But he wasn't the only one -- the resident Cheewahwah, Alejandro included, were finding themselves on the lower links of the food chain, immediately sought protection in the arms of the rich and powerful, brain dead, pretty people whose only claim to fame was they were exceptionally thin, vain, and completely incapable of holding down a real job that didn't involve them spreading their legs for a paycheck and, should the day come, a hot meal.
But Igor wasn't the only one without work. Thankfully, having been released from the programming of Almighty Steve's worshippers, the Evolved Ones abandoned the temple and filled spaces in society that were dedicated to skilled laborers who lacked any genuine skills, didn't speak the language, and worked for a pittance compared to those who actual had the skills, could communicate, and expected a fee that was comparable to the work done. The rest remained in their traditional roles of cleaning up after white people, just as it had been so in the now defunct Temple.
After having taken a week off to relax and gather his thoughts, Igor practically ran screaming from his household as Poppa Igor tried to force quality time upon him by trying to engage him in a game of catch, among other things. Movie night was the worst.
"Come watch this movie with me, boy."
"Igor no want to."
"It good movie. Igor not even know what it is yet, and already you say no."
"Fine. What is movie, Poppa?"
"It Field of Dreams, with Kevin Costner."
With a movie marathon of baseball themed movies with Poppa Igor, along with one accidental showing of a film involving baseball, Brad Pitt, and a very amorous Momma Igor*, the youngest von Igor had experienced enough, grabbed the keys to the Prius, and started looking for any place of employment that would have him.
* To Quote Mama Igor: "I wish Brad Pitt wanted to throw his balls at me. I'd catch them."
But everywhere Igor applied, it seemed, the Evolved Ones had swarmed every employment opportunity and gobbled them up like termites in the woodwork of the American workforce. However, there were a few unspoken opportunities the Evolved Cheewahwah were unable of undertaking.**
** Oddly enough, Undertaking as a profession was one opportunity Igor passed up. He preferred not to mix his personal and professional lives.
The first real opportunity that Igor took advantage of utilized his knowledge of modern day electronics, such as high definition televisions, Blu-Ray players, wires of all types and purposes, computer accessories, and gaming consoles.
Immediately, Igor was hired to work in the Electronics Department of Sam Mart, a giant discount retailer based in south that shared many ideals of The Descendents of Steve, with the main exception that founding member Sam himself, albeit dead with no real chance of resurrection, was on display*** in the basement of their corporate headquarters.
***It has been suggested that the Sam-Martians gather once a year in Arkansas, the birthplace of Sam-Mart, for the sole reason of paying homage to their founder by dry humping his corpse.
The first few days into Igor's new job proved refreshingly peaceful, but as it must always, something came along to royally screw things up for the hunchback. And it came in camouflage.
"Well, whut da hale is this shit?"
"Can Igor help customer?"
"Yeah, I gots a question. This here TV thingy, ya see mine went out now I gots to git a new one, so I'm a lookin at yore TV's here and damnit it all iffin it ain't whut I need."
Baffled, Igor just stood there silently, while the customer continued.
"Ya see, this here signs sez this here TV is forty-two inches, but my measuring tape I gots here sez it's only thirty eight anna half. Now whut da hale you people tryin' to sell a TV that's not even the proper size."
"Customer not measuring TV correctly."
"Now sonny, I knows how to measure a TV. Now this 'un sez it's forty-two, but look here, it only goes to thirty-eight anna half. I ain't gonna pay no full price when you'ins is cheatin' me outta two an' a half TV inches."
"Customer not measuring TV correctly. Let Igor show customer."
"And why don't you speakify properly, boy? You one of them Canadians?"
Igor, normally ever patient, gently grabbed the tape measure from the hillbilly asshole, and demonstrated the proper way of measuring a television screen: diagonally.
"See? Forty-two inches, as advertised."
"Now how da hale was I supposed to know that?"
"It says here on display all measurements of television, diagonal measurement included."
Igor's kind resistance to hillbilly stupidity was wearing off quickly, as he pointed to the appropriate signage with his middle finger.
"Now just how da hale was I supposed to know that?"
"Customer could've read it."
At least, Customer could've read it if Customer wasn't a fucking illiterate hick.
* * * * *
One sale later, Igor handed in his keys to the video game displays to his boss, and made a quick getaway while his sanity was still intact. As he was returning home, Igor found Poppa Igor and Sparky playing a game of catch in the front yard, and Igor immediately punched the accelerator as he considered his Plan B that was formulated, since the Sam Mart position proved to be unsuccessful.Plan B consisted of a laundromat, with such a highly limited clientele it amazed Igor that it remained in business. The establishment in question, called Keep Klothes Klean, was a subsidiary of another organization, with an equally alliterative club name. Although these facts wasn't openly advertised, it was widely known. Well, widely known, except to Igor.
Being of a lumpy, gray fleshed nature, businessman, owner and operator Gunther hired Igor on the spot, and introduced his one and only employee to the cleaning facilities of the KKK -- washing machines, drying machines, and bleach. Lots and lots of bleach. Starch, Igor observed, was important too, as there were countless aerosol cans on the shelves as well.
"What does Gunther wash here?"
"Robes, mostly. Some hoods. Sometimes we get wild and do the occasional sock, but it's mostly robes."
It seemed fairly straightforward and reasonably simple, Igor felt, so he took the job. His time here would prove to be shorter than the time spent at Sam Mart.
On the morning of his first (and ultimately last) day at Keep Klothes Klean, a pale faced skin head named Kyle dropped off a load of linens meant for cleaning. There was a definite smell of burning wood and ash stains pock marking the usually achingly white robes. Igor took the basket of robes, and dumped the lot into the nearest available washing machine. Igor added the appropriate amount of bleach, and turned the machine on.
The robes went in black and white, and came out pink. Gunther wasn't happy, twice over, and immediately phoned up Kyle.
"Come down here and git your panties**** out of the wash, Kyle!" Gunther hung up the phone, and turned his rage to Igor.
****Kyle panties, apparently, had been personalized. In white lettering, upon the red fabric, read the following: Tyrone Hearts Kyle's Apple Shaped Ass.
"And you, just because we here at Keep Klothes Klean hate niggers, faggots and Jews doesn't mean we can't have fresh smelling linens! Now get your ass to Sam Mart, get a few boxes of the tropical mango and lavender scented fabric softeners, and do it again!"
Suffice it to say, Kyle never reclaimed his misplaced panties, and Igor simply headed home and endured a game of catch for the rest of the afternoon.
* * * * *
While Igor spent his time searching the classifieds and running away from baseballs, Victor was discovering the benefits of pursuing an evil education, which proved to have a much shorter academic run as only the core elements were taught, with absolutely no emphasis on all things that might better a person, such as British Literature, Music Appreciation, Ethics, or Philosophy. Various lessons in the field of history were readily available, but they only focused on plagues, wars, and the like. And even those offerings were optional.In fact, due to the shortened curriculum and the rapid passing of time due to the heavy quantum fields of Pure Enjoyment, (not to mention everyone else had washed out of Evil University, which gave the instructors much more time to focus on their one remaining student) Victor Frankenstein found himself before his doctoral panel.
Sitting in Nefarious' makeshift lecture hall, Dr. Nefarious, the Penguin, and Victor's other instructors had gathered around with the talented young man with all the promise of malevolence (albeit often wacky and slightly covered in custard pie), to discuss Victor's future.
"So, Mr. Frankenstein, you've come a long way. Your singing vegetables were evil, but disposing of them was an exemplary display of true evil. Did they suffer?" asked Dr. Nefarious.
"Horribly," replied Victor.
"Excellent, Victor, excellent. Have you decided what you would do for your doctoral thesis?" asked the Penguin as it munched on a bucket of fish.
"I haven't found a topic yet."
"You haven't?" Nefarious looked astonished.
"I don't believe it. You're among the brightest and best in your class! Hell, you're the only one worthy of our classes! Go find something worthy of your brilliance and destroy it! Go, or all your hard work will be for nothing!" shouted the Penguin.
There was a general murmuring of disappointment from the remaining instructors and Victor picked up his backpack and headed out into the night. On the corner along the street that once delivered traffic to and from the abandoned health food store was a public bench that had been painted green which was used to cover up an old faded advertisement and a number for said establishment. Victor plopped down in it with mild disgust as he stared out across Evil University's small campus and beyond to the twenty-four hour adult novelty store two blocks away.
"May I?"
The subtle question of Nefarious shook Victor from his day dreaming.
"Please."
"I remember being faced by the need to complete my doctoral thesis," Nefarious began as Victor made room for his professor next to him on the bench. He then continued.
"It wasn't easy, and everywhere I looked I found nothing that was suitably...well...evil."
"It takes a lot out of you. All the scheming, the plotting, the hysterical cackling," replied Victor, obviously exhausted.
"It certainly does. Our line of study isn't for everyone. Sure, environmentalists and such work hard, but they only work during the daylight hours. Ours is a thankless task that must be lived every moment of every night and day."
"What was your thesis about, doctor?"
"Eggs," Nefarious said matter-of-factly. "I invented cholesterol. The bad kind, obviously. Sure I told them it was natural, and everywhere, but I invented it in the seventies."
"How'd you come up with something like that?"
"I stopped looking at the world as a whole, and looked at where I came from. My family, to be exact. They were chicken farmers. Nothing hits as close to home as family, Victor. So if I were you, instead of hitting the books and spending hours in the lab, I'd go home. You'll find something worthy of your talent in the outrage of your parents."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Goodnight."
And Nefarious got up, and disappeared into the night. And while Victor considered the advice of his mentor, he gathered up his books and notepads as he planned to head towards his three ring hometown. He thought of the vegetarian lions, Sally, and imagined all the truly terribly horrible things he could now do to Bertha, unaware she was no longer part of the act.
With a direction in mind, Victor jaywalked across the street towards the gas station just across from the Evil University campus to buy a drink before he boarded the city bus at the bus stop located on the far side of the road.
As Victor crossed the street, he passed one particular Prius parked at one of the fuel pumps. Victor would meet its peculiar driver at the counter as he was paying for refreshments.
"And what can I help you with?"
"Igor need new job. Igor work here?"
"There are no jobs here for you damned Canadians. Off with you. And what can I do for you, young man?"
Igor headed for the glass doors displaying store hours and proclamations of particular individuals who wrote hot checks, and stopped for a moment when he saw the community board. Upon it was a help wanted sign for the local circus. And Igor read it, entranced.
"Igor could join circus. That not sound hard."
Ripping the sign from the board, Igor stepped back to the attendant as he was handing Victor's change back to him.
"Where circus?"
"Just a few miles east of here. Thinking of joining it?"
"Igor is. Igor could work at circus."
"If you do, be sure to stay away from Bertha." said Victor, as he was headed out the door. Igor stepped up to Victor, and followed him as a puppy would follow a newfound friend.
"Who Bertha?"
"Bertha. She's the bearded lady. She likes to cuddle."
"How you know?"
"I used to perform there. My name's Victor."
"Victor worked at circus? Does circus have jobs available?"
"Well, I guess. I'm going there tonight."
Igor stopped in front of his car while Victor continued onwards to the bus stop.
"Victor ride there with Igor? Show Igor where it is?"
Victor looked the hunchback up and down, decided he posed very little threat, and relented.
"Well, let's go then."
* * * * *
Life has an uncanny way of bringing the right people together at the right time: Bernie Taupin and Elton John. Hall and Oats. Loggins and Messina. And now, life placed young lives together who, apart were capable of many things, but together will likely rule the world.
Upon arrival at Victor's old stomping grounds in the evening's darkness, the lights shining from Igor's vehicle illuminated the offices and a handful of performer's tents and, wondering who it could be at this hour, Victor's father, Sally, and their Master of Ceremonies emerged in various states of dress and welcomed their lost member home. In this moment, Victor introduced his new friend Igor the group, who began to explain he was seeking employment.
"Come with me, young man," said the Master of Ceremonies as he put his arm around Igor. "Let's talk. Good to see you again, Victor." And together Igor and the circus' ring leader went into his office to discuss Igor's talents and capabilities.
Meanwhile, Roger Frankenstein maintained a subdued manner as he took his son around the circus grounds and explained the grim situation that had befallen their once proud facilities.
"Son, after the incident with Bertha and Dr. Flappy, it all started going downhill. Obviously, Flappy still hasn't returned to us and probably never will. Bertha handed in her copious body hair and leotard after...well...you remember. We're looking for fresh blood and new talents to spice things up before we have to fold up for good. Do you think this Igor fellow has anything to offer us?"
Victor, albeit on the verge of having an official certification of evil, knew things were bleak for his family and friends from the old big top and couldn't help feeling sorry for the old gang. And his dad's revelation that Bertha had called it quits for good deflated the many insidious plans for revenge Victor had been formulating during the ride here, while the echoing advice from Dr. Nefarious about finding inspiration in his parents' horrors bounced off the furthest corner of his mind and faded away for good before it reached the frontal lobe.
"I don't know, dad. I just met him." In an effort to lighten the mood, Victor asked about seeing the vegeterian lions, and was met with a response that wasn't the least bit promising.
"Son, we had to put them down."
"The lions. They're dead?"
"Yeah. How do I explain this one," Roger said to himself, and seemed to decide that the reality of the situation was the only way to go.
"It turns out they really weren't vegetarian. Dipsy claimed their diet of honey, cat food, and V8 sustained them, but we found...well...most of him one night and the rest the second after their enclosure was being cleaned. We haven't revealed all of this to Flappy, as he's still in a fragile state of mind."
Victor was about to respond to this latest bit of horror, but was interrupted as Igor and the Master of Ceremonies came around the corner of one tent, smiling.
"I'm proud to announce that we've found a place within our family for your friend here, Victor."
"Congratulations, young man, welcome to the greatest show on Earth." Roger said half heartedly, but emphatically shook Igor's hand, almost to the point of it falling off, but Igor managed to pull away before his unique handicap was discovered.
Satisfied with his new position, Igor offered to drive Victor back home, but refused the offer by simply stating "I am home."
"Igor must thank Victor for this."
"Don't mention it."
And with a simple handshake, Victor returned Igor's thanks. Victor returned to what was once his personal tent, and Igor went home and informed his parents of his new position -- human cannonball. Before the night of Igor's debut would be over, it would prove to be such a glorious disaster that would inspire Victor in ways nothing else has ever done before.
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