At this stage in my life, I was ready for literally everything. Everything, that is, except for the many, many things which, at this stage in my life, I was honestly not ready for, like baldness. Baldness was something I had feared like the plague -- although I did fear the plague more than I feared baldness. What made me fear baldness the most was the gradual loss of hair which usually accompanied it. Looking in the mirror, I saw myself looking at myself in the mirror. This did not disturb me. What disturbed me was the receding hairline that I had been noticing myself notice in the mirror lately. Thank goodness it did not belong to me. The mirror belonged to Frrank, my roommate, who also possessed the receding hairline that I had been noticing myself notice in the mirror recently.
At this point in my life, I turned to Frrank and sang. The song I sang was a somewhat sensitive song about the sophomoric solitude of solidarity:
"Nueph bop, bop, bop. Nueph, bop, bop, bop, bah!" ...etc.
Well, I don't remember exactly how it went, or what it was about, but that was the melody. Frrank just kind of looked at me and said, "Hey, what you lookin' at? It's dees shorts, hunh? Yeah, well, kiss my..."
Hmm. I can't really remember what it was that Frrank commanded me to kiss, but it probably has no relevance to the rest of this story.
This is when Baldness came upon me. There were three knocks at the door of my dormitory. Inside, I hoped with all my might that they were all being delivered by the same person, because I was in no mood to be bothered by more than one person. I only wanted to be bothered by one person. That desire was not to be fulfilled. When I opened the door, after having unlocked it, I noticed that the door had just been unlocked and opened. There, no, there at my feet (and nobody else's), was a black cube about the size of twelve metric tons of evaporated spring water on top of a shiny bowling ball.
Upon picking up the lightweight opaque cube, I turned it over and read the only word that was engraved on the bottom of it (or any of it, for that matter). It read, or rather I read: "Baldness".
Suddenly all my hairs fell out.
That was eight years ago. I will now write the rest of this story in the present, because for me, that is where it is happening. I am in a small elevator in a large building in a large city in a small country where they don't speak English, and they don't take American Express. The cube that I mentioned before is in my pocket. There is a burly man starring at me strangely presumably because I am writing at feverish pace. He is wearin no shirt. He is hairy. He is sweaty, and he smells of Cool Ranch Style Doritos. O.K., the elevator has stopped on the 16th floor. I am exiting, and walking down a long corridor. My writing may be messy because I have to walk, write, and watch where I'm going at the same time. I can see the door at the end of the hall which I must enter.
I'm opening the door, and...
All right, I couldn't write for a few minutes. Here's what happened: When the door was opened, I was cordially greeted by Dr. B____ Smorkin. He handed me a cigar and told me to sit down. This I did. This I should not have done, because the doctor then walked over to a kettle of boiling water, lifted it high above his head, opened his mouth wider than most females can, and proceeded to guzzle the full content of the kettle. This seemed to make him very pleased for about 3 seconds by my watch. He then fell over to his right (my left -- and your left, too), apparently unconscious, and onto a big red button that had the words "DON'T PRESS [until Easter]" written on it in quaint gold lettering. I went plummeting through a freshly formed hole in the floor which had suddenly appeared just beneath the chair I was sitting in. Actually, I am still in the chair.
I suppose that I am now on the 15th floor, but then I was never that good with subtraction. I am in what seems like a swimming pool, judging by the water in which I am just barely staying afloat. I'd hate for this to get all wet, so I'm hopping out of the chair, and out of the pool.
I am removing Baldness from my pocket. "What," I am asking it, "shall we do now, do you suppose?"
It is replying, "Let's go back to see the doctor. He is the only man who could help us find Frrank, because he contains the Important Little Sphere."
So now I am walking out of the pool area, down a hall, left down another hall, and wait... I'm lost. No, wait! There's the elevator right there. I am pressing the "up" button. Here's the elevator. This time I am sharing it with two ladies of the night. Upon further inspection, they appear to be two ladies of the late afternoon. The elevator stops, and I make a quick exit through the elevator doors (which just opened).
I find my way back to the doctor's office. This time, however, it is locked. In addition, there is a strange security system attached to the lock. There are three large buttons on it, each lit up. Each has something written on it. One says "Miller Time". The second says "Cosby Time". The third says "Hammer Time". Knowing how dangerous pressing the wrong button could be, I am sure that the wrong thing to do would be to press the wrong button. Fortunately I am aware of the doctor's preoccupation with William Cosby, and know further that he would never use Cosby as the correct choice for a security system which would open the door to his office.
Taking a chance, I am pressing both other buttons at the same time. The door is opening.
The doctor is still on the floor with a once-full kettle in his right hand. Remembering what Baldness had told me, I am reaching inside of the doctor via his stomach area, and retrieving the Important Little Sphere. This done, I am twisting it open and revealing a crumpled up piece of paper. I am uncrumpling it and taking note of a phone number which is written on it: 1-800-533-7924.
I am quickly grabbing the nearest telephone and hurriedly dialing the numbers. It is ringing.
"Hello, Hair Club For Men, may I help you?"
That's it! Of course! That's where Frrank is!
"May I help you?" he repeats.
"Yes," I respond, "where exactly are you located?"
"Nowhere."
"Well, where approximately are you located?"
"Where you least expect," he says, and hangs up.
Where I least expect? That would, I suppose, be right here, because I definitely do not expect things to be where I can plainly see that they are not.
Wow! He was right. It is here. At least now it is. Freaky.
"Where can I find Sy Sperling?" I ask the receptionist.
"What?!" says the receptionist.
"I said, 'where can I find Sy Sperling?'" I say.
"Oh," says the receptionist. "I thought you said, 'where can die curling?' I suppose the answer to that would be 'in Canada', right?"
"Probably," I say, and we both have a hearty laugh at this misunderstanding. Then the mood turns dead serious.
"Sy's in the back room," says the receptionist.
I waddle over to the back room door, kick it open, and enter gracefully.
There in the center of the cavernous back room is Frrank. He is tied up and gagged. A few yards in front of me stands Sy himself.
"Sy," I say, "you stink like a monk."
"Oh, yeah?" he comes back, "you're the president of the Meatloaf Club for Men, and you're not just the president, you're also a client."
"Oh, looks who's talking, apple-head."
"Why, you double-necked nougat-ass."
"Go suck a marble, Mr. Cheez-Whiz."
He is now jumping up and down on my back. I am able to get out from under him, and we are exchanging punches to the gut. A few kicks and slaps pass back and forth, and now he has me in a nasty head-lock. As he is slamming my head into the nearby wall, I manage to bite his belly with what strength I have left. We are both falling to the ground, and Sy has got me pinned.
"Guards!" he yells, and six burly midgets come over and tie me up, upside down from the ceiling.
...It's been ten minutes now, and nothing has hap... wait, here comes Sy.
"All right, banana-legs, I'll release you and Frrank if you can tell me one thing: what did Frrank command you to kiss, eight years ago today?"
Aaaaaaaaaaarrrgh! The one thing I forgot [well, besides that song]!!! Oh, geez! I don't remember! What can I do?! Oh, wait! One of my hands is free. I'm taking Baldness out of my pocket and tossing it to Sy. Petrified, he is running away, but it is too late. Sinead O'Connor music is blasting as Sy and all his guards are losing their hair and the majority of their charisma. Frrank is running over to me, untying me, and... OUCH! He just slapped me!
"What about Nugent?" he asks.
"Nugent!" I exclaim.
"What about Nugent?! I haven't seen the likes of him for 5 years, and I haven't seen him for 7!"
"Where is he now?" asks Frrank.
"Who gives a leaping snort where he is today?"
"Don't ya freakin' get it? Nugent holds da secret of da Medium-Size Rectangular Block!"
"No!"
"Yes! Now how do we find 'im?"
"He's a big star now. We could never find him. Case closed."
"Case opened!" This was said, surprisingly enough, by the now completely bald Sy Sperling. He is now continuing, "I may be able to help."
"You?" I say.
"Look," he says, "this... this Hair Club... it was all just a farce. I mean, I think hair- replacement looks as goofy as the next guy. I was waiting for you two to arrive... Now we must find Mr. Nugent."
Skeptically, Frrank is challenging, "But how da hell are yous gonna help?"
"Let me tell you," he begins. "Here in the back room of the Hair Club I have secretly been using our patented 'polyfuze method' to construct an amazing new technology which I call 'Doogie'."
"Pshaw! He's just wasting our time," I say carelessly.
"No. Wait. Hear him out," says Frrank carefully.
"Doogie, while appearing to be an average soft-bristled toothbrush, is a actually a complex machine by which one, two, or however many people are touching it, can travel from any point in time any another -- if you ask it politely."
"Sy, you been smokin' way too much lard," offers Frrank.
"Oh, sure, you don't believe me now, but just watch! Go ahead, put your fingers on Doogie."
"Skee-rew! I'm not touching your ugly toothbrush, Sy," say I.
"Aw, come on! It ain't gonna bite. If you ask it nicely, we can go back to when you knew Nugent. It's that simple," states Sy.
I am giving in, shrugging, and touching his yucky toothbrush, just to make Sy cool out. Frrank is following suit.
Sy now says to the toothbrush, "O.K., Doogie, can we please be taken to the time when these two guys knew Ted Nugent, please?"
"YOU CAN," replies Doogie. "BUT YOU MAY NOT."
I feel tingly all over, except for my stomach. I can see absolutely nothing. Well, I shouldn't say "nothing" because I could be seeing something that I don't realize I'm seeing, like tomatoes. Speaking of tomatoes, I am coming back to full consciousness. I am looking around. I see that Frrank and Sy are still here, but where this here is eludes me. Doogie is in Sy's left hand.
"WE," says Doogie, "ARE IN THE YEAR 2020 A.D., AND ARE OUTSIDE OF 'DINK'S PLACE', A LOCAL BAR (IF YOU LIVE NEAR HERE)".
Hmm. 2020 A.D. This is the future. Since this has yet to happen, I suppose I should be writing in the future tense.
"Why have you taken us here?" Sy will ask Doogie.
"BECAUSE," Doogie will reply, "I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO FIND OUT WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF PEOPLE TRAVELED INTO THE FUTURE AND MET THEMSELVES. AND IF MY ESTIMATIONS, CALCULATIONS, AND SMALL CRUSTACEANS ARE CORRECT -- AND THEY ALWAYS ARE -- YOU SHOULD ALL BE IN DINK'S PLACE RIGHT NOW."
"Wow," I will utter.
"Well," Sy will tell us, "I could use a drink anyhow. Let's bop inside and check it out."
With that, we will all bop inside. It will be a large hall filled with a wide assortment of people, from Bob Barker look-alikes to, well, us. Doogie will direct us all over to a table in the far corner where we each of us is gathered around drinking non-alcoholic vodkas, and seemingly waiting for ourselves to arrive.
"Hey, friends," the other Sy will say.
"We've been waiting for you."
"How did you guys know we were coming?" I will ask the other me.
"Think about it," I will tell myself, "I am the future you, so I have already been through what you are now experiencing. In fact, if you wait around another five or so minutes, another one of us will come in here, too."
"What about other Sy's and Frrank's? Will they show up, too?" I'll ask.
"No," the other me will answer. "You see, they'll be dead. It's just not very convenient to have other versions of yourself running around messing with time."
Suddenly the other Sy and the other Frrank will haul out some type of futuristic weapon and instantly vaporize the Sy and Frrank that I had been familiar with. The other me will be reaching for his similar weapon, but I, not really wanting to be instantly vaporized at this moment in my life (although, man, I've been there), will grab Doogie and flee.
Once out of Dink's, I will yell to Doogie, "Help! Take me back to the present! Hurry up!"
"THAT WASN'T VERY POLITE AT ALL," Doogie will say.
Once again I will get that tingly feeling over the vast majority of my body. I will not see anything for a while, and then will come back to full consciousness, like tomatoes.
I will look around, but not see Doogie. Wait a second, I am, (or should I say was) in the past. I could tell by the red school building that was not very far off from where I was standing. It looked like my memories of my old elementary school from childhood. "Doogie must have taken me back to my childhood to observe me meeting my younger self," I thought. The school's clock showed 2:58 PM, so I had roughly two minutes before class would be let out. I wondered what grade I was in -- too was hard to tell just from my surroundings. I wondered if meeting my younger self would somehow alter my future self. Maybe it would cause that future self I met not to exist, or maybe it would make me not exist. As I was wondering, the bell rung as loud as that old school bell used to ring when I was a kid... but, I guess that kind of makes sense. Children... little children -- smaller than I remembered -- came prancing out the front door.
There was Sally, the girl I used to like. Well, I guess I do like her now, but she turns out to be an unattractive librarian. This must have shook her up: I walked over to her, grabbed her by the shoulders and said, "Sally. You don't know who I am, but this is very important: promise me that you will never, ever become a librarian. Never."
"O.K.," she replied in her childlike innocence. "Books are boring anyway."
Ooh, and there was that kid... what's his name... Mahoney. The kid who always used to beat me up, and call me "Binky". I hated that. I walked over, tripped him, and said, "Hey, wise up, Binky." He ran off crying.
Finally I saw me. My hair looked horrible, so I fixed it in my pocket mirror, then continued on over to the young me. Ugh. My hair looked horrible then, too. I introduced myself to me, and shook my hand.
"Gee, you've got the same name as me," said me the younger.
"No, no, look. I am you, but older. I'll prove it. Um... our favorite color is white... or was it green? Wait. How old are you?"
"Nine."
"O.K., definitely green. Also, you like blue Jell-O, warm Kool-Aid, and Sally Betronski."
"Who told you that?"
"I'm you, kid. I know these things."
"Well, if you're me, how did you end up back here?"
"It's a long and sticky story..."
"Well, at least tell me how my life turns out."
"Well, overall..." I didn't want to depress myself, so I said, "great. Fabulous. Man, trust me, you're really gonna love it."
I didn't look very convinced.
Suddenly another me, looking a bit older than me, appeared, and immediately began throwing things at me and me. I couldn't tell exactly what they were, but they seemed to consistently explode when they hit something. We dove for cover.
"Look around for a toothbrush!" I yelled to the boyish me.
"That's your advice?" he asked.
"No, I mean... "
"It's in your left hand," he pointed out.
"Hunh? Oh, yeah. Now grab onto it!"
It was too late, just as he reached out, he was struck and knocked over.
I exploded in front of my own eyes.
"Doogie, get me out of here! ...Please!"
"NOPE," said Doogie. "THAT DOESN'T CUT IT. BACK TO DINK'S."
Seconds later I was back outside of Dink's Place. I mean, seconds later, I will be back outside of Dink's Place again.
"There is no way I'm going back in there. I'll kill me!" I will exclaim.
"LOOK RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF YOU. SEE THAT SUIT? PUT IT ON. IT WILL PROTECT YOU FROM THE OTHER YOU."
I will see the full-body suit lying on the ground in front of me, will pick it up, and put it on. Feeling much safer, I will walk into Dink's.
Now you may be thinking: "Why will he trust Doogie? He'll probably go in there and get vaporized regardless off the suit!" But, I will figure, if I get killed, then the me who is in Dink's Place right now, and who has gone through my experiences will also have been vaporized, and I'll have nothing to worry about. Secure in this logic, I will enter the hall and walk back down to the corner table at which I, Frrank, and Sy are still gathered.
"So... you're back. Of course you are. I did the same thing when I was your age," the older me will say.
"Yes," I will say confidently. "Back I am. Are you going to try to get rid of me this time? Because if you do, you'll just be getting rid of yourself."
"But," the other me will point out, "is it not the case that Frrank and Sy have vaporized their former selves and are still here with me?"
I will look very nervous upon realizing this to be true.
He will continue, "And is it not also the case that you just saw a younger version of yourself burst into flames right before your very eyes, and yet here both you and I are, unscathed?"
"What's your point?" I will challenge.
At this point, all of us will laugh at my imbecilitude. I will use the opportunity to grab Frrank's 4-d8 vaporizing gun. Sy and the other me will notice this and suddenly there will be three vaporizors pointing across our table.
"I want answers," I will say.
"I don't want you dead," I will tell me. "Not anymore."
"We just want Doogie," Sy will interject. "Hand him over. And we'll all go find Nugent... together," the future-me will say.
After a moment of further tension, I will place Doogie on the table, and the weapons will be lowered.
"But why is the desire to get rid of me gone?" I will ask.
"Well, when you get older," I'll begin. "You come to a point in your life when you realize it's just not worth all the effort to go hunting yourself down. All that bloodshed grows tiresome."
"Hasn't it only been five minutes since you tried to kill me?"
"Five minutes? I've been at Dink's place for the past thirteen years."
"Wow," I will say, "my life does suck."
"C'mon, everybody, put your fingers on the toothbrush," Sy'll say.
"Wait," I will say. "What about the other me's who are still going around trying to kill the others?"
"Well," I'll reply, "we've got four 4-d8 vaporizors that should keep us pretty well protected."
"Um, O.K.," I'll say as we all touch Doogie and Sy asks, "Doogie, would you be so kind as to transport the bunch of us to a time and place in the past during which my friends here were associates of one Ted Nugent, if you please?"
"WHY, CERTAINLY."
We all feel tingly, and then are as conscious as tomatoes.
"DECEMBER 30, 1971. OUTSIDE OF NUGENT'S NEW YEAR'S EVE PARTY."
"Thank goodness," I thought to myself, "I wasn't there."
We were outside of a fraternity house at what could have been any college in the U. S. A. We walked onto the porch casually, kicked in the door and entered gracefully. We split up in search of Ted.
I took the kitchen. While there, a woman with a nice figure asked me to figure out if the figure of a fig figured as an important fixture in a fig's figure. I replied that I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. She muttered, "go figure."
It was Frrank's voice that I heard next. He was screaming his head off upstairs. I ran toward the stairs at full speed, jumping over and dodging many, many scantily clad semi-conscious youngsters along the way, hoping that Frrank's head was still on.
At the top of the stairs a burlesque and grotesque-looking man blocked the entrance to the room that clearly contained my screaming friend.
"You may not enter the room of the mighty Nugent now," he said. "We are preparing the virgin sacrifice."
"Frrank!" I yelped.
The other me suddenly appeared, hauled out his 4-d8 and vaporized the door. The blocker of the entrance fled like a scared... uh... well, a scared anything, I suppose.
We were joined by Sy as we stepped inside, and saw a voluminous room, hazy with smoke. So billowy was this smoke that one could not see the wall on the other side. Although one could not, there were three of us, and so together we were able to see clear across the room to where Frrank was hanging in leather bondage over a black pit of boiling liquid which tossed and turned, moaned and groaned, hooted and hollered, hugged and kissed, wheeled and dealed, teetered and tottered, ticked and tocked, and Sonny and Cher music could be (and indeed was) heard playing loudly in the room.
"Blaaaaaaaahhhhhrrrrgh!!! The Fish People! The Fish People!"
It was Nugent's voice, and slowly, but surely, he came into view, sitting high upon his throne. He was surrounded by his friends, some of the most scraggliest, lewdest, rough-neck people you'll ever see hanging around with Ted Nugent. Ted, himself, was, I'm quite sure, completely bombed out of his mind (actually, I can't ever recall seeing him in any other state).
"Run away! It's the Fish People!" he continued.
His friends attempted to follow his command as best they could, with at least one falling into the black pit. Nugent remained in his special chair.
"Nuge," I said. "We have come for the secret of the Medium-Size Rectangular Block. Can you help?"
"You are not the Fish People?" he asked confusedly.
"Sorry, Ted," said the other me. "Now where's the block?"
Nugent showed no signs of comprehension.
"Ted," I said, "it's me. Don't you remember?"
He looked deep into my eyes. His nose became a glowing, bright yellow-green. A bolt of electricity shot from it into Sy, lifting him 16 centimeters off the ground. Sy then spoke in a high-pitched voice that sounded like he was talking with a blot of electricity going through him:
"You must find the man with the silver buttocks, purple eyes, and a dog... named Ralphy."
"You mean the dog is named Ralphy or the man?" I asked.
"The dog. He will tell you what you and everybody else in the universe wants to know."
"You mean the dog will, or the man?"
"The man."
"Well, where is this man to be found?"
Just then, Nugent screamed: "In the Big White Pyramid with 3 Doors and Air Conditioning!!!"
Sy, still talking in that peculiar voice said, "Don't listen to him, he's bombed. He can be found in 662 B. C. in Antarctica."
"You mean Nugent can?" I asked, "or the man with the silver buttocks, purple eyes, and a dog named Ralphy?"
"Nugent. The man is found only in the place where there is no time at all."
I had to wonder for a second why it was that Ted Nugent could be located in Antarctica in 662 B. C. Then I remembered.
As I was doing this wondering, Ted disappeared, and Sy came back to normal.
"I learned that trick in college," said Sy. "I've been rubbing my feet on carpets for 12 years to build up that much static electricity."
"You mean there's no guy with silver buttocks? And no dog named Ralphy?" I asked.
Sy replied, "Haven't a clue."
"Well, then," the older me summed up, "this leaves us with no Nugent, no secret, and nothing to do. So... anybody have any ideas?"
In walked Mr. Joseph Chez.
"Chez, buddy," I said. "Long time no see."
"What? Who are you? Where's Huge Nuge?"
"Um," I said, "Mr. Nugent will not be joining us any longer. Don't you remember me?"
"The voice..." hesaid, "it sounds awfully similar to..."
"To what, Chez?" the other me asked.
"Hey, you two have the same voice as... oh... oh, no... not you... you?"
"Me."
"And me," I said.
"You? The author? Smith? But, I just left your $@%&'n story a few hours ago!"
"No, you see, Chez, you left one story, and walked right into another. Oh, and don't bother trying to leave. There are two of me and only one of you, so I have more power."
"Cripes! Well, I hope this story isn't as loopy as the last one. So, what's the plot this time?"
"The plot..." I echoed. "Uh..."
Not quite sure myself, I looked to the other me.
"Well," he began, clearly ad-libbing, "so far we have been finding and looking for different geometrical shapes, each with a different significance."
"Yeah, and what's the point? What's it all leading up to?" Chez asked.
"We're not really su..."
"We're trying to find out what everybody wants to know," Sy cut in.
"And what is that?" asked Chez.
"That's exactly what we're trying to find out," I explained.
"Well, you're the author, it's your story, so why don't you just tell us what it is that everybody wants to know?"
"How should I know?" I asked.
"Well," said Chez, "see, you're the author, so when you find out what everybody wants to know, it's got to be something you write. If it's something you write, you have to know what it is first. So just say what it is now, so we can all get the hell outta here. Follow?"
"Hmm," I said, considering his argument. "I guess what everybody wants to know is what it is that everybody wants to know."
"Which ultimately is?" asked Chez.
"A paradox?" offered Sy.
"Great. So maybe we should find another purpose to this story?"
We all thought about this for a few minutes. I, being the author, felt particularly inclined to answer this question. I realized that if the story were to be a noble quest to find out the answers to really deep questions in life, that I would just have to eventually answer the questions myself since I'm the author, and I didn't see the use of that. It could be a drama, I thought, but I'm no good at writing those. A tragedy shouldn't be too hard, but I don't like dwelling on pain and suffering, really. Humorous short stories seem to be the only route for me, but this one is kind of ruined now that Chez is here (although I don't really know where it was going before that). I suppose I should just end it now.
No. Wait. For once I will write a story with an ending that resolves things. Or at least I'll do my best...
"Hey, hand me that 4-d8... thanks," I said to Sy. Then I vaporized Chez.
"That solves that problem," said the other me.
"Look," said Sy, "it's Nugent."
"Right, let's grab him," I said.
It took three of us, and Nugent put up a good struggle, but we eventually subdued him.
"O.K., Nugent, sober up. Come on, buddy," encouraged Sy.
"Wango... tango..." he muttered.
We sat around for hours discussing our varying amounts of chest hair, waiting for Nugent to sober up.
Finally he came to.
"Where am I? Who am I? Who are you dudes?" asked a dazed and thoroughly confused Ted Nugent. "I don't remember anything that's happened to me since age nine."
"More importantly, Ted... what is the secret of the Medium-Size Rectangular Block?" I asked.
"Hunh? Oh, right. It's that Doogie likes to be referred to as 'Love Melon'. In fact, he likes it so much, he'll transport you to the dual Woombardens of the universe: Speedy and J.J. Graff."
"Speedy and J.J. Graff?! I went to junior high school with them!" I said.
"Done pretty well for themselves, apparently," said other-me.
"Let's go!" said Sy.
"Are you coming, Ted." I asked.
"No way, dude. I need a drink," was the last thing we heard Nugent as he stumbled off in search of the next party.
"What about Frrank?" asked Sy.
"He's just a bother anyway. Let's go," said the elder me.
I had no real objections, so we all touched Doogie and I spoke: "Love Melon, would you please..."
Before I could utter another utterance, I felt all tingly, but only in my stomach. Just before I was about to hork, we appeared before Speedy and J. J. Graff. Then I horked.
They appeared as hologram heads the size of football fields that have been shrunken down to the size of human heads. Their heads floated freely in space. Our surroundings were like none I'd ever seen. There was just a smooth blue floor, me, Sy, the dual Woombardens, me, and otherwise utter blackness.
"Brendan, how's it hangin'?" asked J.J.
[Note: Because I have no idea what time period we are in, I will just continue to write in the past because it's easy.]
"J.J., Speedy, good to see you. So what exactly are you two?"
"We," said Speedy, "are the dual Woombardens of the universe. We know all. We see all. But lately we've been experiencing audio difficulties, so we don't hear everything -- especially stuff that's really far away. Those can give us some trouble."
"What can we do for you?" inquired J.J.
"Shouldn't you already know that?" I asked.
"You are here to question the claim that we know everything," said Speedy.
"Well, if you do know everything... tell me how I will die," I said to them.
"The future," said J.J., "is yet to be determined."
"Then how is it that I could have traveled into the future?"
"You traveled into the future?!" asked a clearly taken-aback Speedy.
"We knew that," said J.J. quickly.
"Oh, really?"
"Of course. We are all-powerful. We know all," stated Speedy.
"Then how do I die?" I persisted.
"Uh, you are, uh, hit by a train 18 years from tomorrow," blurted out J.J.
"Oh, my," I said.
"Well, if you are all-powerful, then why don't you change the future?"
"The future," proclaimed Speedy, "is predetermined, and cannot be changed."
"But if you're all powerful, why can't you change it? Don't you like me? We're friends, right? Will you do nothing to keep me from being hit by a train?"
"Look, Smith. I'll tell you how you die," said J.J. "Watch."
He then sent a powerful force into my body which blew it into pieces (very small ones at that). The other me, acting quickly, hauled out his 4-d8 and vaporized J.J. Then Speedy, in turn, blew the elder me into pieces. Sy, in a daring move, both kicked Speedy in the head (where else?), sending him flying off into the distance, and grabbed Doogie, saying, "Doogie, please help me. Take me away from all these goofy people and places. Take me somewhere nice. Really nice... if you don't mind."
"SURE," said Doogie.
Moments later, Sy found himself at the North Pole.
"IT'S THE NICEST PLACE I COULD THINK OF OFF-HAND," admitted Doogie.
"It's a bit cold, you know," Sy commented, "with all the snow and ice and such..."
"WELL, HURRY UP AND WALK PAST THAT HILL OVER THERE."
Sy did as he was told, and came across the quaintest little cottage you never have seen. He approached the front door, gave three knocks, was let in by an incredibly sweet old woman who smiled radiantly, sat him down in front of the warm fireplace, and retrieved for him the absolute yummiest mug of hot chocolate he had ever drank. The picturesque scene was only disrupted by the blaring of rock guitar from an adjacent room.
"Chris! Christopher! Turn down that music, and come on out. We have a visitor!" the old woman yelled.
A moment later, the man she had yelled at came into view: a somewhat plump fellow, dressed in red and green plaid knee-socks, baggy red knickers with a big black belt, a green shirt with black suspenders, extremely cool shades, and a red hat. He had a big fluffy white beard and mustache -- much like that you expect to see on Santa Claus. And Santa Claus was exactly who this person happened to be.
"What's shakin'?" he asked Sy.
"Who the hell... You're not really... Wow! You're Santa!"
"Yeah, that's what they call me, Sy."
"You know me?"
"Of course," said Santa jollily. He reflected a moment, then continued, "You were a good boy when you were young... except you were always pulling other kids' hair."
"You look different than I imagined," said Sy.
"You expected the more traditional red suit on a really fat guy?"
"Well, yeah, I suppose."
"Well, that was me, say, 80 odd years ago," Santa began.
"It all started to change in the 50s. I have always been very concerned about image, and so I tried to be a little, you know, more 'hip'. ...A leather jacket, slicked back hair, and, well, ho, ho, ho, I looked pretty darned goofy there for a while. But people were always too afraid to say anything -- afraid I'd hold it against 'em on the Big Day."
Sy nodded as Santa sat down and continued.
My problems got worse. In the 60s, I started hangin' out with a bad crew. Jack Frost and Fros-T the "Snow" Man were tryin' out all types of stuff, and they pulled me into it all, too. In the 70s they kicked the addictions, but I just couldn't stop. I was continually drunk, stung out, angry all the time, and way over-weight."
"What happened?"
"That's when I met The Rev. Brendan Powell Smith. He helped me out a lot: set me up in re-hab, and got me on a fitness program with Richard Simmons. Over time I kicked all my bad habits, lost weight, and was quite muscular by the mid-80s. The Rev. also gave me my first guitar. That provided me with a great hobby when it wasn't Christmas time... If you're staying for a while, he's coming over for dinner. You're invited..."
"Gosh, Santa, I hate to be the one to tell ya, but I'm afraid Rev. Smith won't be joining us tonight, as he was recently blown into very, very small pieces."
"Ho, ho, ho, don't you worry about that. It's a different Brendan -- the one who had been going through time, killing off the other versions of himself. We had a talk, and I convinced him not to continue killing himself off. He actually just stopped the two Brendans you were with from getting vaporized."
"Um... oh."
"You'll notice that you no longer have Doogie anymore, because Brendan took him away from you a few minutes ago. He destroyed both his Doogie and yours, so time is pretty much back to normal now."
At this moment there were three knocks at the door. I came in, and we all had a very, very pleasurable dinner. Afterward, Santa convinced Sy to become an elf.
I, contented with my life so far, started on my way home...