The Fighter

Today I woke up on my feet again. At first I thought I was in a dream--or a nightmare. But if this were a nightmare, I would eventually wake up, and the universe is too cruel for such a thing to be true.

I'm staring across a bizarre wet dock at my best friend, Ken. On either side of us, sailors cheer us on. I cannot hear their words, but their pumping fists scream for blood. Ken is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, his fists held loosely in the basic Shotokan stance our master had taught us. Like always, I impotently try to yell to him. "We don't want to do this!" I try to yell. "We need to figure out why we're in this hell!" No words come out. Why can't I move? Why can't I move my body?

I hear the familiar disembodied voice all around us: "Round one." Who's saying that? Am I saying that? Is it in my head? Ken leaps toward me, and I cover my face in a standard guard. I don't understand...was the block reflexive? I immediately trip Ken before rising into the air for a hurricane kick. Over and over again, my feet pound into his face, and the force knocks Ken through a barrel and onto the ground. Now I know this is no longer reflex. My movements, my actions, are not my own. I am possessed. I am damned. The crowd's silent cheering continues.

Ken rises almost immediately. He attacks a second time, I crouch--or someone makes me crouch--but Ken's fist connects. He initiates a dragon punch, and my whole body is aflame. I wonder if Ken is locked in, too. I wonder how long until we beat each other to death.

The fight is a blur. I hip-throw. I am hip-thrown. At one point, my phantom puppetmaster sends ki channeling between my fists and a ball of fire shoots out of my arms. The flames burn. They always burn. The next few seconds are spent trading blows that shake the Earth. After what seems like a lifetime of pain, my body lies broken on the ground. I want to cry, but I still can't move. I wait for sleep to take me, but The Voice returns.

"Round two," It says. I am on my feet again. I am sliding away from Ken. Whoever is controlling me, whatever sick mind could think of such tortures, this is the closest thing to a respite they give me. It lasts only a moment, and Ken is on me again. I am punched in the face. Roundhoused in the stomach. I am uppercutted in the groin. I get so dizzy that I see stars. I just want to let Ken kill, to let the pain end, but the sadist pulling my strings won't let it. For a second time, I lie on the ground, broken. For a moment, everything goes black, and I silently pray that this is the end. My prayer is heard by no one. Or God hears--and doesn't care. I come to and am confronted by my own shredded face, blistered and bleeding. I can see a countdown. What is that? Is this a fucking game? Is this entertainment for the gods? Ken taunts me; I wish I could believe that's how Ken would act. Then I could believe he wasn't trapped. Like I am.

The timer reaches one, and for a moment I hope that a zero will give me what I've been waiting for: oblivion. But in the distance, I hear the clinking of coins. My eye twinkles, and the nightmare begins again.

Why, Hello.

Why, hello, Miss Headsworth, why don't you step inside my humble abode. I am so happy that you received my missive, and happier still that you decided to join me here in Chateau du Fart.

...

It means "House of the Fart."
No, it doesn't mean something else in French.

...

Haha. Do not let my home's outward appearance deceive you--the look of a stack of stained cardboard boxes is but a glamour--an illusion if you will. I am, you see, something of a wizard.

...

Yes, of course, the inside has also been magically altered to appear as a stack of boxes.

...

Enough questions about the boxes!

...

My apologies, I was quite short with you. Please, let's just not talk about the boxes. Here, have a seat. Not there, I don't know what that is. Yes, there.

...

I would like you to know that your feet smell like a dead cat... No, please, madame, do not leave! In my country of Ancient Egypt, cats are revered for their ability to see into the afterlife. To say that your feet smell like a dead cat is to say that they majestically straddle the waking and sleeping worlds. Speaking of sleeping cats, please pay my guardcat, Neumenos, no mind, he has been fed recently.

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Yes, I am aware that he is dead.
But where are my manners? Here, please have a glass of wine.

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The vintage? Well, forgive my pride but it is from my own vineyard.

...

Look, I said can we drop all the questions about the boxes?
As to the wine, I am something of an amateur vintner. The sweetwine you are drinking is made from a bag of ketchup and raisins that I have been curing in the tank of one of the public library's toilets. But shhhh... if the janitor were to hear of my actions, there shan't be any more toilet liquor for you and I when we next meet.

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You would not wish to meet with me again? That is preposterous! I am a famous surgeon, and you, a lowly schoolteacher, shan't afford me courtship?

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Well, no, I didn't go to medical school per se, but there is a very highly regarded physician who lives in the adjacent apartment building, and I eat a large portion of his garbage, so I feel like we have had virtually identical levels of training.

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No, I don't see a difference, as a matter of fact.

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Madame, if you do not hold your incessant questions about the boxes, I will be forced to rap you upon the head and feed you to Neumenos.
Now please. Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up? Do you have children? Would you like to see a dead body?

...

To be honest, madame, I find your false disbelief quite ridiculous. I made it very clear in my letter that I was a handsome, wealthy wizard-doctor who lived in a cardboard mansion with a dead cat and made toilet wine, and who may know the whereabouts of a dead body. If this is somehow confusing, please enlighten me.

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I promised no such thing, nor have I ever heard of "one thousand dollars," or whatever it is you said. Now please just relax and drink your poison.

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Wine. That is what I said. Why, what did you hear?

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Preposterous.

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The restroom? But of course. We must remain fresh, yes? It is in the East wing, past the grey Maytag refrigerator box.

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Yes, the pickle jar. Please remove the pickle before you use the toilet jar, or you will have soiled our dinner.

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What is that tearing sound? Madame, please do not leave! Neumenos, attack!

...

*sigh*
Well, Neumenos, yet another one has run away, do not beat yourself up terribly for allowing her to escape. Now there will be more pickle to go around between the two of us.

The Oscars

I was speaking with my favorite horse, T.J. Hoofer, today, and we were discussing the woeful mediocrity rewarded by the current Academy Awards system. For those who are unfamiliar with the Academy Awards, it is a primetime event where people who are paid to pretend to be people they are not give golden, man-shaped dildoes to other professional pretenders and the people that clothe them, paint their faces, point cameras at them, and digitally insert video game characters on green walls they stand in front of. Interesting things rarely happen at these shows, except for that one time in the '90s when the Baldwin brothers formed a giant mechanical robot named Coronatron to defeat Charlie Chaplin's ghost in mortal combat, thus ensuring our temporal dimension's existence for another thousand years.
Let's run down my picks for this year (remember, you can use my advice for your Oscar pools, but I get all your money if you win. Also, if you lose, I get to punch you in the stomach):

Best Actor-
The front-runner is Mickey Rourke for The Wrestler, which is about a wrestler. I don't care, so long as Brad Pitt loses. His movie was about a guy that grows younger every year. Like Merlin. This message is for Brad Pitt: I know Merlin. You, sir, are no Merlin, and you know nothing of his work. There is also a lot of buzz over Sean Penn's unconventional interpretation of rights activist Martin Luther King, Jr. as a gay, white San Franciscan in MLK.

Best Supporting Actor-
Heath Ledger certainly deserves this award for his work as a hilarious clown in the comedy laugh riot The Dark Knight, but the potential exists that his victory will force his zombie to exit its tomb to claim the statue, and zombies are a risk we cannot take. Therefore, I demand Robert Downey, Jr. win for Tropic Thunder, contingent on his attending the ceremony in full blackface.

Best Actress-
Angelina Jolie deserves an award for Changeling, if not for anything else, then to raise public awareness about changelings: tiny gremlins that murder our children and then take their place so that we are forced to feed and raise them (thus giving them access to public schools and emergency medical care).

Best Supporting Actress-
Viola Davis, for Doubt, because a viola is one of the most supportive of all instruments.

Best Animated Feature Film-
The good money is on Wall-E. I originally liked this movie about a lovable trash compactor robot living in a world where humanity had been completely wiped out, until I realized at the end that Wall-E wasn't the one who had killed everyone. It was litter or some such nonsense.

Best Art Direction-
When the artist is all like "Take off your clothes" and the girl does it and he paints her naked.

Best Cinematography-
Trivia: no one actually knows what this word means. Still, the Academy awards the category anyway, often by drawing lots amongst its members. The winner receives a golden statue, and is of course immediately stoned to death.

Best Costume Design-
Australia. You couldn't even tell that the guy who looked like Hugh Jackman was actually played by Steve Buscemi.

Best Directing-
I refuse to choose any of the movies nominated, on account of none of them showing actual penetration.

Best Documentary-
Most people think it will be Man on Wire, but I have to go with my perennial choice: Blacula.

A Day in the Life of...

10:00 AM - Wake up. Stretch and yawn. Get out of coffin.
10:02 AM - Remove "sleeping hat." Put on "walking around hat."
10:05 AM - Weigh self on scale that gives output in pounds. Convert to kilograms in your head. Check work by weighing self on scale that gives output in kilograms. If correct, smile and nod to self with hands on hips. If incorrect, just shake head in disappointment.
10:08 AM - Brush teeth. If already brushed teeth the night before, disregard.
10:10 AM - Prepare self a mimosa. If no orange juice available, just drink champagne. If no champagne available, huff glue.
10:20 AM - Order more glue.
10:30 AM - Call in bomb scare to work. No work today!
11:00 AM - Go to corner store for breakfast, chat with cashier named Amy, who doesn't know you're dating each other.
11:35 AM - Expose self to passing cars.
11:36 AM - Run from police.
11:50 AM - Bring sack full of cats to Chinatown, to trade for new nunchucks.
NOON - Go to neighbor's house, show Timothy that you do in fact have nunchucks.
12:30 PM - Cat nap.
12:50-1:37 PM - Have staring contest with mirror. Note time in "staring log." If time goes up, smile and nod to self with hands on hips. If time goes down, just shake head in disappointment.
2:00 PM - Find a murder to investigate. If no murder cases available, murder Timothy. (Obviously, this will be an easy case to solve, but at least the killing itself will eat up some time).
3:30 PM - Eat up some food.
3:45 PM - Cat nap (in case first one didn't take).
4:05 PM - Check on the rat cages.
4:25 PM - Answer Vogue's letters to the editor, even though they never asked me to.
5:00 PM - Amy gets off work about this time. Bring her a birthday rat (maybe a neckerchief on the rat?).
5:10 PM - Run from police.
5:30 PM - Yell, for no reason.
5:31 PM - Make sure Timegate is in the off position. If Timegate is turned on, search house for stray dinosaurs. If dinosaur is found, lure it back into Timegate with a big, juicy rat.
6:00 PM - Dinner time. Cook a big, juicy rat.
7:30 PM - Work on flamethrower mechanism for giant mechanical crab.
8:00 PM - Time for another cat nap (possible iron deficiency?).
8:20 PM - Call Amy's house phone.
8:21 PM - Hang up phone quickly.
8:30-10:00 PM - Practice swordsmanship with katana, just in case dream about being killed by your landlord was actually a prophecy.
10:10 PM - Bring landlord rent money in gold bullion. Look for clues in his apartment...
10:30 PM - Howl at the moon, for no good reason.
11:30 PM - Use Timegate to go back to 10 o'clock this morning and wake yourself up.
12:30 AM - Brush teeth. If already brushed teeth within last 24 hours, rinse mouth out with diet cola.
12:35 AM - Remove "walking around hat." Put on "almost ready for bed hat."
12:36 AM - Remove "almost ready for bed hat." Put on " sleeping hat."
12:40 AM - Climb into coffin (look out for rats).
1:00 AM - Fall asleep to sweet, sultry sound of voices in head.

TV Show Ideas

1. "In a Pool of Blood" - This would be a buddy cop drama, where one cop is black and the other cop (his buddy) is a vampire, who is possibly also black. Originally there was supposed to be a running gag about the black human cop's name being "Blacula," and when they showed up to interrogate someone for a case, he'd say "Detectives Blacula and Daye." And the guy they were interrogating would assume the vampire cop's name was "Blacula" because he was like a black Dracula, but his name was Daye--this misunderstanding would often be hilarious. This gag was scrapped when I found out there was a movie called Blacula. Also, the fact that the vampire cop's name was "Daye" would cause tension by reminding the viewer of the fact that sunlight would cause the vampire to burst into flame.

2. "Frat BoyZ" - This is like a reality show about frat boys, but with the "s" changed to a "Z," which would make them more edgy and street. Every week, the boyz (let's say their names are David, Serg, "Da Koop," and Mr. Frog) would get involved in hijinks, or sometimes shenanigans. One week, David might have to drive Serg to pick up his girlfriend at the airport, but they'd get lost, and they would call Da Koop, but his phone is off, so they just get his voicemail. That's actually a terrible example, but if you imagine how mad Serg's girlfriend would be, it's kind of funny. Also, there would be a website where you could ask the boyz some questions.

3. "The Cat Whisperer" - People would call up this cat expert to come over to their house and help them out with a "problem cat." Then the cameras would zoom in real close and you'd see him whisper some stuff in the cat's ear, and the cat would start cleaning up the house, or serving the owner tea. The only difficult part would be finding a person with this kind of magic power over cats. If one can't be found, we could probably just rig the cat up with marionette strings and make it look like he was doing chores. Either way, the basic premise is very sound.

4. "Cockfighting Tonight!" - This would be a high-class gentleman's betting show, similar to "HBO Boxing," only instead of highly trained human fighters, we would rile up a couple of roosters with razor blades tied to their feet. We could also have celebrity commentators. I was thinking Colonel Sanders would be good, but then I realized he was dead, so maybe just his ghost, if we can find out which agency represents him. (Note to self: possible crossover episode featuring cat whisperer? Investigate further...)

5. "Monday Night Cockfighting" - Obviously, television's cockfighting needs won't be served by just one night of cockfighting a week.

6. "Extreme Cockfighting League" - This would be a third cockfighting show, but without a lot of the gentlemanly rules of the first two cockfighting shows. It would feature ladder matches and "melee" fights that had upwards of twenty or so roosters fighting at once. If possible, handguns will be attached to some roosters, as well as some sort of rigging so they can pull the trigger with their wings.

7. "That's Not My Son!" - I think this one is pretty self-explanatory.

8. "Are You Smarter Than Your Mirror Image?" - A quiz-game style show where you try to buzz in and answer questions before your reflection in a mirror does. (Note: for obvious reasons, vampires will not be allowed on the show)

9. "Sexy Horse" - This show tells the story of a woman who moves to the big city to find love. Also, she has the head of a horse, so dating is difficult for her. Most of the scenes would involve her discussing the men in her life with Randi, the gay latino that lives next door to her. She works in a bakery, so she can be around all the apples, which for her are like kryptonite, only instead of killing her, they make her want to eat apples. Anyway, her main love interest is this blind guy that doesn't know she has a horse's head, and there are a bunch of contrived plots where he almost finds out about her deformity. This show is about loving yourself for who you are.

10. "The Gamble-Hound" - A western with a twist. Taking place in an old Colorado shanty town called Little Creek, it features a cowboy named Spud who gets deputized right before the sheriff dies, meaning he's the only law. He spends his time protecting the good citizens and handing out life lessons. The twist is that the town is actually in Nevada, and Spud's name is really Darren. Oh, and Nevada is actually on a spaceship. A spaceship filled with vampires.

Election Day

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Moses Rameses the Third, and I am running for President/Emperor/Ruler/King/Technopope of your quaint, yet enchanting country/planet/plane of existence, which you call [insert regional nominative here]. Below are some vital things you may want to know about me, specific to your electorate, compiled by my representatives for your browsing pleasure.

Name: Moses Rameses III
Party: New-Satanist/Retro-Federalists Coalition Party
Age: Epochal
Governmental Experience: Emperor of Mirror-Berlin
Magicks: Black/Red
Marital Status: Inter-species polygamist (first wife, Mrs. Boots, visible in above picture)
Murders: 5,934
Convictions: 0
Favorite Musical Genre: Jazz

Platforms:

Healthcare: If you are unhappy with your current healthcare, I will gladly regale you with tales of my own bomb-ass healthcare, at a rate of $10,000/hour. Also, to cut down on unnecessary procedures, more expensive surgery will be done with less anesthesia. This way, we can punish whiners and ring-wranglers.

Defense: Replace Armed Forces with squadron upon squadron of hyper-intelligent baboons, many of which will be armed with laser rifles. All intelligence agencies will be replaced with my gentleman spy friend Winston Saxon. Don't let his quick wit and strong haunches fool you, ladies: he a deadeye with a pistol, and he's killed more people than polio (he even killed polio).

I will expand the Iraq War to cover all of the Middle East and Israel, distracting everyone while we steal all the gold from Switzerland's vaults, and most Swiss people's homes. If necessary, I will further expand the war to parts of Europe and Africa, as well as many parts of America itself. Australia is my backup; the importance of controlling the world's kangaroo population, I believe, need not be explained.

Abortion: Mandatory. I will not waver on this, because I hate children--especially human children. For people I don't like, abortion will be retroactive.

Gay Marriage: Mandatory. For people I don't like, gay marriage will be retroactive.

Economy: America, like Icarus, has flown too close to the sun, and our wings are melting, because they're made of wax. I think what I'm getting at is that we need to manufacture huge metallic wings for the Earth. I am willing to spend literally trillions of dollars and billions of human lives on this endeavor, even if so-called "scientists" claim that it is nonsense, and that I probably thought it up while high on peyote.

Drugs: Peyote for everyone.

Climate Change: I will enforce a hefty tariff on all sunlight entering the atmosphere. The positive side effects will be two-fold: first, we will see a drastic reduction in sunlight hours, meaning that my running mate, Dracula, will feel more comfortable outside; secondly, the money gained from the tariff will help fund my hyper-intelligent baboon experiments.

Energy: Burning immigrants.

Immigration: See Energy.

Returning Prestige to the Presidency: Washington asked to be called "Mr. President," because he hated the idea of America becoming a monarchy. I demand to be called "His Most High Eternal Slayer of Dragons," for reasons that are my own. Don't call me anything else, or I'll pretend not to hear you and then have my gentleman spy friend Winston Saxon sneak into your house and wreck up the place.

Jobs: I promise to achieve 100% employment by the second year of my reign of terror. How? I will use all of my Swiss gold and pay people to dig holes during the day. Then, at night, a second crew could come by and fill the holes. The next day, a murder crew would come in and murder both of the first crews. Then, a fourth crew would come in to eat the first and second crew. A fifth crew would then be paid to argue with the fourth crew and the murder crew. A sixth crew would then come in and draw a picture of the argument. This process would continue until enough crews had been created, or until I got bored.

Taxes: Payable in blood (for my running mate, Dracula).

Thank you, and remember to vote Moses in '08!

Badges

A guide to my merit badges and what I got them for:
1. breaking a swimmer's arm
2. mutant squirrel breeding
3. twirling

4. absinthe production/binge drinking
5. Indian murdering
6. dog sewing

7. starting forest fires
8. Biblical cocaine consumption
9. planting a tree that grows human hearts

10. pumpkin smashing
11. book burning
12. building perpetual motion machine

13. fried chicken eating
14. eyeball piercing
15. human caging

16. bird-watching
17. bell-cracking
18. telepathic control of magnets

19. personal rocketry
20. blackmailing a politician
21. Jewish heritage

22. moldy pancakes
23. biting off a snake's head
24. sniping

25. beating a polygraph
26. living at the bottom of the ocean
27. high school-level addition