Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Space-Cheddah Diggers of 2987

I had kind of a "freak-out" at work, yesterday.

Y'see, I kinda spent most of the money I'd saved up... on those tickets for "Sweet Chariot." I'm poor again! I've had to buy all my beard-grooming products and back-hair styling tools on credit! (And that shit ain't cheap--!) Anyway, I was doin' the Santa thing, and this one client, he made the mistake of telling me he'd just embezzled several wheels of space-cheddah from his bank. So I asked him how recently it had happened, and he told me it was just before he came to the mall to get absolved of it. And he still had the stolen loot on his person!

I think you all can guess what happened then.

Yup. I "confiscated" it. (For his own good.)

Then I went a little nuts. From that point onward, every punishment I dished out involved me taking people's space-cheddah away from them. I could see the mall's event coordinator getting nervous. How were people going to pay for crap they didn't need if I was taking all of their funds? I gave her the "relax" gesture -- the one where you cup your hands and kind of pat them downward, like you're building a sand castle or warming your mitts on some guy's ass cheeks. The less-orthodox Santa worshipers in line began to slink away when they realized what was going on. Fortunately, the hardcore types got so into it that they started visi-phoning their friends, and then the line was twice as long as ever! And it was packed with folks who insisted that I take all of their space-cheddah! I had a mammoth pile of the stuff goin' by the end of my shift. I finally had to fashion my cape into The Universe's Largest Bindle and just dump it all in there. When I made my triumphal walk down the stairs, all of the mall's executives were at the bottom, with their arms folded and sour expressions on their pusses. But before they could say a word to me, I undid the knot in my cape, swung it around like the hammer toss competition at the Space Olympics, and whipped all that space cheddah directly into a crowd of orphaned, feral toddlers who were getting escorted out of the mall by gun-toting security officers. I shouted, "CHARITY, motherfuckers!" and bolted for my dressing room.

I phoned Klup, to check on how the gigantic sculpture (or whatever) of me was going. He said he was finishing it up, that very night! I'm going to gather everybody from the agency for a "field trip" to go see it today, at lunch. I'm pumped!

On my walk home, I realized I still had a little crumble of space-cheddah in my pocket. Seriously, how did that get there? I guess I'll never know. *looks around, nervously* Anyway, I saw one of those pushy Solstice Season charity workers on the corner, collecting for the post-Solstice reconstruction efforts. They're a little bit like your own "bell ringers", except for the civil defense helmet, and the megaphone, and the "bloody red barrel" with the bio-hazard symbol on it. And this lady, she was on all four corners of the intersection, simultaneously. Which is when I realized it was Rainbow Girl! Rainbow Girl Yellow was closest, so I sauntered up to her, nonchalantly tossed the space-cheddah into the barrel, and with my plummiest, most elegant baritone, purred, "A mere trifle, my dear woman. But one must think of the little people."

For about a half-second, she was annoyed. But then she saw it was me. "Bite me, Sasquatch," she shot back, with a grin.


Before I could go on my way, she grabbed my arm. "Wait up! I gotta tell you what happened today at work: Tusker punched Phantom Lad!"

Of course, I had to stay and hear all the details.

It turns out that Phantom Lad had started loitering around the office again, since I wasn't there. And Tusker was having a bad day, with nothing going right. Some time after lunch, Tusker dropped a huge stack of files, right in front of Frigid Queen's desk. He swore like a star-sailor. And Phantom Lad took a break from macking on Frigid Queen to say to him, "Looks like somebody needs to get laid!"

And here's the beauty part: Tusker immediately put his fist into Phantom Lad's face, before he even had a chance to turn all immaterial like he always does. And while that douche-nozzle was laid out on the floor, blood streaming from his busted nose, Tusker leaned over him with his fists cocked, and said "Maybe I should just keep hitting you in the face! Maybe that would be a good stress-reducer for me!" (Attaboy! I'm so proud of him right now!)

So Phantom Lad scrammed out of there, with Frigid Queen following close behind and shooting a few mysterious smiles at Tusker. And then Nightmare Boy picked his lazy ass up from behind the reception desk, rushed over to Tusker, and shook his hand. "Dude!" gushed Nightmare Boy. "You're cool!" And then he invited Tusker to go out clubbing with him this weekend, so he could show Tusker how to be a "playa."

For the rest of the walk home, I swear Lallor's radioactive haze looked a little rosier than usual.



the In-Betweener said...

heh. Douche-nozzle. I may have to steal that one.

Hooray for solving problems with violence. I approve.

Jeremy Rizza said...

Thanks, buddy! Go right ahead and steal douche-nozzle, since I stole it from Patton Oswalt. Re: Tusker, I'm also impressed by his reflexes. He moves fast for such a big lunk of a guy. Of course, it helped that Phantom Lad wasn't expecting it. Viva le sucker-punch!

LurkerWithout said...

Go Tusker! And go suddenly flush orphans!

Bill S. said...

Would that I had the cajones to punch the Phantom Lads in my life in the nose! Metaphorically speaking.

Jeremy Rizza said...

Lurkerwithout: Yeah, I hear that the story of the suddenly flush orphans has been optioned for a gooey Solstice Season feature film, tentatively scheduled for a December 2988 release (assuming the world doesn't end before then).

Bill S.: And darn those laws that restrict said punching to the "metaphorical" category! Up with workplace violence, I say! (Kidding. Don't arrest me!)