Chapter Six

    In her dreams, Victor was known as "Antonio," and he would play Spanish guitar with a rose stuck between his teeth. His hair would be slicked back with enough grease to lubricate a Mack truck, and the perfectly starched white shirt would be open at the top to reveal the delicate region of his upper body which would be in desperate need for Bertha's kisses. His exceptionally tight pants would show off Victor's tight butt which would be ripe for Bertha's slapping. After all, he was a funny, yet bad, bad clown.

    Antonio, as the rechristened Victor Frankenstein, would extend an open hand to hers, and he would lead her at dusk to an intimate setting within a  temple of untold antiquity in the Mayan culture, where the flickering romantic glow of bug repelling candles would lead to a mattress covered in rose petals.

    And there, upon that spot he designated to be the epicenter of Cupid's lovemaking earthquake, he would have her. It all took place, held tightly, in her dreams. If she released her grip on such notions for even a second, they might escape. If she held them, and Victor, close to herself long enough, she could have both the funny young clown and a tour of Central American locations of grandeur which would always be within ten minutes of a McDonalds.

    But dreams such as these come at night, and often in the middle of the day when one's mind has wandered into such terrifying realms. The haze of a romantic daydream was shaken off with some clumsy effort as Bertha had accidentally slipped into it, as one often does a banana peel in old slapstick movies, and as tragically as a Federation Starship falls into some unpronounceable rip in reality as often happens on "Star Trek." The fruit based fall was hard, the exit aperture opened up, and the sting of Victor's absence was felt again.

    Bertha sat at the multi-lighted mirrored dresser and momentarily looked to the side of her jailbird brother, Bruno, who was currently serving time at the local maximum security prison for unspeakable crimes committed against the soft and woolly. The slight rustling of the tent flap and a soft cough of attention grabbing noise from Sally, the Invisible Woman, brought Bertha back to the circus grounds.

    "I hope I'm not disturbing you," Sally offered as she watched Bertha's gaze shoot across the open space and back again, looking for the source of the woman's soft voice.

    "Hello? What...who...are you?"

    "I'm Sally. The Invisible Woman?"


    "Where?"

    "Here."

    Ah, now Bertha's eyes focused upon the right spot. It was like seeing a female ghost wearing a form fitting, hot pink sports bra and equally athletic pants that reached down to a certain point, met air, and seemed to reconnect at what could only be a set of unseen feet wearing white sneakers. A hot pink baseball cap was worn upon her invisible head and the often stated long blond hair she claimed to have was in a ponytail which reached through the rear of the cap.

    "Ah, I see now. And why is Sally invisible?"

    "I'm shy," she simply stated. "Who's that?"

    Bertha guessed at the aim of Sally's question, and immediately turned again to face the picture of her brother Bruno.

    "That's my brother. He's in prison."

    "I'm so sorry. May I ask why?" The slinky, transparent form stepped closer, as her voice got a little softer. Bertha picked up a stained hanky and blew her nose into it.

    "It not important. P.E.T.A. came to house one day and found something they not understand. Not sure of all details. I go see him every so often." She paused a moment as she swept aside the memory.  "And Sally came to see Bertha why?"

    "Oh! You and Victor! You're on in ten minutes."

    "Victor? That handsome young clown?"

    "Well...he's the younger clown, but I don't know about handsome."

    "I think he handsome."

    "Well, you and he are on in...eight minutes."

    "Oh! Need to look beautiful! Please excuse me!"

    "No problem."

    Sally departed as quietly as she'd appeared, as Bertha frantically applied more lipstick than was necessary in order to mark young Victor as hers. It was the same shade of red Sarah Palin used in the Alaskan moose hunting season to mark recently downed beasts as her own. Though the circumstances were different, the effect would be the same. Hopefully, for Victor's sake, Palin's vampiric blood letting and disembowling of the carcass wouldn't be applied in the honeymoon suite Bertha was already reserving in her mind.

    Sally's hot pink sports bra bounced and swayed lightly across the circus grounds, seemingly floating in midair, and who should be approaching but young Victor. With a quick wolf whistle Victor announced his approval to all that was in the general location.

    "Yeah, you work that outfit Sally! You're looking hot today! Whooo! Mind if I come by tonight to SEE you?"

    "Okay Victor, I said it was cute the first time, but it's wearing thin now."

    "Okay," Victor replied as he deflated under Sally's displeasure at him.

    She once thought it was cute. She once thought he was cute. Now she was on the verge of filing a harassment suit. "And no more jokes about "seeing me naked." Say it again and you'll be breathing through your ears. Got it?"

    "Yes ma'am."

    "And you're on...in six minutes." Where she kept the watch, no one could tell. But that didn't keep Victor from imaging all the naughty places it could've been.

    "Six minutes? Damn! Where's Bertha?"

    The thundering of buffalo flesh was heard coming this way. Victor's voice was, to Bertha, like a dog whistle for the average bitch in heat. One could only pray she wouldn't mark him as her territory, should this analogy hold for more than a moment.

    "Me coming! Me coming!"

    After having studied Newtonian Laws of Motion by means of kiddie punching bags, Victor knew this much mass in motion wouldn't be able to stop on a dime. He stepped aside briefly and she skidded to a halt ten feet from where she originally intended.

    "Are you ready for this?"

    "Yes!"

    "Good. Now here's what you have to do..."

* * * * *

    Every so often a new performance was devised to keep the crowds coming in for more. Airborne pies just didn't bring them in liked they used to, the tap dancing bears were becoming more and more common, and the only reason people filed in for the trapeze act because the ever present force of gravity would surely latch onto some poor unsuspecting individual and pull them down to the ground eventually. In short, they were coming less and less for the show and more for the hopes of seeing a perfectly healthy body get broken into many varied pieces. Ear piercing screams of pain would be an added benefit. The state of what the population considered modern entertainment was an ever deepening cesspit of injury and death, which is precisely why the human cannonball act had been retired some years ago.   

    To capitalize on this unfortunate trend, Dr. Flappy, the Frankensteins, and others of the clown troupe gathered up the latest in violence induced hilarity that only appeared violent, yet kept the illusion of pain intact. It was a hard decision to make, as clowns were meant to cause happiness in others by means of pranking their fellow clowns, not beating them over the head with giant prop hammers.

    Victor went over today's dance in minute detail with Bertha, making sure she understood. He was quizzing her over her role as the Master of Ceremonies stepped into the center ring.

    "And now we have a special treat for you, ladies and gentlemen. Victor the clown!"

    "You got it, Bertha?"

    "I understand."

    Victor smiled, shook her hand, and ran into the tent when his name was heard throughout the audio systems. He took his position in the center of the tent, and the lightning technicians shined a spotlight down upon him. He took a bow, and waved to the crowd, while adjusting the mini-microphone he wore.

    "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin I'd like to say..."
    From another part of the tent, currently masked by the darkness, Dr. Flappy took up a microphone of his own, and bellowed over the sound system as a second spotlight shone down upon him.   

    "Hold it here! Hold it!"

    Confusion kept the crowd at bay, as they turned their attention from young Victor to the intruder making his way across the tent floor. The Master of Ceremonies chimed in with "It seems we have some trouble here folks," but remained unseen. Dr. Flappy, though, stood in his spotlight which followed his ever move, and he walked along the perimeter of the audience stands as he addressed the spectators.

    "Why are you applauding for this uncouth rogue? Do you know what he's done?"

    Sensing this was part of the show, the crowd bellowed a uniform "What?"

    Flappy kept walking the length of the stands, waving an accusing arm at young Victor. "He stole my girlfriend! Bertha, my beloved! But I...I stole her back! What do you think of that?"

    A third light began to shine down, this time landing upon a small grouping of clowns dressed up as evil henchmen, complete with long black mustaches. Together, they'd restrained Bertha. And Victor would have no part of it.

    "You fiend! Bertha loves me, don't you sweetheart!" The young clown blew a kiss at his beloved, which Bertha seemed to enjoy more than the show necessarily needed.

    "I love him! Not you Flappy! I never love you! Victor has bigger clown shoes! Save me, Victor, oh save me!" For a moment there, she almost referred to him as "Antonio." For now the beast may be chained back, but there's always a weak link that can break on a moments notice, and that moment was rapidly approaching.

    "Restrain her!" Flappy's gang of clowns pretended to tighten the restraints, causing Bertha mock pain.

    "Everything was happy in our home until you came along,  young man! I challenge you to...a Jester's Duel! He who remains standing takes the hand of the fair maiden, Bertha, in matrimony! Agreed?"

    "Agreed!" Victor replied. Unseen, happiness formed in a tear which flowed down Bertha's fleshy face. The words "I Do" were even now being recited continuously in her mind. The honeymoon would be a tour of Latin America. The bridesmaid's would wear a sickly shade of green Bertha was fond of.  Their first born, should it be a girl, would be named Angela; if it was a boy, he'd be called Victor Antonio Jr.

    Outside of Bertha's mind, there stood only Victor. She never heard the Master of Ceremonies announce, "Well, it looks like we're in for a treat folks!" Dr. Flappy called for music, and a bouncy tune from the 1950's then filled the ambient silence as Dr. Flappy began to sing.

    "Oh, hot diggity, dog ziggity boom, whatcha do to me..." Flappy shoved a pie into Victor's face,"...it's so new to me, whatcha do to me..." then came the seltzer stream down Victor's pants...

    " Hot diggity, dog ziggity boom, whatcha do to me..." Flappy then pulled a ripe banana from somewhere inside his jumpsuit, peeled it, and dropped the skin in front of Victor while diverting his attention by tapping on his right shoulder while running off to his left, "...when you're holding me tight!" Dr. Flappy turned his attention to the crowds, took a bow, and faced Victor again with a stance that dared him to do his worst.

    His eyes now upon Flappy, Victor took a running step in Flappy's direction and intentionally slipped on Flappy's discarded banana peel. Seeing her future husband take such a bad fall, Bertha forgot herself and charged through the circle of clowns pretending to hold her back, and knocked them to the ground, each one a spinning, dazed bowling pin trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

    And Victor sang, "...never dreamed anybody could kiss that-a way, bring me bliss that-a way..." as he dodged Flappy's intents on tripping him up with a comically large candy cane. Victor ultimately ran for the large rubber hammer off to the side, picked it up, and brought the hammer's head down upon Flappy's cranium.

    "...What-a a kiss that-a way..." Victor sang as he discarded the hammer and proceeded to turn away from Flappy as he finished up his chorus to give the audience a chance to cheer their antics on while Flappy would, as rehearsed, unravel a fire hose and aim it directly at Victor's clown pants.

    At least, that's what was to have happened. Dr. Flappy was pretending to walk about in a stupor behind Victor as Bertha came thundering up behind him and, with one quick motion, karate chopped him and Flappy went out like a light.

    "What a wonderful feelin to feel that-a way..."  By now, Flappy would surely have the hose aimed at him. Victor turned to face the onslaught of water and found himself staring into Bertha's smiling face. He somehow finished his verse, though it was obvious in his tone that something wasn't right.

    "Tell me where have ya been all my life!"

    "Right here!"

    Bertha then scooped Victor up into her arms and ran from the tent as the remaining clowns ran up to the unconscious form of Dr. Flappy to check his status. Briefly, he muttered a weak "Could someone just tell me what happened?" and then went back to a state of painless sleep.

Chapter Five

    Walk along the circus grounds out beyond the outskirts of town and you'd be certain to find a new, and completely unique, animal show designed and maintained by the most brilliant minds that ever undertook genetic manipulation in sterile labs. And in times of stress, or to maintain mental acuity, said minds would temporarily suspend their work in the middle of the afternoon out on a one of a kind shooting gallery designed for a quick chance to shake out the mental cobwebs and enhance one's hand\pie coordination.

    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.

   
    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.)

    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."

Chapter Four

    Those that have lived through the years of adolescence, should they remember such blurry, emotional times, would probably retell to their kids going through the same times of life that, when they were kids, they felt they had no privacy at all as they attempted to maintain whatever deep, personal secrets they felt they had to harbor in themselves and, should it be necessary, with the few select friends that they could trust with such private, personal information.

    What they wouldn't share with their children would be, most likely, the nature of said secrets, which is why parents get upset at teenagers and, when necessary, discipline them accordingly. The sad fact of this is because of one simple thing: everything a parent warns his children about is a precise laundry list of activities they got up to when they were kids, and sure such activities were fun back then, but looking upon their own spawn engaging in such behavior they begin to realize that they are, in fact, the very same people that their parents had warned them about back when they were teens.

    And the cycle of exploration, experimentation, secret keeping, and kicking the canes out from underneath old people would most likely continue until the end of times, when some deity will likely part the clouds and then trip up all those that didn't or did worship them. The secrets Poppa Igor kept from revealing really weren't that interesting (so he claimed), and even less so for his son. Igor's biggest secret came in the form of entering the high school science fair, knowing full well his father would raise hell over such an overt act of teenaged rebellion.

    At least it wasn't as bad as Poppa Igor's secret -- rhythm electric accordion in a band called "Toe Fungus" back in the 1960's which specialized in acid polkas and psychedelic waltzes. Wild times, baby. Wild times.

    The science fair was to take place in the gymnasium of Transylvania High School. Morning came with an understated sense of beauty and, Igor felt, only good things could happen on such a picture perfect morning. Momma Igor took the news of Igor's entry into the science fair as expected, with a smile that had the radiance of a hundred watt bulb. Unfortunately, Poppa Igor's response was equally predictable.

    The von Igor family hybrid came to a stop in the expansive parking lot, and Igor climbed out of the back seat to claim his experiment from the rear hatch as Poppa Igor grumbled to himself while feeling around for the trunk release. The catch released, and Igor leaned in for the blanket covered box which contained his secret project.

    "Science dumb. Why you want to be in science fair?"  Poppa Igor asked as he closed the driver's side door.

    Igor was headed for the building before he had to hear any more complaints.

    Momma Igor retrieved the pet carrier from the back seat, and nudged the open door back into place with a swish of the hip. Her purse, however, was held tightly in her free hand should it become necessary to whack her husband upside the head.

    "Igor have big brain."

    "He got big hump! He no use it!" This was directed less at his wife, as if to prove a point. Momma Igor, however, had her own points to prove. The resounding WHACK of leather against leathery skin brought a guilty smile to Igor's face.

    "Show support for your son!"

    Igor forced the smile away, and stopped mid-step to face his constantly disapproving father. "Poppa, Igor like science."

    "You should like girls! Not science! Why can't you be like Grandpa Igor?     Huh? Grandpa
Igor didn't like science!"

    Igor shook his head, and continued onwards towards the gym. Momma Igor, as usual, came to the defense of her son as Igor sometimes chose to believe arguing wasn't good for either of them.

    "Grandpa Igor stupid. Small brain."

    "Grandpa made Igor's wealthy. Famous. He big Hollywood star." He then raised his voice for the point he was constantly trying to make. "You could be Hollywood star! Lots of pretty girls in Hollywood! Rich too! Most of them easy! They'd rub your hump!"

    Halfway through this latest taunt, Igor had made it through the double doors and the inevitable whack against Poppa Igor's head was softened by the panes of glass put between the two of them.

    "Why you do that?"

    "I check to see if head on straight."

    "It is. Good stitching. See?"

    And it was. Poppa Igor had anticipated there would be many beatings to the back of his head this day, and he had prepared accordingly. The only variable would be if Momma Igor had placed a brick in her handbag this morning like she threatened the previous night. Considering these last few instances of impact, yeah, Momma Igor had made good on her threat.

    The distinct purr of a red convertible took Poppa Igor's attention from the lumps threatening to blossom upon his head, and turned to see what was causing the mechanical equivalent of a well tuned voice box resonating by means of repeating Zen mantras. What silenced the harmonious machine had obviously been blessed by the gods.

    Dr. Sunny Jameson was comprised of long legs, long blond hair, an impossibly white smile, green eyes with enough voltage to stun large farm animals, a teenager's waist and, most importantly, huge, luscious chest humps. A short black dress and long white lab coat, it seemed, was all that she wore. It was enough to steam up the secret family recipe of formaldehyde and other illegally obtained chemicals that coursed through their bodies, which, now, was starting to bubble. This encounter would likely end in embarrassment, with the secret blend of chemicals dissolving the stitches while Poppa Igor's head would go falling towards the ground.

    Sunny stepped up to the now sweating form of Poppa Igor, and offered her hand as a courtesy. A quick look to the side indicated Momma Igor would be placing two bricks in her handbag should the delicate touch of Miss Jameson be taken into her husband's grasp.

    "Hi, I'm Doctor Jameson, from the local aviations lab." Her voice was like music. Her scent, like flowers. Her chest humps should've come with a sign that said "Bouncy Curves Ahead -- Delightfully Slippery When Wet."

    "Could you tell me where I can find the other science fair judges?"

    "You judge science fair?"

    "Well, I'm one of them."

    Momma Igor, sensing her husband might explode or, at the very least, spontaneously dissolve before the radiance of Dr. Jameson, interjected to steer this conversation away from the
direction it was currently headed.

    "Our son in science fair. He's smart."

    "Well, I look forward to his entry. See you soon." Each soft step away was accompanied by the pendulum like swish of her hips.

    "Maybe science not so bad."

    "Here, you're going to need this." Momma Igor handed a sewing kit to Poppa Igor as he settled into his trance like state. The thought of using a bad pun like "hip-nosis" to describe Sunny's way of walking was currently being considered for future use around the water cooler where Poppa Igor worked.

    And then there was darkness.

    Well, not darkness per se. It started out as darkness, but quickly evolved into a spinning of reality that came to an eventual stop. Poppa Igor's head was now fifteen feet away from his feet.

    "Now look what you do!"

    "Humph!"

* * * * *

    There was an active hum of movement and noise inside the gymnasium as entrants went about setting up their projects on the tables momentarily shifted from the cafeteria. In Igor's predetermined location rested the still hidden contraption. From the way the blanket rested upon it, folds of cloth held in the mystery of something resembling a large switch while a few stray wires curled their way out of their cover and around to the back of the display.

    Some of the students had taken it upon themselves to mill about the setups to see just how badly they were going to be outshone by the smarter of their ranks. A floppy haired, blue eyed guy named Josh was searching for his hunchbacked friend, eager to see what his mind had cooked up. Josh stepped up behind him as Igor scanned the crowd for Momma Igor, who currently held the whole reason for this scientific dance.

    "Hey Iggy, whatcha got there?"

    Josh, one of Igor's few friends, was a friendly individual who, Igor had to remind himself, was not interested in a life of a science. He hoped to become a male stripper one day, and Igor knew Josh entered only because his parents weren't too keen on his prospective career.
    " Oh, hi Josh. This Igor's project."

    "Really, can I see?"

    "Well...Igor guess."

    "Cool."

    After a conspiratorial look around to make sure no one was paying any attention to he and his friend, Igor quietly beckoned Josh towards the display and lifted the blanket. There was a large switch, as one might have guessed. There were also other electric...things. It looked both modern and ancient at the same time, as it was a hodgepodge of found items from the last century and a half. Duct tape held bits of it together, and a few LED lights had been added both for aesthetic taste and the fact all manner of technology has one thing in common: flashing lights. Igor was proud to note that it made absolutely no sense to Josh at all.

    "So...what does it do?"

* * * * *

    Inside the school cafeteria sat Momma Igor who was chatting amongst the other mothers.
The pet carrier rested at her side and, though it was covered in towels to ensure its contents remained a mystery, the smell that broke through the plastic threatened to reveal the secret of Igor's project.

* * * * *

    Outside, Poppa Igor had managed to get his head back onto his aimless wandering torso and was finishing up the stitching that should hold this time, no matter how many bricks Momma Igor had sealed up in her handbag. This repair job had been accomplished in record time, too, as Poppa Igor needed the extra time to return home, retrieve a dusty old bag he kept in the basement, and his favorite bowler hat and matching tie which, truthfully, didn't match at all. The hat was black, the tie was an ugly faded yellow. After a quick application of a rather masculine aftershave had been properly applied; as in, he opened the bottle and poured it out on his head. Poppa Igor took the dusty old bag and returned to the high school.

* * * * *

    The look on Josh's face said it all: sympathetic, confused, and above all else,
totally weirded out.

    "So...this machine...does that?"

    Igor nodded and whispered into Josh's ear.

    "Really? Why?"

    More nodding, more whispering. Josh looked as if his friend just admitted to being a professional child molester and part time chicken rapist.

    "Your entire family? Including you?"

    Igor nodded one final time.

    "Oh, I'm sorry, Iggy."

    "Josh not be sorry. It just how Igor's family survive."

    "Well, okay. So how will you...demonstrate...this?"

    "Demonstrate?"

    "Yeah. What, or who, will you use it on?"

    A final moment of whispering threatened to shake Josh's soul from him.

    "Oh," was all he could say.

* * * * *

    Poppa Igor stepped into the gymnasium just as the judges began making their rounds through the assorted experiments. The pungent aftershave he wore reached out to Momma Igor, who looked up to see her husband in what he considered to be his finest clothes. The dusty bag that was slung around his shoulder only confirmed what Momma Igor felt he was up to.

    "Poppa, get over here! Science fair has begun!"

    Poppa Igor smiled his deviant smile at Momma that stated, in no uncertain terms, "I'm leaving you." He then looked and found Dr. Sunny making her way down the nearest aisle, and he immediately unzipped the bag that contained his old accordion. Once he had Sunny's attention, the mating dance would begin. He then set his plan in motion as she took a few more steps in his direction.

    Aftershave, normally, is a male's secret weapon when it comes to attracting females or, if necessary, other males. Many over priced designer brands had spent a fortune in advertising and another on their kamikaze sale representatives that leaped out at you in the mall, spritzed you with some ungodly scent, and quickly retreated before an angry hand reached out for them and slammed them into the nearest display counter.

    The scent of aftershave, including this particular musty scent ("Cowboy's Delight"), when applied to the skin of a von Igor usually had the opposite effect as the regenerative fluids that often oozed through to the top layer of their skin would set of a chemical reaction and transform said liquid aromatic from something laughably seductive into something much, much worse. Poppa Igor's preferred scent was one that evoked thoughts of horseback riding and leather. When it collided with his unique body chemistry, the only images it brought to mind were of cats vomiting and the unclean bowels of a long dead, rotting cow.

    Sunny was examining an experiment that set out to explain the uses of decomposing rats as a viable alternative to fossil fuels when Poppa Igor made his move. Even in the face of rat recycling and aftershave gone bad, Sunny was able to maintain her composure.

    "You know, Igor get smarts from family. Big brains run in family." Poppa Igor had removed his bowler and was smoothing back what little hair he had. James Dean, he wasn't.

    "Mmmhmm," she stated to herself as she examined the rat recycler's diagrams and calculations.

    "Big humps run in family, too."

    "Mmmhmm."  Now she considered how cheese came into the equation of lowering energy prices.

    Josh was currently being grilled on his science project, "Why Algae Is A Great Lubricant," and the judges were almost finished with him. Igor's project would soon come under observation, and it was missing a vital component. To think that Igor would have to rely on his father for the final component pretty much concluded that Igor would be passed over by the judging committee. Igor stepped and dragged his way to where Poppa Igor was now preparing to serenade Sunny, hoping he'd know the location of his experiment's most crucial element.

    "Poppa, Igor need Sparky. Where Sparky?"

    "Not now. Poppa trying to score. Tell your momma I never loved her."  He then swung his battered squeezebox to his chest and began fingering the keyboard as Igor then bounced away from his father like a pinball headed towards the only reliable force in his family.

    "Momma, where Sparky?"

    "Here Sparky."

    Momma Igor opened the pet carrier and dumped the stiff and oddly bent corpse of  Sparky out onto the gymnasium floor. The flies that followed had a hum that rivaled Sunny's sports car.

    Sunny had left the moderately gruesome experiment and was headed for one even more disturbing. Poppa Igor was preparing a medley of his greatest waltzes and wore a smile that should've remained hidden.

    "Dear god, what's that smell?" Sunny was now two experiments away from Igor's display. He hurriedly continued his final preparations as Poppa Igor followed behind her.

    "It my cologne. You like? It bring all the bitches, yo."

    Sunny, obviously used to ugly, incompetent men vying desperately for, at the very least, for her undivided attention, never even noticed Poppa Igor's attempt at modernizing his lack of sexual appeal by means of referring to her as "yo." It didn't go unnoticed by Momma Igor, though, who was tapping a foot impatiently. Any second now, the purse would take flight.

    "Go help Igor with Sparky."


    "Yes Momma."

    There are times when a person's future is, seemingly, laid out at their feet via their simplest accomplishments. For some, it's the applause of a crowd. For others, it's casual happenstance that leads them to greatness. For Igor, it would be an old family secret for which he displayed his curious natural talents involving electricity.

    Poppa Igor had placed the stiffened form of Sparky down on the wooden block off to the side of the machine. Igor himself made a few calculations, adjust some dials, connected two metal spatulas up to the main electrical probes by means of jumper cables, and stood back for dramatic effect.

    "Good luck, Iggy." Josh gave his friend a quick pat on the back and got the hell
out of there, knowing full well what was about to happen.

    "Thank you, Josh." With that, Igor turned his attention to the approaching form of
Dr. Sunny Jameson.

    "And Mr. Igor, what do you have to show me today?"

    "Ladies, gentlemen. Igor present to you great scientific device." A quick imitation of Vanna White was attempted, as Igor walked up and down the length of his display with arms outstretched and a disfigured smile upon his face.

    "Very impressive, young man. What does it do?"

    "Igor show you, but with help of important assistant: Sparky.

    "And where is this Sparky?"

    Brilliant as he was, Igor couldn't comprehend how someone could miss the fact that a dead dog was laying upon the display table, hooked up to two kitchen spatulas and a device that looked like a defibrillator from Hell.

    "Here Sparky. He Igor’s beloved dog. He get ran over last week."

    That got Sunny's attention.

    "What...did...you...say?!"

    "Sparky Igor's dog. He dead. Igor bring Sparky back to life."

    Igor pushed several buttons in a particular sequence, grabbed the spatula terminals, rubbed them together, and sparks begin to fly.

    "These electrodes of Igor’s own design. Power channeled through spatulas. And this..." Igor hobbled back over to the main unit of his experiment. He reached out for the large, somewhat rusty switch with his left hand, and smiled."

    "...THIS POWER OF GOD!"

    Igor, having practiced this particular motion many times in front of the mirror, was as horrified as the surrounding throngs when Igor completely failed to move the switch, and in fact tore the stitches that held his arm to his torso causing the whole appendage to fall towards the floor. It was a gruesome display, to say the least, but at least Igor's firm grip had held onto the switch tightly, causing the sickly limb to wave slightly as it dangled freely above the floor.

    With a shrill "Oh my god in heaven!" Sunny fainted. Momma Igor was the only one who remained somewhat calm.

    "It okay! It okay! Stitching just come loose. Momma fix it!"

    "Sunny faint! Need mouth to mouth!" Poppa Igor thought back to the lifesaving techniques he learned from Baywatch, and prepared to administer the kiss of life, tongue included.

    "Stay back. Sunny need air. I know mouth to mouth."

    A random voice offered "But she didn't drown!"

    "So? Mouth to mouth always work for me!"

    Momma Igor, in a heightened state of awareness, had finished re-stitching Igor's arm before he was fully aware of it. Time was a valuable commodity, and her husband was about to attempt to betray his vows to her.

    "There you go."  She then turned to see Poppa Igor munching on a breath mint, making his final preparation to ensure Sunny enjoyed her life granting experience.

    "Momma need to borrow Sparky. Is that okay?"

    "Igor guess."

    "Momma take good care of him. I promise."

    Quickly, Momma Igor disconnected the electrodes running into Sparky's dead, curved boy. She then grabbed him by the hind legs, leaned back, and hurled the poor dead thing towards her husband. The broken form of Sparky connected with Poppa Igor, throwing him backwards as Sunny began to regain consciousness. Her virtue, plus Momma Igor's marriage, had been defended.

    "What the hell happened?" Sunny struggled to get to her feet as Momma Igor helped her up.

    "Nothing. Igor ready to do science fair project." She then turned to her husband and ordered "Bring Sparky over here!"

    "Yes, Momma." Poppa Igor picked the dog up, and walked behind Momma as she helped Sunny back to Igor's display. He considered dropping Momma Igor with a well timed dead dog to the back of the head, but figured there'd be too many witnesses.

A Brief Intermission...

I would just like to take a moment to thank those that actually are reading Igor's exploits. Feel free to comment on how much you hate this incarnation, or if you're actually enjoying it, inflict it upon those you call "friend."

Also, if you're finding errors in the text, bear with me as I'm running this on a measly dial-up connection, because it's the only option available to me.

I'd also like to state why you should keep hanging around: in approximately five more chapters Igor will have gained his first job at the Temple of Scienceology, which has absolutely almost no resemblance to those whack jobs who worship Tom Cruise, Steve Jobs, various world religions, and assorted space aliens.

Also, hilariously racist situations concerning those from a country that shares a border with the USA will enter into the storyline soon. No, it's not Canada.

In a similar vein, a Laundromat with a particular exclusive clientele list will eventually appear as well -- it's called "Keep Klothes Klean." You figure it out.

As a final notice, I'd just like to say this storyline is just half of the storyline that was devised within the last decade. This incarnation only has 16 chapters, and the remainder of the work exists still in screenplay format. The popularity of this blog (and hopefully eventual traditional publishing venues) will lead to the completion of the full storyline.

That okay with you?

"See, seenyore."

(rolls eyes)

Those wacky Canadians.

Sincerely,

Starlight