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!"

Chapter 8

"Aw Christ, it's the creepy fuck," muttered the Worker who apparently doesn't deserve a name. He was sitting in the cafeteria of Braggart Big Damn Rail when Edguy Dithers happened to walk up, looking like he wanted to exposit again.

"...made me a VP. VP, can you believe it? I'm in charge of Operations now, whatever that means. I remember last time I came down here, just after getting promoted, everyone was looking at me. It felt weird..." Dithers had been learning from Daffy the skill of blathering pointlessly about himself to strangers.

"But it's all worth it to be near Daffy," Dithers said, getting all dreamy again. "Or it would be if I ever saw her anymore. She must be really busy. She moved me to her old office though, so I get her chair..." And his eyes took on a far-off look of perversity.

He had more to say of course. So much more with so little point but it's not like anyone cares about Edguy Dithers.

So let's get back to Daffy! She sat in her new office, admiring it's barrenness as reflective of her inner life. She'd set it up for no sensible reason to personally head the new Jon Gort Line - previously known as the Rio Norte.

Tim and Daffy had a minor tiff over that name. Was that in the last chapter? No, it was cut for pacing and sanity purposes. Bad sign this thing is turning meta and we're not even a third of the way through...

Anyway, Daffy was interrupted from feeling all pleased with herself by the post-it note reminding her to get her solipsistic ass to the airport. She had to fly back out to Colorado, where the Gort Line actually was. Still, she took her sweet goddamn time as it allowed her some navel-gazing concerning her own transparent fetishism of trains steaming through tunnels.

In her limited mind, she liked to dress up this fixation of hers in high-minded baloney. Liked to view her love of big, thrusting metal things and her love of that love and how she loved to love that love was all together the height of Man's consciousness - even though she was a woman. So clearly she needed a man to play engineer, if ya catch my drift. Not Franky - for entirely philosophical and platonic reasons, not his obvious disinterest - and surprisingly not Spank Rearend though Daffy wouldn't mind taking a ride on his Gort Line.

No, her ideal man was so ideal he didn't exist! She bravely displayed all the romantic discernment of a middle-aged virgin jacking off to Wonder Woman in his mom's basement.

And then some guy almost knocked on the front door - which she could somehow see from her office. The incident isn't quite as long here because I'm not gratuitously padding the narrative like Alisa Rosenbaum.

*    *    *

"Hey! I'm back!"

Snarkin, so help me...

"And I get a mine! Well, I still think of it as your mine, Spank. We're friends like that."

"No!" Spank said. "Either I own something or I don't!"

Poor Spank Rearend was too depressed to think in anything but the most didactic terms. Well, he really couldn't think any other way even at the best of times but now he was being a goddamn baby about it.

"Stupid government, telling me what I can and can't own..." he grumbled.

"Be fair, Spank," Snarkin said gently. "You couldn't expect to hold onto it with all those safety violations."

"But they weren't violations! Not until that mean law got passed!"

"I don't think you understand how laws work..."

It was no use of course. Spank was determined to sulk over his slap on the wrist, despite the poor condition of the mine and his years of skimping on the most basic safety standards. Really, it wasn't worth half of what Snarkin paid for it in the mandated deal.

"Wait, what!?"

And, though it's certainly common practice, Spank Rearend was far too densely literal-minded to contrive some "silent partner" arrangement with Saul Snarkin. He could only repeat in dull whine, "Either I own something or I don't..."

"You know, I'm having second thoughts about this whole thing. I mean, from what I read in the report and what the narrator is saying, this is looking like a real stinker of a deal."

Not that Spank was listening. He was remembering a preacher talking about how altruism is good and Spank dumbly associated that with what he was experiencing now. Therefore, altruism was actually bad and God is a jerk.

"How does that even work?"

Snarkin, one more fourth wall breach and I'll stick you with the d'Ano mine too.

"Alright! Jesus!"

"I just can't stand the thought of anyone over me," Spank blathered on with ridiculous self-absorption. "Being overpowered, dominated, tied up and whipped - I just can't stomach it! At least on the receiving end..."

"Spank, I don't particularly want to know why you'd use those specific terms," Snarkin said, "but you're blowing this way out of proportion. I own the mine now, sure, but I'm not going to cut you off or anything."

"I wish I could believe that," Spank said with ponderous seriousness. "But I cannot hold to the mere words of friends. Just facts."

"You sound like the villain in a Dickens novel."

And Spank sold a coal mine to some other guy with mostly the same dithering back and forth which has been cut here because it blows more than usual.

Rearend felt very emo about all of this, crying into his expensive scotch and cursing the evils of the world that would strip him of ownership of something he'd never paid much attention to anyway. At least he had the Jon Gort Line with its shiny green and blue girders - yes, that was the color - shining with their shininess in the Colorado sun. So this lead him naturally to call up Edguy Dithers and ask him to breakfast!

Borges couldn't make sense of this plot...

"Good mornin', Ed! I'm in a hurry so ya mind if I talk while eating?" Spank didn't wait for a response. Just started shoveling food into his mouth.

Dithers might have said something if he weren't feeling irrationally guilty for Spank's current woes. Though it was lessened somewhat upon experiencing the Greatness that was sitting across from Spank Rearend. It was saw awe inspiring and triumphant, Dithers didn't realize Rearend had stolen his omelet.

"So how's Braggart Big Damn Rail doing?" Spank asked, spitting egg and cheese about.

"Well, not too good. Issues with our payroll and such..." Dithers politely didn't mention people just wouldn't buy tickets to ride on some untested hoodoo metal.

"And you know your payment for my spankmeum is due next month?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, how about a moratorsis or whatever? I agree to extend the payment date until, say, six months after the Gort Line opens?"

"Golly Mr. Rearend, that would be swell!"

And it would be the same sort of friendly gentleman's agreement proposed to Spank just a few paragraphs ago but that was different because someone else suggested it. When you're Spank Rearend, morality is all about your personal preference. Because that's the objective way to do it.

"Excellent! I'll send the new papers on over once their drawn up," Spank said before snatching up Edguy's coffee. "You've got the makings of a good businessman, Ed, because you do what I say."

"We really owe you, Mr. Rearend."

"No you don't! I'm just being rationally selfish - if I collect now, you'll go under and I'll lose my only buyer!"

"But wouldn't that be the natural outcome in a free market?" Edguy asked, displaying uncharacteristic critical thought.

"Of course not!"

"Well, that's all I needed!"

Rearend had more to say - like how it wasn't charity because he was making money he didn't want - but it's so nonsensical and self-parodying on its own that I have nothing to work with.

Meanwhiles, people were talking smack about the new spankmeum railroad because, seriously, blue and green! It looked like the hull of a hundred year old shipwreck! Add in the fact that even Rearend's own R&D people were coming forward and admitting they had no idea if this alloy was appropriate for railroads and people were understandably put off.

Through all this, Tim Braggart tried to affect some control over the impending ruin of his family business but found Daffy had stonewalled him at every turn. When a rumor cropped up that a spankmeum bridge had collapsed, he got the runaround from his own employees out in Colorado - said they "Can't afford to get on Miss Braggart's bad side!" - before finally giving up and calling the local police. They confirmed three people had died but couldn't divulge their names yet, procedure and all.

It was another week until Tim did learn ho they were - Charles Geertz, Adam Curren, and Henry Taylor. He personally wrote letters to each family, expressing his sorrow for their loss and assurance that all life insurance policies through the company would be honored.

The way Daffy was taking things, he feared he'd be making that promise to more and more people...

Daffy herself was having trouble finding clients, let alone engineers, for her vanity project. A representative from the Local 317 even came by her office to express as politely as possible that no engineer worth his coveralls would go anywhere near the Gort Line.

"Get out! You're fired!" Daffy shouted back at him.

"Ma'am, I don't work for you."

"Well get out all the same! I won't have you telling me what I can and can't do!"

"I'm not doing that at all, ma'am. I'm just informing you our members have no interest in operating the Gort Line."

"Put it in writing!"

"Excuse me?"

"You want to control other people and control me by controlling people! You want me to create jobs but you want to forbid me from making those jobs require any -"

"Look, we're not forbidding you anything. There's no legal way we could do such a thing, even if we wanted to. I'm just here to tell you that if you want to run any trains on this Gort Line, you're running them without the 317."

Daffy had more circular logic to screech at him but the gentleman took his leave, having no patience for her crap.

Of course, Daffy soon found that not being able to draw from the largest engineers union in the country meant she had exactly zero people to run her trains. "Well screw those commie bastards! I'll just ask for volunteers!"

Nobody wanted to volunteer. Daffy could have gotten some by offering substantially more compensation for what everyone and their dog viewed as a needlessly risky venture but she had a pathological aversion to "wasting good money on the lice."

Fortunately, America still had plenty of undocumented workers who would take dangerous jobs for insultingly substandard pay. Sure they had no proper training or experience in such a vocation but Daffy found if she shouted "La migra!" at the right times they could learn awful fast.

And on the eve of the opening of the Jon Gort Line, Daffy gave a press conference to assuage the justified fears of the public - and maybe finally get enough people buying tickets to justify the huge investment. Her opening speech consisted of opining on the awesomeness and shininess of spankmeum and how it was totally better than all that collectivist steel and iron. Daffy assumed this would be sufficient for people because she was very stupid.

"But what about the tensile strength of the alloy?"

"What about the documented deaths during construction?"

"What about rumors you couldn't find real engineers and hired illegal immigrants you found in a back lot?"

"Shut up! You're all fired!" Daffy cried. She ran away before anyone could point out they didn't work for her.

The day came and both Daffy Braggart and Spank Rearend were among the first - and only - to board the very first train on the Jon Gort Line. They spent far too much time making googley eyes at each other, Daffy thinking about how only a person thoroughly absorbed in their own Greatness could be worthy of such Greatness and Spank thinking about pie. As the train steamed out of the station and onto the alien-looking hoodoo alloy, they smiled at each other, seeing only themselves reflected back... and died in screaming, fiery agony because you can't just build everything out of a single type of metal that you think is neat.

Or they would have if there was anything logical about this story. No, the lucky idiots made it from one end of the line to the other without incident, even across the bridge that had already claim the lives of so many too-poor-to-be-important people.

Another batch of reporters was waiting to meet the ditzy duo when the disembarked. There were many questions but one in particular stood out - "So are you going to allow a thorough scientific study of spankmeum?"

"Why would I ever do that?" Spank Rearend asked incredulously. "You saw it yourself - the rail held!"

"But for how long? What about environmental stresses?"

"The man who taught people to make a printing press," said Rearend, "how did he know it?"

"What the hell does that even mean!?"

All through the commotion, Daffy stared longingly at Spank. And Edguy - he appeared somehow! - stared longingly at Daffy. And the narrator stared longingly at a revolver. And Spank would've stared longingly at himself if there were a mirror handy.

His metal worked! Her Gort Line worked! Happy days all around! And there were the investors in the Gort Line - other rich idiots in expensive suits who paid people to do the real work.

From among them came Enis Buyit, "Great job, the two of you! Because it's not like all the foundry workers and railroad engineers had anything to do with it."

"Of course not!" Daffy and Spank replied in sickening harmony.

"You two should crash at my place tonight since the nearest town is two hours away."

And the new line ended there, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

"Wait'll you see my new process for extracting oil from shale!" Buyit babbled to them on the trip to his house, like a kid wanting to show off his Lego robot.

Not that Spank and Daffy were really paying attention. Their minds were elsewhere though curiously both on Spank. Once they were stowed in one of Buyit's guest rooms, Spank turned to Daffy and said all sexily, "Drop your socks and touch your toes. I'm gonna show you where the wild goose goes!"

And they had the sort of rough, clothes-ripping sex that would excite someone with a rape fetish. I am not describing it.

Chapter 7

Daffy Braggart stood atop an ill-defined structure, looking down on the Buyit oil fields. In the distance the sun hit a spot of metal, making it look like a lit torch - which if it were would have horrifying and hilarious consequences. Because, you know, oil!

Far down below her - where they belonged! - were the faceless laborers laying the tracks and switches of newly delivered spankmeum. That's why McNam had quit by the way. He'd taken one look at the shiny new metal and said, "Are you fucking kidding me!?"

So Daffy had been forced to hire another contractor. An older, squishier gentleman she didn't want to ride like a pony who protested a little - "Are you sure this is durable enough for trains?" - but still agreed to do the job when Daffy offered three times the going rate. Tim's groans had been audible from neighboring buildings back at the Braggart office.

But even getting three times his requested pay, this new contractor - this Niels guy - just couldn't meet Daffy's ridiculously overblown expectations. "Why has construction stopped?" she demanded when construction had stopped.

"Sorry, Miss Braggart, but drill heads wear out fast. Especially in this rock."

Why there's such deep-drilling going on for a frickin' railroad is because they had to build a bridge. Why rail layers are pulling double duty building a bridge is because Daffy was too stupid to take all these things into account. But, again, let's just go with it...

"That is unacceptable!" Daffy had said to Niels with all her haughty idiocy. "You're just not trying hard enough!"

"Uh, ma'am, the success of an engineering endeavor is not wholly dependent on elbow grease."

As she stared blankly at him, he clarified, "The drill heads are shot and I can't move forward until new ones arrive."

"It's taking too long," Daffy said dismissively. "Use the spankmeum."

"Use the -!? Miss Braggart, even if we weren't already laying the spankmeum as rail - making it all spoken for, as it were - we are not in any way equipped out here to cast new drill heads!"

"Then we'll order them from Spank himself!" declared Daffy.

"Okay, let me see if I understand what you're asking... You want us to go faster, so we should order brand new, un-cast drill heads from this Rearend guy - from across the country - and wait for that to be delivered rather than use the drill heads already on order which - even factoring in shipping delays - would still arrive sooner?"

"I'm paying for the track so I'll pay for the new drill heads!"

Niels had been in this business thirty years. He didn't much care to strap some rich idiots vanity alloy to his equipment but with how much this Braggart nutjob was paying, he reasoned it would be an affordable risk. The customer is always right after all - even when they're pants-crappingly wrong.

And he really wanted to avoid another lecture from Daffy on the wonders of spankmeum. That line she always finished with - "...And a spankmeum butt-plug is like having white-hot joy itself embedded in your anus!" - had given him nightmares for a week.

So construction ground on - and the original drill heads did arrive before the spankmeum. Niels quietly continued to use those, rather than subject his own business to some loopy science experiment. Still, he fared batter than the other engineers Daffy began bringing in to design this project. Halfway through it's completion.

Apparently time doesn't exist if you're an Objectivist...

The first engineer presented what he felt to be his finest work to Daffy Braggart. She sneered at it. "I expected some new means of construction to properly honor this new metal!"

"But engineering doesn't work like that," the first engineer tried to explain. "You go with what works best, and this does. It's got a nearly perfect history, it's stable but basic enough -"

"Next!"

It had been hard work, dismissing all those professionals. "I want it to last five years longer!"

"Well, if we reinforce with steel -"

"No! Spankmeum!"

"But that won't-"

"You're fired!"

So many who couldn't grasp the Greatness of Spank's new metal. So many concerned with swishy collectivist ideas like "physics."

"Miss, I think we'll need a different alloy for -"

"The hell we do! More spankmeum! More and more spaknmeum!"

Only by sheer force of personality - meaning an extended tantrum - did Daffy get her way. It was a unique skill she'd developed in kindergarten to make others give her their juice boxes.

And it was paying off. Down below her was the furious work of third-rate sheister engineers, employing hordes of underpayed illegals to make the dream of one Daffy Braggart come true!

Which promptly collapsed because structural engineering requires more than self-importance.

...

...

...Hah! Just kidding! We're not getting out of this mess that easy!

As the author wept at his unending torment, Ennis Buyit happened to appear to engage Daffy in a pointless conversation for the purpose of bitching about Niels. After Buyit left, Niels showed up to bitch about Buyit. Then Daffy went back to her trailer so she could BAWWWWW! all over her Livejournal like the spoiled pinhead she is. And when she was finished, who should be outside to meet her than the one and only Spank Rearend!

Rearend had driven all that unspecified distance to see Daffy of course. Driven in his long, sleek convertible that was definitely not compensating for anything. As always, he was heroically absorbed in his own Greatness and didn't notice Daffy's approach.

"Spank?" she asked... Not like that.

With Heroic Willpower! the other rich idiot tore himself away from himself to address Daffy. "Well, I wondered if I would run into you here," he said with poorly feigned nonchalance.

Daffy felt all a flutter like the silly bimbo she is. "No one told me you were here. I'll have to fire someone later..."

"Oh, I was just coming out to see how my new metal's doing," Spank explained. "Not to see you of course. I haven't been, like, out here to Colorado six times in secret because I'm stalking you or anything. I just care about metal."

Daffy found it so sexy when a man didn't care about her, just hard rigid alloy jutting into the air. "I was just discussing ordering more spankmeum. At some point in the past."

"It'll cost you more," Spank said. "I'm not doing you any special favors just because you're the only one in the world buying my shiny new metal."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect you to," Daffy said. His disdain exhilarated her! "But will it get here in time?"

"I'll work my minions to death to ensure it does," reassured Spank.

"You know, I have my own ideas on how to build your bridge. Want to see my etchings?"

"Sure!"

So he showed her his etchings. Yes, they're both that dumb.

They mooned over each other some more, all the passion of a moldy sock. "But is there any other reason you came all this way?" Daffy asked hoping for Spank to sexily rebuff her again.

He didn't disappoint. "I'm taking a look at a copper mine out here too. Because those are still a profitable venture in 21st century America."

"Why don't you get copper from Franky's - I mean, the d'Ano mine?"

Spank looked uncomfortable for the first time. "I don't know... That guy makes me feel funny..."

"I know what you mean," Daffy said, turning away to hide her spreading grin.

"But when I buy it, I might need a branch line," he said.

"Oh Spank! I'd be happy to lay one for you!" Daffy just got more and more turned on the less he displayed any interest for her beyond the utilitarian. Almost as much as impersonal business transactions. "I love being out here, you know. So much building and mining and drilling goes on..."

"I know what you mean," agreed Spank. "It's a welcome change from the rest of the country."

And that made Daffy sad. "Spank, what's wrong with the world? Why can't things be Great anymore?"

"I learned in school it's because the sun is slowly going out, so everything grows cold and stops." Spank Rearend smoked ALOT of pot all through school so his recollections were fuzzy at best. "But I always figured we could make a new sun."

"Really? Me too!"

Smiling, Spank pointed out to a distant column of smoke from the Buyit oil fields. "And there it is being made!"

Though how petroleum would supplant the gigaton-scale fusion reactor of the sun wasn't something either bothered to think abou -

Wait. Column of smoke? Oil fields!?

Rather than address the potential oil fire, Daffy asked Spank about his car. "Is that a Hamhock Motors, uh, thing?"

"Why yes. Yes it is," Spank replied, always happy to show off his things. "I'm not actually driving back to wherever I live. It's being shipped and I'm taking my own plane."

Daffy was enthralled with his conspicuous display of disposable income.

"And I'm actually not going home just yet," Spank continued. "I'm going to Minnesota."

Daffy scrunched up her nose the way whiny airheads do when they're confused. "Minnesota? But it's full of lice!"

"Holy crap, it is!?"

"Well, not lice lice but, like, poor people and stuff."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's bearable."

And so Spank drove off, having not really advanced the plot and Daffy drove herself to the other airport or something while thinking about how wicked hot Spank was but she couldn't get a flight back home because Tim had been there and gotten the last ticket. Despite that not really being how airports work.

"Curse him!" she said. "He's not even in this part of the narrative!"

"Yes I am!" Tim corrected her.

Because they were now both back in New York. In car. And in a hurry to get somewhere.

"Damn, who needs transitions when you can warp time and space?"

Now don't you start!

Their car was blocked at seemingly every intersection due to the copious construction products, repairing the old streets.

"This wouldn't happen if they'd just let someone with vision build roads," Daffy said petulantly.

"Daffs, I could explain - again - how no single individual has the time or money to maintain something so necessary to everyone as the friggin' roads but seeing as you ignore me anyway how about some exposition? Like what you're going to tell them about your precious magic metal?"

"It's not mine!" Daffy said defensively. "It's Spank's metal!"

"Which makes me wonder why they don't ask him about the damn thing..."

A dreamy look in her eyes, Daffy curtly explained, "Because he couldn't be bothered with the concerns of others."

"He sounds like such a lovely sociopath."

They were on their way to see the National Metals Committee - one of those smaller federal bodies dedicated to regulation. And one of the few that actually did their jobs.

And they were mighty cheesed off at Braggart Big Damn Rail laying track with a new and completely untested alloy.

"Do you want to bury this company? Forgive me for asking but I really wonder sometimes."

"And why are you so scared, Tim," Daffy asked because she thought it sounded clever.

"Oh gee, let me think - because the feds could fine us somewhere in the tens of millions, because we could get sued by every single customer for reckless endangerment, because if this while thing goes 'tits up' as Boyle has so eloquently put it we'll be out not just what we wasted on this vanity project of Rearend's but any possible damage to our existing equipment!"

Daffy found her brother so tiring. He didn't understand rules only applied to other people... Of course, from her perspective he was a other. So did that mean the rules did apply to him.

"Ouch, philosophy hurts my head," Daffy said. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee."

"But we're in a moving car!"

Fortunately, Daffy Braggart is immune to logic.

She found her way into a diner. "Bring me coffee, manservant!"

"A spat-in cup a' joe it is," said the waitress.

Now settled with her coffee and self-importance - just like back in college! - she looked around at the other patrons. Old, greasy, and oh so poor.

"So this guy, he's goin' on about 'What is the porpoise of life?'"

"The porpoise? Ain't that a fish?"

"Somethin' like that. I didn't get it either."

"Wasn't that same guy goin' on about Gort was it?"

That got her attention. And the attentions of someone else.

"I know that Gort feller!" declared a harmless lunatic. "Saw him fly to the Moon, I did! He brought back the infinity cheese!"

Daffy found this to be very significant...

But enough of that. We've got an awfully long and just plain awful chapter to finish.

Spank Rearend was sitting in his office wondering if he should invest in some transitions when some big nosed freak came in.

"Mr. Rearend?" asked the freak. "I'm Dr. Rowling from DOI."

Only with Great and Heroic Effort did Spank recall this was the guy coming by from the government. "I suppose you're here to tell me how to run my business?"

Dr. Rowling sighed. Apparently Rearend was one of those types. "No, not in so many words... Mr. Rearend, may I sit?"

"No."

"...Okay. My concern isn't how you run your business but that you follow existing regulations. There are standards for massive public works as this Rio Norte line and these bridges -"

"There's nothing public about it!" snapped Rearend testily.

"It's public enough. It crosses public land and our citizens will naturally use it once construction is complete. My concern, that is my department's concern is that your new, uh, alloy..."

"Spankmeum!" Spank declared proudly.

"Um, yes... That it's suitable for these purposes."

"I don't need other people telling what I can and can't do with my own metal!"

"You do if public safety is related. And it's very related on a railroad."

"No!"

"But for god's sake man! There's not even any evidence it can support a train!"

"No! No! No!" Spank plugged his ears. "My metal is shiny and it'll work because it's shiny! You're fired!"

"But I don't work for you..."

*    *    *

Daffy was sulking because her contractors had reneged on the switch and signal orders. Just because she called them lice and threw peanuts at them was no excuse to be walking out on her, Daffy Braggart!

Of course that wasn't the only excuse. "I refuse to work with that crap!" said Lester Moen.

"What, the switches?"

"No, that 'spankmeum' stuff. It's a damned nightmare. I mean, it turns green when it gets cold! What the hell sorta metal turns green!?"

"An awesome metal," said Daffy with snotty superiority.

"Yeah, well you can keep it 'cause I'm done."

Daffy didn't understand. Why would anyone turn down an opportunity to work with Spank's glorious spankmeum? It couldn't be anything wrong with the metal itself... no, it had to be something wrong with Moen. He was just too scared of Great new things - like spankmeum! - and was running away.

"Well fine," she snapped. "You just can't handle spankmeum!"

But Moen had already left.

Returning to her office - because that didn't happen in her office - she encountered Edguy Dithers again looking like he had horrible news.

"Horrible news, Daffy." Hey! I was right! "The National Metallurgical Institute just put out a warning against using spankmeum! They say it's not safe for construction or manufacturing or even being near in a light rain."

"Well they can't get away with that! I'll go yell some sense into them right now! Teleport!"

And with a burst of brimstone, Daffy Braggart appeared at the Institutes new Hampshire office to pester some more people who have real jobs. Striding through the front door, she let loose - "Do you realize what it says in your statement? Do you know the unfounded claims you're making against Spank's spankmeum?"

"I'm just the receptionist, ma'am," replied the lady at the front desk. "If you'd like to meet with someone, I could call to see if they're taking visitors."

Daffy wouldn't wait of course. Spotting someone she recognized, she shot  off - "Dr. Stieg!"

Dr. Stieg recognized her. Unfortunately. "Oh, Ms... Braggart, is it?"

"Why did you publish this slander against spankmeum?"

"Ms. Braggart, slander is spoken. In print it's libel. And what we published was neither because it's true."

"But you said spankmeum -"

Weary, having just gotten off the phone with the man himself, "Mr. Rearend's alloy is unstable and would make for poor structures of any sort. That's the science of it. I'm sorry Ms. Braggart but these things don't take personal feelings into account. Good day."

And he was gone before this could devolve into another repetitive back and forth about a made up metal.

Daffy was confused - as usual - but soon angered. All these people with their fancy degrees, they were just jealous of Spank! He'd done something great and they just couldn't wait to tear him down! How typical of these lesser classes! "I'll show them! I'll build every new line of Braggart Big Damn Rail with spankmeum! I'll tear up the old lines just to lay more spankmeum! And I'm renaming the Rio Norte the Jon Gort Line!"

Distantly, Tim Braggart was getting one hell of an ulcer.

And so am I. Let's finish it now before I have to type spankmeum any more tonight.

"Don't I have another scene in this chapter?"

Tim, do you really want to argue with your sister again about spankmeum? And get the same result as everyone else?

"...I'll see you next week."

Chapter 6

Spank Rearend sulked before the mirror, wishing he could find some way to turn off his Great Mind. He put so much into wishing it that it did in fact happen quite easily - but he was too preoccupied on thinking about not thinking to notice.

Tonight, he faced the long-dreaded anniversary party with his wife Lily. Accursed woman! How could she expect him to be concerned with her after so many long days of watching other people work? He already bought her things and... well, bought her things. Now she expected he ignore his own Greatness for a whole evening just because they'd sworn to have and hold each other until death and stuff.

She could be so selfish sometimes...

But Rearend was used to such disregards of his Greatness. At least he told himself as much - that he understood how lesser minds looked up to him in envy, how the whole world wanted him to be ashamed for making a fortune with his Great Ideas - especially his own "family," whatever that was. His mother would yell at him for pausing in the middle of a conversation to think about his stock options or Lily would interrupt his thoughts on shiny metals to ask if he "like" what she did with the furniture over here or Bill would pester him again with what he "promised" to do nearly a year ago. Couldn't they all leave him alone in his Greatness while also politely appreciating it and praising him?

It's not that he had anything but his Great Ideas... and heaps of money... and invitations to all the best parties... and ridiculous influence in Washington thanks to politicians who fell over each other to coddle his business... but none of that got to the important thing - Spank Rearend's inherent Greatness, driven by the great Ideas he paid other people to carry out.

And now they - the big scary They of jealously not-Great types -  wanted to limit it! He'd briefly glanced at some newspaper article going over new industrial regulations being mulled over by Congress. Loads of lazy, non-Great nonsense like "limiting environmental damage" and "preventing worker dismemberment" - as if a Great Man such as Rearend could still be Great under such restrictions. It's like they didn't even want his shiny new Spankmeum! Like they couldn't appreciate its shinyness! Like they -

"Mister Rearend?"

Spank jumped up, almost striking his head on the fancy, low-hanging light fixtures above the mirror - pure spankmeum of course! - "Miguel! Why are you interrupting me!?"

Miguel, one of the many lowly non-Greats to whom Spank granted the privilege of upkeep in his home, replied, "Your wife asked me to check on you. She's worried 'cause you still haven't come down for the party."

With Great solemnity, Rearend brushed past the lesser creature, saying, "Oh Miguel, I don't expect a simple Mexican to understand what is being asked of me."

Miguel waited until his employer was safely out of earshot before muttering, "I'm Honduran you stupid culero..."

At the foot of the stairs stood Lily, smiling in that sweetly submissive way of hers. Spank was disappointed to see she wasn't wearing the chain but then again, probably better to keep such things private. For now.

She wordlessly lead him back to the party where a throng had gathered around some pencil-neck - "...To measure space coordinates and instants of time, rigid measuring rods and clocks are required. On the other hand, to measure momenta and energies, devices are necessary with movable parts to absorb the impact of the test object and to indicate the size of its momentum..."

Dammit! Lily had gone and invited another insufferable know-it-all!

"But then how do we know what's true?" someone asked the know-it-all.

"Well, that all depends on what you mean by 'true,'" he explained. "How concrete an explanation are you looking for? Because there's only so much that can be said with certainty. And that's still just observation - if you mean 'true' in the more nebulous sense of 'Truth' then that's more a subject for philosophy than quantum mechanics."

It was that awful Professor Pritchard. Spank never could understand why Lily liked having him around - he always looked so shabby, always munched away on the horse derv's like they were there to be eaten, always had some fancy flim-flam full of math he was trying to push on people.

"It sounds like you're saying nothing can be known," someone said to Pritchard. "Like it's all relative."

Pritchard politely finished chewing a canape before answering, "Sort of. But I'd only say so in regards to particles - and then only because our understanding of such things is still in it's infancy. That was the whole point of Schrodinger's thought experiment with the cat being dead and not-dead simultaneously. It's supposed to sound counterintuitve because our models are still incomplete. Kind of like missing links in evolution, which is still a big 'T' Theory because so much evidence exists in support. Funny thing - evolution is the harder to observe but is better understood than gravity!" And to illustrate, Pritchard tossed a grape into the air and caught it in his mouth. "Hey, that finally worked!"

Everyone had a good chuckle at the good professor's antics - except Spank Rearend. He couldn't get into the jovial social mood, couldn't see what was so cute about Pritchard's relativism, couldn't relate to anyone as a person really but only as an intrusion on or reflector of his own Greatness. He was a solipsistic moron like that.

Rearend turned away from the sickening display - all those people happy and enjoying themselves with something not directly involving him - and went out to the veranda. He liked that little spot because it was outside the house, Lily's house. She picked it out and did all the decorating. Spank would've been happy with just a shiny little fort to play in. Or an office, since he had a pathological fixation on the drudgery of administrative work.

Jesus this is bad... Okay, enough scene setting. He bumps into Daffy Braggart.

"Whoa! Hi there!"

"Where did I come from?"

"I guess my wife invited you."

"Why would she do that? And where exactly are our respective homes in relation to one another?"

"That's a very good question but I'm getting word from the author that we're displaying too much self-awareness and lucidity so MY METAL IS AWESOME!"

"Ooh, me love you long time!"

Anyway, back to the party.

Daffy was there with her brother Tim - whom Lily did invite. Tim would've liked to avoid the whole fiasco but felt it necessary to at least get a look at the man he'd been forced into business with. So far, Mrs. Rearend was pleasant and engaging.

"Where is your husband?" asked Tim. "I've been dying to meet him."

Lily's smile became a little strained. "He was here just a moment ago -"

And he was back, feeling refreshed after a good ego-stroking.

No, not like that! That comes later...

"Mister Rearend, on behalf of Braggart Big Damn Rail allow me to wish you and your wife a happy anniversary."

"Is that what this is all about?" asked Spank, genuinely perplexed because he could never remember anything not having to do with his shiny spankmeum for more than five minutes like an autistic man-child.

"Yes dear," Lily explained with the patience of a saint. "We've been over this..."

"Spank!" shouted a drunken voice, causing all in attendance to wince - especially Lily.

Bursting into the previous awkward conversation was Ralph Banks, a third-string journo who'd once written a book on the American metal industry. Spank always remembered that - with spite - because Banks had so little to say about Rearend Metals. Why, it only got a measly chapter!

"Great party, you two!" Ralph said. "Here's to the both of ya, and many happy -"

"Excuse me," Spank cut in icily. "But what about me?"

"Pardon?"

"You're toasting the two of us, but Lily's never done anything. Why aren't you just toasting me?"

Lily stared at the floor, flush with embarrassment. Tim Braggart stared on in shock and disgust - and also wondering how he would ever rescue his company from this narcissistic blowhard. That "spankmeum" crap was probably made of butter!

"Y'know what? Just get out!" Spank had devolved into full tantrum mode. "Get out of my house!"

Because now he considered it his house. Because it was convenient.

Ralph staggered away. Some other guests had taken note of Spank's outburst but were now politely - and pointedly - ignoring the couple. All save for one guest who was all too amused at the proceedings...

Francisco Domingo Carlo Banana Fana bo Binko d'Ano The Third! And no, I never get tired of that name.

Franky meandered into the clutch of people still surrounding Professor Pritchard. "So what's his superposition?" he asked. He thought it was clever.

"Oh, that all depends on the variables," Pritchard said. Raising his glass, "Namely booze!" and laughed good naturedly. Because genuinely smart people are gregarious and well-adjusted. Awkward loners just have overly-complicated masturbation rituals.

And yes, that was directed at you.

Franky laughed along with everyone, in a sneeringly superior way. "I couldn't help overhearing you earlier - you really believe nothing can be determined?"

"Well, like I said, as relating to quantu -"

"'Cause I happen to be an alum of your current employer and I was taught something awfully different. I was taught that things can be determined with certainty."

"And how is that?"

"Lookin'." And d'Ano smiled with palpable smugness.

"Exactly right," Pritchard replied, unruffled. "But how are you observing?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I can certainly look at you and say, 'This is Franky d'Ano,' but I can't say anything about your wave function. It's not like I can see subatomic particles with just my eyeballs."

"Well then how do you know they're even there?" asked d'Ano snootily.

"Good question," Pritchard said. "And it sure is fun finding out!"

Franky scoffed, excusing himself haughtily and sashaying up to the Rearends and Braggarts. "Honestly, I don't know why you invite such gauche folks," he said to no one in particular.

It took considerable effort for Tim Braggart to keep himself in control. After the report on d'Ano's mine came out, Tim had been preparing legal action against the reckless fop to salvage a little of what Braggart Big Damn Rail had sunk into that fraud. He didn't care to give d'Ano any ammunition for when it all went to trial.

"Aw, what's the matter, darling?" d'Ano asked Tim. "Not happy to see me?"

"Not particularly, no." And to Lily, "If you'll excuse me..." He stalked off to the clutch of people surrounding Pritchard.

Franky pouted, "He just can't take a joke."

"He does have reason though," Lily said timidly. "I mean, your actions... that is..."

"Sweety, if I bothered to think about how my actions affect people I'd never have any fun," Franky said flippantly.

Meanwhiles, Daffy had been idling on the wings of the action wondering just why she was in this scene. So I passed her the cue card - To see Spank, you idiot!

"Of course! I'm here to Spank!"

No, for Spank. This time.

Daffy couldn't help admiring Rearend's heroic disregard for others. Truly it was a Great man who could fuss around about only himself like some myopic toddler. Daffy could see so much of herself in Spank, which was of course the only metric by which she cared to measure other people. But that's all the plot she gets - back to Franky and Spanky!

Because Spank was having a similar reaction to d'Ano. He felt his heart - and other parts of his anatomy - swell with affection for the swishy Mexican as he nattered on -

"...just can't be bothered with it. I mean, like, I have enough to do just taking care of myself so why should anyone else matter? What makes them so much more special than me?"

It was a philosophy Rearend could get behind, since he assumed himself to be very special.

There was more, something about the "wip hand" that made Spank smile more and Lily look very nervous but that's the jist of it - yay me, boo you. The guiding ethic of a four-year-old, dressed up in fancy rationalizations thanks to an expensive education paid for by family wealth.

As Franky took his fabulousness elsewhere and Spank waddled off to do some more self-indulgent navel-gazing, Daffy came stumbling up to him, babbling, "That Pritchard sure is an ass. He talks like a looter."

She wasn't sure why she said this but fortunately for her it flattered Spank to hear someone else repeat his own thoughts - even if "looter" had never occurred to him in the narrative but fuck it, let's go with it. "Yes, he does. But Lily invited him, not me."

"Oh, I would never assume you would make such a mistake!"

"Good. Because I totally wouldn't make a mistake."

And they stared vacantly into each other's eyes while the guests were talking about pirates. Yes, pirates!

"I heard another food shipment was attacked."

"It was that guy, what's his name..."

"Rancor. Rancor Dumassjerk."

"It's an appropriate name. Can you imagine? Sinking ships carrying food?"

"Does he think people want to suffer? That it's good for them?"

"Maybe he's really that Jon Gort fellow?"

That name got Daffy to look away from Spank's dreamy eyes. "What was that!?"

The guest, an old woman, turned to Daffy. "Gort? Oh, some rich fool. Claimed he was going off to find Atlantis on his yacht and just disappeared."

"Now that's just silly," said Pritchard. "Mythology isn't my discipline and even I know the Greeks never thought of Atlantis as an actual place. It was a thought experiment, just like Schrodinger's Cat."

"Really?"

"Well, not just like it. Schrodinger was illustrating existing unknowns while I believe the point of Atlantis was as a hypothetical perfect polity tha -"

"Aw that tears it!" bellowed Rearend. Storming up to Pritchard, he let loose a volley. "I've been listening to you flip-flop all night and I've got some things to say! For starters, I know where things are 'cause I can see them and existence totally exists! A is A, jerkface!"

"And a tautology is a tautology," Pritchard replied calmly.

Daffy was all a tingle at seeing Spank yell at someone - and at the story of this Jon Gort. Just pretend he's been mentioned before in the narrative.

She thought only a Great man would have the Greatness to go seeking something as Great as Atlantis. Especially if it involved the total disregard for such collectivist nonsense as "history" and "scientific reality." She remembered a cartoon from childhood that said Atlantis was the home of hero-spirits and as the thought filled her with the comforting warmth of nostalgia she reasoned it had to be absolutely true. It might be worth it to find this Gort...

But she could settle for Spank in the meantime. He'd walked back across the room from telling Pritchard what was. "Say, you wanna get together and bang sometime?"

"Okey dokey!"

Chapter 5

An unspecified time after the previous chapter, Edguy Dithers came into Daffy Braggart's office holding a newspaper and looking sad.

Daffy didn't notice at first because Ed looked sad so much now and it's not like she ever bothered with the feelings of others. Because only hers were real.

"Uh, Daffy?" he said after a while. "I don't know if you've read this. It's about the d'Ano mine."

"Franky?" Daffy perked up. "Give it here!" and she snatched the paper out of his hands.

Expecting to read that the looters had nationalized the mine, Daffy was shocked - shocked! - to see instead a report title "Copper Magnate a Total Fraud" which detailed for several pages how one Francisco Domingo Carlo Banana Fana bo Binko d'Ano The Third had falsified records and shipments for years, swindling both clients and investors out of millions of dollars.

"I guess Tim was right," Ed said meekly.

"The hell he was!" snarled Daffy. Shaking the newspaper in her hand, she declared, "This is clearly a smear campaign! The looters found Franky had moved everything of value out of the mine and now they're trying to discredit him!"

Ed said placatingly, "I suppose that makes sense..."

No it doesn't.

"Call his hotel in New York!" Daffy ordered. "I want to speak with him as soon as I'm done with my 10:15!"

Her 10:15 being another hour or so of ogling buildings, fitting them into the sort of convoluted and overwrought fantasy view of the world that only a goddamn idiot could appreciate.

She also took the time to muse on what she knew of Franky, how he unlike so many others was deserving of a fortune because he'd wanted it. And he'd look past petty meaningless things - like DUIs - and instead focus on the bigger picture of Great Things. And other longwinded stuff that flattered Daffy's solipsism.

...Though there is that insistence of hers that the two hadn't spoken in years. Have to do something with that - and also since this chapter won't actually advance the plot, just delve into the sordid sex fantasies of an ugly chick.

The Braggart's had known the d'Anos long before Daffy and Franky ever met. We're retconning here, but they met as pretentious teenagers who would talk high-mindedly to each other, usually with Tim off to the side wasting time with another economics textbook. They crafted adorable pet names for each other - "Hi, Frito!" "Wuttup, Slag?" - and would skip rocks across the foreheads of poor people.

In Franky, Daffy had found what she would call a kindred spirit if she weren't so literal minded about everything. The brother she should have had, maybe. Or the boyfriend she desperately craved. He had all the best qualities of a man - angular cheeks and nose, finely manicured fingers, fabulous fashion sense - but most importantly, he joined her in the most important of life's vocations...

Pissing off Tim.

"I'm gonna buy my way into Heaven, bitch!" Franky would always say. Tim sure hated that - he'd launch off into a ponderous explanation of things like "centuries of philosophical investigation" and "That's assuming there's anything such as Heaven, and that it would take your currency."

"I'll pay in gold," Franky replied dismissively. "All those old saint people love the tacky shit."

Daffy adored these exchanges because she was much too stupid to understand the nuances.

Still more? Okay - Daffy and Franky kept up their awkward, non-romantic friendship well into college. Daffy had no patience for all the professors with their insistence on "study" and "critical thinking" so she frequently found aggravatingly platonic relief in Franky's presence. He was a man who understood Greatness was an intrinsic quality, not something developed through arduous work along the course of a lifetime. No, one could just have lots of money. And money equals Great.

And then one day, they just stopped talking. It happens but Daffy always assigned unnecessary layers of significance to anything that happened in her petty, vacuous life - so she let out a girlish squeal of delight when Ed called from the other room, "He's on line 1!"

Daffy snatched up the receiver and delivered a stream of joyful nonsense before noticing she wasn't connected. Punching the button for the line, she could finally say, "Frito, is that you!?"

"Sure is, Slag!" came the flamboyant voice of Franky. "Wanna come out for dinner? I am in some fabulous Manhattan digs!"

"Oh, of course Franky!" Daffy said.

So she travelled to a hotel in New York. What, you're still expecting real transitions?

Daffy met her long lost - friend? acquaintance? awkward romantic interest? - in a fabulous suite in one of New York's most expensive hotels. Truly the mark of a Great Man with Great Things that he could potentially stick in Daffy.

But now we're getting ahead of ourselves...

"Wuttup, Slag?" he greeted as Daffy entered the suite.

"Oh Frito!" she exclaimed because that's an exclamation point. "I heard about your mine. Clearly it's a smear campaign by those dirty looters and -"

"Oh I'm not sweating over that," Franky said, sauntering across to the well stocked bar. "What's your poison? Don't be shy, this and more is all paid for."

"Oh, I'll have whatever you're having."

"Cosmo it is!"

No, she didn't get it.

As he mixed the drink, Franky continued, "I've got some killer plans lined up, Slag. Just killer! You should really think about ditching that ho-hum railroad and joining me."

Daffy was torn - leave Braggart Big Damn Rail? It was her life! Or it was the only thing in her atomized life she could point to as self-validating. That and Franky.

She sunk into a luxurious couch - because luxury indicates intrinsic worth - "I could never do that. Even having to fight Tim to get anything Great done it's all I've ever wanted..." she let the "Besides you!" hang unspoken, hoping Franky would get the hint.

"Sweety, you work too hard," Franky said obliviously as he handed her the fruity drink. "Take a holiday! Take several!"

"But if I don't have the railroad, what's my purpose?" Daffy asked, a leading question.

And it worked. "You don't need all that, Daffs. You're awesome just the way you are!"

That's why Daffy felt such fondness for Franky - his constant stream of hollow validations. "You're a good friend, Frito," she said, the "And more?" hopefully implied as always.

"Well, just so you know you can drop that anytime and come find me. I don't expect it'll be hard."

And it wasn't. Because after the abrupt end of that scene, d'Ano was all over the gossip pages for some time afterwards - since time in this ridiculous tale is handled so clumsily. Just go with it. Daffy read article after article about the flamboyant hedonism now indulged by d'Ano on his roivate yacht in international waters, stories of cocaine and sodomy so absurd one would think they were concieved in the feverish mind of a narcissistic dweeb with no friends.

"It's a trick," Daffy said to no one who cared. "Franky's playing a trick. He isn't really a playboy squandering his family fortune, he just wants everyone to think he is!"

Keep telling yourself that, Daffs...

Seriously, nothing fucking happened in this chapter! You can't have character development when your characters are just mouthpieces for two-dimensional moralizing!