Monday, June 1, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Funeral For A Friend.
I think it was Ambrose Bierce who called a handkerchief a “ small square of silk or linen, used in various ignoble offices about the face and especially serviceable at funerals to conceal the lack of tears.”
Well, he nailed it that day, let me tell ya. The funeral of The Conservative was held at dusk, with plenty of rain. Like water off of a duck’s back, I thought to myself.
Private Beetle Bailey drove me and Edda to the funeral. In a stretch limo. Her handlers made her wear clothes and everything. Even Beetle was in full dress uniform.
Dick Tracy was standing astride of Popeye and Cassandra….excuse me, Katina Furr, and holding an umbrella so she wouldn’t get wet. She was tough, but cats do hate water.
As we got out of the car, I could see Mike Patterson, walking through the rain and wind as though it were all made for him. Asshole. Couldn’t he have left the superhero costume at home? I mean, really. Yeah, he wore a black armband for respect. But still and all….
Anyway, he was followed by long-suffering Deanna Patterson, formerly Sobinski. And the two kids. I forget their names, but they were eating dirt. And feeding it to each other.
They’ll probably become writers just like Daddy, I thought.
As I got out of the car, I moved to shake hands with Dick Tracy, Popeye, who trained me in many forms of melee combat, none of which stuck, and Katina, who had been crying a little bit, and hugged me as though we hadn’t seen each other for years. I mean, we hadn’t, but we only had dinner a few days ago, since this whole thing began.
Edda was staring at a tree, using her special vision powers to make the water droplets slow down, speed up, freeze, change color….I dunno. I’m thinking she’ll get a ballet recital out of it.
“ Here he is,” Dick said as the limo pulled up, carrying the mortal remains of Mallard Fillmore.
*******************************************************************************
October 11, 2001.
After about a month of crying, calling families to tell them we loved them, a president standing on a rock pile with a megaphone, finally, someone was doing something.
That someone was America’s most famous detective, a superhumanly strong sailor with abnormal forearm muscles, the long lived Ghost Who Walks….
And a duck with a rocket launcher and automatic weapon he found on eBay.
Homeland Security wanted their own super team. They had it.
Dick was at the podium of the new group’s first press conference since the day. “ Ladies and Gentlemen, I know times are kind of scary right now. But I got us through Flattop. I got us through Pruneface. I got us through those goddamn hippies. I got us through my ill-advised mustache in the seventies. And I can get us through this. “
One of the reporters raised her hand. A blonde with the clearest face in the universe. “ Gretchen Ramirez, FOX News. I see the three of you standing there, are there more members to this team? “
Now, Dick was a little nervous in front of the camera. Usually he played to a hostile audience, wanting to know why all of his perps entered prison feet first. Today, they loved him. Plus, Ramirez was pretty hot.
“ Um…yeah, Ms. Ramirez. Just a second here….” He rifled through some papers….
Geraldo Rivera piped up. “ Are you evading the question, Detective Tracy?”
“ JUST A MINUTE, MAN…” Dick blurted out to every camera in the free world….and a name was forever captured for posterity.
The Just A Minute Men would go on to fame and adventure, fighting the War On Terror.
Well, that usually consisted of posing for pictures in front of school kids sending their dollars to Afghani children whom we were about to drop bombs on.
Ramirez would not go without a question. “ Detective Tracy, who is your final member?”
Then, the wheels of a ‘93 Pontiac could be heard screeching, and the car itself crashing through the security blockade.
Goddammit, drunk again, Dick thought to himself.
“ Hiya, folksh. Mallard Fillmore, the Conshervative here. Ready to give Mishter Terrorisht Man what fer….” he said as he waved a bottle of Yukon Jack and fired his Thompson submachine gun into the air.
“ Could someone please get Mister Fillmore out of the car….” The Phantom asked as the cameras moved towards the wreckage….
**********************************************************************************
To say the event was a sad affair was sort of overstating it. Katina was sad, and scared, but it was a “hey, we could be next “ kind of scared. Dick was taking occasional slugs from his flask. Popeye was flexing his musckles, looking for someone to hit. Edda was staring off into space, wondering if she left the iron on.
Michael Patterson was having the time of his life. He was weeping, and crying, and crying out to a vengeful, and hopefully paying attention right now God, “ WHY, GOD, WHY?? WHY DID YOU TAKE HIM SO SOON???” Deanna was rolling her eyes,while trying to keep her little ones quiet. Didn’t matter. The paparazzi got plenty of pictures of the man in his Eh!Zymandias outfit, the new book would sell, and that was all that mattered.
*************************************************************************************
September 11, 2002.
Milborough, Ontario, Canada
“ Hi, folks, let me introduce myself. I’m Michael Patterson, you can call me Mike. I’m also known as Eh!Zymandias. And let me welcome you to the first meeting of the group called…wait for it…WATCH OUT, MAN!”
“ Quaaack…” Said Mallard Fillmore, taking a shot of Wild Turkey. Everyone was there. Doctor Superlative Girl PhD and her boyfriend Amos. Cassandra Cat in her skin tight cat burglar outfit for special occasions. Calvin in his Stupendous Man costume.
And I was there. My agent talked me into this dumb superhero idea, since he claimed that the Just A Minute Men , while a bit dysfunctional, had the right idea.
“ But I’m not a superhero.” I said.
Your girlfriend’s a superhero.
“ She’s a professional thief. There’s a big difference.”
Superheroes and thieves are basically the same. They all have lots of high tech stuff now. Didn’t you see Ocean’s Eleven?, my agent asked me.
“ That’s kind of a stretch. But what am I supposed to do? Be her young boy companion?”
You know Dick Tracy, right? He can train you to be some kind of super -cop on the edge.
Picturing Dick sleeping in his own vomit, the result of too many Shit Or Go Blinds, made me think otherwise. “ I don’t think so.”
Okay, okay, we’ll get Popeye to help you out with how to fight, we’ll get you a sailor costume. Kids love that Sailor Moon. We’ll put a mask on it. And we’ll call you…um….
I sometimes get a little too wiseass for my own good. I held up the bottle of Sailor Jerry’s rum in his bar by the corner. “ Sailor Jerry?”
Sailor Jerry. It was perfect.
Which is why I was in a sailor costume and Kato mask, arm in arm with Cassandra.
“ Don’t worry, Jamus, this’ll be just fine….” she snickered, turning her head, laughing at me.
Mike went on. “Why, WATCH OUT, MAN? Well, we’re a message to terrorists abroad, and to those who want to question our president on his War On Terror, to…well…WATCH OUT, MAN !!” he said with a flourish.
“ But you’re from Canada.” said Calvin as he raised his hand.
“ SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I’M AN AMERICAN IN MY HEART.” Then he quietly sobbed for two minutes. Then went on.
“ Okay. Here’s some ideas I have on how to improve George Bush’s War On Terror…” Then he brought out a map Of the United States. And started putting up little signs on it that said things like “ DRUG USE” “ ALCOHOLISM” “ SEX WITHOUT BABIES“ “ REALLY ANGRY MUSLIMS”, “ PEOPLE WHO MOVE TOO FAR AWAY FROM THEIR FAMILIES”, and “ MEN WHO DON’T MARRY THE FIRST GIRL THEY MEET.”
“We have to attack these problems head on ! Any questions? “ Michael asked.
Our mouths hung open.
Then, a drunken Mallard Fillmore, while lighting a cigar, and singing “ Margaritaville”, stumbled onto the display, promptly setting it on fire.
Michael cried like a little girl, trying to put the fire out with his cape. Then his cape caught on fire.
Cassandra, Calvin , and myself clapped our hands. We all agreed that Fillmore, while he had his faults, did more to save the world that day than Michael’s display board could ever hope to. Edda grinned at me a little bit as we all carried the hero of the hour, Mallard Fillmore, alias The Conservative, on our shoulders, singing, “ For he’s a jolly good fellow” and buying him a round of drinks. Thus did end the inaugural meeting of the “ WATCH OUT, MAN! “ group.
************************************************************************************
No one was really sure of Fillmore’s religion, so we found a guy at the church across from Goldberg’s, paid him to do a fill in the blanks funeral, and that was pretty much that. As a suspicious fellow with pointy ears, a bouquet of flowers and looking a lot like Max Von Sydow was making his way to the casket, Edda announced in a loud voice that this rain was very annoying and rude , and very cliché and not at all helpful and demanded that it stop.
The rain did stop. Control over all matter, remember?
I whispered, “ Sweetie…”
“Oh, yes. Funeral. Of course. Carry on.”
************************************************************************************
March 2003
Shock And Awe was on. George W Bush would show the evil doers in Iraq, who, it’s been proven time and again, had NOTHING to do with the events of 9/11, but none of that mattered to him.
Or the hundred foot tall naked woman with radioactive pink skin, scolding the soldiers of all sides, Coalition of the Willing, Sunni and Shi’a alike to “ Stop all this darn terrorism and behave themselves, or she’ll start blowing things up.”
None of which, after a few weeks time had any affect on various suicide bombers of both faiths.
Go figure.
After a few weeks, Doctor Superlative Girl, PhD, formerly known as Edda Burber, gave a disgusted snort, shook her head and said “ FINE!” and teleported back to the United States to complain to her mummy, of equally insufferable disposition.
Still on the ground, surrounded by ground troops, was Mallard Fillmore, three sheets to the wind, singing an Alan Jackson standard. “ AN’ I STAAAAND UP. NEXT TO YEW AND DEFEEND HER STILL T’DAAYYYYY”.
This war is still being fought.
*************************************************************************************
Stupendous Man’s Journal
Oct. 14 2015
Saw man with pointy ears at Mallard Fillmore’s funeral. Probably Ming The Merciless exiled from Mongo. Nice of him to leave flowers. I’ll go question him and break his arms later.
Is this what our lives as toons are? That when we die, only our enemies leave roses? Roses that squirt water when you look too close at them? Son of a bitch. Practical jokes. I’m gonna run out of things to break.
Heard joke once. A man brought his pet parrot into the bar. He loved this parrot and was with him continually. The bartender suggested that he take him to the zoo. Which he did.
The same man brought the parrot back to the bar the next day. “ I thought I told you to take that parrot to the zoo?”
The man replied, “ I did , and he liked it so much, tomorrow I’m gonna take him to the baseball game.”
Good joke. Laugh, damnit. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.
I think it was Ambrose Bierce who called a handkerchief a “ small square of silk or linen, used in various ignoble offices about the face and especially serviceable at funerals to conceal the lack of tears.”
Well, he nailed it that day, let me tell ya. The funeral of The Conservative was held at dusk, with plenty of rain. Like water off of a duck’s back, I thought to myself.
Private Beetle Bailey drove me and Edda to the funeral. In a stretch limo. Her handlers made her wear clothes and everything. Even Beetle was in full dress uniform.
Dick Tracy was standing astride of Popeye and Cassandra….excuse me, Katina Furr, and holding an umbrella so she wouldn’t get wet. She was tough, but cats do hate water.
As we got out of the car, I could see Mike Patterson, walking through the rain and wind as though it were all made for him. Asshole. Couldn’t he have left the superhero costume at home? I mean, really. Yeah, he wore a black armband for respect. But still and all….
Anyway, he was followed by long-suffering Deanna Patterson, formerly Sobinski. And the two kids. I forget their names, but they were eating dirt. And feeding it to each other.
They’ll probably become writers just like Daddy, I thought.
As I got out of the car, I moved to shake hands with Dick Tracy, Popeye, who trained me in many forms of melee combat, none of which stuck, and Katina, who had been crying a little bit, and hugged me as though we hadn’t seen each other for years. I mean, we hadn’t, but we only had dinner a few days ago, since this whole thing began.
Edda was staring at a tree, using her special vision powers to make the water droplets slow down, speed up, freeze, change color….I dunno. I’m thinking she’ll get a ballet recital out of it.
“ Here he is,” Dick said as the limo pulled up, carrying the mortal remains of Mallard Fillmore.
*******************************************************************************
October 11, 2001.
After about a month of crying, calling families to tell them we loved them, a president standing on a rock pile with a megaphone, finally, someone was doing something.
That someone was America’s most famous detective, a superhumanly strong sailor with abnormal forearm muscles, the long lived Ghost Who Walks….
And a duck with a rocket launcher and automatic weapon he found on eBay.
Homeland Security wanted their own super team. They had it.
Dick was at the podium of the new group’s first press conference since the day. “ Ladies and Gentlemen, I know times are kind of scary right now. But I got us through Flattop. I got us through Pruneface. I got us through those goddamn hippies. I got us through my ill-advised mustache in the seventies. And I can get us through this. “
One of the reporters raised her hand. A blonde with the clearest face in the universe. “ Gretchen Ramirez, FOX News. I see the three of you standing there, are there more members to this team? “
Now, Dick was a little nervous in front of the camera. Usually he played to a hostile audience, wanting to know why all of his perps entered prison feet first. Today, they loved him. Plus, Ramirez was pretty hot.
“ Um…yeah, Ms. Ramirez. Just a second here….” He rifled through some papers….
Geraldo Rivera piped up. “ Are you evading the question, Detective Tracy?”
“ JUST A MINUTE, MAN…” Dick blurted out to every camera in the free world….and a name was forever captured for posterity.
The Just A Minute Men would go on to fame and adventure, fighting the War On Terror.
Well, that usually consisted of posing for pictures in front of school kids sending their dollars to Afghani children whom we were about to drop bombs on.
Ramirez would not go without a question. “ Detective Tracy, who is your final member?”
Then, the wheels of a ‘93 Pontiac could be heard screeching, and the car itself crashing through the security blockade.
Goddammit, drunk again, Dick thought to himself.
“ Hiya, folksh. Mallard Fillmore, the Conshervative here. Ready to give Mishter Terrorisht Man what fer….” he said as he waved a bottle of Yukon Jack and fired his Thompson submachine gun into the air.
“ Could someone please get Mister Fillmore out of the car….” The Phantom asked as the cameras moved towards the wreckage….
**********************************************************************************
To say the event was a sad affair was sort of overstating it. Katina was sad, and scared, but it was a “hey, we could be next “ kind of scared. Dick was taking occasional slugs from his flask. Popeye was flexing his musckles, looking for someone to hit. Edda was staring off into space, wondering if she left the iron on.
Michael Patterson was having the time of his life. He was weeping, and crying, and crying out to a vengeful, and hopefully paying attention right now God, “ WHY, GOD, WHY?? WHY DID YOU TAKE HIM SO SOON???” Deanna was rolling her eyes,while trying to keep her little ones quiet. Didn’t matter. The paparazzi got plenty of pictures of the man in his Eh!Zymandias outfit, the new book would sell, and that was all that mattered.
*************************************************************************************
September 11, 2002.
Milborough, Ontario, Canada
“ Hi, folks, let me introduce myself. I’m Michael Patterson, you can call me Mike. I’m also known as Eh!Zymandias. And let me welcome you to the first meeting of the group called…wait for it…WATCH OUT, MAN!”
“ Quaaack…” Said Mallard Fillmore, taking a shot of Wild Turkey. Everyone was there. Doctor Superlative Girl PhD and her boyfriend Amos. Cassandra Cat in her skin tight cat burglar outfit for special occasions. Calvin in his Stupendous Man costume.
And I was there. My agent talked me into this dumb superhero idea, since he claimed that the Just A Minute Men , while a bit dysfunctional, had the right idea.
“ But I’m not a superhero.” I said.
Your girlfriend’s a superhero.
“ She’s a professional thief. There’s a big difference.”
Superheroes and thieves are basically the same. They all have lots of high tech stuff now. Didn’t you see Ocean’s Eleven?, my agent asked me.
“ That’s kind of a stretch. But what am I supposed to do? Be her young boy companion?”
You know Dick Tracy, right? He can train you to be some kind of super -cop on the edge.
Picturing Dick sleeping in his own vomit, the result of too many Shit Or Go Blinds, made me think otherwise. “ I don’t think so.”
Okay, okay, we’ll get Popeye to help you out with how to fight, we’ll get you a sailor costume. Kids love that Sailor Moon. We’ll put a mask on it. And we’ll call you…um….
I sometimes get a little too wiseass for my own good. I held up the bottle of Sailor Jerry’s rum in his bar by the corner. “ Sailor Jerry?”
Sailor Jerry. It was perfect.
Which is why I was in a sailor costume and Kato mask, arm in arm with Cassandra.
“ Don’t worry, Jamus, this’ll be just fine….” she snickered, turning her head, laughing at me.
Mike went on. “Why, WATCH OUT, MAN? Well, we’re a message to terrorists abroad, and to those who want to question our president on his War On Terror, to…well…WATCH OUT, MAN !!” he said with a flourish.
“ But you’re from Canada.” said Calvin as he raised his hand.
“ SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I’M AN AMERICAN IN MY HEART.” Then he quietly sobbed for two minutes. Then went on.
“ Okay. Here’s some ideas I have on how to improve George Bush’s War On Terror…” Then he brought out a map Of the United States. And started putting up little signs on it that said things like “ DRUG USE” “ ALCOHOLISM” “ SEX WITHOUT BABIES“ “ REALLY ANGRY MUSLIMS”, “ PEOPLE WHO MOVE TOO FAR AWAY FROM THEIR FAMILIES”, and “ MEN WHO DON’T MARRY THE FIRST GIRL THEY MEET.”
“We have to attack these problems head on ! Any questions? “ Michael asked.
Our mouths hung open.
Then, a drunken Mallard Fillmore, while lighting a cigar, and singing “ Margaritaville”, stumbled onto the display, promptly setting it on fire.
Michael cried like a little girl, trying to put the fire out with his cape. Then his cape caught on fire.
Cassandra, Calvin , and myself clapped our hands. We all agreed that Fillmore, while he had his faults, did more to save the world that day than Michael’s display board could ever hope to. Edda grinned at me a little bit as we all carried the hero of the hour, Mallard Fillmore, alias The Conservative, on our shoulders, singing, “ For he’s a jolly good fellow” and buying him a round of drinks. Thus did end the inaugural meeting of the “ WATCH OUT, MAN! “ group.
************************************************************************************
No one was really sure of Fillmore’s religion, so we found a guy at the church across from Goldberg’s, paid him to do a fill in the blanks funeral, and that was pretty much that. As a suspicious fellow with pointy ears, a bouquet of flowers and looking a lot like Max Von Sydow was making his way to the casket, Edda announced in a loud voice that this rain was very annoying and rude , and very cliché and not at all helpful and demanded that it stop.
The rain did stop. Control over all matter, remember?
I whispered, “ Sweetie…”
“Oh, yes. Funeral. Of course. Carry on.”
************************************************************************************
March 2003
Shock And Awe was on. George W Bush would show the evil doers in Iraq, who, it’s been proven time and again, had NOTHING to do with the events of 9/11, but none of that mattered to him.
Or the hundred foot tall naked woman with radioactive pink skin, scolding the soldiers of all sides, Coalition of the Willing, Sunni and Shi’a alike to “ Stop all this darn terrorism and behave themselves, or she’ll start blowing things up.”
None of which, after a few weeks time had any affect on various suicide bombers of both faiths.
Go figure.
After a few weeks, Doctor Superlative Girl, PhD, formerly known as Edda Burber, gave a disgusted snort, shook her head and said “ FINE!” and teleported back to the United States to complain to her mummy, of equally insufferable disposition.
Still on the ground, surrounded by ground troops, was Mallard Fillmore, three sheets to the wind, singing an Alan Jackson standard. “ AN’ I STAAAAND UP. NEXT TO YEW AND DEFEEND HER STILL T’DAAYYYYY”.
This war is still being fought.
*************************************************************************************
Stupendous Man’s Journal
Oct. 14 2015
Saw man with pointy ears at Mallard Fillmore’s funeral. Probably Ming The Merciless exiled from Mongo. Nice of him to leave flowers. I’ll go question him and break his arms later.
Is this what our lives as toons are? That when we die, only our enemies leave roses? Roses that squirt water when you look too close at them? Son of a bitch. Practical jokes. I’m gonna run out of things to break.
Heard joke once. A man brought his pet parrot into the bar. He loved this parrot and was with him continually. The bartender suggested that he take him to the zoo. Which he did.
The same man brought the parrot back to the bar the next day. “ I thought I told you to take that parrot to the zoo?”
The man replied, “ I did , and he liked it so much, tomorrow I’m gonna take him to the baseball game.”
Good joke. Laugh, damnit. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Better Class Of People
Stupendous Man’s Journal Oct 12, 2015
Left Cat’s apartment. Headed for former Goldberg’s bar. Now called Blip’s. The owner and Miss Buxley dance with no clothes on. Not as much fun as you might think. Interrogated Andy Capp. Said he knew nothing. Broke his fingers. Questioned Slim at Gasoline Alley. Asked for food. Knew nothing. Shattered his kneecaps. On my way to visit Milborough literary genius.
Really hope he doesn’t know anything.
********************************************************************
Michael Patterson traced his finger along his desk, and walked the length of his attic/office. Multiple unsold copies of Stone Season stood stacked in corners.
“ The Conservative dead. But, why?” Michael asked Stupendous Man as his wife brought up dinner for both of them.
“ You were always supposed to be Milborough’s golden boy, Michael. Smart, talented, a good father, a good son. You tell me.”
Michael put down his butter tart. “ I never claimed to be anyone special, Stupendous Man..” he started as he modeled his red and white tights with the Canadian maple leaf on the chest. “ I just have some enthusiastic literary and PR agents. How do you think this looks for the signing? I think I’ll sign them, ‘Your’s in Christ. Stay in school. Drugs aren’t cool. Your pal, Eh!Zymandias. ‘ Do you like that? I made it up myself”
Stupendous Man was about to break Michael’s fingers so he’d never write anything again when Deanna asked if they wanted seconds on casserole. Patterson is so lucky, Calvin thought.
“ Yes dear. Thank you. Anyway, could this have been a political killing? Trudeau’s people perhaps…?”
Calvin spooned up some mashed taters. “ Cat said same thing. Don’t believe it. America has Superlative Girl. Terrorists have been running scared since ‘05. I think we’ve got a toon killer.”
Michael sighed. Calvin was so not-me, he thought. “ I dunno. Fillmore had plenty of other enemies. Unpaid liquor tabs, auto insurance people…he was an accident waiting to happen when he got behind the wheel.”
Stupendous Man growled. “ He stood up for his country, Patterson. Spoke out against the mainstream liberal media. Never became a prostitute. Never used his reputation as a hack author…yes, I’m looking at you, Patterson….to become Captain Canada, alias Eh!Zymandias. Never cashed in on his reputation. I came to warn you about the toon killer, so you didn’t become the most beloved man in the morgue, but I guess there’s worse things to end up as. “
As Calvin walked out the attic window, he stopped. “ By the way, does Deanna have any more of those little hot dogs wrapped in pancakes? Those are great. Be seeing you.”
****************************************************************************
Stupendous Man’s Journal Supplemental
Meeting with Patterson left me with bad taste in my mouth. Metaphorically speaking, I mean. Deanna may have shit taste in men, but she sure can cook. Patterson possibly homosexual? Yeah. Definitely. You’d have thought that would have made him cool.
Katina Furr just as bad. Liked her better when she stole and did coke. Why are there so few of us left without personality disorders?
Dick Tracy is still on the force, on probation for corruption.
Popeye runs a wharf side bar and grill where Wimpy leeches off of him. And prostitutes give oral sex to strangers.
The Phantom is pushing ninety. Son does not want to become twenty first Phantom. Wants to dance in Bolshoi Ballet instead.
Mandrake The Magician is making a living doing kids parties.
Only one name left on my list. This whole time, breaking into Camp Swampy /Military Testing grounds. Sarge was on duty. Easy Peasy.
I plan to tell the world’s most powerful, most wonderful, strongest, most talented, gifted, and beautiful and self-assured woman that someone is planning to kill her.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
*********************************************************************************
Stupendous Man easily broke into Camp Swampy’s installation. Security was pathetic. Beetle was sleeping, Sarge was eating, Gen. Halftrack was chasing around Miss Buxley , Mrs. Halftrack was chasing him, Killer was also chasing Miss Buxley, Cookie was washing trash cans,…you get the idea.
As he walked into the main testing area, he could hear piano music playing on an ipod. Brahams, he thought to himself. Or Beethoven, one of those guys. Then, he looked up, and saw a beautiful one hundred foot tall woman with radioactive hot pink skin and blonde hair working on a particle accelerator. Stupendous Man was no prude, but he couldn’t help but wish that Doctor Superlative Woman, PhD had thought to wear underwear today.
“ GOOD EVENING, STUPENDOUS MAN.” She spoke from above.
“ Good evening Superlative Woman.” he answered.
“THAT’S DOCTOR SUPERLATIVE WOMAN TO YOU, STUPENDOUS MAN.” she said as she slowly shrank back down to human size.
And here’s where I come in. I decided to bring in some Sailor Jerry’s for some rum and cokes. Edda didn’t much care for them, but she put up with them. For me.
“What in hell are you doing here, Calvin? I don’t work for Goldberg’s anymore. And dressing up in that cape and mask isn’t gonna impress me. What part of “ no less than a hundred feet away” don’t you understand?” I asked him.
Give him credit, Calvin didn’t crack. “ Good evening, Mr. Bartowski”
I sighed. “ That’s Mr. The Bartender. I had my name legally changed when The Cat And The Curmudgeon sold a million copies. You haven’t answered my question.” By this time, Edda had come down to human size, and slinked her arm through mine.
“ Apologies. I thought I should let you both know. The Conservative is dead”
Without looking at Stupendous Man, Superlative Woman sniffed. “ Yes, yes, we were informed this past weekend. Sergeant Snorkel thought it might have been terrorists. Sergeant Snorkel thinks everything is terrorists. Dreary man. Ruined a perfectly good weekend. “ When Stupendous Man stood his ground and did not leave after he was clearly dismissed, Superlative Woman asked, “ Is there anything else? “
Calvin cleared his throat.” With all due respect, I warned Cat, and I warned Patterson, and I intend to warn the both of you. Some foe with a grudge has risen up against us….I believe…”
I gave an involuntary start as Calvin mentioned Cassandra. Before I could ask if she was okay, then swallowed it, Edda started in…
“ Yes, yes, yes, the world’s coming to an end, la-di-da…..thaaank youu..” Edda said as she wiggled her nose like Samantha on Bewitched, sending and reforming Stupendous Man’s molecules to a point outside Camp Swampy rather further than one hundred feet away.
I called out, “ AND I WANT MY LAST CHECK NEXT WEEK!!”
“Well, that takes care of that, darling. Pour me some champagne, would you?” Which I did. Happily. We snuggled down in the living room area just adjacent to the lab and turned on PBS. She wouldn’t allow anything else on the TV. Except news. And anything she was in. I guess I must have looked upset. “ Are you all right, darling? You seem upset.”
I nodded. “ Stupendous Man is sick. We never got along when I worked for him, and I like him even less now. The sooner Dick puts him away, the better.”
While we watched TV, Edda formed duplicates of herself to practice her ballet routines, practice the piano, re-assemble the particle accelerator, and bake some cookies. Yeah, I didn’t always have her full attention, but she got things done. “ Edda?”
“ Yes, darling?”
“ Listen, I’ve been cooped up here for awhile. I think I just need a night out. Um….Calvin mentioned Cassandra. Now, I know we’ve had problems, but I really think I oughta touch base with her. In case there’s anything to this “toon killer” he went on about. If you don’t mind.”
Edda nodded. “ Of course you should, darling. I’d join you, but I’m having a hard time with the climax of this dance piece, I think I’m close to locating a glunio, and I want to try a new recipe for mint flavored Snickerdoodles.”
Gotta love her.
So, I called Cassandra. “ Hey you.”
For a minute, silence. “ Jamus?”
“ Hi, Cas….I mean, Katina. How’ve you been doing?”
For a second, I thought I heard a sob, but she composed herself. “ Just…just fine, Jamus. I’ve been two years clean last week.”
I smiled. “ I didn’t know, that’s terrific. “
“ Thank you. How’s Edda?”
“ Fine, she’s just fine. That’s kind of why I called. Calvin mentioned that he stopped by.”
“Yeah, broke my lock. Did you hear about Mallard?”
“ I did, yeah, and I wanted to be sure you were okay.”
“ I’m just fine.” Yeah, right, Katina thought to herself. “ Thank you for calling, that means a lot.”
“ Listen, I realized I hadn’t seen you for a while, and I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner? Is Ella’s Deli okay?”
Five second pause. Now, when a recovering addict is…well, recovering, it’s recommended that they cut all ties with the people they were involved with during said substance abuse. Which definitely included me.
“ That….that would be just fine, Jamus.”
**********************************************************************************
A few hours later, after a dinner of melt in your mouth corned beef with fries, lemon cokes and pound cake sundaes, Cassandra….excuse me, Katina and I were feeling a little better. She looked good. Too good. She was obviously trying to make amends for her past and move on. The changes were more than skin deep. She dressed in a semi formal jacket and skirt affair which, combined with the Sarah Palin glasses and pulled back hair made me think of a librarian. A really hot librarian, but a librarian nonetheless.
“ Dinner was great, hon….Jamus. Are you sure you won’t let me get the check?”
I shook my head and wrote down the amount of dinner for Plato at Camp Swampy. “ Don’t sweat it. Nice thing about being a kept man for the military’s ultimate weapon and cultural icon. Uncle Sugar pays for everything. “
Katina chuckled. “ Must be tough.”
I nodded. “ I know, I know, I shouldn’t complain. Thing is, I haven’t touched a manuscript since “ C and C”, and the only reason I’m kept around is to keep Edda content.”
Katina gently broached the subject, “ Um, how are things with you and Edda?” Shitty, I hope, she thought to herself.
“Oh, they’re fine, just fine. It’s just that I keep thinking, ‘I’m thirty-nine, what have I done?”“ You’re forty, Jamus.”
“ A VERY YOUNG forty. After the book, and the nuclear accident which transformed Edda, my time as Popeye’s superhero apprentice , Sailor Jerry, and our foray into the “Watch Out, Man” group, I haven’t done a whole lot with myself. Do you remember that costume that I wore? I looked like a cross between an extra from “ Pirates Of Penzance” and the Village People. “
I thought you looked cute, thought Katina. “Oh, god, yeah, I remember that…”
We walked around the restaurant, playing with the clockwork puppets roaming the ceiling. There was one of Dick Tracy, The Phantom, Harry Potter….I think Edda even had one.
“I don’t know why we’re complaining. The Keane Act was probably the best thing to happen to all of us. You’re clean and sober, I’m in the lap of luxury….Here’s to Senator Jeff Keane.”
Katina grinned. “ To Senator Jeff Keane. “
We raised our glasses of lemon cokes as Katina’s thumb and forefinger ran across the McCain badge worn by the Conservative.
She whispered. “ To Mallard Fillmore.”
I raised my glass again. He was a drunk and a half-informed pundit, and I agreed with maybe ten percent of what he was about, but he was an associate, and he deserved a lot better than what he got.
Left Cat’s apartment. Headed for former Goldberg’s bar. Now called Blip’s. The owner and Miss Buxley dance with no clothes on. Not as much fun as you might think. Interrogated Andy Capp. Said he knew nothing. Broke his fingers. Questioned Slim at Gasoline Alley. Asked for food. Knew nothing. Shattered his kneecaps. On my way to visit Milborough literary genius.
Really hope he doesn’t know anything.
********************************************************************
Michael Patterson traced his finger along his desk, and walked the length of his attic/office. Multiple unsold copies of Stone Season stood stacked in corners.
“ The Conservative dead. But, why?” Michael asked Stupendous Man as his wife brought up dinner for both of them.
“ You were always supposed to be Milborough’s golden boy, Michael. Smart, talented, a good father, a good son. You tell me.”
Michael put down his butter tart. “ I never claimed to be anyone special, Stupendous Man..” he started as he modeled his red and white tights with the Canadian maple leaf on the chest. “ I just have some enthusiastic literary and PR agents. How do you think this looks for the signing? I think I’ll sign them, ‘Your’s in Christ. Stay in school. Drugs aren’t cool. Your pal, Eh!Zymandias. ‘ Do you like that? I made it up myself”
Stupendous Man was about to break Michael’s fingers so he’d never write anything again when Deanna asked if they wanted seconds on casserole. Patterson is so lucky, Calvin thought.
“ Yes dear. Thank you. Anyway, could this have been a political killing? Trudeau’s people perhaps…?”
Calvin spooned up some mashed taters. “ Cat said same thing. Don’t believe it. America has Superlative Girl. Terrorists have been running scared since ‘05. I think we’ve got a toon killer.”
Michael sighed. Calvin was so not-me, he thought. “ I dunno. Fillmore had plenty of other enemies. Unpaid liquor tabs, auto insurance people…he was an accident waiting to happen when he got behind the wheel.”
Stupendous Man growled. “ He stood up for his country, Patterson. Spoke out against the mainstream liberal media. Never became a prostitute. Never used his reputation as a hack author…yes, I’m looking at you, Patterson….to become Captain Canada, alias Eh!Zymandias. Never cashed in on his reputation. I came to warn you about the toon killer, so you didn’t become the most beloved man in the morgue, but I guess there’s worse things to end up as. “
As Calvin walked out the attic window, he stopped. “ By the way, does Deanna have any more of those little hot dogs wrapped in pancakes? Those are great. Be seeing you.”
****************************************************************************
Stupendous Man’s Journal Supplemental
Meeting with Patterson left me with bad taste in my mouth. Metaphorically speaking, I mean. Deanna may have shit taste in men, but she sure can cook. Patterson possibly homosexual? Yeah. Definitely. You’d have thought that would have made him cool.
Katina Furr just as bad. Liked her better when she stole and did coke. Why are there so few of us left without personality disorders?
Dick Tracy is still on the force, on probation for corruption.
Popeye runs a wharf side bar and grill where Wimpy leeches off of him. And prostitutes give oral sex to strangers.
The Phantom is pushing ninety. Son does not want to become twenty first Phantom. Wants to dance in Bolshoi Ballet instead.
Mandrake The Magician is making a living doing kids parties.
Only one name left on my list. This whole time, breaking into Camp Swampy /Military Testing grounds. Sarge was on duty. Easy Peasy.
I plan to tell the world’s most powerful, most wonderful, strongest, most talented, gifted, and beautiful and self-assured woman that someone is planning to kill her.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
*********************************************************************************
Stupendous Man easily broke into Camp Swampy’s installation. Security was pathetic. Beetle was sleeping, Sarge was eating, Gen. Halftrack was chasing around Miss Buxley , Mrs. Halftrack was chasing him, Killer was also chasing Miss Buxley, Cookie was washing trash cans,…you get the idea.
As he walked into the main testing area, he could hear piano music playing on an ipod. Brahams, he thought to himself. Or Beethoven, one of those guys. Then, he looked up, and saw a beautiful one hundred foot tall woman with radioactive hot pink skin and blonde hair working on a particle accelerator. Stupendous Man was no prude, but he couldn’t help but wish that Doctor Superlative Woman, PhD had thought to wear underwear today.
“ GOOD EVENING, STUPENDOUS MAN.” She spoke from above.
“ Good evening Superlative Woman.” he answered.
“THAT’S DOCTOR SUPERLATIVE WOMAN TO YOU, STUPENDOUS MAN.” she said as she slowly shrank back down to human size.
And here’s where I come in. I decided to bring in some Sailor Jerry’s for some rum and cokes. Edda didn’t much care for them, but she put up with them. For me.
“What in hell are you doing here, Calvin? I don’t work for Goldberg’s anymore. And dressing up in that cape and mask isn’t gonna impress me. What part of “ no less than a hundred feet away” don’t you understand?” I asked him.
Give him credit, Calvin didn’t crack. “ Good evening, Mr. Bartowski”
I sighed. “ That’s Mr. The Bartender. I had my name legally changed when The Cat And The Curmudgeon sold a million copies. You haven’t answered my question.” By this time, Edda had come down to human size, and slinked her arm through mine.
“ Apologies. I thought I should let you both know. The Conservative is dead”
Without looking at Stupendous Man, Superlative Woman sniffed. “ Yes, yes, we were informed this past weekend. Sergeant Snorkel thought it might have been terrorists. Sergeant Snorkel thinks everything is terrorists. Dreary man. Ruined a perfectly good weekend. “ When Stupendous Man stood his ground and did not leave after he was clearly dismissed, Superlative Woman asked, “ Is there anything else? “
Calvin cleared his throat.” With all due respect, I warned Cat, and I warned Patterson, and I intend to warn the both of you. Some foe with a grudge has risen up against us….I believe…”
I gave an involuntary start as Calvin mentioned Cassandra. Before I could ask if she was okay, then swallowed it, Edda started in…
“ Yes, yes, yes, the world’s coming to an end, la-di-da…..thaaank youu..” Edda said as she wiggled her nose like Samantha on Bewitched, sending and reforming Stupendous Man’s molecules to a point outside Camp Swampy rather further than one hundred feet away.
I called out, “ AND I WANT MY LAST CHECK NEXT WEEK!!”
“Well, that takes care of that, darling. Pour me some champagne, would you?” Which I did. Happily. We snuggled down in the living room area just adjacent to the lab and turned on PBS. She wouldn’t allow anything else on the TV. Except news. And anything she was in. I guess I must have looked upset. “ Are you all right, darling? You seem upset.”
I nodded. “ Stupendous Man is sick. We never got along when I worked for him, and I like him even less now. The sooner Dick puts him away, the better.”
While we watched TV, Edda formed duplicates of herself to practice her ballet routines, practice the piano, re-assemble the particle accelerator, and bake some cookies. Yeah, I didn’t always have her full attention, but she got things done. “ Edda?”
“ Yes, darling?”
“ Listen, I’ve been cooped up here for awhile. I think I just need a night out. Um….Calvin mentioned Cassandra. Now, I know we’ve had problems, but I really think I oughta touch base with her. In case there’s anything to this “toon killer” he went on about. If you don’t mind.”
Edda nodded. “ Of course you should, darling. I’d join you, but I’m having a hard time with the climax of this dance piece, I think I’m close to locating a glunio, and I want to try a new recipe for mint flavored Snickerdoodles.”
Gotta love her.
So, I called Cassandra. “ Hey you.”
For a minute, silence. “ Jamus?”
“ Hi, Cas….I mean, Katina. How’ve you been doing?”
For a second, I thought I heard a sob, but she composed herself. “ Just…just fine, Jamus. I’ve been two years clean last week.”
I smiled. “ I didn’t know, that’s terrific. “
“ Thank you. How’s Edda?”
“ Fine, she’s just fine. That’s kind of why I called. Calvin mentioned that he stopped by.”
“Yeah, broke my lock. Did you hear about Mallard?”
“ I did, yeah, and I wanted to be sure you were okay.”
“ I’m just fine.” Yeah, right, Katina thought to herself. “ Thank you for calling, that means a lot.”
“ Listen, I realized I hadn’t seen you for a while, and I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner? Is Ella’s Deli okay?”
Five second pause. Now, when a recovering addict is…well, recovering, it’s recommended that they cut all ties with the people they were involved with during said substance abuse. Which definitely included me.
“ That….that would be just fine, Jamus.”
**********************************************************************************
A few hours later, after a dinner of melt in your mouth corned beef with fries, lemon cokes and pound cake sundaes, Cassandra….excuse me, Katina and I were feeling a little better. She looked good. Too good. She was obviously trying to make amends for her past and move on. The changes were more than skin deep. She dressed in a semi formal jacket and skirt affair which, combined with the Sarah Palin glasses and pulled back hair made me think of a librarian. A really hot librarian, but a librarian nonetheless.
“ Dinner was great, hon….Jamus. Are you sure you won’t let me get the check?”
I shook my head and wrote down the amount of dinner for Plato at Camp Swampy. “ Don’t sweat it. Nice thing about being a kept man for the military’s ultimate weapon and cultural icon. Uncle Sugar pays for everything. “
Katina chuckled. “ Must be tough.”
I nodded. “ I know, I know, I shouldn’t complain. Thing is, I haven’t touched a manuscript since “ C and C”, and the only reason I’m kept around is to keep Edda content.”
Katina gently broached the subject, “ Um, how are things with you and Edda?” Shitty, I hope, she thought to herself.
“Oh, they’re fine, just fine. It’s just that I keep thinking, ‘I’m thirty-nine, what have I done?”“ You’re forty, Jamus.”
“ A VERY YOUNG forty. After the book, and the nuclear accident which transformed Edda, my time as Popeye’s superhero apprentice , Sailor Jerry, and our foray into the “Watch Out, Man” group, I haven’t done a whole lot with myself. Do you remember that costume that I wore? I looked like a cross between an extra from “ Pirates Of Penzance” and the Village People. “
I thought you looked cute, thought Katina. “Oh, god, yeah, I remember that…”
We walked around the restaurant, playing with the clockwork puppets roaming the ceiling. There was one of Dick Tracy, The Phantom, Harry Potter….I think Edda even had one.
“I don’t know why we’re complaining. The Keane Act was probably the best thing to happen to all of us. You’re clean and sober, I’m in the lap of luxury….Here’s to Senator Jeff Keane.”
Katina grinned. “ To Senator Jeff Keane. “
We raised our glasses of lemon cokes as Katina’s thumb and forefinger ran across the McCain badge worn by the Conservative.
She whispered. “ To Mallard Fillmore.”
I raised my glass again. He was a drunk and a half-informed pundit, and I agreed with maybe ten percent of what he was about, but he was an associate, and he deserved a lot better than what he got.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Tales Of Goldberg's: At Midnight All The Agents...
Tales Of Goldberg’s
At Midnight, All The Agents….
*************************************************************************************
Stupendous Man’s Journal, Oct. 12, 2015
Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. Also, the dog was wearing goggles and a scarf. The doghouse’s wings and propeller were all shot up too.
Weird.
This city is afraid of me. For I have seen it’s true face. And it is ugly. And slimy. Like girls. But I digress.
Soon, the accumulated filth of all their sex and murder and meanness will foam up about their waists….the city will shout “Save me.”
And I will stick my thumbs in my ears, wiggle my fingers and say “ Nyah,, nyah, nyah, nyah,, nyahhhhh.”
Then I will make a funny face and say, “ This is you. Oooogg, ooogg ooogga, ooogga..” Maybe even cross my eyes.
They had a choice. All of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men. Like my father. He understood character. He used to take me out to the woods, because it built character. Made me chop wood, make tents, go fishing with the deerflies. God, I hated fishing. Maybe that’s a bad example. Let me start over…..
*****************************************************************************
The ol’ detective was looking over the edge of the broken window where the body dropped . A good twenty stories. He said nothing, but let out a low whistle, took out his flask, and raised it to the sky.
Slylock Fox was in the apartment dusting for fingerprints. “ Wow. Twenty stories. That’s a real drop. Say, Dick, if you’re thrown out of an apartment building window, and you’re twenty stories up, and let’s further assume that you’re plummeting down at a rate of five stories a second, are you likely to stay conscious all the way down, or will the air pressure kill you before that?”
Dick didn’t answer right away. He knew the victim. An individual of conservative values. He liked him. They worked together before. Also, he could really put away his gin. Sadly, he liked to go out and practice his drunk driving afterwards.
“ Dick?”
“ Hm? Oh…yeah, yeah , Fox. Despite what you may have heard before, you’re likely to stay conscious all the way down, yeah…”
Slylock walked over to the detective. “ I’m sorry, Dick. You knew the guy, didn’t you?”
Dick nodded.
*************************************************************************************
Seven hours later, a small dark figure came out of the shadows below the apartment building where the body fell. There were still some black feathers on the street. The figure wore a full red face mask, a cape, and a jacket and wool hat because his mom made him wear it.
He picked up what looked like a small badge. It was worn by the murder victim. Proudly.
It said, “ McCain/ Palin ‘08”
The figure took a grappling gun out of his coat. Hobbes made it for him. He wasn’t sure if it would work. He took aim and fired at floor twenty.
It worked. Just like in Batman.
As Stupendous Man climbed through the window, he tore down the police tape and made his way to the closet of the murder victim. There were pictures of the victim on all the walls. Glamour shots.
After a quick search, he found what he was looking for. A secret button which opened the secret closet of Mallard Fillmore, alias The Conservative.
It was all there. The leather armor, the gunbelt and grenades…..and a picture of the duck’s past. A picture of the JGMM. The “ Just a Goddamn Minute, Man” group.
Stupendous Man cleared his throat.
*************************************************************************************
It was the bi-weekly meeting of the Funny Ladies of the Comics. Held at Charterstone, naturally, Chairperson Mary Worth, presiding.
“ Virtue is it’s own reward. The early bird gets the worm. A friend indeed, is a friend, indeed.. And, furthermore, “ Mary stopped to add a jigger of whiskey to her tea, “ If it ain’t broke, get in there and be sure, because you may have missed a chance to meddle the first time around.”
Everyone broke out into applause.
Vice President Thelma Keane added, :” Just let me add to that. A hug is the best present, because it comes in all sizes, and no one minds when you return it.”
More applause.
Secretary/Treasurer Elly Patterson nodded, “ And I’ll add this to boot. It’s all well and good to go off into the wilderness and find yourself, and have new experiences, but…..you’ve gotta grow up sometime and give me some fucking grandchildren, dammit !! Oh, Christ, did I spill my tea….”
New member Katina Furr handed Elly a napkin to clean herself. She was new to the Funny Ladies Of The Comics, and was having second thoughts. All they seemed to do was sit around and drink tea laced with alcohol. Not that she was a prude about such things, but it got boring after awhile.
Christ, she missed Goldberg’s.
And a certain bartender.
After making polite excuses and goodbyes, Katina put on her jacket and scarf and made her way back to her apartment. There was a chill in the air. She walked past a rich drunk guy whose wallet was right there for the taking, he’d never know who pulled it…
Then she remembers that those days were over.
A rich dowager with pearls walked past. Just had to stumble across her….but. No. No. Have to keep naughty kitty inside.
Aw, c’mon.
No!
No one’s ever gonna know…
Dammit, I said No! I don’t do that anymore. It’s wrong.
Chickenshit.
Stop it, Cassandra….
Katina stopped into a nearby tavern for a glass of water. She cleaned off her square rimmed glasses, made sure her hair was pulled back, and headed out into the street again.
You’re gonna let me out, we both know that.
“ Shut up, Cassandra, “ Katina murmured to herself, feeling a deep burning shame. Mostly because even though the name on her driver’s license and her McGuffin Inc. Security Consultant pass said Katina Furr, that was not the name given to her when she was born at the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm.
For a second, she thought she could see Cassandra reflected in a nearby windowpane.
“ I wonder how Jamus and Edda are doing…”
After she put her fist through the glass, one or two passersby came to see if she needed help.
Not the kind you can offer, she thought.
After offering to pay the renter for damages, she ran back to her brownstone, paid for with a lifetime of ill gotten gains. Spectacularly ill gotten, she had to admit.
As she came up to her doorway, she noticed that someone had broken in ahead of her.
A lifetime of instinct took over. Katina treaded quietly to the kitchen, where she noticed a small figure seated at her kitchen table, eating and slurping what looked like this morning’s leftover oatmeal.
Slurp. Slurp.
“ Hello Cassandra. Got hungry waiting. Helped myself to some leftover oatmeal. Hope you don’t mind…”
Katina whispered Calvin’s name. “No…no, of course I don’t mind. And please…call me Katina. Um…do you want that heated up or anything?”
“ No need. Still slimy. Looks like it’s attacking me.”
Katina hung up her coat, never taking her eye off of Calvin, or Stupendous Man as he called himself. Christ, I’m gonna have to call Hobbes, she thought.
“So. Long time, no see, Calvin. I mean, Stupendous Man. How….how are you keeping?”
Stupendous Man tossed the badge on the kitchen table. “ Keeping from being grounded. So far. Take a look at this.”
Katina picked up the McCain badge. “ What’s this on the badge, is that some kind of sauce or something…”
“That’s right. Duck with orange sauce. Badge belonged to The Conservative. Blood too. He’s dead”
Katina looked back in horror. “Wait, you mean someone killed him?”
Stupendous Man pocketed some Oreo cookies from a cookie jar. “ Investigated routine homicide. Right wing political pundit named Mallard Fillmore. Seems he was The Conservative. Someone threw him out of a window. Twenty stories. “
Katina did the math, just like Slylock had. “ Let’s…let’s go down to my basement where we can talk this over. And you can use the rear exit. When you leave.” she said pointedly.
Katina and Calvin made their way down rickety stairs, to a basement which held more treasures than Arsene Lupin’s Needle Hollow. She claimed to have some Mapplethorpes and a few Warhols down here.
And two starships. Dick Tracy’s retired Space Coupe….and the infamous Tarzana Nights. Dust was everywhere.
“ Listen, about The Conservative….might it have been a political killing? He had enemies everywhere…”
Calvin sniffed. “ A normal human? Kill a special ops duck like The Conservative? Ridiculous. I think there’s a toon killer out there. How’s your friend Jamus doing these days?”
Katina’s eyes narrowed.
( OOooo…girl, he’s talkin’ shit about your man.)
“What does he have to do with this?”
“ Was a regular at Goldberg’s. Wrote the biography of the JGMM. Wrote bad things about The Conservative in it. References to his drinking habit.”
Katina got a little angry. “ Calvin, I don’t like what you’re implying…”
“ Just an observation. Anyway, must go now. People to see, thumbs to break”
Katina showed Stupendous Man to the basement door. “Yeah, it was good seeing you again , Calvin. We had some great times. Whatever happened to them?”
Calvin growled, “You quit.”
Katina sat down, badge in hand, and shuddered.
(Yaayy...we gonna par-taayyy)
End Of Chapter One
At Midnight, All The Agents….
*************************************************************************************
Stupendous Man’s Journal, Oct. 12, 2015
Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. Also, the dog was wearing goggles and a scarf. The doghouse’s wings and propeller were all shot up too.
Weird.
This city is afraid of me. For I have seen it’s true face. And it is ugly. And slimy. Like girls. But I digress.
Soon, the accumulated filth of all their sex and murder and meanness will foam up about their waists….the city will shout “Save me.”
And I will stick my thumbs in my ears, wiggle my fingers and say “ Nyah,, nyah, nyah, nyah,, nyahhhhh.”
Then I will make a funny face and say, “ This is you. Oooogg, ooogg ooogga, ooogga..” Maybe even cross my eyes.
They had a choice. All of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men. Like my father. He understood character. He used to take me out to the woods, because it built character. Made me chop wood, make tents, go fishing with the deerflies. God, I hated fishing. Maybe that’s a bad example. Let me start over…..
*****************************************************************************
The ol’ detective was looking over the edge of the broken window where the body dropped . A good twenty stories. He said nothing, but let out a low whistle, took out his flask, and raised it to the sky.
Slylock Fox was in the apartment dusting for fingerprints. “ Wow. Twenty stories. That’s a real drop. Say, Dick, if you’re thrown out of an apartment building window, and you’re twenty stories up, and let’s further assume that you’re plummeting down at a rate of five stories a second, are you likely to stay conscious all the way down, or will the air pressure kill you before that?”
Dick didn’t answer right away. He knew the victim. An individual of conservative values. He liked him. They worked together before. Also, he could really put away his gin. Sadly, he liked to go out and practice his drunk driving afterwards.
“ Dick?”
“ Hm? Oh…yeah, yeah , Fox. Despite what you may have heard before, you’re likely to stay conscious all the way down, yeah…”
Slylock walked over to the detective. “ I’m sorry, Dick. You knew the guy, didn’t you?”
Dick nodded.
*************************************************************************************
Seven hours later, a small dark figure came out of the shadows below the apartment building where the body fell. There were still some black feathers on the street. The figure wore a full red face mask, a cape, and a jacket and wool hat because his mom made him wear it.
He picked up what looked like a small badge. It was worn by the murder victim. Proudly.
It said, “ McCain/ Palin ‘08”
The figure took a grappling gun out of his coat. Hobbes made it for him. He wasn’t sure if it would work. He took aim and fired at floor twenty.
It worked. Just like in Batman.
As Stupendous Man climbed through the window, he tore down the police tape and made his way to the closet of the murder victim. There were pictures of the victim on all the walls. Glamour shots.
After a quick search, he found what he was looking for. A secret button which opened the secret closet of Mallard Fillmore, alias The Conservative.
It was all there. The leather armor, the gunbelt and grenades…..and a picture of the duck’s past. A picture of the JGMM. The “ Just a Goddamn Minute, Man” group.
Stupendous Man cleared his throat.
*************************************************************************************
It was the bi-weekly meeting of the Funny Ladies of the Comics. Held at Charterstone, naturally, Chairperson Mary Worth, presiding.
“ Virtue is it’s own reward. The early bird gets the worm. A friend indeed, is a friend, indeed.. And, furthermore, “ Mary stopped to add a jigger of whiskey to her tea, “ If it ain’t broke, get in there and be sure, because you may have missed a chance to meddle the first time around.”
Everyone broke out into applause.
Vice President Thelma Keane added, :” Just let me add to that. A hug is the best present, because it comes in all sizes, and no one minds when you return it.”
More applause.
Secretary/Treasurer Elly Patterson nodded, “ And I’ll add this to boot. It’s all well and good to go off into the wilderness and find yourself, and have new experiences, but…..you’ve gotta grow up sometime and give me some fucking grandchildren, dammit !! Oh, Christ, did I spill my tea….”
New member Katina Furr handed Elly a napkin to clean herself. She was new to the Funny Ladies Of The Comics, and was having second thoughts. All they seemed to do was sit around and drink tea laced with alcohol. Not that she was a prude about such things, but it got boring after awhile.
Christ, she missed Goldberg’s.
And a certain bartender.
After making polite excuses and goodbyes, Katina put on her jacket and scarf and made her way back to her apartment. There was a chill in the air. She walked past a rich drunk guy whose wallet was right there for the taking, he’d never know who pulled it…
Then she remembers that those days were over.
A rich dowager with pearls walked past. Just had to stumble across her….but. No. No. Have to keep naughty kitty inside.
Aw, c’mon.
No!
No one’s ever gonna know…
Dammit, I said No! I don’t do that anymore. It’s wrong.
Chickenshit.
Stop it, Cassandra….
Katina stopped into a nearby tavern for a glass of water. She cleaned off her square rimmed glasses, made sure her hair was pulled back, and headed out into the street again.
You’re gonna let me out, we both know that.
“ Shut up, Cassandra, “ Katina murmured to herself, feeling a deep burning shame. Mostly because even though the name on her driver’s license and her McGuffin Inc. Security Consultant pass said Katina Furr, that was not the name given to her when she was born at the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm.
For a second, she thought she could see Cassandra reflected in a nearby windowpane.
“ I wonder how Jamus and Edda are doing…”
After she put her fist through the glass, one or two passersby came to see if she needed help.
Not the kind you can offer, she thought.
After offering to pay the renter for damages, she ran back to her brownstone, paid for with a lifetime of ill gotten gains. Spectacularly ill gotten, she had to admit.
As she came up to her doorway, she noticed that someone had broken in ahead of her.
A lifetime of instinct took over. Katina treaded quietly to the kitchen, where she noticed a small figure seated at her kitchen table, eating and slurping what looked like this morning’s leftover oatmeal.
Slurp. Slurp.
“ Hello Cassandra. Got hungry waiting. Helped myself to some leftover oatmeal. Hope you don’t mind…”
Katina whispered Calvin’s name. “No…no, of course I don’t mind. And please…call me Katina. Um…do you want that heated up or anything?”
“ No need. Still slimy. Looks like it’s attacking me.”
Katina hung up her coat, never taking her eye off of Calvin, or Stupendous Man as he called himself. Christ, I’m gonna have to call Hobbes, she thought.
“So. Long time, no see, Calvin. I mean, Stupendous Man. How….how are you keeping?”
Stupendous Man tossed the badge on the kitchen table. “ Keeping from being grounded. So far. Take a look at this.”
Katina picked up the McCain badge. “ What’s this on the badge, is that some kind of sauce or something…”
“That’s right. Duck with orange sauce. Badge belonged to The Conservative. Blood too. He’s dead”
Katina looked back in horror. “Wait, you mean someone killed him?”
Stupendous Man pocketed some Oreo cookies from a cookie jar. “ Investigated routine homicide. Right wing political pundit named Mallard Fillmore. Seems he was The Conservative. Someone threw him out of a window. Twenty stories. “
Katina did the math, just like Slylock had. “ Let’s…let’s go down to my basement where we can talk this over. And you can use the rear exit. When you leave.” she said pointedly.
Katina and Calvin made their way down rickety stairs, to a basement which held more treasures than Arsene Lupin’s Needle Hollow. She claimed to have some Mapplethorpes and a few Warhols down here.
And two starships. Dick Tracy’s retired Space Coupe….and the infamous Tarzana Nights. Dust was everywhere.
“ Listen, about The Conservative….might it have been a political killing? He had enemies everywhere…”
Calvin sniffed. “ A normal human? Kill a special ops duck like The Conservative? Ridiculous. I think there’s a toon killer out there. How’s your friend Jamus doing these days?”
Katina’s eyes narrowed.
( OOooo…girl, he’s talkin’ shit about your man.)
“What does he have to do with this?”
“ Was a regular at Goldberg’s. Wrote the biography of the JGMM. Wrote bad things about The Conservative in it. References to his drinking habit.”
Katina got a little angry. “ Calvin, I don’t like what you’re implying…”
“ Just an observation. Anyway, must go now. People to see, thumbs to break”
Katina showed Stupendous Man to the basement door. “Yeah, it was good seeing you again , Calvin. We had some great times. Whatever happened to them?”
Calvin growled, “You quit.”
Katina sat down, badge in hand, and shuddered.
(Yaayy...we gonna par-taayyy)
End Of Chapter One
The Cat And The Curmudgeon Chapter One
THE CAT AND THE CURMUDGEON
How It All Began
The bar was called Goldberg’s. The cartoonist had not only built a bar, he outfitted it with crazy and ornate devices used to serve up drinks. A bartender would make the drinks and place them on a skateboard with perhaps a stuffed tiger or a replica of the beagle with flying goggles, and they’d move on a track to the customer , or the waitress. Very ornate, but i’m not an engineer. I was just the bartender, hired while looking for my big break in the literary world. A guy named Calvin hired me. He seemed like a pleasant enough fellah. Said I seemed honest. Hobbes thought I was okay too. Whoever he was. Calvin seemed a bit touched in the head, but he was signing the checks , and I was in no position to be picky about who I worked for.Goldberg’s was a bar for newspaper comic strip characters. From the has-beens to the never weres to the up and comers and the big stars….they were all here. Looking as rundown and as outdated as the newsprint that spawned them. I didn’t mind. They seemed like nice people. Occasionally Sarge and Beetle would start a fight, then go home back to bed as though nothing had happened. Blondie would come in with a rolling pin demanding Dagwood’s wherabouts. They had one thing in common though…all of them knew they were on the way out. The internet was taking over. Cartoon shorts. Made by kids in their basements. How do you think South Park got started?In such a time, can the likes of Mary Worth survive? It’s hard to say….like rock and roll, it keeps struggling. Serving drinks night after night, you’d hear snippets of conversation…" Anthony….no…NO…I don’t want to….""But Liz. I don’t have a family..""My god, Howard Erk tried to assault me two hours ago….and you’re still married to Therese..are you insane?"Kind of sad really . Not drinkers per se. Give ‘em some butter tarts and they’re good to go."Seth…..pleeeeeeeease….I wanna…""God, Edda, how many times do I gotta tell you, you don’t do it for me….plus, you don’t clean the toilet…"Drama queens. There were also condolences…"Calvin hasn’t been the same since his strip was dropped….and Watterson doesn’t want to pick it up.""Nothing’s been the same since Schultz died….""Does anyone even read Doonesbury anymore?"" Yeah, I made a website for some of my buddies. We like to snark on the funnies. It’s a riot. I read comics so you don’t have to…haha, yeah…it’s just something for fun…"Night after night, listening to the denziens of pulp and newsprint crying into their respective beers, all of them , arm in arm at closing time, singing "Sweet Adeline". I always wondered who Sweet Adeline was. I’ll look it up later. Maybe.Dick Tracy was there, having his usual mix of grain alcohol and prune juice. "It’s not the same world anymore. Goddamn criminals get off with a slap on the wrist….boo fuckin’ hoo. ‘My ma beat me, my dad played with his toy trains too much, my inner child smacks me….’Bullshit. Gimme another….what did you say your name was?"I nodded to him. "I didn’t. Folks call me Jamus.""Irish, huh? That’s okay. My first partner was Irish. So was my second one. He was kind of a dumbass. Naturally , they promoted him to chief." This last one had Tracy in hysterics. He laughed and coughed until I served up his drink. I’d never seen anyone drink so many Shit Or Go Blinds and do neither."Actually, that was my dad’s nickname for me. Listen, are you sure you should drink those? Should I call your wife…"Then Dick got panicky, "SSSSHhhhhh…dammit, don’t call her, last thing I need right now……i’ll be fine…"But i’m talking about Cassandra, am I not?It was on that very night, George Wilson was chasing down tranquilizers with scotch, Dagwood was eating seven different varieties of chicken wings, and Mary Worth was doing her best to meddle in all of it, when she came in the room.She had white fur, light orange hair, four pairs of magnificent breasts which stood at attention and made even Beetle Bailey salute. Legs so long they needed to be continued on the next girl. And a tail that ran down past her curvy bottom, down strong legs that would run up many a tree, and down the side of a building. She had her arm on a high powered senator….that bird that looked like a cross between Ted Kennedy and Caspar Weinberger. Now, usually cats and birds don’t get along, but the way she was sticking her tounge in his inebriated ear, it was evident neither of them cared."Gimme a scotch and water, hold the wadder, and give this lovely lady whaddever she wants…" the senator slurred. I looked at the cat lady, who checked me out like a steak from Dominics. I wasn’t sure if she was sizing me up as a prime sirloin, or that chopped steak they put on sale to get it off the shelf. "Dish of cream, ma’am?"She grinned. "Sure baby. Just a scosh of brandy, okay?" she tittered.Watching her move her face towards the dish of cream, lapping it up while simultaneously grinding her hips into the senator’s briefs was worth the price of admission alone. They were there for ten long minutes when the senator took five to get his wallet out to pay for the drinks, but by that time, the cat-lady had already paid for them by plastic.Katina Furr, it said. For some reason the name struck me as a fake, but the little machine accepted it, so who was I to argue. "Katina" half walked, half supported Senator Drunky McPukeshoes out the door as she smiled at me, her hips bouncing as she left."I didn’t get your name. Or is it really Katina Furr?" I smirked.She looked back, raised an eyebrow, and did a five count before smiling back…" I didn’t throw it."
Two-thirty am. Nothing else to mention besides calling in Brad Degroot to come pick up his sister and her friend with the glasses for trying to get in on a fake ID. Last thing Goldberg’s needs is underage drunks getting underfoot. I went back to my apartment, a small, rectangular shitbrown-stained building. Cheap, but reliable. I have to unlock the door, but the smell of expensive perfume that hits me makes me realize someone’s gotten there before me…..my first thought is to bring out my nickel plated .45s I got from the Phantom.Only problem is , I don’t HAVE nickel-plated .45s from the Phantom , or anyone else. I throw the door open…and there’s the cat-lady, stretched out on my small sofa, like she owned the place.I raised an eyebrow. "Come on in. I don’t have catfood, I don’t have any jewels, but you’re welcome to the leftover chicken wings…"She slinked up from the sofa, padding towards me, clad in nothing but a towel, "I’m sorry I busted in, but I really need help….""Ask your buddy, the senator.""He’s drunk, and passed out. He’s not waking up.""Don’t you think you’d better call an ambulance?"She saw me with Tracy earlier…her eyes spun while they thought up another story…"Pruneface Junior and Flattop Junior wanto to kill the Senator, and you gotta help me…""Flattop and Pruneface died back in the forties, they didn’t have kids."Cassandra let out an explosive sigh in disgust. She decided to try the truth."Okay, baby. Truth is, I was hired by this guy to take some incriminating pictures of the senator. The papers get this …" She showed me the digital which did the job…" and he’s out of a job in 2008. But he found out and set the cops after me. Can you hide me here?"I didn’t like this story either, until she dropped her towel….well, my towel. And I gotta tell you friends and curmudgeons, it had never been worn so well. Water dripped from her curves like….water off the duck’s back which the construction worker in Mark Trail is trying to save. I didn’t think about any of that at the moment. I took two steps toward her."Still didn’t get your name.""Call me Cassandra…""Is that your real name.."I asked as my hand moved down her thigh," or is it another fake like Katina Furr , or maybe it really is Selina Kyle or Stella Le Blanc…""Does it matter….Jamus?" she asked as her tail went into places my proctologist usually goes."I guess not…" I said as her rough tounge , still tasting of brandy and Borden ™ Dairy Cream, found mine.
How It All Began
The bar was called Goldberg’s. The cartoonist had not only built a bar, he outfitted it with crazy and ornate devices used to serve up drinks. A bartender would make the drinks and place them on a skateboard with perhaps a stuffed tiger or a replica of the beagle with flying goggles, and they’d move on a track to the customer , or the waitress. Very ornate, but i’m not an engineer. I was just the bartender, hired while looking for my big break in the literary world. A guy named Calvin hired me. He seemed like a pleasant enough fellah. Said I seemed honest. Hobbes thought I was okay too. Whoever he was. Calvin seemed a bit touched in the head, but he was signing the checks , and I was in no position to be picky about who I worked for.Goldberg’s was a bar for newspaper comic strip characters. From the has-beens to the never weres to the up and comers and the big stars….they were all here. Looking as rundown and as outdated as the newsprint that spawned them. I didn’t mind. They seemed like nice people. Occasionally Sarge and Beetle would start a fight, then go home back to bed as though nothing had happened. Blondie would come in with a rolling pin demanding Dagwood’s wherabouts. They had one thing in common though…all of them knew they were on the way out. The internet was taking over. Cartoon shorts. Made by kids in their basements. How do you think South Park got started?In such a time, can the likes of Mary Worth survive? It’s hard to say….like rock and roll, it keeps struggling. Serving drinks night after night, you’d hear snippets of conversation…" Anthony….no…NO…I don’t want to….""But Liz. I don’t have a family..""My god, Howard Erk tried to assault me two hours ago….and you’re still married to Therese..are you insane?"Kind of sad really . Not drinkers per se. Give ‘em some butter tarts and they’re good to go."Seth…..pleeeeeeeease….I wanna…""God, Edda, how many times do I gotta tell you, you don’t do it for me….plus, you don’t clean the toilet…"Drama queens. There were also condolences…"Calvin hasn’t been the same since his strip was dropped….and Watterson doesn’t want to pick it up.""Nothing’s been the same since Schultz died….""Does anyone even read Doonesbury anymore?"" Yeah, I made a website for some of my buddies. We like to snark on the funnies. It’s a riot. I read comics so you don’t have to…haha, yeah…it’s just something for fun…"Night after night, listening to the denziens of pulp and newsprint crying into their respective beers, all of them , arm in arm at closing time, singing "Sweet Adeline". I always wondered who Sweet Adeline was. I’ll look it up later. Maybe.Dick Tracy was there, having his usual mix of grain alcohol and prune juice. "It’s not the same world anymore. Goddamn criminals get off with a slap on the wrist….boo fuckin’ hoo. ‘My ma beat me, my dad played with his toy trains too much, my inner child smacks me….’Bullshit. Gimme another….what did you say your name was?"I nodded to him. "I didn’t. Folks call me Jamus.""Irish, huh? That’s okay. My first partner was Irish. So was my second one. He was kind of a dumbass. Naturally , they promoted him to chief." This last one had Tracy in hysterics. He laughed and coughed until I served up his drink. I’d never seen anyone drink so many Shit Or Go Blinds and do neither."Actually, that was my dad’s nickname for me. Listen, are you sure you should drink those? Should I call your wife…"Then Dick got panicky, "SSSSHhhhhh…dammit, don’t call her, last thing I need right now……i’ll be fine…"But i’m talking about Cassandra, am I not?It was on that very night, George Wilson was chasing down tranquilizers with scotch, Dagwood was eating seven different varieties of chicken wings, and Mary Worth was doing her best to meddle in all of it, when she came in the room.She had white fur, light orange hair, four pairs of magnificent breasts which stood at attention and made even Beetle Bailey salute. Legs so long they needed to be continued on the next girl. And a tail that ran down past her curvy bottom, down strong legs that would run up many a tree, and down the side of a building. She had her arm on a high powered senator….that bird that looked like a cross between Ted Kennedy and Caspar Weinberger. Now, usually cats and birds don’t get along, but the way she was sticking her tounge in his inebriated ear, it was evident neither of them cared."Gimme a scotch and water, hold the wadder, and give this lovely lady whaddever she wants…" the senator slurred. I looked at the cat lady, who checked me out like a steak from Dominics. I wasn’t sure if she was sizing me up as a prime sirloin, or that chopped steak they put on sale to get it off the shelf. "Dish of cream, ma’am?"She grinned. "Sure baby. Just a scosh of brandy, okay?" she tittered.Watching her move her face towards the dish of cream, lapping it up while simultaneously grinding her hips into the senator’s briefs was worth the price of admission alone. They were there for ten long minutes when the senator took five to get his wallet out to pay for the drinks, but by that time, the cat-lady had already paid for them by plastic.Katina Furr, it said. For some reason the name struck me as a fake, but the little machine accepted it, so who was I to argue. "Katina" half walked, half supported Senator Drunky McPukeshoes out the door as she smiled at me, her hips bouncing as she left."I didn’t get your name. Or is it really Katina Furr?" I smirked.She looked back, raised an eyebrow, and did a five count before smiling back…" I didn’t throw it."
Two-thirty am. Nothing else to mention besides calling in Brad Degroot to come pick up his sister and her friend with the glasses for trying to get in on a fake ID. Last thing Goldberg’s needs is underage drunks getting underfoot. I went back to my apartment, a small, rectangular shitbrown-stained building. Cheap, but reliable. I have to unlock the door, but the smell of expensive perfume that hits me makes me realize someone’s gotten there before me…..my first thought is to bring out my nickel plated .45s I got from the Phantom.Only problem is , I don’t HAVE nickel-plated .45s from the Phantom , or anyone else. I throw the door open…and there’s the cat-lady, stretched out on my small sofa, like she owned the place.I raised an eyebrow. "Come on in. I don’t have catfood, I don’t have any jewels, but you’re welcome to the leftover chicken wings…"She slinked up from the sofa, padding towards me, clad in nothing but a towel, "I’m sorry I busted in, but I really need help….""Ask your buddy, the senator.""He’s drunk, and passed out. He’s not waking up.""Don’t you think you’d better call an ambulance?"She saw me with Tracy earlier…her eyes spun while they thought up another story…"Pruneface Junior and Flattop Junior wanto to kill the Senator, and you gotta help me…""Flattop and Pruneface died back in the forties, they didn’t have kids."Cassandra let out an explosive sigh in disgust. She decided to try the truth."Okay, baby. Truth is, I was hired by this guy to take some incriminating pictures of the senator. The papers get this …" She showed me the digital which did the job…" and he’s out of a job in 2008. But he found out and set the cops after me. Can you hide me here?"I didn’t like this story either, until she dropped her towel….well, my towel. And I gotta tell you friends and curmudgeons, it had never been worn so well. Water dripped from her curves like….water off the duck’s back which the construction worker in Mark Trail is trying to save. I didn’t think about any of that at the moment. I took two steps toward her."Still didn’t get your name.""Call me Cassandra…""Is that your real name.."I asked as my hand moved down her thigh," or is it another fake like Katina Furr , or maybe it really is Selina Kyle or Stella Le Blanc…""Does it matter….Jamus?" she asked as her tail went into places my proctologist usually goes."I guess not…" I said as her rough tounge , still tasting of brandy and Borden ™ Dairy Cream, found mine.
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