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.
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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….
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.