Adaptive Curmudgeon

We Were Promised Fireworks

The Boy Scouts (which was one third girls) had enjoyed themselves thoroughly. There’d been cops and soldiers. A few of them had scored beers from Ed’s well stocked coolers. They’d gotten to beat up some hippies. They’d gotten free military folding chairs. Then, when things couldn’t get any more awesome, there’d been the cell phone thief and the naked dude trying to kill him.

All in all it was a perfect night. Alas, there’s only one thing a teenage boy (or girl) cares about and that’s getting laid. They’d tried mightily but it just hadn’t worked out. They texted several times to the nearby Girl Scout troop. “You must see this! Naked guy chasing cell phone thief!” It didn’t get enough traction. “We already saw naked guy. Woof.”

One of the more mercenary of the boys promised the girls there would be “serious fireworks” if they came out and joined them. This wasn’t an idle boast. The boys knew darned well whenever there was this much firepower in one place, something would sooner or later explode.

Unfortunately, everything began to deflate as the excitement started winding down. Robert had been tossed into a police car and was being taken “downtown” for “further questioning”. This was probably for the best because he’d been just about questioned to a pulp by everyone there and needed a break. Several SUVs filled with various employees of important organizations saddled up and rode out too. About half of them aiming to keep an eye on Robert so they could get in on the Official Interagency Press Release; which meant credit for Robert’s apprehension and a chance to Hoover up more funding. It wouldn’t do to let the local cops get all the glory. The rest had caravaned for Dennys; having built up an appetite while saving the world. The MRAP rolled off… trailed by the 4×4 club. The National Guard contingent had failed to find room at any hotel, but they’d found a climate controlled warehouse facility on the cheap that would surely beat sacking out in a tent. They’d passed the hat, dispatched two men to buy most of a liquor store and meet the rest of them in the warehouse district, then demobilized.

That left Ed, who had just realized half his beer had been stolen by a bunch of snot nosed kids. He was livid! “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He yelled. “I acquired that beer through asset forfeiture from some city guy with a bass boat, what right do you assholes have to steal it?”

Ed hated competition. He started storming around chasing Scouts and grabbing all the beer cans. The kids scattered, circled around, and reappeared near the unguarded coolers. Stealing even more beer. This was a fun new game. The Tri-county Anti-drug Community Interdiction Special Programs Environmental Task Force Team Pilot Project knew when they were beat. They sat on their respective coolers and let the rest get raided. Ed, however, was offended by the spirit of the thing. He lost his cool and started knocking over Scout’s new chairs.

Things might have calmed down, with Ed realizing he was the cat and the kids were the laser pointer, if only the Girl Scouts (which included one third boys) hadn’t shown up. The girls saw an angry game warden shouting and Boy Scouts swarming all over the place like rabbits. They were completely unimpressed.

The Girl’s leader, chosen through a series of backstabbing political maneuvers that made Game of Thrones sound like a friendly competition, put her foot down. “You promised fireworks!”

She had the toe tapping, hands on hips, angry woman vibe mastered perfectly. Someday she’d be able to crush a husband and gaggle of kids like Muad’Dib asserting the voice upon weaker foes. The other girls (and one third boys) lined up behind their leader… as they’d been trained to do by public schools, social media, and the innate herd mentality of all teenagers.

The Boy Scouts realized two things: First the girls had actually showed up, there was hope. Second, there had better be fireworks!

Slutburger on the Prowl

Having exited the Arena, Robert’s soon to be ex-girlfriend knew it was a new era. “Woof.” Her life would be bisected by this moment. This was her first moment of AW (after woof) and she was already forgetting the details of BW (before woof). She stood uncertainly, watching the scene in the parking lot. Several dozen folks were beating the hell out of Robert. They kept saying things like “please stop resisting” and “you must comply”. Robert was balled up like a turtle, making little weeping sounds. Presumably they’d be done eventually and then Robert could drive her to her apartment. Then again everyone not actively beating Robert was “searching” the Audi. Several people were stuffing all sorts of things into the Audi and other people were pulling them back out. They were proclaiming loudly the incriminating nature of what everyone had seen planted just five seconds before. It was an increasing spiral. In the few minutes she’d been standing there it had gone from “Ah ha! A little bag of white powder that might be cocaine” to “Oh my God, we just found Jimmy Hoffa’s left testicle”. In another few cycles they’d probably convince themselves they’d found a giraffe in there.

It looked like neither Robert nor the Audi were going to be any use to her for a good long time. She shrugged. That was all BW anyway. She gazed longing at the other side of the parking lot where Janice was surrounded by more law enforcement officers. Someone had handed Janice a towel which he’d tied around his waist in a way that just made the “Woof” even better. A loincloth! What kind of girl can resist such woof-ness? Janice had enlisted the help of a circle of observers and they were all pounding the area that once had the broken bits of Robert’s phone. She wanted to march right over there and get to work… but the circle of men (and some women) pounding a crater in the ground was the wrong place and the wrong time.

She ordered up an Uber and vamoosed. She had things to do.

Woof

Janice had never really registered Robert at all. When the cellphone went flying he stayed on target. It was all about the phone. It was going to pay for what it had done!

The phone landed on a patch of grass between the curb and the sidewalk. Gerald was on it like a tiger. He drew back a mighty fist and punched the phone directly into the dirt. Machine like, he began jackhammering whatever plastic bits were left into the subsoil.

Robert, terrified, battered, and crushed into the pavement had no thought but escape. He clicked his key fob and the Audi’s taillights blinked. Janice, busy chewing on the phone’s battery, didn’t notice.

Suddenly everyone knew the cell phone thief was the big time drug dealer! He’d been running too! Running meant he’d been trying to flee the scene!

They rushed forth in a great show of interagency cooperation. They were going to serve and protect the living hell out of this twerp!

Robert curled up into a ball as the 4×4 enthusiast released his chokehold just long enough for a dozen assorted officers to shout “Quit resisting arrest!” and begin stomping him like a bunch of grapes about to become wine.

Back in the arena, Winston sat quietly and stared at the ceiling. He’d done what must be done. A deal is a deal, and now his name was tied to a moment of stupidity.

If Robert’s cellphone had any remaining corporeal presence (which it did not) it would have happily presented the new announcement on social media:

“Winston Jones, Professor of Business Math, is pleased to announce this year’s annual charity drive has been a success! $8,600, has been donated to ‘Dude Yoni’, a charity which provides feminine hygiene products to incarcerated male to female transitioning women.”

Next to Winston, sat Winston’s wife. She had wide eyes and the look of someone who had just seen behind the curtain. Two seats over, Robert’s soon to be ex-girlfriend had the same look. Between them, a set of broken bolts represented the place where Robert’s chair had been; a place that had been entirely unremarkable until a giant enraged naked man had blasted both Robert and the chair out of existence.

Winston saw the look on his wife’s face, and the identical look on Robert’s soon to be ex-girlfriend. He was no fool. He’d seen the same show.

“How in the name of Ron Jeremy did they think that thing was female?” Winston groused.

“Yes.” His wife agreed. “Very, extremely, male.”

They looked over the ruined chair at the younger and more shell-shocked girl. She looked back. She could only manage one word; “Woof!”

Muscle Car Undercarriage

A fat county sheriff made a leap for Robert and missed. Janice didn’t dodge left or right of the sheriff who was suddenly in his way. He simply went through the exact space the man was occupying at the exact moment he occupied it. Given that momentum equals mass times velocity squared, it’s a miracle the sheriff didn’t explode into component molecules. He merely bounced off Janice and landed on the pavement with a “thunk.”

The next to give it a shot were six burly guys from the National Guard. They formed up in a classic football defensive line and tried to clothesline Robert; who dodged left, skidded past a parked Fiat, and kept running. Janice rolled through the line like a bowling ball; turning the extreme left and right into a human 7/10 split and the rest into walking wounded.

Up in the chemistry lab the crowd was on their feet whooping and shouting. A naked man bulldozing a half dozen army grunts? This was exactly the point of a university!

The Tri-county, Anti-drug, Community Interdiction, Special Programs, Environmental Task Force Team Pilot Project knew all about Janice. They didn’t move an inch. Likewise Ed stayed put. This inaction frustrated one of the 4×4 groupies who flipped his baseball hat backward and shouted the All-American Battle Cry of Freedom… “Hold my Beer and watch this!”

Any man who has welded a V8 short block onto a rototiller has no fear. Having done such things and more, he was the right man for the job. He took two big strides, vaulted the Gatlin gun’s array of barrels, and caught Robert; shoulder high. Twisting in mid-flight he executed the perfect takedown.

Robert never had a chance. The 4×4 redneck had performed a feat that would have taken out a wildebeast and Robert was a soft college dude. He landed like a sack of wet cement. ‘Merica!

The man from the 4×4 club had many stories. Shockingly, all of them were true. His favorite story happened when he was eleven years old and his older brother was seventeen. His brother had a hopped-up Plymouth Barracuda and the two had been arguing about suspension sag when the Barracuda went airborne (a situation that was surprisingly common). In order to solve this important debate, the two of them labored all afternoon to build a suitable ramp. Then he’d laid on the pavement while his brother jumped over him with the Plymouth. Their mother had arrived just in time to nearly have a heart attack. She grounded them both for six months.

He though he’d never again experience such a heady rush of machismo and narrowly avoided catastrophe. He was wrong. When he and Robert toppled to the pavement he landed face up; just in time to see Janice’s undercarriage as the maniac flew overhead. Reliving the greatest and stupidest feat of an exceptionally stupid youth! What more could a man ask for?

Cell Phone Thief

It’s a disconcerting thing to witness an arena filled with frenetic screaming masses pivot on a dime so many times. The crowd had careened from good natured support of Mindy’s athleticism, to revulsion at Mindy’s failure to honor Janice’s brave and beautiful example of social justice, to basking in glorious violence, to terror as Janice breached the octagon, to relief as each and every spectator individually thanked their creator that Janice hadn’t crushed them. Now, all was confusion. How can you have a fight if one of the gladiators freaks out and charges after other quarry? Make no mistake, Janice didn’t flee. He got so unhinged that he forgot to kill enemies in the proper order.

Mindy, still in the octagon, circled nervously. Nothing in her training had prepared her for what she’d just experienced. Instead of a sporting event with rules and logic, it had been… war. She was, not entirely illogically, concerned that Janice was coming back. Would the maniac come back with a tire iron? A chainsaw?

The audience was deathly still, possibly having similar thoughts about Janice and chainsaws. The referee saved the day. “By reason of leaving the octagon” he announced “Janice has lost through forfeit.” He grasped Mindy’s and held it aloft. “I present the winner of today’s match, Mindy Anderson!”

The crowd was happy to be told what to think. They cheered for Mindy, though somewhat less than at the start of the match. They weren’t sure if Mindy was an honorable athlete who’d stayed on the field of play or literally Hitler who’d oppressed poor helpless Janice. They consulted social media but the instructions were unclear. If nobody’s there to tell you that you’re at war with Eastasia; what then?

Out in the parking lot nobody had time to ponder such details. They were presented with a squealing terrified little guy running like hell from a growling, barking, enraged, maniac. The little guy was clutching a cell phone in one hand and car keys in the other. Presumably, he had a vague idea that he’d leap in his car and drive away; very far, very fast. The maniac in pursuit was wild-eyed and menacing. He was entirely naked save for a sports bra stretched over rippling six pack abs. He was shouting “KILLLLLL!”

It took only a second for everyone to come to the same conclusion. That little guy had stolen the big naked dude’s cellphone. What a bastard!

Release the Kraken

The fighters readied themselves for the next round. Mindy, a good athlete through and through, was breathing deeply; the better to fill her lungs with oxygen and bring her heart rate down. On Janice’s side things were more chaotic. Her coach was offering advice and Janice was ignoring everything he said. One of the assistants interrupted; handing Janice her phone. “Your grandmother wants to wish you well.”

The referee watched carefully. In the modern generation, kids can’t unplug for even an hour. A fighter dicking around on a phone between rounds wasn’t particularly uncommon. It usually meant the cocky bastard was destined to lose. In this case, it was probably moot point. He’d been up there in the octagon with the two of them. Having seen the fight closer than anyone, and also having seen more fights than anyone there, he knew the likely outcome. Janice wasn’t a great fighter but she, or he, or it… was simply in the wrong class of fight. Janice would eventually destroy a weaker opponent who should have never been put in proximity with machinery of that size.

Sooner or later the meathead would flatten Mindy with one of those all out full body punches. That would end the match. He’d seen those punches up close and personal. Janice wasn’t a fighter; he was a puncher. He gave absolutely not one shit about fighting style. He didn’t do fancy footwork because he liked to plant his feet and have that much more leverage on each punch. He didn’t block worth crap because he apparently didn’t feel pain. All he could do was punch, but he punched so hard that’s all that mattered. Mindy didn’t belong in this fight. It was too much. With one of those swings, Janice could take out a Clydesdale. Mindy was fast but she was human, and more to the point female. The referee was honest and dedicated to his profession. He’d let the fight go until it was ended. But he didn’t like it. He hoped the punch that inevitably took Mindy down was a glancing blow. The poor girl would have to relearn the alphabet if she got tagged solid in the cranium. He sighed.

“It’s your lucky evening Gerald.” Gertrude was scarcely audible amid the ruckus.

“Grandma, I’m busy.”

“Of course you are dear.” Gertrude soothed. “I just wanted to say, you won’t have to worry about being busted tonight.”

“What? I’m in the octagon right now, can we talk later…”

“I’ve disposed of every bit of your ‘supplements’. You’re on the dope Gerald. I can’t abide that.”

“Grandma! That’s sports medicine!”

“Bullshit! You’re a goddamn junkie. But now it’s flushed. In fact, I threw out everything you own.”

“WHAT!”

“Everything. All you have now are two cats… er… one cat. It’s back to square one for you buddy.”

“GRANDMA!”

“You’re a man. Grow a pair!”

The phone went dead.

If the earth and everything on it is just a sphere rotating through space, the sun is the center of all. If you stood on the sun. No, if you stood in the exact center of the sun, you would be the exact center of all creation. All that ever has been and all that ever will be would be out in space, rotating around you. You would know all, you would see all, you would be all things, and you would implode in a fiery inferno. That’s exactly what Gerald did.

Gerald crushed the phone with his hands. He smashed the jagged bits into his forehead and leapt to his feet.

Outside in the parking lot, 346 firearms of every caliber, construction, and capacity were aimed at a white Audi. The air was taught. Fingers lingered near triggers. Sights were aligned and blood pumped strong.

One man, outfitted in almost as much armor as the bomb squad (there was a bomb squad stationed at the parking lot because of course there was), approached the car. Countless eyes followed his every move. It was go time!

Gerald stood in his corner, feet planted apart, arms held wide, and let out a howl. It was directed straight up… at the universe itself. It was a deep booming terrible sound. The manifestation of countless drugs mixed up in a single insufficient skull. Boiled to froth in estrogen and testosterone… at war with itself, a man become creature. A soul burned white hot until it was rage made human.

Fists clenched. Every muscle taut. Veins bulging, heart pounding, the beast’s eyes swiveled down from the heavens to seek that which it would destroy.

Out in the parking lot, a tentative hand clenched the Audi’s handle. It pulled. A small electronic chirp sounded as the car’s alarm sent a notice to it’s owner.

Back in the arena, amid a screaming audience witnessing the birth of Chuthullu, Robert’s eyes were dazzled from looking at the lights. He couldn’t really see what was going on and he was distracted when his phone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket and held it. It made a small chirp.

Robert’s eyes focused on the screen. A minor alert on his car alarm. He’d better check it out. He touched the “Acknowledge” button and it made a second chirp. Then Robert’s eyes focused from the screen in the near view to the angry red eyes of hell… not 15 feet distant.

Gerald’s stare shifted down from the terrible murderous pain of the universe and focused on the instantaneous point of all fury. There it was. The thing which must be destroyed; Robert’s phone.

“KILLLLLLLLL!” Gerald screamed a battle cry against the world and launched toward Robert.

The referee, who’d been watching the whole scene was well out of the way. The maniac had lost it!

Mindy assumed she was the target. She leapt to the side, rolling on her shoulder and coming up like a cat. The round hadn’t started yet!

Gerald flung his body into the octagon’s protective fence and the whole thing swayed slightly. The horn blew, signifying the beginning of round two. Mindy, baffled, shifted to the side and brought her arms up to guard position. The referee decided it was time to retire.

“KILLLLLLLLL!” Gerald grabbed great handfuls of fence and vaulted upward.

An engineering professor, seated two rows behind Winston, recognized the sound of self tapping screws pulling from the aluminum housing of the octagon. He didn’t stop to wonder the tensile strength of the netting, or the torsion properties of self tapping screws. He jumped up and ran. The students, trained for years in the fine art of indecisiveness, sat there like meat on a butcher’s table. Winston and his wife nodded at each other and began inching to the left. Robert, frozen, saw death coming.

Mindy figured it was her best chance. She pivoted and swung a wicked roundhouse at Gerald’s exposed back.

He swatted at her like King Kong annoyed by a biplane. He connected with her ankle and sent her flying. The referee danced back, letting her fall.

“KILLLLLLLLL!” The screws on the octagon’s upper side gave out, forming a line of little jagged shark’s teeth. Gerald ignored them and dove headfirst off the top. Screws raked his body and some anchored into his shorts slowing his progress. He pulled against them like a man who feels no pain and will never feel pain again.

Mindy danced back to her feet and circled around toward Gerald, who was half in and half out of the ring. The referee waved her back and she complied. The material of Gerald’s shorts was in tatters. Never taking his eyes off the evil cell phone, Gerald pushed over the top, slipped in his own blood, and fell onto a mascara streaked irrelevancy in the audience. His shorts, already torn, snagged on Mascara Girl’s many piercings. Gerald lunged forward, dragging Mascara Girl with him. Then, with a swoosh, Gerald pulled out of the spandex, leaving Mascara Girl with a jock strap hooked to her nose piercing and a view she would never forget.

Gerald launched at the exact place Robert had been standing a fraction of a second earlier, breaking the now empty seat.

Robert was running like his life depended on it; which it did. He could have dropped the cell phone but his generation was incapable of such a thought. He merely pelted for the door in a flat out linear panic. It was justified. If Gerald, a swinging naked force of nature and human wrecking ball, had to reach through Robert to get that phone, so be it. Robert fled through the open fire doors bounding like a deer. Gerald crashed through the crowd just a few feet behind. He was gaining with every stride. And then they were out of sight.

War With Eastasia

Mindy was no wimp. The crowd howled like jackals and Janice advanced like a lion but she held her ground.

At the last minute she dodged aside and landed a swift kick on Janice’s thigh. Swish. BANG! She came here to win. She was a champion.

Janice pivoted like a piece of heavy machinery and launched a punch that would kill a rhino. Mindy was already out of reach. She jabbed for the floating ribs, made contact, and bounced back.

Janice hardly noticed. She took another swing. With gorilla like arms, Janice could reach much further than Mindy. Mindy just barely got up her block, which deflected most of the punch. Even so she stumbled back from the momentum. Janice went in for the kill but Mindy was quick. She regained her balance and brought up two quick punches in the limited space between them. She landed one on Janice’s hip and the other on her shoulder. It bought Mindy just enough time to weave out of Janice’s bear hug.

The crowd had never seen anything like it. Some fights are a washout and some are a grind. Only a few are perfect. This was a match for the ages; a cobra and a tank! Mindy’s strikes were lighting fast and precisely aimed but they weren’t doing much damage. Janice’s moves were immensely powerful but too slow. Nobody could tell who was winning and who was losing. Would Mindy’s fifth or tenth of fifteenth strike wear down Janice? Would Janice finally land one of those enormous blows and send Mindy to the hospital?

It was a tense first round. When the horn blew and the fighters parted, virtually everyone felt spent; as if they’d been up there risking all.

“Dear God, is that little girl going to win?” Winston asked his wife.

“You’ve been on campus too long dear. Janice is just too strong. That man would break a backhoe in half.” His wife reassured him.

“It’s not a man… it’s a woman.” Mascara Girl interrupted.

“WE ARE AT WAR WITH EASTASIA!” Winston’s wife screamed.

“Fuck Eastasia!” Mascara Girl replied… entirely involuntarily.

To their right Robert Mablowski was furrowing his brow and counting spotlights. There appeared to be sixteen of them.