The Complete Works of Mickey S.
It was a cold night. Stood there wondering if I'd freeze my unit as I pissed on the side of my refrigerator box. Thinking about my frozen dick snapping off reminded me of that transgendered chick. What was her name? Oh yeah. MaryM. Not much to look at, and you never knew what sex she was going to be, but she had one thing going for her that most chicks don't.
She was easy.
Went to the saloon where he/she hung out, and there he/she was: a short warm drink of spit. She saw me and grinned. "Damn Bush and his lack of a universal dental plan!" I thought as I sidled next to her.
"Been a while," she said, waving the barkeep over for another cocktail.
"Seen Bush's poll numbers?" I replied.
"That's what I like about you," she said, "there's only ever one topic."
"Why don't you pull your head out of Bush's ass," I grinned.
"Name one good thing Bush has done for this country!" she laughed back.
Our loveplay complete, she downed her cocktail and we headed to the beach, knowing that there, at least, we could be the smartest people in the room.
The bartender shook his head sadly as the door closed and the customers started laughing. "That guy comes in here every night, talking to himself. Harmless enough, I guess. I just wish he/she would pick which bathroom to use."
The Adventures of Mike Hummer
"Pssst!!! Hey buddy, wanna buy a poll?" I tried to walk by, but he knew me too well. "I've got CBS . . . at below 40%!" he whispered.
My mouth went dry. As I stopped and turned he got that sly look, like a Supreme Court justice dangling a penumbra in front of the ACLU.
"How much below 40?" I croaked, trying to stay cool. I grabbed his collar, lifting him off the ground. Well not actually off the ground; 8 years olds are fuckin' heavy.
"How MUCH!!" I repeated, bellowing up into his face.
"Easy, Mike...uh, it is Mike today, isn't it?" he said. "How much ya got for 6 points?"
6 points!?! The sidewalk spun for a second, and I could feel my colostomy bag filling. 6 points!!
"I've got a cocktail," I said, showing the kid a bottle of Miller Lite. It wasn't really Miller Lite, but I'd be long gone before he figured that out. Plus, the stuff goes right through me these days - it'd probably taste the same anyway.
The kid looked dubiously at the bottle, but then shrugged and took it. "I'll just sell it back to him when he's MaryM," he muttered. Poor sap, I thought, I wonder who "he" is?
I snatched the goods from the kid, rifling through the pages to make sure they were genuine. It looked as solid a campaign promise from a Democrat, so I nodded at the kid and beat it.
"Hey Mike, be careful with that stuff," he called, "there's some dangerous demographics in there."
"Fuck the demographics!" I snarled as I strode off. 34%. 34 fucking %! The day seemed a little brighter as I headed for the web stations at the library. I'd need to post this on a lot of threads. Hell with that, ALL the threads!
I stared sullenly at the keyboard. "Why do they always make me sit in the basement?" I grumbled, "The restraining order just said 50 feet from the kids' section." Shoving the distracting thoughts away, I set to work. It's like the poet says:
The man up your ass keeps you on task
making conservatives pay
God I love that poem. That's art, right there. But back to business...
"What to say, what to say," I muttered as I found my way to that nasty AoSHQ site. The bastards had tried to dodge me by getting banned by the library's filters, but I threatened to come here every day unless they let me through. There it is. AoSHQ morons.
I stared again at the keyboard. "Why don't they have a 'fuck' key or an 'idiot' key," I muttered, "or a "moron" key or better yet, a 'head up Bush's ass' key? That would take care of half my typing!" I shook my head - no use dreaming. Plus, all I had to do was type it once, and then I could paste it on every thread I could find.
I pulled the poll from my pocket. 34%!! It made me shiver like that crack addict I let ream me for $5. I started typing in a frenzy:
Your fucking morons Bush is down to 34%!! You idiots should pull your heads out of Bush's ass!! You people are so stupid!! Find a more popular ass!!Hmmm, maybe not the last line, I thought. Don't want to give them any of my secrets.
Satisfied, I copied my revised work into all the threads, waiting for them to respond so I could use my best insults:
You morons can't pull your heads out of Bush's ass!! How come nobody here can tell me one good thing that Bush has done? Idiots!That one never gets old. Satisfied, I sat back, thinking about the next lines in that poem:
But the man up your ass won't let you relax
'til your shitwork is done for the day
It was a good day.
The Adventures of Sam (Ace 'o) Spade(s)
"It...it's...it's war," the snitch stammered, as he twisted in my grip. He was shaking like Ted Kennedy between martinis.
"War, what war?" I snapped.
"A flame war!!" he cried.
I snorted twice - once in derision and once from my fifth: "A flame war? Who would call a flame war? ...in my town?" Dumb-ass snitch. I knew which end of a Thai hooker was up, didn't I? All right, all right, so there's no wrong answer to that one, but I still wasn't falling for this "flame war" crap.
At those two words the noise in my head doubled - a thousand angry voices shouting for attention. A lot like getting a link from Atrios. Soon one voice would rise above the rest and I would write: I'd write with the demonic possession of a guy who's been possessed by a demon. "Maybe a Top Ten list. Yeah, like the Top Ten reasons I fixate on gay topics," I mused to myself, as I cracked the stoolie over the head with my bottle. No good reason for it, but I love that sound and it's always a treat not to have to use my own head.
I started thinking about this so-called flame war. I wasn't too worried, given the caliber of my moron readers: their "flames" were like letters from the lovelorn. But - The Hump. That was bad news. Hillary Clinton bad.
The Hump. She'd come to the site, just another commenter. But she was tough, smart, and she could chance a mean spring awakening. She rose in the ranks, until I let her run some of the operation. Things worked out for a while, but I didn't know about the hump.
That hump had a way with men. It twisted their minds; made them her pawns. I'd see men do things for her. Crazy things. They'd polish her hump and wash her dog after it rolled in crap. They'd surf the Daily Kos if she told them to, with no thought of their own safety. She'd callously link to a Cindy Sheehan cotton panel photo, and they'd go. They'd go.
I started to shake my head, but the absinthe hangover was like a little freaking skull gyro, carving grooves in my brain any time I moved. Cradling my aching noggin, I knew I had to do something - I'd seen too many of my idiot readers turn into, er, idiots. But what to do? A Top Ten list? Naw - she'd just fire back with a Haiku thread. In frustration I popped the cap off the bottle, tossing it back in the hopes that oblivion would provide an answer.
As I gulped the last dregs of the V-U-R vodka, the truth I'd been avoiding hit me like an Instalanche. I had to confront her. I had to face . . . The Hump.I figured I better round up some of the regulars before the big show-down. Headed over to Dave@GR's place. Took a deep breath, and walked in.
"Howya doin' Dave?" I asked casually.
"How'm I doin?" he snapped. "That's old, Ace. It's been on INTERNET for 6 months and I posted on it 3 times last week!"
I sighed. It was my own fault, of course, I'd just forgotten how to talk to him.
"How will you be doing about 6 hours from now?" I asked quickly. He looked confused, then started a site search.
"Uh, I'm not sure - I haven't posted on it yet," he marveled.
"Come with me and I'll make sure you're the first to get it posted," I said. He nodded eagerly and we left for RWS's site. Careful not to step in troll droppings, we walked in.
"Howdy, Sparkle," I said, "I was hoping for your help in stopping a flame war."
"Not my fight, Ace," she said, "you know I never get involved with that sort of thing."
"Well," I lied, "I think she's starting to link to porn sites..." Her face hardened as she grabbed her laptop and dragged us out the door. "I'm in," she growled.
Off to Michael's. We all stepped back in awe as the tall, muscled, bronze god threw open the door and smiled dazzlingly at us with his strong white teeth. Then the pool boy let us in and showed us to Michael's room. A handlettered sign on the door said "Bat Cave."
"Who is it?" said a muffled voice from the interior. "Ace," I replied. "Go away!!" yelled the voice with finality. The pool boy shrugged at us apologetically and said, "You better use the Bat Phone." He showed us to a phone and we dialed in to Michael's room. He answered with a terse, "Bat Cave!"
"Call him Bruce," said the pool boy. Sound advice, I thought.
"Uh, Bruce, it's Ace. I've got a little problem I was hoping you could help me with." A long silence followed. I knew why, and I knew what I had to say. It was just tough making the words come out.
"And, uh, you were the real winner of the bad poetry contest."
"I knew it!!" he crowed. "And...?"
"And you can wear your Batman suit."
The door burst open, and Michael bounded out.
"NOT the naked testicle Batman suit!" I yelled. Crestfallen he clad himself in his Batman jammies and we were on our way.
"Look out!" cried RWS, as a dark shadow swooped down at our heads. Thousands of tiny scraps of paper pelted down in a rain of twisted aphorisms. "Don't look!" I screamed. Too late . . . like the urge to proofread your comment after you've hit "Post." Michael stood there, staring at a bit of paper, repeating, "CHICKWIN, CHICKWIN, ..."
Ploverized. Spurwing Plover was the neutrino of the Internet: faster than any mortal poster, and untouched by any thread he passed through. I was sure he wasn't after us; he was more a force of nature. Not even The Hump could get to him.
We moved on, leaving Michael standing in a daze. Sacrifices had to be made. ...and we were running low on vodka and candy bars. I looked back and saluted with the bottle, and saw Bart chasing after Spurwing with a huge net, and Madfish Willie carefully straightening each piece of paper and stuffing it in his bag. At least some things were normal.
As we approached The Hump's lair, the door burst open and Monty stumbled out. He looked at us furtively, his face locked into the sort of hunted look you get when you're trying to post on a flame thread from work.
"Hey Monty!" I called out, "Heading back to your site?"
"I changed the name to Transmissions from the Humpopause," he said bleakly, "Now I'm supposed to find some...some...some..."
"Spit it out man!!" I barked.
"...some ... Helen Thomas bikini shots."
I blanched, fighting the bile down, as Dave@GR collapsed to the ground and RWS gave a demure, "Oh my." Dave@GR writhed and clawed at his ears and eyes - he'd need some serious XBox 360 therapy. Monty wandered off, mumbling to himself.
Milady is possessed of a hump
A profound and prodigious lump
A dose of my flowery prose
Made her accuse me of being verbose
And now I am just a chump
I winced. No man should see that happen to his writing. Well, his writing wouldn't much matter if he found what he was looking for. He wandered off, his voice fading into the distance...
"Her name is Humpymandias, look on her mound ye mighty, and despair..."
I shuddered and waved RWS forward, thinking that the vodka situation was looking rosier and rosier. Suddenly an enormous barricade slammed down in front of us. The door was completely sealed off, like the mu.nu comments system on a bad day. Or any given day. I sighed and looked up.
"Uh, Lipstick, would you mind moving your foot?" I asked, pouring on my gap-toothed charm.
"Oh. Sorry, Ace," she said, shifting aside. We sprang to the door and dove inside.
We were in.
Thwok!! A piece of metal thudded into the wall, inches from my ear. I looked back in time to see Dr. Reo ducking around the corner. Explained why he hadn't been posting of late. Inspecting the wall, I saw that he'd actually thrown a piece of a fork. "A tine of the Symes," I thought to myself.
Inching forward, I heard a strange chanting from the room ahead. As I got closer I could make out the words:
"The guys get shirts. Don’t make a fuckin’ maniac out of me."
"The guys get shirts. Don’t make a fuckin’ maniac out of me."
"When I fuckin’ move I slice like a fuckin’ hammer.
"When I fuckin’ move I slice like a fuckin’ hammer."
"I only date 8 to 10s."
"I only date 8 to 10s."
I relaxed. Just an orientation class for newbies. My head poking in, I said, "Hey DaveinTX, how's the class coming along?" He scowled back.
"We're still stuck in Anka & Klein. I don't know when we're going to get to Fun Facts about Dick Cheney or Stuff Jefferson Said. Things would be going a lot faster if my TA hadn't gotten all potty-mouthed on me."
I looked over at the TA. "Masturbation!" Mrs. Peel said brightly. "Aggie Tourettes," said Dave sadly. "I've tried nerd jokes, D&D, crossword puzzles, but all she says is..."
"Masturbation!" she interjected.
"I've got this," I said confidently. Ducking out and back in, I said, "LoveOGRam for Mrs. Peel!"
"No-talent ass clown!!" she yelled, her brain freeing itself from its track. "Whoop!...sphenodontian!..is that 2D20 in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? I...I...I...I've got to study! I've got to science blog! And my crosswords...."
I nodded with approval. "She'll be all right now, Dave." Shrugging off his praise with manly modesty, RWS and I continued down the hall. "Could have stuck around for a little more of that praise," I grumbled. RWS gave me one of those little holier-than-thou smiles and shook her head. Like being holier than I is some major achievement.
"Snuggly!" The shout interrupted my weighty, ponderous philosophizing. God, I'm deep. It was Feisty, looking more than a little unhappy at the sight of the two of us walking together. "What are you doing with Ms. Repressed?"
"I'll repress you, you presumptuous lttle filly!"
"Oh really, Ice Queen?"
I had to do something before this got out of hand.
"There's a mud pit out back," I said helpfully. Maybe I could finish up my business and get out there in time. Maybe my business wasn't that important...
"Get out of here, Ace, before I shred you too!" RWS roared. I'd always prided myself on my quick decision-making ability, so it wasn't odd at all to find myself sprinting down the hall towards the door.
I stood outside the door, thinking about the journey getting here. You know, life is all about the journey, and not about the destination. It's a process, not a state of being. Maybe there was really no point in actually going in there...
"Get in here Spade(s)!!" yelled the voice. Involuntarily I opened the door and shuffled in. It was unnaturally dark, with an immense being of ancient evil lurking in the darkest corner, the blackness reaching out from its very body to feed on any life within the room...
Shaking off the Lovecraft groove, I tried to lighten the mood. It was, after all, a mail store, not a demonic gate to Cthulhu's plane . . . er, wasn't it?
"Yo, lauraw, I hear you're hatching an evil scheme to start a flame war, wreak unimaginable ruin on the regulars' lives, take over the site, and perhaps feast on the very flesh of the commenters to feed the insatiable appetite of your loathsome hump!" Gasping for air, I leaned against the wall.
"Oh Ace," she said, the sultry voice wrapping around my body and weakening my knees. "How can you say such things? I just run this store and occasionally post on your site. I'm just here to help you."
"Oh yeah, how many innocents came in here for a roll of stamps and got express mailed to doom?" I fired back bravely as my knees gave way.
"And as for my 'loathsome' hump," she continued smoothly, "wouldn't you like to see it?" She turned and I gasped at the magnitude of the thing. It had grown enormously in size and power, and, admittedly, in attractiveness. She drew closer, saying, "Do you want to touch it?"
In desperation I reached into my pants and pulled out my greatest treasure. Well, my second greatest treasure. Wait, there was a vodka bottle in there, too. OK, my third greatest treasure - the AoS T-shirt photo. The T-shirt, proudly displayed by bbeck, whose huge...heart never failed to rouse my spirit.
I held the photo up before me, and it reflected the hump rays back to their source. A foul smoke rose from the hump as the reflected rays vaporized the inhuman, yet hot in a kinky kind of way, mass. Next time I'd remember to touch the hump, THEN pull out the photo.
"Master! Save me master!" she cried out, as the hump completely disappeared. She lay on the floor unconscious as I tucked the photo back into my pocket.
In a flash I saw the whole racket for what it was. I knew this Master, and I knew where to find him.
Allah . . . at Karol's.