Dr. Flappy, the circus' lion handler, was currently checking in on the proud, lean leonine, forms which had gathered near Dr. Flappy as he handed out this morning's meal, while his assistant was hanging a sign of particular interest to Victor which denoted the caution a man should take when encountering these particular cats. Based on the unique educations these clowns have had, said caution sign was based upon a statement taken from Dante's "Inferno."
Victor stood at a safe distance from the lion enclosure, just in case they were to escape and make a meal of him. He never took notice of his mom casually approaching.
"Good morning, son. Beautiful, aren't they?"
"Very majestic."
Dr. Flappy's assistant, having finished posting the sign, stood back to examine his handiwork. Victor looked up at it, and read it with understated confusion. This is what the sign said:
VEGETARIAN LIONS
ABANDON ALL PARSLEY YE WHO ENTER HERE.
ABANDON ALL PARSLEY YE WHO ENTER HERE.
Victor then looked into the lion enclosure to see Dr. Flappy tossing heads of cabbage around to the gathered beasts.
"Vegetarian lions. How is that possible?"
"Well, they were test tube lions. Designed and bred by Dr. Flappy over there."
"But, why?"
"All performance lions are herbivores. It keeps down the mortality rate. Isn't that right, Dr. Flappy?"
Dr. Flappy, who was finishing up with his beloved experimental lions, turned to Victor's mom and exclaimed "You bet your big red nose! Be seeing you!" He then honked his big, round nose and squeezed the joke horn he kept in his trousers. And, after a quick bow, Dr. Flappy departed turning cartwheels as he did. Victor's mom then turned back to her son.
"Come on Victor, let's go meet someone special. She's going to be part of the act from now on. I think you'll like her."
"Okay."
After a short walk to the other side of the circus grounds, Victor and his mom stepped outside of a newly set up tent with a sign posted in front which read "Bertha - The Amazing Bearded Lady." Victor wasn't impressed.
"A bearded lady? Isn't that a little old fashioned?"
"Remember your manners, Victor. Okay?"
"Yeah, fine."
"Bertha, may we come in? I want to introduce you to my son."
From inside came the female equivalent of what could only be a deep, guttural sound -- a sound so terrifying one might imagine it came from the unseen beast complete with scales which lay beyond the reach of sunlight and safety. They would be right on every count...except for the part about having scales.
"Come in. It mess in here, though."
Victor and his mom stepped into the unfastened flap. Suitcases of differing levels of wear and punishment were strewn all about the place, while several costumes were currently in the process of being folded, unfolded, placed upon hangers, and the rest were just sort of laid here or there as if they were currently without a place to be put.
Bertha herself was facing away from the Frankensteins as she was currently attending to her wardrobe. She was the size of a small school bus. Her smell was one that couldn't be found in nature. Hair sprouted in curly strands from her fleshy, moist back in all directions. The musty scent which rose from her drifted across the tent as Bertha moved her arms about, as if conducting an orchestra composed entirely of renegade bits of clothing that refused to be domesticated.
"Bertha, this is my son: Victor."
Victor was urged forward by his mom. He offered his hand to the figure before him, and offered a quiet, "Pleased to meet you."
Bertha dropped what she was doing, and swiveled her tree trunk sized legs around to reposition herself. Each gentle step she took was recorded at the nearest seismograph office and registered as tiny blips on their machinery.
Focusing upon young Victor, Bertha smiled a fire breathing, handsome knight eating smile. "Charmed, young man." She took his hand and shook it briefly, then grasped him like a big anaconda and wrapped her fleshy arms around him, driving Victor into the depths of her fleshy body and bosoms.
It was, for Bertha, love at first sight.
"Nice...to...meet...you." The struggle of Victor's words escaped his windpipe easily enough. The real difficulty was getting air polluted by Bertha's deadly aroma to return down to his lungs, and he was increasingly in danger of drowning in the ample sweat Bertha's physique seemed to generate, as she swung him about in her arms.
"Your son very handsome, Mrs. F."
"Well I'll let you two get better acquainted. Victor be a dear and show our new friend around the grounds. Bye Bertha."
"Bye, Mrs. F!"
When came the wheezing sounds and ever weakening sounds of "air...air..." were finally heard by his captor, Victor was suddenly freed of the crushing arms that held him in. The release happened as quickly as the capture, and Victor fell hard to the ground, knocking what precious little air he had taken in left back out.
Looking down upon him, this coughing and gasping piece of sex on legs, Bertha asked the most important question a woman asks a younger male.
"How old Victor?"
"Eighteen." Victor was now struggling to get to his feet.
"Oooh, handsome clown legal."
"Oh shit. I'm gonna be love bait for Momma Sasquatch here!" he thought.
Victor smiled politely and looked for the nearest open flap. He considered the one to the left which, at this moment, was currently unopened and not Victor Frankenstein shaped. Very soon it would be.
* * * * *
The smell of peppermint schnapps followed Poppa Igor as he, Momma, Igor and Sparky all made their way to the parking lot. Momma was consoling Igor for not having placed in the science fair, Sparky was happy to be alive again and nipping at Igor's mismatched feet, and Poppa Igor's attempt at an alcoholic breath freshener was meant to entice Dr. Sunny Jameson into the backseat of her sports car. When that didn't work, more schnapps was poured in an attempt to circumvent her continued resistance to Poppa's pleas for sex and hump massages. The principles of accordion based seduction weren't as influential in the here and now as they were in the 60's, but to be fair, no one had been placed under the influence of freshly squeezed lava lamp juices.
To Igor's disappointment, his dear friend Josh had won the science fair. Truthfully, Igor held no grudge against Josh as he knew that Josh himself wasn't that fond of winning either. He had bigger dreams, and now they'd likely be squashed because Dr. Sunny Jameson wanted Josh to win so she could get him an internship at her laboratory and seduce the young man in private. The other judges might've noticed this curious choice for first place, but Sunny's flirty smile was a powerful distraction. Josh's presence was then immediately requested that afternoon in Sunny's office, where they shared a celebratory box of condoms.
"It okay you not win." Momma Igor's attempts to cheer her son up had been constantly stated for the last several minutes. They were finally beginning to sink in, and Poppa Igor must've known this because he returned to his usual demeanor.
"It not okay you not win. Hot science chick might've kissed you if you won! Now she never come over. Now I never see her chest humps."
The soft swish of air displacement was heard, but the purse was temporarily holstered as a man dressed in robes, complete with stars and little cartoon UFO's, approached the von Igor family. In a crowd of outcasts and nutcases, this man would stand out as being an actual card carrying lunatic. There were those who, in the privacy of a particular temple, referred to him as the Grand High Mystic.
The Grand High Mystic stretched out a pale hand to introduce himself. "Mr. von Igor, may I speak to you for a moment?"
"Igor guess."
"I just want to say I was very impressed with your science fair project."
"You impressed with Igor?" Momma Igor eyed him, curiously. The reflexive twitch in her hand begin to slowly tighten around the straps for her handbag.
"It not matter. Igor not win science fair. Besides, you don't have chest humps. Good day." Poppa Igor pushed the Grand High Mystic aside, but he persisted by stepping back in front of Igor's dad.
"No, sir, you don't understand. Your son has a wonderful grasp of things my...organization...is only beginning to explore."
"Who are you?"
"Here, this is my card."
The man produced a business card that was painted in varying shades of purple with white lettering, which spelled out:
GRAND HIGH MYSTIC
TEMPLE OF SCIENCEOLOGY - (NOT A CULT. We Promise.)
TEMPLE OF SCIENCEOLOGY - (NOT A CULT. We Promise.)
Poppa Igor took the business card and examined it closely. "Are you head of cult?*"
*Nothing gets past Poppa Igor.
"We're not a cult. We promise. It says so on the card. You did notice the words We Promise in italics, correct?" He smiled, to seal the deal.
"I never learned to speak Italics. Never liked that country. Pope crazy."
Momma Igor grabbed the card from her husband, and examined it. The italics seemed to speak to her sense of reason, although she never could understand why.
"How could you argue with that? It's in such friendly lettering too," she said automatically without realizing it, then handed the business card back to the Mystic.
"Young man, there is an opening in our organization for a person of your unique abilities. Are you interested?"
"Well, Igor could use money. And graduation just two weeks away."
"Excellent! Just come by our offices after graduation and we'll get you all set up. How does that sound?"
"Sound good."
"We'll do great things, young man. Great things indeed. Well, until then." The Mystic then bowed, and retreated to a black limousine. He stepped in, closed the door, and away he went. Momma Igor was smiling, even more proud of her baby boy than usual.
"See? Igor came out on top after all. Science useful."
"Chest humps more fun." Poppa Igor muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Let's go home."
Igor loaded his machine into the back of the car, and closed the hood. Momma and Poppa Igor took their places and, when Igor had shut his door behind him, Poppa Igor started the car and began to drive away. Igor then noticed something was missing.
"Momma, where Sparky?"
A dull thud was heard, along with the unmistakable sensation of the car rising up and down quickly as if hitting a speed bump too hard.
"What I hit?"
Poppa Igor stopped the car, unfastened his seat belt, and opened up the door. As he was getting out, his gaze fell upon the answer to both his and Igor's questions. Sparky was laying motionless underneath the front tires. He then leaned back into the car.
"Damn it. Get the machine out Igor. We reanimate Sparky again."
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