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!