Temporary Fix To A Permanent Solution

The Life and Times of Steven Mumpower

2009-08-08T23:09:00.002-05:00

Steven Mumpower woke up and realized he slept passed his alarm. While he liked being woken to the tones of smooth jazz in the morning, he also ran the risk of being lulled back to sleep by yet another supermarket rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.” This is exactly what happened this morning though the result of his sleeping in was unlike anything else he would experience in his life. In all honesty, were one to compose a biography of the life and times of Steven Mumpower, this would be the only day worth mentioning.

Steven had the curse of being intelligent enough to yearn for more than a simple life of menial work and raising a family and yet not being smart enough to do anything but that. Not that he had been overly successful on the raising a family front either. 34 and single, his mother had all but given up on the prospect of grandchildren, not as much because of Steven’s age but because of inability to interact with women.

Steven didn’t worry about any of this as he rushed through his morning routine, blazing through his shower, grabbing mismatched socks and cutting himself three times with has harried razor blade. Looking at his watch as he ran out the door of his one-room apartment, he knew he’d have to take the subway if he wanted to make work on time.

Running out of the building without a jacket, Steven was greeted by a cold gray day with a bleakness only an old city could give. While sunny days made the faded paint and cracked old bricks of Steven’s neighborhood seem almost inviting, gloomy days gave power to the cracked and peeling spaces, the exposed rust of cascading poles and fire escapes, the ghostly remains of stickers on the sides of garbage cans, the dead grass poking through cracks in a gum-covered sidewalk.

Maybe it was the utter grayness of the day that made the subway seem so different to Steven, maybe it wasn’t. All he knew as that after he cut down 7th Ave. and made his down the steps to the subway platform, there was a distinct change in his perception. The subway tunnel had taken on a new dimension, a new definition. The green of the girders and the brown of the track were deep and rich and the area took on an almost otherworldly quality. It seemed not to be the subway platform but an artist’s interpretation of it. It had a painterly touch, that more than real feeling where every object is brought into perfect focus all at once.

That’s when he realized there was someone else on the platform. At the far end of cavern sat a man relaxing in a red overstuffed chair next to an overflowing garbage can that he seemed to pay no mind to. He wore a tweed jacket with a black turtle neck that contrasted nicely with his graying red hair.

“I know you probably doubted I’d ever come back, Steven, but I remember my debt to you. You didn’t think your old friend Conductor Inverness would forget you and all that you’ve done. I come with a gift as a token of my appreciation.” There was warmness in the soft creases around Conductor Inverness’ eyes that would have been comforting if Steven hadn’t been so bewildered.

What neither of them knew was that Conductor Inverness was speaking with the wrong Steven Mumpower. Conductor Inverness had yet to realize his multidimensional clock had been two seconds off for the last week, something that would later explain many of the odd encounters that had baffled before he realized the mistake.

“As with all of my gifts,” Inverness continued, “you will be given a choice. I know, Steven, that you will choose wisely.”

Steven liked gifts. He really liked them. He wasn’t about to question what was going on if there was a gift involved. “Alright, what’s my choice?”

Inverness smiled. “I’ve saved something quite special for you. As a reward for your efforts, you can either have the woman of your dreams…or a sage invisible elf that only you can see. He is very sage so he gives really good advice.” Holding his thumb and forefinger about four inches apart, he said, “He’s about this big and he can ride on your shoulder. But there’s more.”

“Really?” Steven said.

“Indeed. Not only is this elf extremely sage, he can produce an infinite amount of croutons—yes like on a salad—which he can throw at 2,000 plus miles an hour with deadly accuracy. And I did mention he’s really sage, didn’t I?”

“And my other option was the girl of my dreams?”

“Yes.”

“I find it hard to believe you can just produce an elf,” Steven said.

“Well, do you find it hard to believe you can just pick up an entire package of Keebler Elves at the store?” Conductor Inverness stroked his beard amusedly.

“That’s different,” Steven said.

“If you say so,” Inverness replied.

Steven pondered his situation for a moment. If this was for real, he could see the advantages of either choice. Who wouldn’t want the woman of their dreams? Then again, who wouldn’t want a sage invisible elf riding on his shoulder? That would be almost as cool an orangutan. Then a realization struck him: with the sage advice of the elf, he could effectively find and woo the woman of his dreams anyway. The elf could be a two-for-one deal. Besides, he loved croutons.

Steven stretched his arms and stood up straight. “Well, Mr. Conductor, I’ve reached my decision, I think. I’m going to have to take the elf,” Steven said. Confidently, he brushed his shoulder, flattening down his jacket to make a comfortable spot for his new friend. Good times were coming.

“So be it, Steven. You made a wise choice.”

With a flash of white and a sound like when you first open a can of Pringles, Steven felt the press of additional weight on his right shoulder.

“I’m going to call you Stevesy,” said the elf in a rich baritone voice that sounded not unlike voiceovers in film trailers. And much like film trailers, the voice did not necessarily seem to have a source but surrounded Steven’s ears, the gravel in it a grinding vibration.

Conductor Inverness laughed. “Stevesy! Yes, that’s perfect. I told you he was sage! Thank you for everything, Stevesy.” His voice trailed off and Steven’s perception of his surroundings began to melt around him in a swirling tie-dye of color until he found himself sitting at the table in his apartment. He was staring across at the small little creature with a round cone-shaped hat and long white beard. He looked a lot like a lawn gnome.

“So, Stevesy, these are your digs, eh?” the elf said.

“Yep, this whole room is my domain. Can I have a crouton?”

“Absolutely, Stevesy,” the elf said, pulling a crouton out of thin air.

Steven could only mutter an “Oh, wow!” as he bit into the most delicious crouton he’d ever had. Finally regaining his sense, he said, “I could get use to this. So besides the croutons, what are my other perks having you around?”

“Well,” said the elf scratching his beard. “If you didn’t know, I’m very sage and I could teach you any number of things. Is there anything you ever wanted to learn?”

“Sure, tons of things,” Steven replied. Looking around the room, he saw the two rapiers that were the only adornment on his walls. When Steven was 12 years old, his great-grandfather passed away and Steven had begged all his relatives to give swords to him. He envisioned one day fencing for the honor of a fair lady, pulling the swords from the wall and taunting his villainous rival to defend himself. “I have always wanted to learn how to fence.”

“Fencing? I’m an expert in the discipline. Take a sword down, I’ll show you,” the elf replied, unsheathing a previously unseen weapon from his brown little belt.

Steven took one of the swords down. Swinging it back and forth a few times, he said, “Man, you’re like the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The elf smiled. “We’ll start with a parry. To parry you make a reverse ‘C’ motion with the sword, like so.” The elf swung his sword about in demonstration. “It’s used to redirect your opponents blow. Take a stab at me, I’ll show you.”

Steven did just that, taking a mighty thrust at the elf. Halfway through the thrust, he realized they should probably have put a cork on the tip on the edge of Steven’s blade. As the thrust flung the sword out of the elf’s little hand and the rapier plunged into his chest, Steven was certain a cork would have been prudent.

“What a gyp,” Steven mumbled bitterly as he searched under his bed for a shoe box to put the little body in. “I guess he wasn’t so sage after all.”

The Adventures of Tax Madison Part One: Bigtop Bedlam

2007-07-26T14:47:00.001-05:00

“He has just slid from fashionably late to severely displeasing me,” a very flustered Cherry muttered, pushing the dark brown hair from her eyes as she scanned the vast gathering before her for Tax. “The party started at two and I told him one o’clock. It’s 2:30. His chronic lateness is progressing into the late stages usually reserved for Alzheimer patients.”

“Way to belittle a terrible condition for a joke,” said Diedrich, making sure to stay out of swinging reach. “We all know where he is.”

Cherry sighed, “Meh, fine. Let’s go. The magician doesn’t come on for another hour so we’ve got at least two hours to get back. I love birthday filler.” It was Marin Swexter’s eighteenth birthday party and she had invited the entire school for a day of clowns, magicians, animals, and salacious dancing to contemporary rap hits. Tired of seeing other kids of her level of affluence throw atypical parties again and again on television, Marin had convinced Daddy that she needed a party that would celebrate her whole life, beginning with her love of animals and ending with her current pursuits of expensive clothing and ugly overpriced handbags. It was definitely not the type of party Tax would typically attend.

Cherry and Diedrich pulled up to a modest establishment with an elaborately painted sign barring the proud title of “Markandeya’s Tea Room.” Markandeya had opened the tea room in Septentrio ten years before, emigrating from India during the sand spider incursion that had decimated his and many others’ homes. Bringing with him a love and intimate knowledge of tea, Markandeya was loved by all in town for his cheery disposition and heavenly tea.

Ripping open the door and slamming through the wooden beads behind it, Cherry growled, “Where is he?” Markandeya smiled and pointed to the open portal in the back right corner of the deep red room. Cherry hurried to the side room through deep brown and auburn cushions that surrounded the low tables that were scattered throughout the room, each shining like a beacon as wicks slowly melted the surrounding wax. Coming into the room, which had a small sign with “VIP Room” written across it in faux-Indian style, Cherry saw the culprit responsible for her most unpleasant of moods lying across several cushions with a small cup of tea wedged into his hands. He was, as always, wearing his signature glasses, the frames having a circle over the right eye and a square over the left. Ten years ago he had sworn the fashion would catch on. He was still waiting.

“Tax, get up and pay Markandeya. We’re leaving,” Cherry said, her frustration obvious.

“I don’t need to pay Markandeya, I’ve got a running tab here. You know that. So kick back and try this tea. It’s absolutely amazing and I have two empty cups here waiting for you guys. What’s it called, Deya?”

“Pouchong, my friend. I’m glad you like it,” Markandeya shouted back.

“Sounds good to me,” Diedrich said as he pulled his tall, athletic body down to the table and graciously took the cup Tax poured for him.

“Whoa, no you don’t. Both of you said you’d come to this party and I promise you, you will be held to your word.”

“Take it easy, Cherry, we’ll get there eventually. Right now, just sit and chill for a bit. Besides, Ted’s not here so I’m assuming we’re represented at the party. Who’s he chasing these days?” Tax asked as he tried his best to keep his hair out of the tea cup as he lowered his head for a sip.

“My guess would be a girl but we all know that’s up for contention,” Cherry said as she flopped down, admitting defeat.

“There we go,” Tax said, passing her a freshly poured cup. “Indulge yourself upon this nectar of the gods and appreciate how much more peaceful and enjoyable our current surroundings are as opposed to our intended destination.”

“Ugh, there’s no winning with you. What makes you so opposed to attending this gathering of our peers? You know someone of your standing is expected to show once you commit.”

“Yeah, someone of my position...sure, let me get on that when I’m done kissing all of the babies that are lined up around the block waiting for my healing saliva… Alright, that was a little much, but if you must know, seeing an avaricious young girl gorge herself on purses and smother herself in makeup as she revels in her own decadence with those of her own kind whilst surrounded by a circus atmosphere, while thematically interesting, isn’t that high on my list of things to do. Actually, it’s right behind getting Mariah Carey to sign my copy of Glitter and just edges out dragging my knees across two miles of broken glass only to be kicked in the face.”

“Point taken, but you said you were going to be there. I’m sick of you not showing up when you say you will,” Cherry said.

“Hey, when you need me, do I show up? When that giant, prehistoric mole was reawakened by that construction crew, did I not get there in time with the ray gun that that eccentric scientist had developed to defeat the menacing rodent? Or what about that time the always quirky, always deadly TerraBill had captured you to power his mind-reading squid of doom. Was that squid not calamari before you had met a most unfortunate fate? Or the time in the sewer, when the…”

“You said we’d never bring that one up,” Cherry cut in.

“Alright, but you clearly see where I’m going with this.”

“Yeah, you’ve clearly elucidated your point. My hat and my pants are most willingly off to you, man of men. Let me just bask in your glory for a moment.”

“Well said, I think we...”

“Still basking. Just give me a minute.”

“Funny. Now let’s…”

“Not done yet.”

Several minutes passed as Diedrich and Tax let Cherry drive her joke into the ground as was her typical modus operandi. Looking at his watch, Diedrich took a final swig of tea and stood up, saying “Alright Cherry, time to go. Play the trump card and let’s bounce.”

“Trump card? I’m intrigued. Do tell, Cherry, do you gots the way to move me?” Tax asked, staring straight into Cherry’s steely brown eyes that were surrounded by thick magenta rimmed glasses.

“Ignoring your cheeky and clichéd reference, Blondie here does in fact speak the truth. This whole time we have merely been toying with you, knowing all along we could get you to come in a moment’s notice. You know as well as us what this magic kryptonite that brings the almighty and unsettling Tax to his knees groveling for us to take him to this party is.” Cherry smiled. She knew she had him.

“There is no way she’d go to that,” Tax said, doing an unconvincing job of hiding his alacrity through a thick screen of skepticism.

“Well, if you must know, her father and the Swexter’s father (and bottomless money pit) were old college pals. As a result, one Maxine Marigold is currently at the Swexter compound, last seen situated in a corner drinking punch whilst trying to avoid the eyes of roving angsty suburban white males making their rounds to display not only their thug mentality but also their keen knowledge of brands, which are prominently emblazoned on their chests.”

“You do indeed know how to twist the knife in most appropriate ways. But enough banter. We must press onward to adventures and worlds unknown despite what perils await!” Tax said, rising to his feet, his heart a-flutter. Walking out the door with his companions in tow, Tax put the dirtied cups and empty tea pot on the counter next to the cash register. “Just keep putting it on that tab.”

“I will,” Markandeya said, “But you know our deal.”

“Yeah, if I don’t pay up within the fortnight, you cut off my pinky or slaughter my first born or whatever your people’s custom is.”

“We burn your house and then forcibly feed you your pets. Your cultural sensitivity knows no bounds, Tax. You take care.”

“You, too, Deya. Give Aamani my love.” Tax pushed open the door and they were soon on their way to the party.

Ten minutes later, Tax and his esteemed associates piled out of Diedrich’s black Honda Civic, affectionately dubbed “Monsieur Generic,” and were now faced with the neo-colonial façade of the Swexter mansion that was now titivated with banners proclaiming the wonder and miracle that their daughter made it to eighteen without choking on a silver spoon. Meanwhile, the thumping bass of the dance music mixed with the cries of elephants and donkeys created a most beautiful cacophony as Tax and Cherry began to ascend the stairs and Diedrich tossed the valet his keys. Running to catch up, Diedrich grabbed Tax’s shoulder. “Tax, I know, as you’ve stated many times in the past, you don’t need help with women. But I also know that Max is a little different than usual, so, I mean, you don’t have to take this but, I got this pendant out of the quarter machine when I was going for a bouncy ball. It’s kind of cheesy and seems like just the thing you’d give her. So here.”

He handed Tax a small plastic container that held a pendant around three nickels in length. It was an image of a hand in ‘Rock On’ position. “Thanks, Diedrich. You know, I very well just might give it to her. I’m much obliged by such a gracious gesture though, as you said earlier, I need no help with girls.”

“If by no help you mean always sending me in to do recon,” Cherry cut in.

“I haven’t done that in years. With the way you are now, they’d probably think you were hitting on them,” Tax shot back.

“Cute. I’m sure my boyfriend would appreciate such sentiments.”

“I don’t know if Cap’n College would be able to comprehend such sentiments.”

“At least he shows up on time.”

“So he can tell time.”

“Alright, that’s enough” Diedrich said, exasperated. “As we cross the threshold into this social gathering, I expect you to stop bickering like the old married couple you are and have some sense of composure. Especially you Tax. As the leader of this merry group, when you offend someone or commit some kind of party faux pas, it reflects poorly on all of us.”

“Jeez, you actually sound like you care. I think Cherry will agree that it is much more enjoyable to revel in our rogue adventurer status.”

“No doubt, player,” Cherry said, pounding Tax’s fist. Despite their quibbling, Tax and Cherry were, in reality, thick as thieves. Tax wasn’t as against going to the party as he implied and Cherry knew it. He was just undermotivated to break out of his usual weekend routine, which usually involved hanging around the tea room or embarking on some kind of adventure to save the city from its latest threat. But he wouldn’t even do any of that without Cherry. Without her masterful planning skills, Tax, Diedrich, and Ted would most likely all sit around in their underwear all day reading comic books…not that there is anything wrong with such pursuits.

Entering the house, Diedrich and Cherry stopped to talk to the proud proprietor and his wife while Tax made his way through to the backyard, where he found the party in full swing. By the pool, scores of people were bumping and grinding to the pounding beats the DJ was spinning while animals that had escaped the petting zoo were mixing into the crowd. To the left by the hedge maze, an inebriated clown was struggling to make balloon animals for the amused and sarcastic onlookers while a mime in a blue beret tried to trap him in a box. A Ferris wheel was located near the second garage and was being manned by a most grungy of carnies that was unabashedly looking up from his convenient vantage point. The more exotic animals—such as the elephants, giraffes, leopards, and tigers—were being stabled in front of the pool house. In the center of the yard was a yellow and red tent, much like a circus big top that housed a dining area with almost enough tables and chairs to seat the numerous guests at once despite the unlikelihood of everyone choosing to dine at the same time.

Out of the hundreds of people wandering around, Tax could see several notables. Mayor Stypson was wandering around doing his usual gladhanding shtick while Jack Camini, the local weather man, was making sure everyone knew just how pretty he was. Also, he was there. The man behind all organized crime in Septentrio. The man responsible for countless deaths, ruined families, and not to mention numerous minor inconviences. It was the man Tax and his friends had given many sleepless nights by foiling his schemes. It was none other than Saxon DeWappo. And not only was he at this party, he was talking to Max’s dad. Why a saint like Memphis Marigold would ever talk a cur like DeWappo was beyond Tax. “Wow, could you scowl a little harder? You haven’t twisted your face yet.”

Tax turned around. “Ted, how have you survived here this long without us is beyond me. How’ve you gotten by?”

“Like that,” Ted said as he pointed to the pool filled with several girls floating in chairs sunning themselves. “It’s a rough existence but someone has to do it, right mon frére?”

“Ted, I’ve known you since we were in diapers and you’ve been chasing girls since you were able to walk and yet you’ve never had a girlfriend (besides the one we don’t count). I’m pretty sure you’re like a dog chasing a car, you wouldn’t know what to do if you caught one,” Tax said.

“Meh, at least you’re off the ‘Ted’s Gay’ bandwagon.”

“It’s too bad you’re not.”

“Speaking of incompetent chasing, I saw Max hanging around the giraffes about ten minutes ago. She looked kind of lonely.”

“Oh, I see. Did she now?”

“Yeah, it was a good thing the captain of the football team came by to cheer her up and take her for a spin in his Corvette.”

“That guy has to be handy for something. But seriously, is she hanging out there?”

“Was there a hint of concern in your voice there, Tax, old man? If you must know the truth, yes she is hanging out over there. No she isn’t alone.”

“Who’s she with?”

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“Actually, I kind of really do as it would be more conducive to my elaborate scheming if I wasn’t hit with any surprises upon my arrival at the animal menagerie.”

“I fear it’s the one that doesn’t count.”

“Janice? Ugh, our collective ex-girlfriend strikes again. It’s amazing how she plagues me from the grave of our dead relationship. She’s done this to you too hasn’t she?”

“Yeah, and Diedrich. There seems to be a certain level of malice for anyone we want to date because that of course would put her on par with them and as she has made very clear to all of us, no one is on par with her. You sure this Max girl is worth going over there for?”

“I have no doubt that the juice is most assuredly worth the squeeze. Ever since she transferred from that private school last year she caught my eye and I started talking to her a couple weeks back shortly after you, me, and the rest of the crew had gotten the cure on that mountaintop for that plague that only affected Russians that DeWappo had MacCranium fix up to get the Berezovsky mob out of town. Turns out, not only is she a most appealing to the sight, what with her green eyes that call out to you under the low-hanging part of her long dirty-blond hair, but she also has a lot of the same interests as me. And, well, I can’t quite rationalize the rest.”

“Then go lock that action down before someone else does. My only warning is that she seems kind of like the cultured, arty type. And, the name?”

“Yeah, I know. Tax and Max. It’s hackneyed and a bit disturbing. What’re you going to do? And hey, no one’s ever going to line up perfectly and being cultured isn’t always a bad thing.”

“Wow, this chick already has you selling out. Now away with you, go chase your lovely Beatrice.”

“Alright. Later on, cap’n. Good luck in all your current endeavors,” Tax said as he shook his dear companion’s hand.

His conversation finished, Tax began to make his way towards Max. Ably avoiding the Mayor behind a butler and calmly walking past the glare of DeWappo, Tax only had to get through the throngs of dancers to make it to her. As he slowly pushed his way through the crowd, he felt a hand grab his side and slide down his leg. “I was hoping you’d make it to my party, Tax! I should’ve trusted Cherry would get you here!” It was Marin, wearing a tight fitting shirt and tattered jeans that probably cost more than two weeks of groceries. Her skin was clearly spray tanned and her face revealed several coats of makeup, the last layer featuring a heavy coat of glitter. If it wasn’t for the makeup and manner of dress, she could have been a beautiful girl. She had pleasant green eyes and several different colors of hair, none of which were original.

“Cherry’s pretty persuasive. But hey, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. You’ve done quite a swell job with this shindig,” Tax said, hoping Marin would be distracted by a butterfly or some other innocuous creature.

“Did you just say swell? That’s so cute, by golly. You’re just a really impressive guy, Tax,” Marin said.

“Well, uh, thanks,” Tax said. It was uncommon to get praise from his peers as they somewhat saw the high adventures Tax and Co. embarked on as kind of stupid. Yeah, they were saving lives and doing good, but they weren’t getting anything out of it, except maybe a mention in the paper and the scorn of DeWappo, who was held in high regard by the student body through his generous scholarship foundation and support of various sports and numerous town functions. Half the students probably lived in housing DeWappo built whether they knew it or not.

“I mean, it’s really amazing that someone, you know, kind of average, can do the things you do. I mean, you’re not rich or anything.”

“Thanks, Marin. That means a lot, especially coming from someone as affluent and important as you. You enjoy you’re party.”

“Oh, I am, but don’t think you’re going to get away without giving me a present or at least a kiss on the cheek.”

Tax panicked and fumbled through his pockets trying to find something to give her. Curses, no spare change. He’d have to give her the pin. It was that or have to deal with Cherry calling him ‘Glitter Lips’ for the rest of the month. “Uh, here you go. Thanks for reminding me,” Tax said, cursing the crazy broad for inadvertently pilfering his icebreaker with Max.

“Thanks a lot, Tax. You’re so sweet! Thanks again for coming!” Marin wandered off back into the crowd and could be heard shouting for the bartender.

Ugh, now that that’s over with, Tax thought, I can finally continue with my quest, despite the fact that the odds are stacked against me and I’ve now lost at least six planned lines of dialogue now that the pin has been lost. Nonetheless, I will slay the Goliath of Max’s shyness and we shall rule this world in suburban bliss. Snaking his way through the rest of the crowd. Tax finally saw her, standing by the monkey cage with Janice. Walking up, he said, “I see you’ve already found the most intelligent guest already,” Tax said. “And, hey, Janice is here, too!”

“Oh so clever, Tax. It’s funny that you came right now, we were just talking about you,” Janice said.

“Of course by talking about me you mean you were unabashedly trashing me with half truths and exaggerations. Thanks, it’s most appreciated. Anyways, you enjoying your talk with Janice, Max?”

“Well, you know me, I don’t enjoy anything more than a solid conversation spiced up with a little feces-throwing, sir,” Max said with a smile.

Tax sighed. Oh man, she’s so clever and she just snubbed Janice. Don’t screw this up. “No doubt. So, how’ve you been, Max? I haven’t talked to you in far too long.” Tax leaned in towards Max and boxed Janice out of the conversation.

“Yeah, it has been a while. But the paper says you’ve been keeping busy. I saw you helped the beekeeper recover his prize hive back from those black market hustlers that had roamed into town. Very impressive. As for how I’ve been, I’ve been pretty swell. Just painting and hanging around Cosimo square.”

“Ah, the Cosmio square. Where hippies and commies meet to talk about how oppressive the government is and how much better it’d be if they were running it. I heard the atmosphere is good though.” Tax, what the hell are you saying, he thought in alarm.

“Yeah, sounds like you’re a fan. Maybe if you came and checked it out with me it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I wouldn’t take him anywhere if I were you,” Janice said. “I took him to my grandmother’s funeral and he knocked over the casket.”

“First of all, you were the one who knocked over the casket. You see, Max, I was wheelchair bound with a broken leg at the time courtesy of a mutated kangaroo and that maniac wheeled me straight into the casket. I still have nightmares of that old lady being dumped onto my lap,” Tax said indignantly.

“Well, maybe if you had just let the kangaroo do what it wanted to, you wouldn’t have been in a wheelchair. Really, who told you to fight a mutant kangaroo?” Janice said.

“It was attacking a daycare center and it had already consumed two dogs and a bicycle. But you’re right. A broken leg isn’t worth saving a bunch of small children from the unforgiving jaw of a brain-addled, steroid-laden kangaroo. And besides, I wa--what the heck is going on?” A scream and large commotion had just broken out near the pool.

Tax saw Cherry rushing around frantically and he chased her down with Janice and Max behind him. “Cherry,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“It’s…It’s Marin, she’s been murdered!”

“There’s no way anyone would ever murder that airhead,” Janice said with an air of incredulity and jealousy about her person, “This is another one of her attention-getting pranks. As if this party wasn’t enough. You can’t seriously believe this hoax, Cherry. Even though you run around with Tax and them, you’re still smart enough to realize it.”

“You think I didn’t consider that you condescending witch? I saw the body so cut the attitude and at least try to act like you have even the remotest sliver of what might resemble a soul. It’s pretty hard to fake a double tap to the head and the acrid smell of blood rising from stained grass around her,” Cherry said, doing her best to restrain herself from choking Janice death and then dancing in celebration upon here vanquished foe.

“Where’d they find her body?” Tax asked, continually pumping his hands as he scanned the crowd.

“Behind the pool house near the bushes. The way house is shaped and the greenery arranged, the body is nearly impossible to see until you’re right on it so it’s a safe bet that that’s where the killing took place,” Cherry replied.

“Sounds logical though we shouldn’t assume anything until we get a clear look. Go find Ted and Diedrich while I find the officer in charge,” said Tax.

“Alright. We’ll meet in front of the Ferris wheel in fifteen minutes,” Cherry said. “And Tax, be careful. That was a pretty brutal killing and the killer most likely knows we’ll be looking for him.” She then turned and began to make her way through the frightened and panicking crowd of people that was anxiously tarrying about in chaotic fashion.

Tax turned to Max. “If you’d like me to help you find your dad before I go looking for the police, I’d be more than willing to. I think its best if you stick with someone until the killer is found.”

“Well I appreciate your concern, sir, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick with you through this mess. I’ve always wanted to see the legendary Tax Madison in action and…” Max sighed. “Well, Marin wasn’t my best friend but I’d still like to do what I can to see this thing through.”

Tax thought for a minute. On the one hand, he had been looking forward to spending time together with Max. On the other, was Max truly aware of how dangerous the situation was? She had never been involved in anything like this. Tax had learned to take for granted how competent Diedrich, Ted, and Cherry had become and wasn’t used to having to constantly think about protecting someone out on one of his adventures. Then he looked her in the eye and put has hand to his forehead. “Against my better judgment, I’ll let you tag along and witness my legend under the condition that at the first sign of danger, you run for cover. And if someone starts shooting, hide behind Janice, only water kills her kind.”

“Oh ha, ha. I’d expect that from you, Tax. You never really did get over me,” Janice said. Her face slowly deepened into a dark shade of red and Tax was surprised her hands weren’t bleeding from how hard her fists were clench.

“You’re absolutely right, Janice, and that’s why I’m asking you to get as far away from me as possible whilst I solve this most enigmatic of cases. I can’t have your radiant beauty distracting me…and I’ve already had my daily allotment of scorn for the day. C’mon Max, let’s go get solving this thing while Janice finds someone to endlessly excoriate so she can regain her inherent sense of superiority.”

It didn’t take Tax long to push through the crowd and find the officer in charge. He sighed. As if this day couldn’t get any worse, he thought. Of all of the police officers on the force, they had to send Sgt. Bathers, that incompetent pompous know-it-all. Sgt. Bathers was currently involved with creating a perimeter and loudly stating over a megaphone that no one was allowed to leave the party until the case had been solved. Of course, he quickly reassured them that with him on the case, it would indubitably be solved in most expedient fashion.

Tax and Max approached Bathers, who scowled when he caught sight of them. “I knew it wouldn’t be too long before you showed up. You always seem to on the high profile cases, you glory hound.”

“Of course, since there’s so much glory to be gained from an eighteen-year-old girl’s death. Which side are the cameras on? I want to make sure they get my good side,” Tax said. “Now, putting our differences aside, can we please work together to take this poor girl’s slayer down? I think a combined effort could be most effective in overcoming our current foe and solving this mystery.”

Bathers scowled. “Ha! Me team up with you? You’re just a smug teenager who’s gotten lucky a couple times. Regardless of how highly Chief Neppin thinks of you, I think I can handle this on my own. So, if you’d excuse me, I do have work to do. Go play your little game elsewhere, young man.”

Tax turned and trotted angrily toward the Ferris wheel with Max following in his wake. She jogged to catch up with him and grabbed his shoulder. “What’s his deal? I thought the police loved you guys and your daring and cheeky escapades.”

“I really thought I had mastered sarcasm until I met you. It simply exudes from your person. But to answer your query whether or not you were really asking for the most part, the general population of the police force does respect us but, unfortunately, there are some who aren’t fans,” Tax said. “Maybe it’s my garish demeanor or my rogue charm but for some reason, Bathers has never liked me. It only got worse after I disproved his conclusions in the mystery of the maliciously murdered midget. He had renowned LP activist Gerry Salvemanter pegged as the murder and had her lined up on death row. Fortunately, Cherry and I didn’t buy his findings and, with a little good old fashioned sleuthing (in addition to Cherry beating information out of several accomplices), we found the killer to truly be Marshall Mardsen, the landlord. It seems that, through some odd chain of events and an assortment of contractual loopholes, he was able to collect life insurance on his tenants. I blame needless bureaucracy, personally. Anyways, Bathers wasn’t too pleased about the public humiliation that ensued as well as the departmental wrist slap that came with it. He’s since been carrying a terrible chip on his shoulder and this chip is now a hindrance in the solving of this most heinous crime.”

“All right. I followed most of that spirited rant, but…an LP activist?”

“Yeah, you know, LPs, little people. An LP activist literally defends the rights of the little guy. You really need to get with the times. Current vernacular dictates that LP no longer possesses the semantic charge of ‘a long-play record’ but in fact currently represents a cross-section of the population…hey, there’s Cherry. It looks like she procured the rest of the crew. Most excellent. Let’s go loiter with them in a productive fashion. And hey,” Tax grabbed Max by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes softly and paused for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to know that no matter what, I’ll never forgive you if you embarrass me.”

She smiled and leaned in. “I can’t guarantee you not being embarrassed but I think the best guarantee that I won’t be is if you stay about ten feet away from me.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to maintain your high social standing.” Tax leaned closer and Max laughed.

“Don’t get greedy,” she said as she turned to join the gathering.

When they walked up Cherry was pacing back and forth in front of Ted and Diedrich, who were sitting on the steps leading up to the Ferris wheel. Ted was stroking his goatee in a way that made his mustache similar to that of Snidely Whiplash, Diedrich was slowly rubbing his hands, and Cherry was letting out a stream of indiscriminate obscenities that didn’t quite line up but were uncouth nonetheless. Seeing Tax and Max, Diedrich jumped down from the steps. “Cherry, relax on the sailor routine they’re here. What’s the plan Tax?”

Tax smiled and scratched the back of his neck, “We’ll take the typical route. Diedrich take Max and you two ask around Marin’s friends. Cherry, you stay on the underneath and see what you can pull from all the talk that’s floating around. Approach if it’s real juicy but I’d prefer you stay invisible. Don’t get in too deep alone. Ted, you and I will stay our usual trajectory in such matters. Which of the usual miscreants have you seen around this place?”

“I think I saw Paulo Starkster trying to keep a low profile near the bar. Should we rustle him and a couple of the other usuals up?” Ted said.

“Indubitably,” Tax said. “We’ll all meet back here in three hours and hopefully sort this most unfortunate business out. Diedrich, make sure Max doesn’t screw up…Break!”

As the others went off on their missions, Tax and Ted began theirs as well. “Ted, I know this is usually more in Cherry’s realm but…”

“Yeah and she looked a bit pissed but it would be unseemly for you to ditch Max for Cherry,” Ted said with a crooked smile, “Yet I can’t help but wonder why you would ever pick me as your unseemly cohort in this business. I can only deduce that you paired her with Dieds because it’s so hard to resist such a charming young man as myself, even if Tax Madison is so sheepishly pursuing you. Hey, there’s the roundheel!”

“Yeah, I wonder why I didn’t leave her in your care. Now let’s get that scoundrel! Hey! Paulo! Get that ugly mug over here!”

A small weasel of a man looked up from his cigarette and saw who was calling and quickly turned and ran. Tax and Ted just sighed and began their pursuit. Paulo started to cut across the lawn, leaving a trail of already bewildered onlookers in his path. Seeing Tax and Ted right on his tail, he took a quick right and jumped the buffet table and then pushed it over, sending an iced swan to its demise in a see of gravy, chicken wings, garnish, and other delectables. Tax and Ted took a hard left to avoid the mess and tried to cut Paulo off as he threw the perplexed caterer in their path. Shoving the unfortunate gentleman out of the way, Ted took a diving leap and took Paulo to the ground. “Let’s go talk somewhere more private,” Ted said as he grabbed Paulo by his shoulders.

“Sorry for the intrusion, my good sir,” Tax said, picking up the caterer and dusting him off. “I must give you my compliments on the fine spread you had set up here for this event; I found all of your selections to…”

“Tax! C’mon!” Ted yelled.

“Excuse me, sir,” Tax said, leaving the perplexed cater to follow Ted as he dragged the sorry lackey behind the animal cages and the keeper’s truck and threw him down.

“After that little stunt Paulo, I’m going to go ahead and assume you know something so why don’t we skip the usual ‘You twos gots the wrong guy’ bit and just tell us what this all about,” Tax said, stretching his arms.

Paulo leapt up and tried to run but Ted grabbed him by the collar and slammed him to the ground. “Sit and talk a bit, pal,” Ted said, patting Paulo on the shoulder.

“Look, you fellas just startled me is all and when I get jumpy I start to hoof it. Don’t mean I know what yous wants. You gots to stop picking on me like this,” Paulo said.

“We’ll refrain from such action when you’re no longer showing up when anything goes awry,” Tax said, moving on to leg stretches. “Are you still moonlighting for DeWappo when you’re not running for the Ukrainians at the docks? Would it be too bold to say they had something to do with this?”

“I don’t know. I’m a busy guy, fellas. It’s hard to keep track. How ‘bout I call you guys when I dig something up?”

“I’m afraid that our current situation garners a certain level of rapidity. Spill now before I have to get ugly. Ugly of course meaning I’d begin to engender harm upon your person.”

“I don’t know anything so back off. I don’t need you endgenderin’ anything on me, you sicko.”

“Ugh. Ted, don’t you hate it when this happens? All I want is a little bit of info and Paulo here suddenly forgets we’re buddies. I’m going to be honest, it quickly becomes aggravating and I’ve been known to have a temper about such things. A girl dies and a rat like you is scurrying about her party. We find you, you make haste and try to lose us. Clearly, you know something and you’re hiding it. This game really makes me want to hurt something.” Tax slammed his fist right next to Paulo’s head and grabbed him by the shirt. “Start talking or start bleeding. What do you know?”

“N…nothing important.”

“Not good enough.” Tax backhanded him and slammed him against the back the trailer that was attached to the truck. “Spill it you accursed reprobate.”

“Look, I really don’t know anything about the girl’s murder. All I know is Boris up at the docks said that Barry Swexter was working a deal with the French and it went sour not too long ago.”

“Who are the French? Are we talking about an entire country or just several individuals of French ethnicity?”

“Don’t get smart. It was a fella by the name of Luc Brassard. Know him?”

Tax thought for a moment with his hand balled under his chin. “Yeah, he’s an importer/exporter of antiques and other things that don’t end up on the invoice. But he doesn’t deal in Septentrio, he’s more of a fixture down south. Why was Swexter dealing with someone like that?”

“Got me. Are we through?”

“Not quite yet. You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”

“DeWappo decided he wanted a bit of extra muscle around for the party. I needed the money and didn’t ask questions. If you ask me, I think he caught wind of the deal and wanted himself covered if Brassard made his move today.”

“Guess he was safe in his assumption. It might get rough around here soon, Paulo. I’d highly recommend you make yourself scarce in a most efficient fashion…and can you stay out of trouble for once?”

“It’s easy for you to say, all up on your high horse. I gots to eat and you don’t have to tell me that I’m not the smartest guy around. Work is scarce for a dumb mook like me.” Paulo got up and rubbed the dust off his clothes.

“Don’t give me that excuse. There’s plenty of honest work around here. You’re just looking for an easy buck so your pathetic endeavor for my pity was merely wasted breath. Leave now while I’m still in a good mood.” Tax leered at Paulo as he scurried off. Ted leaned on the trailer and laughed.

“That never gets old, mon frére,” Ted said, still in a fit of laughter. “I really liked the backhand and ‘Start talking or start bleeding’? Real classy. I’m glad you went the extra mile on that one.”

“Hey, Cherry’s usually the bad cop, give me a break. Besides, how threatening can you be when your limited to expressing yourself monosyllabically? But this raises a lot of questions, it does indeed. This thing just got considerably messier. How is Swexter involved with Brassard? Was Brassard culpable for this murder? I mean, I heard the guy was rough, but he’s not a monster. I really don’t think he’d involve family members. Of course, if he’s trying to make a play for this turf, he might not be below playing dirty if he thinks the move will give him ground. We’re going to have to do a lot more digging to find out what his game is regardless of whether or not he’s involved. Just remember, even if this does smack of some kind of mob hit, we can’t rule out any possibilities. That said, if it was a hired hit, the killer is most likely not on the guest list but is one of the hired help for the party. Friends and family typically aren’t mercenaries on the side. Let’s look around a bit more and see what the others can turn up as well.”

Tax and Ted continued to wander around, asking questions and quietly canvassing the field looking for anything odd or out of place. The caterer had a legitimate alibi as did the bartender. While Tax tried to focus on the task at hand, he found his mind preoccupied with not only what Paulo had told them but also Max. Was it a bad idea to send her with Diedrich? He was certainly amiably and had rather striking features. Sure he could be trusted but she certainly wasn’t beholden to Tax and could decide that he wasn’t the one she was interested in. Tax quickly dismissed that line of thought. There was no reason to worry about such things, especially when there is a murder to be solved. If he wanted Max to like him, botching a murder case probably wouldn’t be conducive to any sort of intended wooing. He needed to focus.

“Hey, Tax! Ted!” a police officer said as he walked up to the two as they were finishing their interview with gentleman watching the ball pit.

“Officer Stevens!” Tax said warmly. “Hey, I heard your wife just had a baby. Congratulations!”

Stevens rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. “Thanks, Tax, but I’m afraid I didn’t come over here to talk. Now I don’t agree with it but Sgt. Bathers has demanded that everyone, even you, gather in the big top dining area so they can all be individually interviewed. I know that it’s messing with you helping out but…”

Tax sighed. “It’s alright, Stevens. We’ll go over without a fight. It’s not your fault. If you could just do me a favor and make sure we get interviewed early on so we can get back to work.”

Tax and Ted made their way towards the ungainly big top where they saw hoards of people gathering. “This is absolutely pointless,” Tax said as the continued walking towards the tent. “There’s no reason to interview everyone. It’s just going to lead to a ton of needless paperwork. Why doesn’t Bathers just admit he needs everyone to gather in one place so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone slipping out or interfering with the crime scene?”

“It does seem pointless until you think about Bathers. Late-thirties, kind of dumpy, constantly working. How many chances does he get to talk to this many good looking girls? I don’t blame him one bit for abusing his position of power. And, hey, it gives us a chance to regroup with the others and see what kind of info they’ve gathered and how enamored with Diedrich Max is by now.”

“Aye, very true,” Tax said as they shuffled their way into the tent and looked for the rest of the gang. Browsing the tent, Tax could see what kind of effect this whole ordeal was having on his classmates. A general look of shock and confusion seemed to blanket the listless crowd, who were all slumped in their chairs, some with their heads down on the fold-out tables. It was quite a contrast from the jovial feel that the party had only an hour before. Finally in the far left corner of the tent, Tax saw Cherry waving her arms wildly in an attempt to get his and Ted’s attention.

Arriving at the table, Tax found Diedrich sitting next to Cherry and an empty seat while Max was sitting alone on the other side. Tax couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness. “Gentlemen, welcome to our merry party. We were just discussing how enjoyable your excessive tardiness always is,” Cherry said as they sat down, Ted making a beeline for the seat next to Max and swerving at the last moment to the other side of the table.

“Sorry, Ted was the one they handed the memo and we all know his literacy is dubious at best” Tax said.

“When you’re this pretty, being illiterate really isn’t a problem. And if a book isn’t worth adapting into a movie, is it really worth reading?” Ted said, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. “But now that Tax and I have arrived I feel we should get to the business at hand. Max, despite Dieds slowing you down, how’d your rounds go?”

“Believe it or not, Marin’s friends weren’t wholly logical or very much helpful on the whole but they did—”

“Diedrich, I believe Ted addressed Max,” Cherry said. “I’m sure she’s more than capable of giving an account of your journeys and I for one would appreciate the logic and clarity only a girl can bring.”

“Sure,” Ted said, “as well as the addition of who was wearing and what and fifty or so ‘likes’ and ‘totallys’.”

“Yeah, but, like, it’s so totally important to know what everyone is wearing,” Max said as plainspoken as possible. “So, like, me and Diedrich, we were so like, ‘Let’s figure out this mystery’ and so we…alright, I’m stopping there. Marin’s friends for the most part were in shock but what we could gather from them is that she definitely had no idea anyone was trying to kill her.”

“And,” Diedrich added, “to file under flimsy suspects, the animal keeper, Bob Vicardon, was seen yelling at Marin earlier. Apparently, she’s the one who freed all the animals that were running about when we got here.”

“Unless he’s a member of PETA, I don’t think he’d go as far as murdering her. Nonetheless, we should keep him in mind if nothing else comes up,” Cherry said. “As far as my report goes, I’ve got one lead that we should at least take notice of. Remember last year Marin had a fling with Sam Elando, the pool boy? Apparently, her father caught wind of it and Sam was promptly fired. To add insult to injury, Marin has completely ignored him at school and denied anything ever happening.”

“That’s rough,” Ted said. “But I know Sam and he’s recently replaced Marin with a far more attractive and reasonable-type broad.”

“Yeah, ignoring the broad comment for now, it’s still a pretty weak lead but it’s better justification than the upsetting of a petting zoo. Aside from that, I really didn’t gather much. The carnie working the Ferris wheel, Ike ‘Twitchy’ Stevenson, is creepy but he’s got a solid alibi. It seems his ability to make people uncomfortable came in handy because someone can recall him leering at them nearly every minute of the day. The clown, Allen Gardi, has been working parties for the past fifteen years without incident so I’d say it’s unlikely that he’d finally go off the deep end, especially at such a well paying gig. The mime, despite his clashing blue beret, seems pretty harmless and I don’t think he even speaks English. So all and—”

“Wait a second,” Tax cut in. “You say he doesn’t speak English? What does he speak?”

“C’mon, Tax, he’s a mime,” Cherry said. “What do you think he speaks? He doesn’t wear a beret for nothing.”

“So he’s French. Do we know anything about his background?” Tax asked as put both hands on the table and pushed his shoulders up with anticipation.

“No but I’m sure a quick phone call to Neppin could settle that. The mime’s name is Jacques Grenouille,” Cherry said. “What’s this about?”

Tax leaned back. “Turns out Swexter made a deal with that shady French importer Brassard that went sour a little while back. DeWappo brought extra men with him just in case so there’s a good chance he knew something was going to go down. Brassard is obviously new to the area and I wouldn’t be surprised if he brought his own hit man in to do the job.”

Cherry thought for a moment and replied, “Yeah, but that still doesn’t make sense. If Brassard was going to take anyone down because of a bad deal, he’d go for Barry Swexter, not his little girl. Taking out family members is usually bad for business.”

“Well, we have to look at what we’ve got,” Diedrich said. “We know Swexter has issues with Brassard and now his daughter is dead plus we have a mysterious French mime in our presence. On the other hand, we have the pool boy and the angry animal keeper.”

“I know I’m new to this but I think before you take any more wild stabs in the dark, you should give your police chief friend a call and get the background on this ‘insidious’ mime,” Max said. “Personally, I think you’re grabbing at straws here. Mr. Swexter likes authenticity so he would have definitely went with a French mime. But, I mean, if he knew Brassard was going after him, I’m sure he would have had a thorough background check on all of the hired entertainers.”

“Wow, well said, Max,” Ted said applauding. “I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m putting in my vote now to remove Tax from the group and instate Max as our new leader.”

“I agree. I mean, no matter who the leader is, Cherry will really be running the show so we might as well trade up for something prettier,” Diedrich said.

“Hmmm, I don’t even know if you’re complimenting or mocking me,” Max said with a smile.

“We never compliment anyone,” Tax said. “Unless we’re vying for baked goods as Cherry knows well.”

“At some point, my mother will catch on to that and someday you’re going to enjoy a batch of strychnine brownies,” Cherry said.

“But she thinks we’re such nice boys,” Diedrich said. “And I quote, ‘why can’t you date someone like that Diedrich? He’s handsome and funny and not at all like that boy you’re seeing now.’ She also said something like that about Ted once but I think that was more geared towards your brother.”

“Again with the gay jokes? You really need to expand your repertoire,” Ted said.

Cherry smiled and rubbed Ted’s head. “It’s your own fault for using hair gel.”

“You know, it’s really amazing you guys have every accomplished anything. I think it’s high time you made that call,” Max said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tax said. “Where’s Stevens? There he is. Stevens! Stevens!”

Hearing Tax yelling for him, Stevens capably snaked through the crowded tables and made his way to Tax. “Hey, Tax, you needed something?”

“Yeah. Sorry to flag you down so boorishly but is there any way I could abscond your radio momentarily to get a hold of Neppin? We might have a lead we need checked.”

“Yeah, sure, not a problem,” Stevens said, unclipping the radio from his shoulder and handing it to Tax.

Pressing the button on the radio down with his right thumb, Tax brought it to his mouth. “Sandy, you there? It’s Tax.” Sandy was the slightly older woman in charge of dispatch at the police station. She had dealt with Tax on more than one occasion and always had an extra muffin waiting for him when he stopped by the station.

Letting go of the button, the radio suddenly sprang to life with a loud hiss and a garbled reply coming forth. “Hey Tax! How’s it going? I heard you were over at that party. Shame about that girl. I’m sure you want me to patch you over to Neppin.”

“Be much obliged if you did, m’lady,” Tax replied.

“Alright, just hang on a second.”

Tax waited about fifteen seconds before he heard a familiar voice coming through the radio. “Is that you Tax my boy? I knew I’d be hearing from you sooner or later about this case. Got any good leads yet?”

“We just might. It might be kind of shaky but we were hoping you might be able to spread some light on it. If it isn’t too much trouble, see what you can get us on Jacques Grenouille, G-R-E-N-O-U-I-L-L-E.”

“Alright, give me fifteen minutes and I’ll get right back to you.”

“Thanks, Neppin. I always appreciate all the help you give us.”

“Think nothing of it Tax. You’ve given me quite a hand through the years yourself. Neppin out.” A jolly round man with graying, well-combed hair, nice round cheeks, and a menacing stare, Neppin was now in his early sixties. He had slowly risen through the ranks of the Septrino police during the last forty or so years and was the current chief of police for the past fifteen years in which a dramatic drop in crime had been seen. Chief Neppin had been an ally of Tax and Co. for quite a while, ever since Tax helped Neppin with a hostage crisis at the Septentrino First National Bank.

“Since its going to take the Chief about fifteen minutes to radio back, would you guys mind if I get all of your statements now?” Stevens asked, producing a pen and a pad of paper.
“Sounds most efficient,” Cherry said. “You can start with me.”

While Stevens questioned the others, Tax began to think about the case. There were a lot of questions raised but no real answer as to why Marin was killed. Of course, none of the murders Tax had solved had ever had any real reason behind. But still, this murder was…different. It almost felt like a mistake. But that didn’t matter. A motive would undoubtedly turn up sooner or later no matter how senseless. What mattered was finding the killer and Tax felt like he was getting closer. The mime seemed to be a good fit but there was something off. From what Tax saw, he was too competent of a mime, too into the act. Professional killers were good at blending in but not that good.

“Well, Tax,” Stevens said, flipping over a new sheet in his notebook. “I’ve covered everyone else so I guess it’s your—”

“Stevens, this is Neppin,” the radio on Stevens shoulder barked. “Put Tax on.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Stevens said releasing the button and passing the radio to Tax.

“Hey, Neppin. Tax here. What’ve you got?”

“I don’t know how you do it boy but it looks like you’ve already found our prime suspect. This Grenouille of yours is a highly decorated ex-marine from France’s Troupes de Marine. The Troupes de Marine are highly trained and dedicated to external operations, many of them under the radar. There’s no doubt about it, Tax, he’s a highly trained killer and certainly fits the bill of a paid mercenary. I’ll radio Blathers and tell him to round him up for questioning. Well done, son.”

“Isn’t that always the way?” Cherry said. “We pull just as much weight as Tax yet Neppin gives him all the credit.”

“Please, Cherry,” Tax said, handing the radio back to Stevens. “Neppin knows it was a team effort. I’m just the star player so more of the credit naturally gravitates my way. I’m afraid that’s just the cost you incur for associating with a luminary as myself. At least you’ll never get a sunburn while you’re in my shadow.”

“The only thing I’m impressed with is your knees, Tax,” Cherry said. “It’s a wonder they don’t buckle with every step under the immense weight of your ego.”

“Alright,” Deidrich said. “Now that you’ve both gotten a couple jabs in, let’s go track Blathers down and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Ted nodded his head. “Besides, all of this borderline flirtatious banter is going to give Max second thoughts about congregating with Tax in any manner.”

“Ted, I’m right here,” Max said aghast. Everyone got up and began to make their way towards Bathers on the other side of the tent.

“I know,” Ted said, winking as he put his hand on her shoulder. “And to answer that look in your eyes, I am single as shocking as it may be.”

“Max,” Tax said. “I should’ve probably let you know this earlier but the thing about Ted is he’s really just a cleaner version of the gentleman working the Ferris Wheel.”

“Yep,” Cherry said. “He’s only a little bit of grease, a wife beater, and a couple missing teeth away.”

As they were finally zeroing in on Bathers, a portly police officer ran up to him gasping for air and after resting with his hands on his knees for a moment, whispered something to Bathers that made Bathers’ mustache twitch with excitement. The two then ran off towards the hedge maze where a group other officers where already gathering.

Tax smiled. “Well this is rather intriguing. Isn’t that where our dirty marsouin of a mime set up? I believe that’s our cue to rush in with ancillary information to help wrap this case up quite neatly.”

Tax walked up to Bathers with the others behind him. Bathers was watching as two other police officers were in the process of cuffing Grenouille and reading him his rights. Tax tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Looks like you found your man, Bathers.”

“As a matter of fact, son, I have. And I don’t think you’re going to be able to somehow undermine me this time,” Bathers said smugly, tucking his thumbs in the corners of his jacket.

“As hard as it may be to believe, I actually came over to tell you we suspected this gentleman as well. You see, he’s actually—”

“Yes, yes, yes, a French army type and all. Chief Neppin informed me over the radio as per your request. But I fear all that you have turned up is purely circumstantial. Officer Wilkins over there,” Bathers said, motioning to the portly officer Tax and the others had see run over to Bathers, “came up with the hard evidence. While doing a search of all of the staff’s personal effects, he came upon a Mauser HSc pistol in Grenouille’s miming bag. That, my boy, is pure, irrefutable evidence that this man is the cause of that poor girl’s death.”

Tax paused for a moment. “Did you say a Mauser?” he asked, his hand stroking his chin and his eyes squinting in thought.

“Maybe you should try listening better next time. Yes, it’s a Mauser. A nasty little pistol if I say so myself,” said Bathers.

“Then he’s innocent,” Tax said.

“What?” Bathers said. “Absolutely ridiculous. It was found among his personal effects. It even has white face paint on it.”

“Yes, it being found among his personal effects is troubling as well. The face paint only helps my belief that this man was set up….unless,” Tax snapped to complete alertness, his hand removed from his chin and a keen, determined look in his eye. “Bathers, it was the clown. Where’s the clown?”

“Please Tax, you can’t be serious,” Bathers had a tone that bordered upon pleading. “The clown? Allen Gardi? We have proof right here that it was Grenouille—”

“Gardi. Where is he?” Tax interrupted, teeth grit.

“We let him leave right after the gun was found in Grenouille’s bag,” Bathers said. “He’d been begging us to let him leave all day as he had an important Bar Mitzvah to make early tomorrow. He was already going to have to drive through the night as it is. And in that silly clown van, no less. Not that it makes any difference. It’s clear to me we have the man responsible.”

Tax stared at Bathers for only a moment and let a “Grrrrrah!” rumble throw his throat as he turned around angrily and started stomping away at a fast pace. “Cherry, where’s Stevens? We need his radio now!”

“He’s back at the tent, Tax. What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s settled. Right now, you and Max need to get Stevens’ radio and tell Neppin to set up road blocks to stop Gardi. Ted, Dieds, we’re going to try to catch him now. Let’s get to Dieds’ car. C’mon!” Tax said as he began to sprint towards the tennis courts where the cars were parked.

Racing through the lawn, Tax saw the grass speed through his line of vision as he pushed himself to run faster and faster. He clenched his fists hard and stuck his chin down, breathing furiously. He could feel his hair being pushed back off his faced and riding behind him in the wind. He felt the jolt when his feet first hit concrete and then the relative softness of clay tennis courts as he made his way onto them. Coming to the Diedrich’s car, he turned to see if the others had caught up with him. Diedrich rolled down the window. “What’re you looking at? Get in.”

Tax jumped into the back seat as the car wheeled out only to see Ted turned around grinning at him. “Wow, Tax. You were really hauling back there. If you ever ran besides when we’re in situations like this, you’d probably be pretty fast.”

Tax gasped for air as he tried to reply to Ted’s barb. His hair was disheveled now and his glasses kept sliding down his nose thanks to the sweat. His companions, while a little sweaty, showed no other signs of their recent dash.

“Save your breath, Tax,” Diedrich said. “We all know you have a hopelessly witty reply. You’re just lucky I gave Cherry a spare set of keys to the car in case I ever lost mine…and pretty lucky she remembered to toss them to me as we started to run off, too. Otherwise, we’d have had to trouble with the valets.” Diedrich was now gunning his car out of the Swexter estate, rowed trees and the thorny gates whizzing behind him.

“Cherry seems to have a talent for that,” Tax said. “But to the matter at hand. Gardi left only a couple minutes before us and certainly not at the speeds we’re currently achieving. I have a feeling he’s going to trying to get out of town as fast as possible so I think we should head for the overpass on McTiernon Boulevard. It’s the closest connection to the interstate.”

Diedrich nodded as he punched his car through the twists in turns of the hilly road that led to the Swexter mansion. Finally arriving to the traffic light and swinging a right onto Fiernon Lane, Diedrich pushed his car to the max, knowing the road was straight and flat. The relative sparseness of road soon gave way to strip malls and offices as they closed on the center of Septentrino and the overpass on MicTiernon.

“Dieds, Tax, I know the circumstances aren’t the best but I’ve got to be honest with you. I love it when we get the opportunity to be in a high speed chase without any fear of punishment from the law. I mean, seriously, we’re doing about 105 right now, fuel efficiency be damned!” Ted said gripping his seat and rocking back and forth excitedly. “Wait a second guys. Up ahead. Do my eyes deceive me or do I see a van with the disturbing image of a clown on the back?”

“You do indeed,” Tax said, reaching for a seat belt as Diedrich pushed his poor Civic even further. The van was getting closer and closer and they could see it beginning to enter the traffic that was gathering at the traffic light ahead that had recently turned green. The van sidled its way into the right lane and took a quick turn onto Dixon Avenue. Ted slowed down as he entered the traffic and followed suit turning on Dixon.

“Looks like you were wrong about the overpass,” Diedrich said.

“Well we still found him, didn’t we?” Tax said. “No need to doing anything drastic now that we know he’s not skipping town. Dixon doesn’t lead anywhere but to more strip malls and shady apartment complexes. Let’s just follow him quietly and see what he does.”

They slowly followed the van down Dixon for several miles until it pulled into the Heritage Harbor apartment complex. It was an older complex as belied by the white peeling paint on the sign at the entrance as well as the 1980s boxy design of the apartment units with the mocha-hued textured walls and thick brown metal window frames. As the sun was starting to go down and the gloaming began to set in, the van stopped at a unit on the far end of the complex and a man in bright yellow clown gear slipped out of the car and began slinking his way up the stairs.

Tax, Ted, and Diedrich watched as the man entered the apartment on the far left-hand side of the building. “Alright,” Tax said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Ted and I will go in after him while you go find a payphone and get the police over here.”

“Why do you and Ted get to go in?” Diedrich asked, disappointment visible on his face.

“Dieds, you know Ted and I have a longstanding vendetta against clowns ever since—”

“I don’t think we have to go into that again,” Diedrich said. “Fine, I’ll make the call. But you have to promise me that you’ll score me some oversized clown shoes as a trophy.”

“Done,” said Tax as did his best to quietly open the door and slip out of the car. Diedrich walked down towards the front of the complex as Tax and Ted quietly stalked up the stairs of the apartment complex making sure to step as lightly as possible. Coming to the door, which was painted the same ugly brown as the window frames, Tax made sure to duck out the sight of the peephole. Putting his hand on the door, he tried to turn it. It was locked. He put his ear to the door and tried to listen to anything going on inside. All he could hear was a lot of rustling and then footsteps heading for the door. Looking back at Ted, Tax motioned him to tell him Gardi was coming. They both stood up and leaned against the side of the wall alongside the door. Feeling the vibration of the footsteps coming closer, they tensed, ready to pounce. Suddenly, the phone rang and the footsteps stopped for a moment. The door swung open and a plainclothes Gardi stepped out.

Tax dove at Gardi who was just starting to form a surprised look when he slammed against the door and he and Tax slid to the ground. Kneeing Tax in the face as he tried to get up and escape, Gardi reached desperately for the door handle to help himself up. Grabbing the out reached arm, Ted bent it and spun the man around on his back and used his knee to keep him pinned down. Ted smiled. “Well after that, I really hope you’re right about Gardi being the guy, Tax.”

Tax wiped the blood that was starting to trickle down the side of his mouth. “Oh, you don’t worry about that. I don’t think it was Gardi but it was definitely the guy you have pinned down. If I’m right, Gardi’s either dead or tied up inside.”

“You punk kids can’t hold me like this!” the man underneath Ted said. “Let me go!”

“Oh, we’ll let you go as soon as you’re in police cuffs,” Tax said. He rubbed his cheek. “Ted, am I still pretty?”

“Looking just dandy. Chicks dig the swollen cheek look man. Makes you look like you’ve got a crooked smile or you’re sucking on an everlasting gobstopper or something.”

“Yeah, ol’ Slugworth would pay out the ear to have this piece of candy. I’m going to go check the apartment and hopefully free the real Gardi.”

Tax walked into the dingy apartment and looked around. He was in a hallway that led to the living room while the bedroom door was directly to his left and the kitchen entrance was directly to his right. There were clothes scattered all about the floor and circus and other clown related posters strewn about the walls in no particular order. Walking into the living room, he found two ratty recliners with a table in between them facing an old television with a bent antenna. Hearing a muffled noise in the direction of the bedroom, Tax turned around and made his way to the bedroom.

He found more clothes scattered about and a mattress sitting on the right hand corner of the shag-carpeted floor. A mirror was shattered in the right hand corner of the room near the window and a lamp was broken across the floor. Following the wave in the shag carpeted created by something heavy being dragged across it, Tax found himself in front of a closet. Opening it, he found a man with a huge welt on his head tied up and gagged on floor. Taking out his knife, Tax proceeded to free the balding and bewildered gentleman. Pulling his gag off, the man uttered a groggy “Thank you” as Tax dragged him from the closet to the mattress.

“Don’t worry about anything, sir,” Tax said. “We’ve called the police and if I’m not wrong, I hear sirens coming in the distance.

Half an hour later, Tax, Diedrich, Ted, Cherry, and Max were all gathered in Neppin’s office, a chaotic room with stacks of paper everywhere and wanted/missing posters covering the walls. The one personal touch Neppin had ever bothered to put in the room was an old leather bag full of golf clubs in the corner. He never golfed but he had been known to throw the clubs across the room in anger as well as chase reporters out with his nine iron. Now sitting behind his desk, Neppin put his feet up and cracked open a bottle of Coca-Cola. “What can I say?” he said with a shrug, looking at the group facing his desk. “You make my job a lot easier. Great bit of detective work there Tax, figuring out it was actually the clown.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Tax,” Cherry said. “Just how did you figure out it wasn’t the mime?”

“Seriously? You didn’t figure it out already?” Tax said incredulously, pulling the ice pack away from his face. “It became quite obvious to me when Bathers said they found the weapon in his bag. Any sort of highly trained mercenary wouldn’t keep the murder weapon about his person, especially with the police swarming the area. Still, that wasn’t enough to convince me. Maybe he incompetent or just didn’t have the opportunity to get rid of the weapon. No, what really did it for me was the pistol. A Mauser? No self-respecting Frenchman, especially a French marine, is going to be caught dead using a German pistol.”

Cherry paused for a moment. “Wait…so, you came to your conclusion that he was innocent based almost solely on your stereotypical view of French-German relations?”

Tax nodded and smiled. “You bet I did and I’m certain if you asked the mime, he’d agree with me. Despite giving up his life of violence to enjoy the simple pleasures of miming, he undoubtedly would never brandish a German firearm under any circumstances”

“Well, alright,” Ted said. “So you’ve explained how you discounted the mime. But how’d you make the jump to the clown.”

“There were several things. First, the clown and the mime were set up right next to one another, giving the clown easy access to the mime’s personal effects. Second, did you see that clown? He was absolutely terrible, miffing balloons left and right and his juggling was atrocious. I knew Swexter would only hire top quality performers, so I just assumed he was slightly inebriated at the time due to a hard life of clowning. Once Bathers said he’d let him drive off, I knew that wasn’t the case. As inept as Bathers may be, he’d never let someone drive off inebriated meaning the clown was most likely an imposter. Finally, the face paint on the gun. There were only two people there with white face paint and if the mime was innocent, then the clown was the other clear suspect. The fact that he had already fled the scene only gave credence to my suspicion. The only thing we don’t have now is a clear motive.”

“Well it might make it a little clearer if I told you that the real identity of the clown was one John Tuttlelino, a known professional killer from New York,” Chief Neppin said, sitting up in his chair. “If what you told me about Swexter and his dealings with Brassard is true, I think it answers any questions as to the motive. It looks like Brassard is playing hardball and we’re going to have to be ready for it.”

“I guess we don’t really have a choice,” Tax said. “But I fear the hour is getting late and it’s time we should all depart company and get some rest.”

After all shaking hands with the Chief, Tax and the others began to make their way out of the station. As they walked out of the station, Tax pulled Max aside. “Hold up a second there, Max. So what’d you think of today?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t quite know what to say, sir. It was really awful what happened to Marin but I’ve got to say, it was pretty exciting to see you save the day by making a bunch of sweeping generalizations. Does that happen often?”

“I wouldn’t say it was the first time. If you stick around, I’m sure you’re bound to see it happen again. Speaking of which, would you find it too forward of me to ask if you’d like to get some tea or something after school sometime next week?”

“I don’t think I’d have a problem with that as long as we don’t get caught up in some kind of ridiculous chase or something. My dad usually likes me home early on school nights.”

Tax laughed. “I’ll see what I can do but I can’t make any guarantees.”

July 25

2007-07-02T15:08:00.001-05:00

Patience

2006-04-18T17:29:00.000-05:00

Hold on, dudes and dudettes, major league butt kicking will be back in town shortly and with a fury never before witnessed...if I feel like it.

Holiday Hijinks

2005-11-16T04:23:00.000-05:00

I was originally going to release the story below in several parts, but I have been swayed otherwise. You win Ben. Now, here it is in its entierity....

Holiday Hijinks

A Story For Everyone's Favorite Time Of Year

The sun slid through the shades and pounded my eyelids, slowly coaxing me into cognizance. I sat up and stretched. Something was off. Where was the incessant cackle of the alarm clock that always accompanied my departure from the swirling realms of dreaming? Then I remembered it was the first day of Christmas vacation and that meant only one thing: it was time for the reindeer games. My friends and I invented the game while we were still in high school, driving around our subdivision, Sun Lake Forest, late at night with nothing to do. We noticed the numerous pairs lighted reindeer that filled the yards of so many people and, in a fit of genius, developed a most enjoyable pastime. The reindeer are constructed so that, should one take one of the reindeer and put its front legs around the hindquarters of the other, it creates the illusion that the reindeer are making love. Not long after we discovered the game, the neighborhood experienced a reindeer orgy like none had ever seen before. Dubbing ourselves the Randy Rudolphs, it was decided that the reindeer mischief would continue every year on the first day of Christmas and, once again, that time had come. It was time to rally the troops.

The first gentleman on my call list was Tommy Derigan. Tommy was the shortest member of the group but he made up for it with a most malicious sense of humor. He made at least seven girls cry during high school and he was banned from the nursing home after offending the majority of its tenants during his bid there for community service hours. As much as Tommy was truculent and just downright mean spirited, he was also fiercely loyal. If Satan himself came up from the bowels of Hell to claim one of Tommy’s friends, Tommy would’ve spit in the devil’s face and told him to piss off. Tommy was many things, most importantly for the night, he was the wheelman. “Tommy, you in for tonight?”

“Was there ever any doubt? I’ll clear the dead hooker out of the trunk to free up space.”

“Good to hear. You know how I feel about the dead hooker smell. I’ll see you at nine tonight for the pre-shenanigans tennis match.”

Next on my list of fellow miscreants was the Stiger. In truth, his name was Alan, but we had decided a long time ago that “the Stiger” was much more appropriate. The Stiger was the exact opposite of Tommy in almost every way except loyalty. A well-meaning gentle giant, the Stiger was the kind of person no one could ever be angry with because he would never do anything to spite anyone. “Stiger, do we have a runner for the pressing matters of the night?”

“I absolutely guarantee the runner’s presence.”

“Fan-frigging-tastic. You down for a Jake-Stiger team up in tennis?”

“It’d be unnatural if there wasn’t.”

Two members lined up, I had only one call left and it was usually the most challenging. Rick Stouffman was a great guy but his pesky sense of morality could get in the way of fun. We had to really lay the pressure on him to come in years past and I was braced for the battle. Besides, Rick had an undeniable gift that would have languished for all eternity had we not coaxed him into employing it. While the rest of us would struggle to get the reindeer into correct mounting position, Rick could effortlessly persuade the reindeer to make love on his first attempt. When we first saw him do it, we knew we had our mounter.
“Rick, you know what day it is?”

“How could I forget?”

“Good point. I came up with an incredible idea for this year. How about you skip your protestations and holier-than-thou speech because we both know you’re coming?”

“Alright, but I have a condition. The Stiger is on my team for the tennis match.”

“I’d agree but…well, there’s no easy way to tell you this. The Stiger hates you. I mean really just plain hates you. He said he’d rather crawl through three miles of broken glass naked and be kicked in the trachea before he would be on your team.”

“You know, even though our pranks our harmless, they’re still wrong…”

“Fine, you get the Stiger. Save your brimstone for someone else you eulogizing bastard.”

After being soundly walloped by Rick and the Stiger and going home to shower and throw on the black suit, white shirt, black tie combo that was our uniform, I waited for Tommy to pull up to my house in his mother’s Chevy Astro. Dubbed the Marshmallow as a result of its white hue, the van was our vehicle of choice because its suburban unobtrusiveness. Tommy arrived, having picked the other two up. Being the last member of the war party to be gathered, it was time to strike. As the navigator for our task, I had taken a tour of the subdivision earlier and had mapped out the most efficient route for our task. Unfortunately, I had chosen an almost too efficient route. We cleared out the subdivision in gloriously quick fashion. Reindeers were humping on every corner and several Santa Claus statues were in on the action. It was a beautiful sight and well worth our efforts. We were unstoppable. Buoyed by our success, a bold plan was put forth by the Stiger. “Gentlemen, that was a most impressive display of shenanigan can do. But are you tired? I know I’m not. There’s more to be done. Much more. The night is still young my loyal companions and I suggest we strike out into new subdivisions and make this a county-wide hit. Randy Rudolphs unite!”

None of us, not even Rick, could protest such an impassioned plea and so we left the safety of Sun Lake Forest for territory unknown. We decided to start with Crest Hills, a nearby subdivision renown for its Christmas decorations. Entering the brightly lit rows of houses, we saw we had chosen well. Crest Hills was a veritable utopia for those of the reindeer humping persuasion. Rolling through several streets, we made quick work of the reindeer population. It wasn’t until we reached the fourth street in the maze of cookie cutter dwellings that something caught us completely off guard. Tommy was the first to react. “Well damn, we knew this day would come sooner or later. It was only a matter of time before someone started to emulate the cheeky tomfoolery of the Randy Rudolphs.”

“I guess you’re right,” I replied. “It does console me that though these reindeer are unquestionably in the midst of making a beast of two backs, the angle of the left hoof is off. Novices I tell you. Novices!”

“It’s not funny. We’ve set a bad example for others and who knows what they’ll do now? We may have stopped at the reindeer but they might start tagging houses or worse.”

“You’re right, Rick,” Tommy cut in. “When we all die and get up to the pearly gates, don’t be surprised if Saint Peter shakes his finger and says ‘You’ve all led exemplary lives…except for those reindeer hijinks. You’ll pay dearly for such a grave sin!’ You hear me Rick? We’re going to burn for this! Burn!”

“Well, if we’re going to burn for this, we might as well go for the gusto,” the Stiger said. “Let’s go find some untampered reindeer and have at it.”

Turning the car around, we found ourselves on a pristine street chockfull of reindeer. Pulling up behind a parked car, Tommy cut the lights off. We saw our quarry standing stoically in front of a house painted in a gaudy salmon. Taking one last look around to see if the coast was clear, the back door slid open and the Stiger and Rick jumped out. Running up to the unsuspecting reindeer, the Stiger held the bottom one in place as Rick gently convinced the other reindeer to mount his friend. The deed done, the two began to run back to the van. That was when everything began to go awry. The doors of the gray Civic we had parked in front of swung open, revealing four beefy and none-too-pleased gentlemen. “What the hell are you doing? This is Plowing Prancer territory.”

“Excuse me?” a befuddled Stiger said.

“Everyone knows that the Plowing Prancers own Crest Hills. No one hits the reindeer here but us,” the tallest of the Prancers replied. They all seemed to be wearing matching black and blue sweat suits and each had a golden chain around his neck with his name dangling from it. It would seem we were facing a Steve, Cameron, Pete, and Alphonso. Alphonso had been the one who spoke.

Tommy got out of the van. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to accuse you a gerrymandering. We were not consulted when these lines were drawn and I personally feel disenfranchised. I think the rest of the Randy Rudolphs would agree.”

“I think you should tell the funny man to be quiet before he says something we make him regret,” Alphonso said.

“What are you going to do about it, wop? Are you going to have us iced?”

“All right, Tommy, that’s enough,” the Stiger said. I was relieved to see the Stiger taking control of the situation as pulled myself out the passenger seat of the Marshmallow. “We’re all out tonight for a bit of fun and I don’t see why it can’t continue. We’ll just…”

“Stuff it, shorty. We were staking out that reindeer and you just came in and swiped it right in front of our eyes. Swiped it like I swiped your mom last night,” Alphonso’s eyes lit up as he brandished a set of brass knuckles.
The Stiger shrugged. “Oooh, you’re going to pay for that. If that’s the way it’s going to be, this will be the last time the Plowing Prancers ever challenges the Randy Rudolphs. The time for diplomacy is over.” With that, the Stiger threw himself headlong into Alphonso, quickly taking him to the ground.

“You heard the Stiger,” I said. “Charge!” By the time I had finished my impassioned cry, Tommy had already jumped into the remaining Prancers, throwing elbows left and right. I quickly joined him in the fray, doing my best to deal out some holiday carnage of my own before being blindsided by Cameron. Just as I was hitting the ground, I caught an odd sight out of the corner of my eye. I could have sworn that an elf dressed in traditional Christmas garb down to the little pointed slippers was watching the ensuing melee. Cameron must have really socked me.

“You cheap bastard!” Rick yelled as he grabbed Cameron by the sweat suit and threw him to the curb. “I’ll beat you so badly, you’ll look like Alan Thicke!”

“Enough! You will all look like Alan Thicke before this night is through!” the elf roared. The elfin apparition was real. I should have known Cameron didn’t hit me that hard. How could he with a name like Cameron? “All of you are guilty of perverting the Christmas spirit through what you have done to this fair township’s reindeer decorations!”

We all paused and looked up. After staring for a stunned thirty seconds, Tommy spoke up, “Wait. Assuming you are what we think you are, you came all the way down from the North Pole to condemn our harmless shenanigans?”

“Oh, I came to do more than condemn. I came to punish. You have committed terrible crimes for which there will be a terrible price.” With that, the elf snapped his fingers and we found ourselves being surrounded from all sides with a menagerie of sharp-toothed elves foaming at the mouth. They swayed back and forth eerily with their little pointed hats swinging in odd directions as they slowly came closer.

Circling up with the Prancers in the center of the yard next to the entwined reindeer, we spun around looking at the bizarre fate that had come upon us.

“We’re going to die,” Rick said.

“We can get out of this somehow,” Alphonso said.

“I don’t see how,” Rick replied. “Look, that one’s wielding a mace. There’s one with a sword. And over there, that one’s got…is that a whisk?”

“It’s a very sharp whisk,” the elf angrily retorted.

“Since we’re about to be waist deep in death, I think its time we put our differences aside and fight for the good of reindeer mounting types everywhere,” I said.

“Damn right,” Cameron chimed in. “Let’s show them what the Plowing Prancers and Randy Rudolphs are all about. Aim low and we’ll have the Lollypop Guild begging for mercy in no time”

Seeing no other recourse, we lashed out at our aggressors. The Stiger took three down with one mighty swing, blood spurting from their tiny little mouths as I wrangled the mace from another’s small fingers. Alphonso administered a devastating blow to one of the swordselves and threw the vanquished foe’s weapon to Rick who quickly began to hack through rows of Santa’s possessed little helpers as they gnawed at his ankles. Tommy was having a tougher time being closer in height to the red-eyed munchkins of doom and would likely have fallen if not for Peter’s swift intervention. Grabbing Tommy by the arms, he began to swing him viscously into the bearded children as Steve and Cameron beat the group of elves in a way that make even a blind man cringe.

We continued to fight valiantly but our foe was slowly wearing us down. Their casualties were great but there were just too many of them. Just when we thought the fight was lost, we could hear sirens wailing in the distance. “Damn it, it’s the fuzz. I fear we must disperse, my elf brethren,” the elf who had condemned us yelled. “But not before I give you malefactors a parting gift.” Opening his little green vest, the elf somehow produced what looked to be a bazooka.

“Hit the ground!” Tommy shouted as we all tasted the cold winter dirt feeling an explosion rumble behind us. The police cars arrived just as we were pulling ourselves from the ground. We looked around and saw that the elf had taken out the salmon-hued house with his excessive firepower and that no other trace of the elves remained. “Well this is going to be hard to explain to the be-badge-ed gentlemen pulling up.”

After spending two weeks in jail, our court date finally arrived and we found ourselves sitting at a table facing a judge with menacing jowls as the prosecutor was explaining in very explicit detail what kind of punishment such heinous cretins deserved for destroying a vacationing family’s house and putting all of those reindeer in such sick and revolting positions. The others looked at me.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to defend us, Jake?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve seen so many episodes of Matlock it isn’t even funny. I got this one on lockdown. I’m money in the bank.”

“Is the defense ready to give opening statements?”

“Yes your honor. May it please the court.” I got up and made my way to the podium and adjusted the microphone. “I want to begin by saying that before all of this began, we had a Jello eating contest and each ate nine packages and…”

“Nine packages?” the judge asked.

“That is correct your honor.”

“Well hell, I ate three one time and the next thing I knew I was greased down and naked in a back alley in Shanghai. You’ve got to be careful with Jello, that shit will fuck you up. Case dismissed.”

With that the Randy Rudolphs and the Plowing Prancers were vindicated and went to celebrate with a dinner of the highest order at McDonald’s. “Well I’m glad that’s over,” the Stiger said.

“No kidding,” said Rick. “I thought we were going to get the death penalty. I’m glad the justice system came through for us.”

“Of course it was going to come through for us. Everyone knows that the purpose of the court is to protect the rights of the perpetrators from the victims,” I said. “If the owner of the house really wanted justice, he would have gone to the mob.”

“Good point,” everyone said in unison as they nodded.

“And I think we’ve all learned something from this. I know I’ve learned not to be greedy with my reindeer monkeyshines. It’s good to be courteous and leave some reindeer unfettered for others to enjoy,” I said.

“Indeed,” Alphonso said. “The Prancers have learned that no one owns the reindeer. Anyone should be allowed to put them into compromising positions anywhere they want. Even Crest Hills.”

With that, we all held our cups high. The battle had been won but we knew that someday, the elf would once again raise his ugly face and we would be ready for him.

The Last Fortnight Or So

2005-10-15T23:28:00.000-05:00

Realized I haven't posted in a bit. I actually have motives behind this but I'm going to leave you in the dark about it unless I've already told you. Anyhoo, I'm no longer apologizing for being slow with these things. I'm not sorry? Wait...I'm not sorry. Yes, I'm not. Moving on, I have a few things to intimate since my last post and I hope that they're interesting (if not, busy yourself with the first two seasons of Smallville for twenty bucks a pop at Wal-Mart. I know I did and 17-20 hours later, I can honestly say it's worth it).

There's no better way to kick off this post than with the story of what kicked off the month. That's right ladies and gents, the battle of the century, Joe v. the Vermonster! (**Warning to parents: Due to the graphic nature of the bout, it is recommended that those under 14 be sent to bed without dinner and possibly a spanking if not a black eye IMMEDIATELY**) The story of this illustrious battle begins at Jessie, Angela, Katie, and Rachel's appartment (aka Team JAKRabbit) for Angela's birthday. Whilst we were sitting discussing pressing issues, Joe, with a wild look in his eye, stated his intenion to challenge the Vermonster in man to bucket combat if any brave souls were willing to pony up the necessary funds needed to grease the axles of the Ben and Jerry machine and coax a battle. Four of us rose to his impassioned plea and the game was afoot. Who were those brave enough to stand by Joe in this life defining moment? Counted among the war party were Brummitt, Bozeman, Broady, and myself. The team gathered, we made our way to our destiny, be it victory of the highest order or fairly failure which could rob us of our very manhood. Arriving at Ben and Jerry's, the challenge was announced. A hush fell over the room as mothers covered their children's ears and a tumbleweed blew by behind us. The employees nodded and asked for our offering to the ice cream deities Ben and Jerry. Once it had been presented, the construction of the beast began. A Vermonster consists of the following: 20 scoops of ice cream, 3 cookies, 4 bananas, a brownie, 10 scoops of nuts, 10 scoops of other toppings, and whipped cream. Joe, not a fan of bananas, replaced his with 4 additional brownies, a decision which will play a pivotal role later on. The Vermonster assembled, it was time for battle. The challenge of the Vermonster is as follows: If the Vermonster can be fully consumed in under an hour by one solitary individual, then it is free of charge. Joe sat down, spoon and stomach ready, and began. Right off the bat, we realized a problem. The spoon which Joe had been furnished was very small and in no way useful in consuming such a beast in under an hour. What were we to do? That's when Broady, shrewd as ever, spied a shovel spoon on the novelty shelf. Forking out the necessary funds, he obtain the shovel spoon and the battle began in earnest. Joe ate furiously, devouring browie, cookie, and ice cream indiscriminately. For a time, it seemed as though the battle was his. But, much to our woe, the substitution of four extra brownies began to take its toll. Joe's consumption rate began to drop most precariously and the furious gleam in his eye began to dull. An hour and about half to 3/4 of tub later, Joe was defeated and a lesson was learned by all. Take this to heart all of you: Never, ever, substitute brownies for bananas under any circumstances for it will be the death of you. Or it least it could be. Joe was lucky and he survived to tell the tale but you may not be so fortuneate. It is best not to tempt the fates. So doth ends the battle of Joe v. the Vermonster.

Several days later, inspired by Joe's bravery and the acquiring of a Vermonster tub, Bozeman decided to challenge the Jellomonster. That's right, a Vermonster tub filled with approximately a gallon of jello. I think we should take to moment just to think about how brave Boze was to challenge the Jellomonster. First, he has our respect and needs not prove himself. Second, jello is a dangerous substance to mess with and lesser men have paid the ultimate price for thinking themselves above the chilled dessert. Third, there was no tangible reward for conquering the Jellomonster except for knowing that songs of a such a feat would be sung generations after one has passed. When thinking about all this, it makes Bozeman's challenge all the more awe-inspiring. Bozeman began strong, finishing nearly half within fifteen minutes of starting, a feat in itself. Victory seemed imminent as time wore on and the Jellomonster gradually became smaller and smaller. But then a snag was hit. Not only was Boze dangerously over the full point, but making such an excessive amount of jello led to all the sugar settling in the bottom of the solution, making the bottom layer sweet to a disgusting degree. This unfortunate occurrence led to Boze demise in the challenge but he still will be remembered, for he was nearly finished. I would even say he was 7/8ths of the way there. Such a deed will not go unforgotten.

Skipping a bit, I'm going to jump ahead from two weeks or so ago to yesterday, when I went with my brother and sister to see Anna Nalick live at the Freebird Cafe. I realize I have probably hyped Nalick enough in this blog but damn if she doesn't deserve it. Not only did she create one of my favorite albums of all time, she also put on an amazing show despite having laringeitis (I'd be more surprised if I spelled that right but its that illness where you can barely speak let alone sing). Somehow, even with the illness, she sounded much the way an angel should sound. She was friendly, graceful, funny, charming, and, just to continue with such a string of cliched compliments (so funny how they're typically true), drop dead gorgeous. Did I mentioned she did an acoustic set with one other guitarist? I can't even begin to descripe my passion for acoustic sets. She even played guitar on several songs (not necessarily a requirement but certainly an impetus to getting into my heart), including personal favorites of mine, Catalyst and Wreck of the Day. I'm going to be honest though, I can't really think of a song of hers that isn't a personal favorite. Many of you who know me will recall my penchant for giving flowers to female singers at shows. Finally realizing how silly it was, I decided not to this time. Of course, someone else did and you know what happened? He got a friggin' kiss on the cheek from Nalick! Needless to say, I was chagrined. Some of you will also recall my habit of providing my phone number for female singers (who are, of course, desperate to get it). I wimped out of that too and in the car ride home, realized I had a great set-up to do it. You see, Nalick felt bad that she had to do a stripped down show and cut out the the rougher songs as a result of her illness so she went to the back of the venue to meet everyone. I had upon my person a scratch lotto ticket (a winner!) and a pen. Thinking back, I realized that that combination gave me a perfect line. "Hey, ( a little small talk)...Here's my number and if you never call it, hey, you still get a winning lotto ticket." Or something like that. It seemed smoother at two o'clock yesterday morning (as opposed to 1 o'clock in the morning now). I'm also happy to report that I worked for Nalick for ten minutes. My good friend Mikey was working the Merch booth but needed someone to sell stuff while he was changing the stage from the opening act (I'll get to them in a bit) and, as I was the only person there he knew, he asked me to sell whilst (is that my second whilst? I'm on fire) he was hauling equipment. Needless to say, I helped him and, in the process, worked for Nalick for ten minutes. Does it mean anything? No. Did I really need to tell you then? No, but nothing else I ever say really means anything either (except the Basket Story). Anyways, awesome show. Buy the album, go to a show if you can. (Sidenote: I just reread that paragraph and I think I may have to clarify something: I'm really not that creepily obsessed, I swear.)

Speaking of album recommendations, I've gots a couple new ones. First, Fiona Apple's Extraordinary Machine. It's not for everyone, but it has some really out there instrumentation that I really dig and the lyrics and vocals are rock solid. Next up, Jamie Cullum's Chasing Tales. Did you like Twentysomething? It doesn't really matter either way, you'll still dig this album. Great instrumentation, great lyrics, great vocals, cool vibe. After hearing Photograph, I realized that Cullum's album was really what I needed at that point. It hits the spot. My final recommendation happens to be the band who opened for Anna Nalick (I know you were wondering when I was going to come around to that). Blue Merle not only puts on an amazing performance, they also created a slick album, Burning in the Sun. The thing about Blue Merle is that the band uses very traditional instruments that are closely identified with Bluegrass music (ie, acoustic guitar, mandolin, upright bass, and fiddle) and use them to create straight ahead rock that sounds really progressive and cutting edge. How do they do this? Buy the album and find out (you knew it was coming).

Well kids, that's it for now. I hope that was enough to keep all three of you content...stupid flowers, argh I can't believe it! I mean seriously the one time I don't...

Apology! Injury! Schoolery! Musicology! McCarty! Bikini! Witchery!

2005-09-27T00:18:00.000-05:00

I'd like to start off by saying that I'm really sorry for slacking on this blog thing, especially to Ben since I think he's the only one who really reads with any sort of regularity. When thinking about what I've done since the last post I see why I haven't posted. I lead a very dull life. That's not to say that people who interact with me on a regular to semi-regular basis lead a dull life, it's just to say that they probably do or most certainly do when hanging out with me. This may sound depressing but it's really not. I think the worst thing that's happened this month is I dropped a steak knife on my toe and that didn't really even hurt, it was just kind of embarrassing. Even that had a silver lining to as I was able to use the Batman Band-Aids that were so graciously given to me. I'm fairly certain I would have bled to death without them.

In terms of school, I feel overworked and under...well paid would be cliche so I'm going to go with undermotivated. I mean, I do the work and I try...kind of, but in the end, I just don't really care. I don't see how theories about the effects of television will help me as I currently consume an hour at best a week or what the planets would look like if they were set up at a millionth scale in Washington, DC. Who paid for that anyways? Government waste! Gah! Moving along, last week I found myself saddled with three tests, a two-page story about characters from a painting (confession: I didn't look at a painting, I just made it up), and the crown jewel of a six-page essay critiquing an eight-page story. I'm sure you realize that that paper was free of any extraneous detail. Am I burnt out from such a week? Well, sadly, I haven't had time to contemplate this due to the fact that I have a ten-page story and six one-page character sketches due Wednesday for Creative Writing. There may be no rest for the weary but there's no rest for me either. But that's a enough complaining as anyone who reads this has probably heard me wailing about such matters already.

Besides, how could I really be upset with the release of a Paul McCartney album and a Blues Traveler album (not to mention a John Mayer single) on the same day. September 13 may quite possibly be the best release day I can remember in terms of strength and number of releases. And these releases were strong. As much as I liked Truth Be Told, !Bastardos! is an amazing collection of Blues Traveler songs done in a way only Blues Traveler could pull off. The new single, "Amber Awaits", is a fantastic. But don't hold your breath waiting for it to come on the radio. It sounds too much like there's real instruments on the track for it to be accessible to the thirteen-year-old crowd radio caters to. My advice is to BUY IT NOW! Paul McCartney also has an exceptional release, Chaos and Creation in the Backyard. The songs are solid and McCartney plays almost all of the instruments, which is really worth the price of admission alone. Buy it too, but I say it with less urgency since it will sell no matter what and McCartney's currently the richest musician in the world so it's not like he needs the support.

Speaking of bands that need support, I was saddened to hear to day that Phil of the beloved Chris McCarty Band recently had a collapsed lung. He's all right now, but I fear it may somehow force him to leave the band. Of course, I'm probably worrying about nothing. Speaking of the Chris McCarty Band, Ben, Chrissie, Brummitt, Mike, and I caught them at Scooterpoolza down at the Venue. It was quite a show. They did a cover of a song that I hate from a band that I hate (*Cough* Mr. Brightside *Cough* Killers *Cough*) and really made it rock which is really a testament to how awesome the band is (and how much the other band which twill not be named sucks). The event was kicked off with a Hawaiin Tropic Bikini Contest. I know that some of you may be jealous at this point, but, at the risk of sounding gay, I'm going to be honest. The contest bore me to tears. I mean, I like girls in bikinis as much as the next guy but watching a bunch of scantily clad women trying to impress a bunch of drunk while prancing around a stage while a banshee screams out unintelligible phrases which may or may not pertain to what was taking place, it just kind of wears on me. Chrissie also displayed her Nostradamus-like powers and called the winner of the competition long before it was over. She claims she just picked the one with the least amount of clothing on, but we all know it's a cover for her mystical powers. A witch I tell you! She's a good witch though so be careful with water around her as it wouldn't be the first time I've had a witch friend evaporate before my eyes, but I don't really want to talk about it.

What Would Jason Statham Do?

2005-09-04T00:07:00.000-05:00

Since I left you last, my time has been quite jampacked. Not only did I survive my classes (barely I tell you, barely) but I also managed to leave my apartment on a fairly regular basis and brave the cruel world that waits outside my door. By cruel world I mean occaisionally rainy and noticeably hot and muggy. Can you think of anything more evil?

Anyways...I closed off my first week of school in the best conceivable way. It's at this point you're asking, "But Jared, how'd you get tickets to the Fab Four concert?" The answer to that is, my dad, being the sly dog he is, managed to pick up five tickets which happens to be exactly the number needed for my family to go. The Fab Four were an eerily accurate tribute band, they had the motions down and the sound was really close, especially in the earlier tunes. If you squinted your eyes really hard and dampened your ears, it was, for intents and purposes, the Beatles. A good time was had by all.

Returning to school, I struggled to retain conciousness through another week of classes with a sparkling prize at the end of the tunnel, the release of the slam-bang action-thriller the Transporter 2. It order to clearly ready myself for it, I watched the original film not once but twice. It's one of those few gems that just gets better with every viewing. Properly psyched for the movie, I knew there was only one thing that could make the experience perfect, so the fellas and I took in a UF volleyball game before going. It was loads of fun as always and UF won in straight sets. Arriving back from the volleyball game, I pulled my suit from the closet, clothed myself and was ready to go.

The movie was everything I had hoped for and more with Statham turning the action and the charm up to 11. The man can act. The scene with the fire hose is worth the price of admission. Go see it now. In fact, go see both of them. They were so good they inspired Chrissie to come up with a saying, nay, a way of life drawn from them. Whenever you're in trouble, whenever you don't know what to do, just ask yourself, "What would Jason Statham do?" and all will be alright.

Back With A Mouth-Foaming Fury!

2005-08-25T11:46:00.000-05:00

After such a long hiatus, one may wonder what I've been doing. The answer is I've been living life my man and now that summer's over, I'll be able to maintain this thing and give it the love it deserves. Since I last left you, I've traveled to Vermont, had two cousins come and spend a most excellent July with me, spent way too much money, and kneed a back-talking, 70-year-old midget in the jaw. Rather than tell you anymore about these events and others, I give all of you a challenge. Post stories of the "Lost Month(s)" in the comments section of this post and I'll pick my favorites and compile them for another post and I will never deny doing any of the things mentioned.

Moving on...Class started yesterday and that blew. Luckily, I had devised a way to ease the pain. That's right, I threw a Strawberry Shortcake Bonanza. I must admit that it was a smashing success and all left happy and full...or you're all a bunch of liars that decided to humor me. Regardless, I'm almost certain that it was the best strawberry shortcake party ever thrown. A bold statement, I know, but an exaggeration? Not in the least. I recommend throwing strawberry shortcake parties to everyone as they're fun and amazingly affordable.

Speaking of affordable, my new toaster oven was one of the best purchases ever and part of a huge body of evidence that shows that moving into my apartment has made me way too domestic. It's the only way I can explain the excitement involved in purchasing a mixer and a wisk set. At the same time, I'm not really worried that moving into an apartment means I'm growing up. Anyone who's seen my apartment knows why.

I guess that's it for now. I promise that after this entry, the entries will become exceedingly more entertaining as hopefully they'll be less about me and more about the people I interact with and/or made up.

The Basket Story

2005-06-23T00:23:00.000-05:00

Before telling the story of all stories, I must first delve into it's history. Our story of how the story was found begins with a young but restless Edward Kurht, genius and unparalled athlete. After many years of dominating in everything imaginable, our dear friend Edward began to question the meaning behind his life. After much searching, Edward found himself in South-Central Asia, where he heard rumors of a wise old man on top of a mountain.

Unfortunately, the half-coherent old sailor Kurht interrogated gave him innaccurate directions and our hero found himself imprisoned in the Bastille. Though it is known that no one escapes from the Bastille, Cap'n Kurht (as he has become known these days) trained with the best escape artists in the world when he was bored on a three-day weekend and quickly freed himself of his shackles and, dispatching of several snooty frenchmen and a mime, continued on his search. He once again found himself hot on the trail of the elusive man on the mountain after a tip from a sheep hearder who's flock lay in the oasis hidden in the arid hell of the Sahara led him to a one-legged, former member of the KGB who claimed to know of the location and where "the bodies were buried." Sadly, the KGB agent was struck dead by the hoof of an errant cow before he could divulge the informantion that our dear Cap'n so desperately needed. Though dead, the KGB agent still had much to tell. Kurht was a master frisker and discovered a cartograph hidden in the hollowed out stump which passed for the wretched man's leg.

Using the map, Kurht found a treasure ship hidden in a cave and was forced to eliminate a rag-tag team of children and a gang of thugs who were also vying for the treasure, as well as a hideous creature who cried, "You have killed Sloth!!!!" before breathing his last as Kurht's dagger sunk into his burly chest. After feasting upon the remains, Kurht then searched the ship, finding not only riches beyond his wildest dreams but also a manuscript describing a journey to the far ends of the earth. After pouring over the exciting tome for several hours, Kurht turned to page 376 and found what he had been looking for for what seemed to be a lifetime.

Investing his riches in the Beta video format, Kurht charted a plane to the mysterious location of the man on the mountain. Parachuting at the base, and climbing up, Kurht had to dispatch of several Yettis before reaching the hallowed temple of the man.Entering through an old moaning door, Kurht found himself in the most beautiful room he had ever seen. After several moments of taking the room in, Kurht suddenly realized a man was sitting across from him on a jewel-encrusted throne in far reaches of the vast temple. Walking to him, the man asked, "What do you want of me?"

Kurht answered, "Sir, I have traveled the world and done many great deeds in search of you and I have come hear only to ask one question: What, oh great wise one, is the meaning of life?"

The man answered, "If you can defeat me in hand to hand combat, I will tell you." With that, the man flung himself at Kurht with a flurry of kicks and jabs and the most glorious battle the world has ever seen ensued. After many days of bloody and vicious bare-knuckle brawling, Kurht finally gained the upper hand, using a technique he once learned when babysitting for the third top box-office seller in the nation. After submitting, the decrepit old man divulged his secret and Kurht left, triumphant, determined to share his new found wisdom with others.

Flashforward several years, and we find our hero has decided that becoming a teacher at the prestigious Clay High School under the command of general P-Mac was the best way to share the life- shattering utterances of the wise old man. It was there that he passed down this story to me, and now I share it with you. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

The Basket Story

So there was this lady with a basket full of money, living in Germany in between World War I and World War II. She decided to purchase a loaf of bread and so she entered the bakery and, taking an armload of money, left the basket on the stoop. When she returned, she discovered that someone had dumped out the money and taken the basket because the basket was worth more than the money. You see, at that time in Germany, the exchange rate was 4.1 billion marks to the dollar. Now that's a bad economy.

You can obviously see the great importance of this story. I implore you to share it with everyone you know. Enrich their lives with this story as I have enriched yours and how our hero, Mr. Kurht, has enriched mine. Go now! Spread the word!

Am I Really Supposed To Put That In My Eye?

2005-06-22T23:30:00.000-05:00

I've sadly already become somewhat lackadaisical about posting and whole-heartedly apologize. It's sadly going to set the launch of this blog back unless I get my act together. I must argue though that not much of interest has happened since the last post and I'll be damned if there's any filler. Nonetheless, I am still culpable as if I went out in search of adventure then I wouldn't be complaining about the idleness of my days. Moving on...

I saw Batman Begins on the Wednesday it was released (not to mention two other times after that and counting) and enjoyed it immensely. It had alot of the mythos down and played the character straight, as he should be played. A couple minor quibbles were the finding of the killer (he was never found in current continuity), Jim Gordon being a longtime member of the GCPD (he came in from Chicago around the same time Bruce Wayne returned from his training in the comics), and a lack of Harvey Dent. Those don't really reflect poorly on the movie though, they really just show how much of a nerd I am. See the movie now (and if you don't want to go alone, call me. I'll more'n likely be in.)

Continuing on to a subject where I'm on more shakey (but less nerdy) ground, I procured my first set of contact lenses yesterday. No big deal for most people, but unfortunately, when anything comes within in a seventeen foot radius of my eyes, I immediately dive to the nearest corner and huddle in a fetal position, sucking my thumb and covering my eyes. The slightest breeze has been known to cause this before. Fulling knowing this fact, why I went for contacts is beyond me as well as the numerous assistants at the optimetrist's office who tried to aid me in my battle against my inner-school girl. It started with one assistant taking me back to a darkened room and attempting to put them in. It wasn't going to happen. In my defense, she had long fingernails that bordered upon being classified as talons. My brother, who witnessed the ordeal, told me he was impressed by how quickly I curled myself into a ball and found the furthest end of the chair. When it was discovered that I would let no mortal hands near my eyes, it was decided that I should put them in myself. I was taken back out to the front of the office, which doubles as a glasses store and waiting room so I "could put them on in the light." In reality, I think the assistant really just wanted me to suffer through this in the presence of others as I think she was miffed that I didn't trust her cornia-piercing, cuticle-covered daggers with the safety of my window to the world. When I say I think she was miffed, I mean that I know she was, as she promptly deserted me after escorting me to a table and promptly turning tail, leaving me with no clue how to put these little pieces of whoknowswhat into my eyes. Luckily, another assistant came to my rescue and she had the compassion and patience of a saint (when she passes, which is hopefully a long way off, I'll be petitioning to have her canonized). After twenty minutes, half a bottle of solution, and more encouragement than a self-help books, I finally got one in. All it took was for her to grab my top eyelash while I restrained the bottom and while staring at the Blue Meanie on my brother's shirt, slide the little bugger in. The second one came in a lightning fast ten minutes and only several decades of the Rosary. After completing such a bold and daring task, I as ushered back into the dark room where I couldn't gloat to all of the bystanders who had witness my conquering of the contacts. After the exam, the doctor gave me to the ok to leave only to quickly retract his blessing as he realized that I had not yet been instructed on how to remove the contacts. That's right, it turns out you have to take the stupid things off on a daily basis. Heartbroken, I was taken back to my table where a third assistant (the second passed out, bless her heart) taught me how to remove the contacts. She too possesed great patience and knowledge of the contact and I soon (by soon I mean a fortnight) learned how to remove my contacts and was sent on my way. The rest of the day was enjoyable but as it came to a close, I began to dread what was to come. I knew I would have to remove my contacts without the help of the saints of optometry. On my own, the removal of contacts seemed much harder than when Nicole (the third assistant gave me her name and when given a name, I use it) held my hand through it. The good news was that it only took till the crack of down and I retained my right eye.

Today was my mom's birthday, so we celebrated with by making her breakfast, taking her to the beach, out to dinner, etc. It was a nice day and I hope she enjoyed it. So if anyone didn't get a hold of me today, you now understand why you couldn't. I would apologize, but I'm not sorry (unless you happen to be a supermodel and/or accomplished musician of the opposite sex, then you receive my most sincere and lugubrious of apologies).

As a sidenote, I recommend Anna Nalick and her album Wreck of the Day to anyone and everyone. It's mellow and nuanced with great lyrics and Nalick has a beautiful voice.

Well, that's all I gots for now. This one's for Benny, who's bored out of his mind. I hope this eases your pain.

What's Worse Than a Male Chauvanist Pig?

2005-06-13T22:58:00.000-05:00

Are you tired of chicks tearing down men all they want with no represcussions? Are you sick of biting your tongue when you hear them b#$%ing and moaning about how evil and inconsiderate we are? If so, read on, for below are jokes to be used in such a situation. It's time to take the world back, one dike at a time.

Why don't women have drivers licenses? There's no road between the bedroom and the kitchen!
God told Adam " I could create you a partner that will always adore you, serve you, never be angry and treat you as a King, the only problem is that you must give up an arn or an leg for it." Adam "No way - what can I get for a rib!"
The perfect man and the perfect woman are driving down the road and see Santa Clause hitchhiking the decide to pick him up. They are driving down the road when a semi cuts them off. In a brutal accident all die except for one person. Who survived? The man, because just like santa clause the perfect women doesnt exist.
Three women are standing on one side of a river. A magic genie is there to help them across, and can grant each woman one wish. The first one says, "Genie, make me one thousand times smarter." The genie grants her her wish and she then takes off her shoes and swims across. The second woman says, "Genie, make me a million times smarter." After the wishes is granted she takes some wood, makes a boat, and rows across the river. The last woman says "Genie, make me a billion times smarter." The genie grants her wish and she turns into a man and walks across the bridge.
Why was knitting invented? To give women something to think about while they're talking.
How many lesbian vegetarians does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Three; one to screw it in and two to write a folk song about it.
How many men does it take to change a light bulb? None - she can cook in the dark.
Why'd the woman cross the road? Who cares? Why was she out of the kitchen?
What's the best way to fix the dish washer? Slap her
How do you turn your dishwasher into a snowblower?? Slap her on the rear and hand her a shovel.
Why don't women need watches? There's a clock on the stove.
What's strong enough for a man, but made for a woman? A back hand.
Have you heard about the new divorced Barbie doll? It comes with all Ken's stuff!
Whats worse than a male chauvanist pig? A woman who doesn't know her f#$%ing place!
Why was the shopping cart invented? To teach women to walk on their hind legs!
A man is walking along the beach when God comes down and offers him one wish. The man thinks for a moment and says, "I would love for you to build a bridge from Califonia to Hawaii so whenever I want to visit, I can drive on over." God responds by telling the man, "Do you know how many of the worlds resources I would have to use to build a bridge of that magnitude? All the steel and concrete...it's next to impossible, even for me. Do you have another wish?" The man thinks for a moment and says, "You know, I really would like to be able to understand my wife more. Her emotions, her feelings, what she is thinking..." God looks puzzled then asks the man, "So, you want that bridge to be four lanes or six?"
Why haven't any women gone to the moon? It dosen't need cleaning yet.
A guy with a black eye boards his plane bound for Pittsburgh and sits down in his seat. He immediately notices that the guy next to him also has a black eye. He says to him, "Hey this is a coincidence: we both have black eyes. Mind if I ask how you got yours?" So the guy tells him: "Well, it just happened. It was a tongue twister accident, sort of. See, I was at the ticket counter and this gorgeous blonde with the biggest breasts in the world was there. So, instead of saying: I'd like a ticket to Pittsburgh, I said: I'd like a picket to Tittsburgh. So she socked me one." The first guy responded, "Mine was a tongue twister too. I was at the breakfast table and I wanted to say to my wife: Please pour me a bowl of Corn Flakes, but I accidentally said: You ruined my life, you lousy b#$%.''
What do you tell a woman with two black eyes? Nothing, you done told her twice already.
Why are women so bad at poker? Cause they're stupid

Learn to Love the Sasquatch

2005-06-13T00:01:00.000-05:00

Tonight was a momentous night, as I witnessed cinematic genius unfold before my very eyes. For on this night, we watched Sasquatch Hunters. I can’t really say much more than “See it now!” as the plot is very intricate and telling anything could possibly ruin an experience that will not only enrich your life, but also make you a better person. Unfortunately, not all people are as enlightened.

As of late, I fear I haven’t done anything terribly of note (I know some of you will say, “Well the fight with the old lady is something I’d call ‘of note,’” but listen, she started it and I’ll be damned if let some putrid old bag cut me in line at Dillard’s) so I’ve decided to recommend several albums that have come out recently for summer listening.

The first album on the list has to be Rebel, Sweetheart by the Wallflowers. It’s lyrically and musically deep without being overproduced. Like previous Wallflowers offers, it has some dark overtones but they never get in the way or drag the listener down. A solid offering that has repeated listening written all over it.

The next album I’d recommend is Ben Folds’ latest release, Songs For Silverman. This album is Ben Folds being Ben Folds, so if you don’t like his previous work (if that’s possible), you probably won’t find much here. On the other hand, fans (non-evil people who have taste) will love this album. Folds and his band cut the album live, giving it a fresh and energetic feel, especially during the solos. All in all, it’s a great album that was worth the 5-year wait.

Moving on, I come to Jack Johnson’s soundtrack of the summer, In Between Dreams. If you need an album to lounge out at the beach and listen to, this is it. It’s mellow, unobtrusive and beautiful. Buy it now.
Well, those are all the albums that have come out so far that I feel are worth a listen. I’m probably missing some and I’ll either throw them in another post or I’ll purposefully never mention them just to be aggravating. On an unrelated note, I discovered today that the classic Nickelodeon show Pete and Pete has found its way to DVD. Not only does this excite me because Pete and Pete was a great show but because it implies that other classic Nick shows could be coming to DVD soon. I’m not ashamed to admit I’d crawl a mile naked through broken shards of glass to get a copy of Doug on DVD. In fact, I’d be ashamed if I wasn’t willing to do that for such an integral piece of my childhood. Without Doug teaching me lessons of morality and the fun in chasing the platonic woman, I’d probably be face down in a ditch somewhere or going down in a hail of gunfire in a talent show gone horribly awry.

Things We've Learned

2005-06-12T23:49:00.000-05:00

Early in May, Brummitt and I ventured to Boca Raton to see a Kelly Clarkson concert. We decided that it would be a good idea to write down everything we had learned and when the trip was finished, found we had quite an extensive list with many valuable points which we feel must be shared with the world. So without further ado...

What We've Learned

A Children's Story

Avoid Exit 129 like the plague
Search harder for really small signs that delay you checking into your hotel by a half hour
People should dress their age
Orange shirts good, gray shirts bad
Use a large woman as a battering ram to get to the front of the stage
Don’t settle for conditioner
It’s not MTV’s fault, it’s negligent parenting
Bring earplugs for pre-concert music
Take the price tag off roses as it’s tacky
It’s virtually impossible to reinsert a rose
Boca Raton = Giant U-Turn
Boca Raton = Geriatric Ward
Boca McDonald’s = Blasphemy
Matching t-shirts get noticed but are creepy. Really creepy.
Double check and look further into directions
Exit 48B exists only when traveling north
Boca Raton is “too good” for Steak and Shake
Kelly Clarkson is a nice person in a non-fake (as in genuine) way.
Kelly Clarkson performs for an hour and 15 minutes.
Alcohol should not be served at a concert of an artist whose fan base is predominately fifteen and under
Mosh pits are as common as jackalopes at a Kelly Clarkson concert.
There’s no Subway on Exit 172
Exit 173 is a recommended stop.
On the whole, people are generally good
Driving a net total of over 12 hours, traveling over 600 miles, and spending over $300 was completely worth it.

Batbombs, BBs, Bone Saws, and Bands

2005-06-09T23:19:00.000-05:00

I was dealt a devastating blow yesterday. After weeks of anticipation, it was revealed to me that Batman Begins won't be appearing at the World Golf Village IMAX theater. Not only does this depress me because I was greatly looking forward to see the Dark Knight dole out vigilante justice on an eight-story screen but I've hyped it to just about every I interact with, making me look like a fool and just incompetent in general. The good thing is that I was informed of this foolhardy move by the World Golf Village (curse you for all eternity!) when Jason and I were shooting my little brother's high powered BB gun. For all intents and purposes, the thing might as well be a rifle as it has a scope and can buy a BB several inches deep into a block of wood. It's the kind of BB gun that can shoot your eye out. Anyways, we were looking for a spot to shoot it and decided to look in an area that's currently being developed by Eagle Harbor. We found the perfect spot for our amazing display of sharpshooting. Unfortuneately, it was right next to the community pool. In our vast wisdom, we for some reason ignored this fact and carried on with our plan. The problem is that to people driving by, it looks like to shady gentlemen wielding a rifle right next to a pool. They could not have known our intentions and their concern was evident. Needless to say, we left quickly, but not before exacting the crime of the century. Ask me about it sometime.

Before embarking on our expedition, we made a stop to the Army surplus store, a place where you feign a southern accent for fear of retribution because of the northern victory in the Civil War. In this amazing store, we found loads of ridiculuous stuff, everything from bazookas to dutch ovens. After much careful consideration, I decided to purchase a throwing star. Any caped vigilante worth his salt has to be proficient with a throwing star. Jason, on the other hand, decided upon some wire saw, which is really quite sharp. If I can't be believed, then I can quote from the box, "Can cut wood, plastic, bone, and ice." Who the hell puts that on their box? Needless to say, the wire saw was quickly dubbed the bone saw and as of yet, the box's claim has not been proved. In conclusion, yesterday was an exciting day with its ups and its downs (curse you World Golf Village!).

Today, though not as odd, was a day of note as well. It started out typically enough, I went shopping with my mom, swam laps, read comics but then I got a call from my compatriot Ben, who urged me to join him in his quest to see Forever Changed at Murray Hill. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to join him. Though not my kind of music, I immensely enjoyed the show, find the band to be more than competent and to be a bunch of nice guys with a good message. Check out www.foreverchanged.net for more info.

Well that's it for now. Take it easy and remember to never, ever trust the World Golf Village, for it will crush your dreams.

PS- Proofreading's for women, so don't judge me!

Hit The Ground Running

2005-06-08T23:35:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago (maybe a week even as I have no sense of time), I was vacationing with my family and some friends on the gulf coast. Our condo (I hate the sound of that word, it's just so ugly) faced a beautiful view of the water, and I found myself two feet away from a dolphin who seemed to be content making a group of people follow him as he swam from one side of the sound to the other. The dolphin was amazing sight to see but I feel like he dragged me out of the condo so I could see how amazing the sunset was as it spread so many subtle hues over the vast body of water before me. It was a life-affirming moment for me, the kind of moment where the big questions (you know, like "Why are we here? What should I do with my life? Why do they call it the funny bone?") didn't really matter. What mattered was that I was there, experiencing something so beautiful. Later, it occurred to me that I had a mini-epiphany. I wouldn't call it a full-on epiphany, so mini-epiphany works. That's when I began to realize that epiphanies don't actually work like they do in books and cinema (big surprise, right?). My conjecture is that there never is one big epiphany but just many little epiphanies that may or may not even be recognized as anything significant that are gathered through life. Slowly but surely, these puzzle pieces form a picture until there's only one piece missing. That final piece is the one that is usually recognized as the epiphany, but really it just the final step in a arduous and slow process. The problem is, it's much more convient to assume that it hit all at once and that event will forever be remembered as the epiphany. But what about the other pieces which were just as important in forming the picture but just had the misfortune of not being the final piece acquired? They are lost forever, cast in the shadow of that final piece, when they very well could have been more helpful than what came later. My fear of losing these other pieces is what has spurred me to start this diary/journal/place where I put down my thoughts and the reason you're reading this entry right now. And now that my intentions have been exposed, I shall retire until the next entry, leaving with a challenge to count how many times I said epiphany.