? Only if you’re searching for an archetype of the American corporate CEO.

Frosty the Snowman:

A dead pipe smoker is brought to life by a magical item he doesn’t own. In spite of his revival, he continues to smoke like a chimney, and refuses to return the magician’s property. While Frosty whiles away his short, unproductive life, he portrays the victimized magician as the bad guy.

Frosty a paragon? Not unless you admire beltway lobbyists

The Grinch:

A man living high above all others, and thinking himself superior, decides to steal everyone’s property for the holidays. He then returns some of the property (minus the inefficiencies of sled travel,) and helps himself and his employee to a generous portion of the people’s holiday feast. For this act, he accepts accolades as a kind-hearted hero.

The Grinch a paragon? I suppose we could make him the patron saint of political office-holders.

Charlie Brown:

A boy is tasked by his peers with obtaining the best quality Christmas tree he can. He intentionally chooses the worst tree, has a religious service, and convinces his peers that they see qualities in the tree that aren’t there.

Charlie Brown a paragon? You could make that argument. If inspiring evangelists and Amway enthusiasts around the world by proving that you can sell anything with religion is a virtue.

Rudolph:

Hmmm. Victimized, sorry for himself, whiny, he runs away and chances on some people that end up helping themselves.  The real hero is an elven dentist.

Rudolf a paragon? I guess he’s not evil. I’ll give the little ruminant a pass, but notice he’s the only four-legged herbivore on this list.

Little Drummer Boy:

An undisciplined child wanders into an otherwise adults-only baby shower. In spite of the infant’s sensitive ears, he pounds out an elongated drum solo. He then congratulates himself because the infant in a fit of gas forms his lips into a smile.

The Little Drummer Boy a paragon? You tell me next time you volunteer to organize a pageant and some nine-year-old demands the lead because he/she is so special.

The Tick!:

While not ordinarily associated with the holidays, The Tick is selfless and dedicated to the betterment of… non-evil stuff.

The Tick a paragon? Absolutely! That’s why evil corporate big shots cancelled both his animated and live-action shows, and you never see his Christmas special!

But you can see it here.

Dirk Destroyer Part 10 Chapter 5 Part 1

For those of you wondering, the novel is just about to get moving, but first we have to spend time in a broom closet. Don’t all adventure require some closet time? I’d promise that after this session there’d be no more closet time, but I don’t like breaking promises.

Chapter 5

The Uriculous Jonma Claim

I found myself alone with Lustavious, and if I’d planned my day carefully, I don’t think I would have scheduled that.

“You got a medical office?”

“There’s a sink in the janitor’s closet.”

The janitor’s closet? I didn’t ask him why he preferred a closet full of dirty mops to a medical office or even the men’s room.

“I think you’re supposed to hold your arm up and apply pressure.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I dunno,” I said, “I’ve been alive for thousands of years, I probably heard it several hundred places. After a while it sinks in.”

He nodded and smiled. For a confident man like Lustavious, being gouged by a rat-bird’s beak had to be a surprise – even unsettling. Lustavious’ confidence was starting to return, and I wanted him washed and bandaged before his bull-dozer charm returned.

“So that bird,” he said. “Does he belong to you?”

“He belongs to himself, I guess, but he hangs around me all the time.” It occurred to me that Swampy was not hanging around me at the moment. He was with Ono. Did that mean I’d been replaced?

Why did I feel jealous? Really, why did I feel jealous? Was I jealous that Swampy had left me, or that he got to spend time with Ono?

That’s when I realized I was attracted to the young wizard woman. I usually have to be around a woman four or five decades before I feel any attraction, and they are usually pretty close to dead by then, so there hadn’t been a lot of long-term relationships in my life.

Of course by my standards a long-term relationship would require at least five or six hundred years.

“So,” said Lustavious, “does this bird act like that all the time?”

“You mean gouging muscle tissue out of your arm?”

“Yes.”

“Only with people he likes. It’s a mating thing. He must have found you charming.”

“But he’s a boy bird.”

“Swampy’s gay.”

I had no idea of Swampy’s sexual orientation, but Lustavious was quiet for a while. Maybe he was wondering why I’d spent the last few millennia with a gay bird – and what that might mean about my intentions regarding his medical care. What ever shut Lustavious down was fine with me. It wasn’t until we had the gauze wrapped and pinned down that he asked, “Do you think it was my singing?”

“Singing?”

“That got the bird so…” Lustavious pointed to the bandage with his non-mutilated appendage, “amorous.”

“I never sing to Swampy,” I said with a tone of unspecified innuendo.

Lustavious nodded nervously – then jerked as Akwar came out from behind the mops.

I just raised my eyebrow – sure Akwar’s sudden appearance was jarring, but if staying calm increased Lustavious’ insecurity… I guess I’ve covered that. “So, what now?” I asked as if I had been expecting her.

“The director’s lab,” said Akwar. I looked out the door of the cleaning closet and down the largely plain hallway and tried to figure out how Akwar had approached without me noticing.

Then I became aware of her words. The director’s lab? Nearly every occasion when I’d been summoned to the MOIST ministry, there’d been a Light Bringer, or retired Light Bringer in charge. I was standing with the Light Bringer, and we both were being summoned to – not an office, but a director’s lab.

Lustavious saw the expression on my face and laughed. “He doesn’t know.”

“We’ve kept it a secret,” said Akwar.

“What secret?”

Lustavious enjoying the turn in our battle of nerves, gestured for me to precede him out of the closet and down the hallway.

“You know who the first director of MOIST was, don’t you?” asked Akwar.

“Of course,” I said, “Uriculous Wisehind. I knew him.”

“I know him too,” said Akwar, “so do half the people in this building.”

Was it possible that one person might have lived on Two all those millennia without me knowing? Was it possible that half the people in the building had? That didn’t sound right. Even I wasn’t that obtuse. “I don’t understand,” I said.

Lustavious laughed. “We’ve got a little secret for you,” he sang. The man’s smug confidence was back. Where was Swampy when I needed him?

So now you’ve met most of the main characters except for Dirk, and two others. I don’t much care for one the two others. Come meet him next Friday.

Am I unfair to bureaucrats?  Maybe.  It could be worse.

Malled

The Burlington Mall opened when I was ten. It was part of the first wave of indoor shopping malls across the country and quite the novelty in the western Boston suburbs. Burlington was three towns away from our house, but that seemed like nothing as our whole family loaded into the woody station wagon to see this great wonder. The parking lot held more cars than I thought existed.

We found a spot a hundred yards away from the nearest door, and I ran those yards like Jim Nance through the Miami Dolphin secondary. Finally (after I waited for the adults to catch up,) we entered.

I thought I was in heaven.

It was the Christmas shopping season and the elaborate decorations in the entry hall made downtown Maynard’s decorations look pathetic by comparison. Christmas music politely cuddled our ears as made our way down the magical hallway until we came to the mall proper.

"The hallway is as wide as Main Street," murmured a bemused patron behind me, and I had to agree. But unlike Main Street with its poorly parked Studebakers and ice water-filled potholes, the Burlington Mall was a wonder of orchestrated festivity. They had a full-sized North Pole, and colorful carolers tastefully accenting (in both music and costume,) the walkway.

Above me twinkled electronic stars that were so authentic that I thought for a moment I was outside.

I wandered in amazement. There was no hurry. Sure, I had presents to buy, but I felt like I was in Disneyland (Disneyworld wasn't open yet.)

The place was packed, but there were places to sit and stay out of the hustle. I chose the fountain with the wooden bridge. The flocking, icicles and an animatronic deer made it feel like a real outdoor winter scene - at seven-two degrees Fahrenheit.

After that trip, Mom never had a problem getting us out to the car whenever she announced a return to this capitalistic Shangri-la.

Sigh...

I went to the mall today. It wasn't the Burlington Mall; it was one close to where I live now. I traveled a quarter of the distance we had forty-six years ago, and I begrudged every kilometer. I could have parked by the door, but chose a place less likely to get my car keyed.

I entered into a narrow hallway that was poorly lit. The only attractions in this particular stretch were two bathrooms. Though the men's was clearly marked, wads of adhesive from a long-lost sign indicated the women's bathroom. Once into the mall proper, there were stores alternating with darkened fronts, and scores of tiny kiosks littering the once-broad thoroughfares.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?" said a man at a kiosk as I passed.

"You already did," I replied and I kept walking. Yes, I was rude, and I was ripping off an old Vaudeville line, but the scent of desperation wafting from commission sales clerks kept me moving. Unfamiliar music blared from the poorly balanced music system. A bored teenager clicked her polished nails on a smart phone. She sat at a kiosk that had the bottom half of several mannequins protruding upside down from its counter. I had no idea what she was selling and wondered if she did. Though I was moving quickly, a pack of senior citizens passed me. One of them wore a tee shirt that said on the back, "If you can read this, you're being left behind."

And I felt behind. I felt that the wonder of indoor shopping was dead and buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in my past.

I didn’t even know it was sick.

And so I find myself wondering. Is the contrast due to degradation in mall-hood, or am I viewing the past through sugarplum tinted glasses?

Has the age of the mall passed, or have I passed the age for malls?

Even Buddy senses the magic is gone.

Dirk Destroyer Part 9 Chapters Four and 4

I think this is the ninth installment of Dirk Destroyer’s Less Destructive Brother. When we last left our intrepid crew (I’ve always want to write that,) Ono, has just encountered Lustavious Brachenhun, the libidinous, importunate (two more words I’ve always want to use,) Lightbringer, who has pegged her for one of his longer-termed relationships – perhaps an entire hour.

Chapter Four

Stuff You Learn

There are several tricks you learn if you live long enough. I have lived long enough to learn a few of them, and to identify several more that I have yet to learn. Some tricks come to you naturally, though the only way to learn others is to go to the right school.

Characters learn to fly in books from the childhood tales of Ffefferfoph the Bblupbblsuph (who hasn’t read that one?) to Jonathan Edwards Seagull Looks for Chicks. What does this mean? There is a trick to flying, and humans can learn that trick if they live long enough – or find where it’s taught.

The same is true for trans-dimensional transport, a common skill in many stories – so common that anyone who’s lived long enough would surely learn how to do it. It is a skill that Ono, at this point in the story would find very useful.

And also a skill I never learned.

Chapter 4

Lustavious Brachenhun

“You,” sang Lustavious Brachenhun with a catchy pop tune with a syncopated beat, “you may be the next one! You maybe the one-and-only of this hour! (or maybe one of two.)”

I disliked Lustavious Brachenhun on sight, but I admired his ability to make up a song extemporaneously like that. Dirk could do that – even when we weren’t unusually old. As a matter of fact, Dirk was doing that when we were children.

“You’re the Babe for my bed,” sang Lustavious, “and it better be soon or I will SWOOOON to the moon!”

All right, that section wasn’t so good.

Lustavious was tall. He was the tallest Light Bringer I’d ever met, and his hair was pretty amazing. His blonde coif was the equal of Luxcurious Bidden, and it wasn’t even stapled to his head.

As he got closer I stood up. Why do men always stand up when they are approached by tall men? Maybe it is to see if the other man is taller.

Lustavious was taller. I still stood. So did Ono with Swampy firmly rooted to her shoulder. She nudged me out a step and slipped behind me so I blocked Lustavious from her.

“Oh, hi,” said Lustavious. “You must be the brother of that conniving bastard we are going to blast into oblivion for all time!” He thrust out his hand. “I hope there’re no hard feelings.”

I found myself taking his hand, and even more incredibly, saying the words, “of course not; think nothing of it.”

“Jerrrrrrk!” said Swampy, sounding more bird-like than I’ve ever heard him before.

“We are all happy,” said Akwar in a disturbingly seductive tone, “to do anything you want, Lustavious. ANYTHING.”

I didn’t remember Akwar being in the room. She did what may have been intended as a bump and grind routine with a chair, which had it any free will, might have ended it’s chair existence right there and opted for cremation.

I put selective amnesia on my list of skills I needed to acquire.

“Noted,” said Lustavious, who had been fortunate to miss the more disgusting thrusts of Akwar’s routine because he was focusing on getting past me and into close proximity with Ono. He reached across my body and fastened his manicured fingers onto Ono’s arm.

Ono said something that might have been yelp, or help. I couldn’t be sure. Mage-e-not’s head was missing, though there wasn’t any food floating above his collar. I remembered my boast about just drawing the line and felt shame.

“Just a moment,” I said, and felt conflicted saying even that much.

“Yes?” said Lustavious, staring down his perfectly straight nose and over his strong chin to meet my gaze.

I trembled. I really trembled. Not even Lenny Bruise had made me tremble and that guy was pretty powerful when he wanted you to feel small.

“I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” asked Lustavious.

“I don’t know…”

“What don’t you know?” he sang in a suspended minor chord that sent shivers up my spine.

What didn’t I know? I didn’t know! I couldn’t think. My mind was blank, my knees were shaking. Something was important, but I had no idea what!

“I know,” said Swampy, and sunk his rat-muzzle beak right into Lustavious’ arm.

Lustavious bellowed, and within moments, seven Showr Rinn monks skipped lightly across tables, chairs, and people’s heads, surrounding Lustavious, Ono, Swampy, and me.

“A problem?” asked a slightly damp but glistening Lip Ton Tease.

For a moment we all stood there frozen. It reminded me of the day Grandpa McFarland caught Dirk and me smoking one of his cigars behind the potting shed. It turned out that Grandpa had no trouble with his ten and eight-year-old grandsons smoking, but he gave us each a whipping for not buying our own.

Grandpa loved his cigars more than his children or grandchildren, an attitude I’ve come to understand over the years.

Tease stood there watching us with patient intensity. Monks live for the moments when they can display patient intensity. Everybody else on the planet experiences either patient boredom, or anxious intensity. Monks hum for years to acquire this skill, then display it whenever they can.

Yes, monks love to show off.

Ono was the first to come to her wits. She ignored Lustavious’ bleeding forearm, and the bits of gore hanging from Swampy’s beak.

“You glitter and bubble, Lip Ton Tease,” she said. “Did you splish and swoosh?”

Tease turned his head in the pose that monks make when they don’t know what to say, but want to look wise. “Loofa brings wholeness to a shower,” he said.

“Ding dong,” said Ono. “You monks vroom.”

Tease straightened in a non-monk-like, but very guy-like way. For all his training, Tease was a guy, and Ono was a pretty female. Guys, be they 2-years-old, or about to fall in the grave, always like to impress pretty girls.

“Poop and boo-hoo,” Ono continued, “we can’t peep as you roar and rumble – to see you whoosh and jangle.”

A female novice, who though a female, may have been among that percentage of females who, like males, live for impressing pretty girls, said, “but you can watch us! I mean, it is permissible if you wish to observe and so find peace.”

“Ker-ching?” asked Ono. Her eyes, which I noted were a rather pleasant shade of green, fastened on Tease, like he was the great hero, and the bleeding Light Bringer was nothing more than a face – a face turning rapidly red – in the crowd.

“Yes,” said Tease, “Lap Er Gud, speaks truthfully – though training exercises here might disturb the peace of brunch. We would not harm anyone, but those who have not attained cleansed emotions might fear the fear that disturbs digestion.”

“Wham zing!” said Ono, accepting an invitation that was not strictly given. “May Swampy swoop and peep as well?” She gently slipped her free hand under Tease’s arm. Lustavious still held her other arm in his large hand connected to his large, albeit savaged arm.

Tease looked on Lustavious’ wound and produced a loofa from his robe. “You should clean that before you have it bandaged,” he said.

Lustavious let go of Ono’s arm who strolled out of the cafeteria between Lip Ton Tease and Lap Er Gud.

Maybe Akwar was right; she was a wizard.

A perfect drop of blood released its hold on Lustavious’ arm and hurtled out into space. Its shape elongated as it fell, whether stretching for the floor, or reaching back for its erstwhile home. Though it accelerated as it dropped, time slowed and tiny fragments of the drop refracted in the cafeteria’s sterile and unappetizing light. As the drop found oneness with the puddle below, twin crowns formed at the top of the drop, and at the point of joining. The first crown dissolved into harmony with the puddle while the second rapidly expanded its corona before rippling through the many droplets that had lost themselves in a completeness which was…

Yech. That’s what it was, a puddle of blood. I never much liked blood. I looked up at Lustavious whom I still detested.

“You need some help with that arm?”

Lustavious looked around sheepishly. Sheepish was not an expression his face knew well, and it didn’t suit him.

“I suppose,” he said, putting down the loofa as if it were a dangerous snake.

Mage-e-not’s head did not reappear until after we left.

Come back next week to see the doings in the broom closet! That came out wrong. I mean there is a broom closet involved, and stuff happens, but I don’t write “doings” very well. So come back next week to read the non-salacious events that occur in the broom closet.

(Way to go, Headley. Now nobody’s coming back next week.)

And now this message from one of my favorite sick song writers, Tom Lehrer