Chapter 11

Bow down before the one you serve...

Ah, Act Two of the world's worst magnum opus! In which we shall reject the triune God by revelling in the caricature it presents of the materialist opposition. This may seem counter-productive but keep in mind the source material - and especially its fans - is or are far too stupid to comprehend nuance. They probably think "nuance" is a commie plot, just like water fluoridation.

I'm getting off track - no pun intended.

We open on the previously bit character Doctor Stieg, all pacing and consternating. He had gotten all ready to meet with Doctor Floyd, who was uncharacteristically late. "Wonder if he's still tied up with TMA-01..."

Just then, rather than after three pages of repetitive padding, Floyd came briskly through the door of Stieg's office. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic has been a bitch since everyone started using those electric cars."

"I know," said Stieg. "They're so cheap and efficient that  nobody cares to take the bus or just walk anymore!"

"At least they're clean. No exhaust, no road grit. Hell, the streets have never looked cleaner."

"Almost makes you grateful for that Buyit maniac..." Stieg straightened up, getting to the matter at hand. "Which, unfortunately, is why we're here."

"Oh yes, the cleanup." Floyd set his briefcase on Stieg's desk, popping it open and withdrawing an intimidatingly thick binder. "You can thank the R&D grants for this little number. Though it was originally intended to dissolve crude in water, what tests we've been able to do show it's safe for ground deployment."

Stieg let out an "Oof!" as he accepted the binder. "Quite a history for it already."

"Well, we can't just send it from the lab to production without being sure it's safe. We're not Rearend Metals after all."

"God, don't remind me. That fool and his girlfriend have been calling me at all hours of the night, accusing me of being behind that federal order to cease construction with that spankem or whatever it is."

"Well, you're department did put out that report."

"And if that were all it took, depleted uranium would have disappeared thirty years ago."

Taking back the binder, Floyd had to ask, "Is this really going somewhere?"

"Probably not. The original scene was all about how we're conspiring to keep facts from people through the most ludicrous of postmodern dickering."

"Jesus, what sort of asshole would want to read such a thing?"

Yes, I'm getting lazy. Then the phone rang.

"Oh. Lovely. It's Miss Braggart again," Stieg said, his voice dripping sarcasm. Slowly picking up the receiver, he said, "And what hysterical accusations shall I hear today?"

I'll spare you the details. But Floyd could hear a manic screech, the kind of sound one would expect from a belt sander on a chalk board.

It even caused Stieg to recoil in discomfort. "I would attempt to dissuade you of such a notion," he said as amicably as possible, "if I expected it to do any good. Goodbye." And hung up, the receiver still rattling with Daffy's petulant rage.

"What a bitch," said Floyd.

Elsewhere, Daffy continued her planned diatribe into the empty line. After which, she slammed down her own receiver - not because she thought Stieg was still on the line but for the principal of the thing. Daffy was all about principles.

"Which reminds me, I need to go have more rapetastic sex with a married man!"

And she frolicked off to get her ass hammered.

Though she did return to the narrative later, there being a scripted encounter with poor Doctor Stieg. Daffy was of course all bent out of shape about poor Buyit being driven off by the icky Feds - at least that's how her simple mind processed things. And even worse, the loss of the Buyit oil fields had prompted that executive subsidy for anyone wishing to trade in their old combustion-powered car for an electric. How horrible for all those happy sounding gas-guzzlers to be replaced with things that could do no more than hum politely!

Daffy also thought a federal subsidy was bad because she was a rich idiot who'd never had to budget for her own bills.

But the most horrible of the horrors - Tim had been absolutely serious about freezing her out of Braggart Big Damn Rail! The Gort Line was being disassembled and all those manly diesel engines were being replaced by more sissy electrics!

Dark days indeed for our heroine. But let's quit this pity party already and get back to some actual story.

...Please?

Daffy took the train to Doctor Stieg. Or he took the train to her, it's not too clear and I don't really care. Either way, it gave Daffy another chance to get all squishy over trains because of their motive purpose or purposeful movement - and nothing at all to do with their phallic shape.

"Aren't you glad to see me, Doctor Stieg?"

"I should really get a restraining order," the doctor muttered to himself.

"I have a task for you!" she declared.

"No."

"I don't expect you to understand it fully and really I don't expect you to solve it," she went on, oblivious as ever. "In fact, I'm not sure if I came over here for any reason other to gloat..."

"Lovely. Please leave."

Whipping the infamous Gort Graph from her pantsuit - yes, I've decided to stick her in a pantsuit - Daffy presented it to Stieg. "Here is the blueprint for an engineering marvel! A Great product of a Great Man's Greatness! A -"

She was interrupted by Doctor Stieg's very unexpected laughter. Unexpected because he was usually so somber and because she expected everyone to bow and scrape before her personal holy text. But that's par for the course with fanatical shovelheads.

"My dear, this 'device' of yours appears to be a child's doodle!"

Shocked and offended, Daffy sputtered for the right comeback. Finally, she settled on, "You just don't want to because it's too awesome! You're just jealous of a real man of the Mind because you're a statist... person!"

"I really do wonder sometimes if you're schizophrenic," Stieg chuckled, having recovered some of his composure. "Again, I'll have to ask you to leave."

And in case she still didn't get the point, he called security.

*    *    *

The federal order still lay there on Spank Rearend's desk. And Spank Rearend still glared at it with all the scorn he could muster.

...Because Spank Rearend couldn't read! );

He'd managed a few tortured syllables. Mostly "T-t-t-th-the..." and "O-o-of-off..." before angrily denouncing it as a commie-nazi plot of moochers to steal his spankmeum.

Then the janitor had stopped by and explained to him it was an injunction from producing any more spankmeum for "reasons of public health, national security, and general sanity."

Clearly they were just jealous, thought Spank...

And they'd sent along a federal agent to make sure Spank behaved himself. Spank liked calling the young man "Dougie" despite the young man's protestations and reminders of "I have a gun."

"Hating me really isn't going to help you," the agent would say.

"And why not!?" demanded Rearend.

"...You really need me to explain that to you?"

The agent always spoke in such a flat way. It angered Spank further because he didn't understand dry wit.

And then he would make such absurd suggestions! Like, "Why don't you just produce another alloy? Something not green or toxic?"

"You don't understand!" whined Spank. He whined a lot. Like any other libertarian. Lots a' whining and moaning.

"What don't I understand?" pressed the agent. "Is it something to do with your equipment?"

Spank launched into quite the overblown rant before realizing that wasn't a euphemism. "Well, you just don't get why spankmeum is better!"

"I really wonder how you define 'better...'"

"I mean better! Don't you even know what words mean, Dougie!?"

"If I may paraphrase Wittgenstein, words mean whatever we intend in the given context. So again, just how do you mean 'better' in the context of your green, toxic, and highly inflammable metal?"

"Shove off, punk! Why don't you and this - this Wiggerpine fella go try and pour your own steel!"

"I also have a tazer, sir."

So Spank was not having the best time. All this regulation and being held accountable for his actions really hurt his feelings and stuff. So he was quite pleased with the news of Buyit's burning oil fields. He laughed in triumph when he saw it on the news! Because like any other privileged twerp wallowing in unwarranted self-importance, Spank Rearend found joy in acts of childish rebellion.

Especially when the consequences of said rebellion were dodged. And using that as his template, Spank Rearend went right back to cranking out the spankmeum.

"Sir, you shouldn't be doing this," the young federal agent said when he found out.

"And why not!" demanded Spank smugly. That's not a typo, it wasn't really a question.

"For starters, by violating the terms of the injunction you're showing contempt for the court."

"You bet I have contempt for 'em! They hate my awesome metal!"

"That's between them and your lawyers. Whom you may want to contact."

"Why? You gonna arrest me or something, Dougie!?"

"Yes." And he did.

Bam! Betcha didn't see that coming!

Chapter 10

Saddam Hussein presents Objectivism in action!

And so Our Ridiculous Heroes set off to discover who could have designed such a fantastic wonder gizmo. Naturally it was a few days before they noticed the damned thing was signed - "Jon Gort!" In crayon.

"Of course!" cried Daffy. "Just like in my dream!"

"Huh? What dream?" Spank asked, all befuddled. He always got lost when the conversation turned to something besides himself.

"Jon Gort designed this! Of course only he would have the Great Mind for such Greatness!"

Spank felt very diminished and spent the rest of the chapter pouting.

Not that Daffy could notice. Armed with a vague idea of what she was looking for, she went storming into every other business in the surrounding towns to demand -

"Why didn't you make yourself fabulously wealthy on this dream invention!?"

The nameless gentleman in question took one look at the laughable design and said, as tactfully as he could, "...Because it doesn't work?"

"It was the product of a Great Man! With a Great Mind! Powered by his Greatness!"

Being actually involved in a business, the man said more heatedly, "Lady, this is just a doodle with 'POWR' written up top in bubble letters!"

Daffy could glean no rational response from these lice. She tried and tried -

"Never heard of it."

"You're joking, right?"

"I'm a pirate! I only know the ways of the sea! Arrr!"

Discouraged, Daffy took to pouting along with Spank. Fortunately, her cell rang before things could devolve into a protracted pity-party for the undeservedly rich airheads -

"Daffy! Thank god I can hear your voice again!"

"What is it now, Dithers?" she demanded. "I have alot of very important-feeling-sorry for myself to do."

"I can't explain over the phone because it's too urgent! It has to wait several hours for you to get back to the office because of its urgency!"

"Ed, that makes no sense. Have you been taking notes off of me?"

"Yep! Do you love me now?"

Fortunately Daffy had hung up right before Dithers could ask. "Spank, we need to go back!"

He brightened, "To the hotel room?"

"To New York! Urgent things need our eventual attention!"

* * *

Those urgent things were gradually revealed to be, in no particular order -

The Union she'd previously thrown a hissy fit at was filing a class action suit of wrongful termination for over a hundred engineers Daffy had personally fired for "looking all darkie."

The states of Wyoming, New Mexico, Utah, and Arizona were stirring up holy hell as the Gort Line had been constructed weaving in and out of their territories without any notification or proper paperwork on the part of Braggart Big Damn Rail. Further, physicists were crying foul at how a single line of track could do such a thing.

A collection of scientists, metallurgists, and other so-called "experts" had all testified before Congress on the inherent dangers of spankmeum - from it's instability to its record-breaking toxicity.

And to top it off, someone had finally pointed out that the new federal regulations on such things as construction, bridge design, and other things actually did apply in Colorado. Meaning both she and Spank were violating a whole mess of laws just by letting the Gort Line exist.

Edguy Dithers was his sycophantic best. "Oh Daffy, how could they be so mean to you?"

"Clearly it's all just jealousy!" Daffy declared. "These parasites just wish they could run a railroad as well as I do!"

The distant rational part of Edguy's brain was screaming that he himself had been doing much of the day to day administration but he'd long ago learned to ignore rationality where Daffy Braggart was concerned. "That is so true."

No it's not.

But as we've seen - and as we'll see much much more - Daffy never let a little thing like "reality" get in her way! "These looters won't take away all my hard-inherited gains! Because Tim is going to fight them for me!"

Admittedly, delegation is a skill of sorts...

Daffy stormed into Tim's office, brimming with vapid rage! "What do you intend to do about this!?" she demanded unspecifically.

"Daffy. Good. I was worried today would be pleasant," Tim replied evenly. "If you're referring to the current legal troubles of Braggart Big Damn Rail, I've already got our lawyers working out settlements with the parties involved. Other than that, I'm not going to do a damn thing."

"So you're just going to let these vermin steal all we've accomplished? That's so typical of you, Tim!"

Thanks to a lifetime of having tolerated her bullshit, Tim didn't rise to the bait but instead said, "You should be asking what I'm going to do about you. The board's fickleness can be convenient sometimes."

Daffy, caught in mid-rant, could only stare dumbly at her brother. Of course, she stares dumbly at most things. "Huh?"

"I had you removed this morning. Henceforth, you have no executive control over the company."

"Oh yeah! There was that too!" Edguy called from the previous scene.

Tim continued, his voice firm, "I'm shutting down the Gort Line now, before anyone else dies for it. I'm re-activating our electric train project. And I'm barring you from setting foot in this office ever again." He then calmly went and busied himself with some papers.

Daffy, struck dumber than was normal for her, could only gape for a long while. Then, tapping that white-hot strain of self-absorbed crazy in her brain stem - "You just want to sell out to the leeches! Well I'm here to run a railroad and -"

"And you have been really fucking bad at it!" Tim snapped back. "No one but your socialite buddies will ride on it, no one but desperate illegals will operate it, and the whole rest of the country has been downloading a flash game where they can blow your arms and legs off with a shotgun!"

"Well, I'm not interested in what the rest of the country thinks," said Daffy, getting all in a huff.

"Meaning you don't care what your own clients think," said Tim, laying it out for those of you who still don't get it. "Which is why you suck at business."

Now that struck a nerve.

Daffy bolted from the room, weeping like some womanly stereotype. Tim felt a sudden stab of guilt - all that anger at his sister had been building up for so long that when it finally came it... He felt so ugly. The necessity of what he'd done was little comfort.

Outside under the unforgiving brown skies, Daffy ran stupidly from her problems like any spoiled airhead would. At every sign with words such as "Public" or "Community" she recoiled in exaggerated horror like one of those montages you see sometimes in old movies. She finally found her way to a greasy spoon where the fry cook impressed her with his poise and cognizance. Why, it was the greatest and best philosopher Huge Asskorn!

"Mr. Asskorn, what are you doing here?"

"I got canned for being too awesome! The rest of the faculty were just jealous I was getting all the good freshman tail!"

"I know exactly what you mean," Daffy said. "Why, everyone complained about my Gort Line because it was too good and then they wouldn't recognize the awesomeness of Spanky - I mean, Mr. Rearend -"

"Hey, we're talking about me here!" Asskorn interjected. "Now how did you want your burger?"

Why yes, I did just condense over twenty pages of fluff into the above. You're welcome.

"Hey, wasn't I supposed to have a scene?"

Be quiet, Spank. Your scene was too boring.

But what's not too boring is this - in the diner hung a TV that cut from whatever it is diner TVs show to a news report. "This morning, oil tycoon Ennis Buyit set fire to his own wells!"

"No!" declared Daffy.

"Yes!" declared the TV. "A letter received by federal regulators who'd been investigating Buyit - mostly investigating if he had any oil at all or if he was just playing the commodities market - was just forwarded to this network. It reads, 'Can't get yer mitts on it now loozers! LOL!'"

The nation, being made up of real people as opposed to clumsily assembled political strawmen, was rightly horrified at all this. Even Republicans were bemoaning the environmental damage such an act would do to the United States. Everywhere, Americans were up in arms and ready to lynch this Buyit fella - who'd vanished as criminals and con men are want to do.

Yes, everyone was united in these new sentiments of conservation and lynching oilmen. Everyone but Daffy Braggart and other such idiots who thought it was just so neat to see flaming crude spraying across the land.

But who cares! We're finally back on schedule!

Chapter 9

All aboard the Rape Train for Crazyville!

Daffy lay in the bed admiring herself for what felt like for-fucking-ever. And admiring Spank too, of course. How he had taken her in such a rough, mechanical fashion unclouded by actual attraction.

He even admitted as much as he got dressed - "Just so we're clear, I don't like you. I just wanted to stick it in you... But I hate myself for doing that to you because you're so awesome because you're just a hole to stick things in... And now I feel like I need you and stuff because your vagina is magic like that... But I still don't love you because 'love' is grody..."

Daffy was so turned on by his schizophrenic babbling that she wanted to vault his pole again! "Oh Spank, you don't have to feel that icky 'need' feeling because I'll feel it for you!"

And they did it again. Loudly. Like atoms smashing because industrial imagery is sexy when you're too dense and self-absorbed to understand no one wants to screw you because you look like a chainsaw sculpture.

* * *

Tim Braggart staggered out into the rain after a long day of damage control and planning for the worst. The board had, as boards are want to do, done a complete 180 on Daffy's Gort Line. That single successful run from one point in nowhere to another had convinced the most fickle that this was a triumph for Braggart Big Damn Rail. Tim, being the one who'd actually handled the company for the past several years and having been privy to the many construction difficulties was less enthusiastic...

And that bit about running from nowhere to nowhere, that would bite them hard and soon. When he'd questioned the positioning, Daffy had launched into some ludicrous speech about how it wasn't their responsibility to stimulate failed local economies - as though a railroad could somehow turn a profit without customers. Though, this being Daffy, she probably expected all those wealthy airheads who rode on the Gort's maiden run to just buy up tickets every day. Tim found if he just assumed the most ridiculous and counter-intuitive outcome, he'd nailed Daffy's expectations of any situation.

"Goddamn rails," Tim muttered to himself. "Goddamn rain. Goddamn family. Goddamn world!" Times like this made him question his teetotalling.

...Well, how much would one drink hurt? Just enough to numb his mind to all this madness. To make him forget that his sister was running their company into the ground. Distantly through the rain, he spotted a convenience store with the lights still on.

An electronic bell chimed happily as Tim Braggart entered, soaking and miserable. He looked around for where they stocked the booze - and he found himself looking on a surprisingly beautiful woman. Surprising because she was working the register in a Wawa.

She didn't look up immediately, having some book open before her. When she did, she offered only a polite if curt smile and returned to her reading.

Tim found his way towards the booze. How the hell was this supposed to work anyway? Did he want something cheap? Something lite? Or go with the wines and find a whole new set of questions - none of which interested him as much as the woman at the counter. She had this soft, warm look about her, like the sort of person who offer comfort without any thought of reward. A quiet, selfless type.

"God, I'm worse than I thought," Tim muttered to himself, chuckling a little. Desperation lead to strange thoughts indeed. You couldn't gauge someone as a person based on one glimpse! That sort of two-dimensional bullcrap only happened in trashy romance novels!

-But was she just watching him in the mirror? Tim had one of those big, curved, don't-steal-anything-'cause-we'll-see-it mirrors stationed up above him and could've sworn he'd just seen her look back up from her book and straight at him...

With effort and the sense of general disgust that had been brewing in him all day, Tim managed to set it aside and carried a six-pack of something called "Modelo" up to the counter.

The woman set down her book and engaged him with that aloof sort of professional politeness. "Will that be all?"

Tim nodded, fishing in his pants for his wallet.

"I figured one of you Braggart types would want something fancier," she said, eyeing the beer.

Tim looked up, surprised. "Wh - How did you know?"

"You've been all over the news. You, your sister, all those other rich folks riding your green railroad." She was still polite but there was something flippant in her tone. "But hey, you're making money on it so you must've done something right -"

"That thing is a fucking class-action suit waiting to happen," Tim blurted out without really thinking. "I told Daffy every step of the way it was doomed. I told the board but one little run and they're all giving her a blank check to run our company into the ground with that Rearend asshole's snake-oil!"

The woman was understandably shocked at this. "I'm sorry, I thought you -"

"Thought I what? Gambled my own company on some vanity project!? Used unsafe, untested materials that got three of my own men killed because I..."

Tim caught himself. He'd been talking to himself more than anything and could now see he was frightening the poor clerk. "I'm sorry. Oh god, I'm so sorry... It's just... It hasn't been the best day..."

They both stood looking at each other in silence for a few moments. Silent except for the gentle drip of Tim's still soaked clothes.

"I'm very sorry about your men," the woman said softly.

"I am too," replied Tim. "Every day."

She smiled at him. A small, almost Mona Lisa smile but with enough warmth to make Tim forget about the rain chill. "I'm Sheryl," she said, extending her hand.

"Tim Braggart," he said, letting out a self-conscious chuckle.

"If, you know, you ever want to talk about this stuff... I'm usually here late but Mondays and Wednesdays I'm off at five."

"I'd like that."

They stood in silence again for a moment. Awkwardly again. Then, turning, Tim said, "Well, uh, should probably go. Long day tomorrow, I'm sure."

He was at the door before Sheryl could call out, "Hey, don't you want your beer? I was just kidding before."

Tim looked back, "...Actually, I don't think I need it now."

The rain still poured down on Tim Braggart once he was again outside but somehow it didn't feel quite as cold...

* * *

Daffy Braggart and Spank Rearend went their separate ways without a word upon returning to whatever city this is set in. This silent disdain was mutual, as they both conflated it with True Love or something. Of course, Daffy had found it the height of intimacy when just after blowing his load in her, Spank had slumped across her body and promptly fell asleep. Snoring like a chainsaw and drooling everywhere.

Being the fictional avatar of a self-loathing ugly chick, Daffy found this incredibly sexy.

Daffy was so, well, daffy with what her limited mind assumed was love she couldn't stop thinking about Spank's rear-end all the way to the Braggart offices. She ran into many lamp posts, which didn't help her appearance after spending half a day on a train. Yes, long travel and lack of showers does affect even self-important rich people.

She still looked properly hideous that evening when Spank Rearend appeared outside her apartment because creepy stalkers are exciting if you're too ugly to have ever had a proper date.

"I couldn't stop think of your railroad," he said all sexily. "Because rigid metal beams arouse me. It's not gay."

"Oh Spank, let's do it again like we're in a bad Harlequin novel!"

Which they were.

Spank threw her down in preparation for another rapetastic "love" scene. But before again indulging in Daffy's taffy, he had to know - "Has there been anyone else?"

"What, like today? Well, the mailman came by a little while ago and then there were some kids selling candy for their school -"

"I mean have you had anyone else?"

Daffy had to think about that. Long and hard, unlike Spank - Hiyo!

"There was one... That I know of. I drink a lot."

"Who was he!?" Spank demanded, because holding down a woman and screaming at her about her sexual history is sure to win her heart.

"Ain't tellin'!"

So they did some more angry, ugly whoopy. Anyone who liked this book should be forced to register as a sex offender.

* * *

Meanwhile Moen meandered morosely, moping over how damaged his equipment was after having used that weird green metal. Can you tell I really don't care?

Moen was also upset over how many companies were moving out to Colorado to escape that Act everyone was vaguely worried about in previous chapters. Because federal law doesn't apply in every state or something.

"Listen, you're reaching."

Eat it, Moen! I made a promise to myself to see this thing through, no matter how poorly it turns out!

"You've got nothing but smut to work with in this chapter. You're over two weeks behind schedule."

Hey, that wasn't my fault! Frakin' databases...

"Look at what you're doing - half-assed summarizing and metafiction. Is that what you really want to be?"

But I have to... I don't...

"You know this section is just lots of repetitive foreshadowing that only a blind duck wouldn't see through. Move on to the next Dagny scene."

* * *

Daffy stood in her living room, looking out the large and luxuries window at all the people who lacked the drive to be born rich like her. She felt somehow more pleased with herself, now that she'd found a purpose in life as Spank Rearend's latest receptacle.

And speak of the devil - he entered behind her, much as he would soon enter her behind. "But first I'm going to talk about myself!" declared Spank. "You missed a bunch of know-it-all 'metallurgists' and 'renowned experts' at the banquet who wouldn't give my awesomeness the respect it deserves!" He actually used entirely non-ironic finger quotes because he's just that much of a wanker.

"They're just jealous, of course," Daffy said while mooning over Spank like a Quaalude-addled groupie. Which probably isn't far from the truth.

"Fix me a drink so I can watch you wait on me."

"Okey-dokey!"

This is love...

As Daffy busied herself serving her man, Spank continued - "I figured if I got 'em all alone at a big fancy dinner they were throwing, they'd at least admit to the surface hypocrisy. Because they're totally hypocrites for not using my metal!"

I'll spare you his idiot clown logic.

"But it goes so deep with them! They were all, 'Studies show this,' and 'Empirical evidence says that,' and 'How did you get in here without an invitation?'" He threw up is hands in exaggerated desperation. "I can only conclude this banquet was for no good reason since it clearly wasn't all about me!"

Daffy handed him his drink, saying, "I've never liked parties like that myself. And if I personally don't like something, I don't see why anyone else should."

"It was as if they had this sick need to be social! I hate need!"

"I need you."

"Yeah, but that's completely different because I feel good about that."

Somewhere an asteroid was flung loose from its orbit thanks to that impressively circular reasoning.

"Besides, you properly 'compensate' me," he said with a leer.

"Is that how you think of it?" Daffy asked.

"Yes."

"I'm perfectly okay with that."

They talked more of Spank's intent to move his spankmeum production to Colorado where, again, federal law has no sway for no clearly defined reason. "It's all just so much work," Spank whined. "I can only order around so many people in a day!"

"I know what you mean," Daffy said. "I've had so much paperwork to do for the Gort Line that I feel like my hand's about to fall off! Surely no one can claim a greater burden!"

"What about me!?"

"Well, okay. But nobody else."

"Hmm? Did you say something? I just blurt that out on occasion."

Daffy found this an admirable quality. She also found his infidelity to his wife and his habit of screaming his own name at climax admirable.

"I have an idea!" Spank declared. "Mostly thanks to the booze. It'll get us out of this rut of idle super-wealth."

Daffy gasped! "What is it?"

"Road trip!"

Oh hell no...

"You're getting meta again."

* * *

Some indeterminate time later, the Philanderer and the Phloozy set out on their spanktastic adventure in one of Spank Rearend's many four-wheeled compensation devices. Which he spent the first three hours of the trip going on about -

"It's got fuel-injected, carbide-tungsten, hyper-alloy, speedometer-grooved..." he blathered on for an eternity.

"Neat... Neat... Neat..." Daffy had no idea what he was saying but wouldn't let that stop her from being impressed.

Stretching out before them - the unspoiled countryside loomed with it's vibrant blue sky, deep green forests, and rolling hills upon which deer and butterflies cavorted in paradisaical bliss. And not a single ad or banner to be seen.

It terrified them.

"How do I know where to pull off for greasy trucker food!?"

"How do I know where the outlet shopping can be found!?"

"How do I know if there's a strip club nearby!?"

Daffy was averse to billboard haters - and anyone who disliked advertisements. She couldn't understand people who used TiVo to skip over the blaringly stupid ads for gizmos, makeup, and diapers that interrupted their favorite shows. How could they even know what to buy - or if what they'd already bought was actually lame? Such a limited, wicked existence - not letting one's life choices be steered by marketing departments.

They passed near MacGuffin Way - "Hey, let's see where this road leads," Daffy suggested.

"Why?"

"Because the narrator is tired of this romantic plot tumor and wants to wrap things up already."

Good girl, Daffy. I may yet spare you...

The road in fact lead to a former company town, now a ramshackle hell-hole because letting a for-profit institution dictate urban development is like using a gun for a lollipop.

"I bet there's a factory nearby," Daffy said. "If we find it, we can have all sorts of nasty, industrious sex in the refuse!"

"Hot dog!" Spank ejaculated. For which he apologized and proceeded to clean up with a tissue.

While he was doing that, Daffy leaned out the window to ask direction. Unfortunately the only person nearby was a trailer-trash woman, all swollen with pregnancy. How disgusting! Of course it's fitting that the loser parasites are so fecund - everyone knows the truly moral and virtuous reproduce through asexual budding, Rugged Individualists springing fully-formed out of other Rugged Individualists backsides!

"Hey, peasant! Where can I find the factory?"

The woman extended one finger. Daffy wondered how they would ever get up in the sky -

"Oh. Well, I'm sure if we drive around we'll run into it."

And they did! What a surprise!

Inside the musty old corpse of a building, Daffy and SPanky were distracted from producing another disgusting and dull "love" scene by some schematics that had weathered the mold and exposure so well as to still be legible.

"Spank, do you know what this is?"

"Uhhh..." He had to turn it around a few times, hold it up to the light and set it back down. "...A ducky?"

"It's some sort of engine! Some sort of fantastic fantasy engine that runs on static electricity!"

"Wait, what?"

Daffy pointed to the relevant description - a crude doodle of a man rubbing his feet on carpet and grabbing a handle.

"Good God!" Spank ejaculated again. He has a problem...

"We need to find whoever designed this, because it's not like just anyone can assemble a machine from clearly written instructions."

And that's what they'll do - next time, on the exciting adventures of Spank and Daff!

"Just hit post already. That meta shit ain't funny!"