Please enjoy the next post in Murdertrout, Chapter 8 of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. Comments are welcome. Tips via the PayPal link to the right are also welcome but always optional.
Merry Christmas and happy reading.
Men, Cindy concluded, were idiots. But she let them coax her into playing the rough draft of the video. She setup a projector aimed at the van door while The Curmudgeon gallantly produced a third folding chair. Was there anything he didn’t have stashed in that truck?
They joyously began watching the video of something they’d just seen in real life, a mystery none of them explored. Sometime around then a third (or was it fourth?) six pack was breached. There was a chill in the air but The Curmudgeon kept the fire roaring and they moved their chairs closer to the flames.
Cindy had jotted notes and started planning a narrative script. They started the video at the beginning to watch it a second time; this time with narration. It began with their already recorded intro.
“Hello, I’m Cindy Leachman and I’m delighted to welcome you to Untamed Monarchy, a documentary about America’s most interesting animals. First, a word from our sponsor ‘Incremental Insurance’”.
“Are you a dumbass who keeps wrecking your car?…”
A few seconds later, the audio reverted to the ambient sounds of nature. Cindy tried to make up narration on the fly.
“Here we see the raptor, which clearly thinks and acts as if it were an Eagle, responding to the music.”
Brett happily nodded along. The Curmudgeon suggested they refrain from explaining exactly what music they’d used, based on the logic that “a fisherman never tells.”
“Now we can see that the fish are responding to audio cues. While modern science hasn’t yet established a causality, it appears to be related to pollution. Perhaps more funding for a second season of Untamed Monarchy can explore this mystery.”
Brett was no longer nodding along. His jaw was set in a grim line.
Ignoring the projection, The Curmudgeon shifted in his chair to watch Brett. Cindy was busy with ad hoc narration.
“An unexpected tragedy befalls my brave colleague as the stupidfish pull him down along with the trans-species raptor.” She continued.
For this section she’d shifted the action to slow motion and zoomed in. It was still a rough cut but it was obvious that she knew what she was doing. When she was done with it, the scene would look like it’d been done by Hitchcock. To build tension, she’d cut to a close up of a single hawk feather, floating on the water. It was only a half second of raw footage but she’d slowed it way down and subtly tinted it red, as if to suggest blood. This extended the length of time when Brett and the Hawk were submerged.
She continued making up narration. “We all know the risks a Riparian Ecologist takes in their never ending quest to save nature. Death is always looking over our shoulder as they master pH and hydrology. This seems like the end! Will our esteemed colleague perish in the grip of stupidfish? Before we find out, a word about collision insurance. Are you an absolute dipshit who keeps running into stuff with your car? Do you find it a hassle to pay for endless bodywork? If so, Incremental Insurance has a plan for you…”
The Curmudgeon was now watching Brett intently. Brett was fuming.
Cindy noticed too, she’d never seen Brett so mad… or drunk. What the heck?
“Stop!” The Curmudgeon ordered.
Cindy hit pause.
“Cindy, your narration tells it exactly like it happened.” The Curmudgeon explained.
“Yeah, so?” Cindy was confused.
“Hasn’t college taught you anything? People hate the truth.” He waved vaguely at the tipsy fellow who was glaring at the van/projection screen like it had kicked him in the head. “Look at Brett here. You’re killin’ the man!” Brett’s jaw dropped. Now he was split between being livid at the video and proud to be called a man.
“Restart at the beginning, let me have a shot at it.” The Curmudgeon reached out for the remote. Brett stood up, tripped over several empties, and headed off to pee on a tree. Quietly, so only Cindy could hear, the Curmudgeon whispered. “Watch Brett, write down whatever sentences make him smile.”
“But that’s not scientific, or journalistic!” Cindy was shocked.
“Nice van you got. Wanna’ keep it?” The Curmudgeon countered.
By the time Brett wandered back, Cindy was on board with the plan. The Curmudgeon had the remote, Cindy was clutching a notepad, and Brett had been demoted to unwitting lab rat.
They began again; “Are you a dumbass who keeps wrecking your car?…” The video asked.
A few seconds later The Curmudgeon cut in. “Here we see the first video evidence of a trans-species raptor. Note that it unquestionably acts as if it were an eagle. It’s a scientific fact that if a bird thinks it’s an eagle, then it is an eagle.”
Cindy glanced at Brett, who was grinning ear to ear.
The Curmudgeon charged on with his narration. “Trans-species raptors, which are brave and beautiful, are rare these days, because of racism.”
Brett nodded in approval.
As the video continued The Curmudgeon laid it on thick. He added random buzzwords without concern whether they made sense in this context or not. He claimed scientific knowledge that didn’t exist. He stated opinions as fact, facts as opinion, and declared that anyone who didn’t have a long track record of support for theories which had only been spoken aloud just then, was a literal Nazi.
There were a few bits of video that didn’t match the story he was telling. The Curmudgeon paused and encouraged Cindy to mark the time of those sections so that she could delete misinformation.
Some of The Curmudgeon’s narration came out in ways that were the complete opposite of actual events but which fit the visuals. That was irrelevant to him. As he explained, a witness to events is never as good an account as a properly edited video. After all, she was a white person and therefore her recollections would have the unavoidable taint of privilege. This made perfect sense to Brett and Cindy. Whether it did to The Curmudgeon is a mystery, he simply acted like he believed it and let you form your own conclusions.
As he talked, he’d glance at Brett. Brett was a perfect, if unknowing, arbiter of the truth. He’d spent years steeped in University groupthink like a teabag in a pot. He smiled whenever The Curmudgeon mentioned a politically correct notion. He frowned whenever The Curmudgeon deviated from whatever was required of the University belief system. He was a perfectly tuned human weathervane.
At the slightest hint of discomfort on Brett’s part, The Curmudgeon would hit the pause button and reformulate. “Wait, that doesn’t sound right. Let me try again.” He’d rewind the video a minute or two back and narrate again; usually in a way that bore no resemblance to what he’d said just a minute ago. Invariably, Brett preferred the second explanation. He would nod in approval and Cindy made sure to cross out the first attempt and scribble down the second as carefully as she could.
It was perfect! The script was aimed like a cruise missile at the “Brett demographic”. The Brett demographic, a hive mind of confirmation bias encircled by a cadre of mid-wit gatekeepers, clearly loved being reassured it was right. If the Curmudgeon’s explanations bore little resemblance to true events, who cared? As long as his story merged seamlessly with Brett’s preconceived notions, it was, by definition, true… and also delightful!
There was a big pause at the scene where Brett went under the water. This was to be the climax of the story.
“What a catastrophe! The stupidfish have attacked our producer, brave and honorable Brett Alverson. He’s almost certainly going to die…”
Brett was frowning. Hardly skipping a beat, the Curmudgeon paused and rewound.
He spent a few seconds thinking over how to tell the story and then smiled. It was a wicked smile. He gave Cindy a knowing wink. She couldn’t wait to find out what happened to Brett and the stupidfish!
“In a catastrophic turn of events, Brett Alverson, esteemed researcher and highly respected riparian ecologist is attacked by murdertrout!”
Cindy’s jaw dropped. Brett’s eyes went wide. Seeing the reaction, The Curmudgeon paused.
“Murdertrout?” Brett inquired. “I thought they were stupid?”
“Did they not bite you?” The Curmudgeon reasoned.
Brett began to smile. It was a great big beatific smile. It’s one thing to be pecked at by little stupid fish, it’s another thing entirely to face an onslaught of murdertrout!
The Curmudgeon continued. “Murdertrout are the most dangerous creatures in this environment. They’ve been known to kill Grizzly Bears and damage bridge abutments.” Brett was nodding vigorously. “While more research is needed to ascertain why some fish become vicious, brutal, aquatic death machines…” Brett’s smile faded a bit. “…it’s likely caused by global warming.” Brett began to clap and laugh.
Cindy was delighted. This version was far better than her unemotional retelling of events! Despite the fact that all three of them had witnessed the same thing, she was already forgetting what she’d formerly believed. Clearly, The Curmudgeon had delved into the true heart of the matter. Brett, of course, had been won over completely with the word murdertrout. From his point of view, everything The Curmudgeon said was henceforth perfect and unassailable truth. The Curmudgeon, for his part, was clearly enjoying his own show. Playing off Brett’s existing opinions and more or less ignoring faulty human memories was a brilliant choice. It made everything so much more fun!
It was all lies. It was total bullshit. Therefore, it was completely believable and the unquestionable truth! Brett and Cindy were going to be rock stars of the documentary profession!
All too soon, the video came to an end. Brett applauded like he’d just seen the best performance in human history. Cindy set down the pencil and grinned. It all made so much sense. It wasn’t stupidity at all. It’s pure science. If a bird thinks it’s an eagle that’s exactly what it is. Anyone who disagrees is racist. Riparian ecologists are practically Indiana Jones. Murdertrout are caused by global warming. Brett had heroically saved the long oppressed trans-species victim of historic trout dominance. Car insurance is awesome.
It fit together so well. She chuckled at the Curmudgeon. That scamp! Setting them up to get all distracted by misinformation when they first met. Blathering on about stupidity and water conditions when he already knew everything came from global warming and racism; what a joker! If he’d simply explained it correctly as soon as they met, everyone would have gotten along fine right from the start. In fact they were great friends. His initial rants about water pollution and tossing pinecones was just a test of their loyalty to The Science. What a silly fellow! And what a nice guy too!
There sure were a lot of beer bottles under her lawnchair. Where’d they come from? She hoped The Curmudgeon wouldn’t run out.
It was a glorious shared moment of triumph. Brett was beaming. Cindy was grinning. Everyone was happy. The script was already written out. She’d type it up exactly like The Curmudgeon had said and read it into a microphone. They’d be ready to ship the first episode in no time. How easy it had been! When this documentary was released, it was going to be a viral hit.
His work done, The Curmudgeon wandered off to piss on a tree.
