Well that's all I have of this incarnation of "Life and Times of Igor." All the remaining material is the originating screenplay from ten years ago and it remains in screenplay format.
I am currently unable to begin the adaptation and updating process to novel format as I'm wrapped up with more important matters.
Hopefully you liked it, probably you didn't, and I still apologize for certain glaring errors in the body of the text.
But it's all done for the foreseeable future, so if you actually did enjoy it feel free to share the link and tell your friends to follow the tags to read it in the proper order.
Sincerely,
Starlight :)
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Epilogue
The next days passed, ultimately, much like a montage sequence in a film. There were lazy mornings spent hanging around the von Igor residence, which Momma Igor became increasingly tolerant of. There were afternoons spent in Igor's bedroom with great piles of medical journals piled as high as the bed, which Poppa Igor was increasingly sad about. So sad, in fact, he resorted to his only viable option.
"So, Momma, you play catch with me?"
Momma Igor thought about it for a moment, then offered her response. "Only if you look like Brad Pitt."
"Okay, but you know this end of Brad's film career." Poppa Igor then gently knocked on Igor's bedroom door, stuck his head in for just a moment, stated "Momma and I are going to California for a while boys. Don't wait up for us."
In the presence of absence of Igor's parents, Victor and Igor started to play doctor in the privacy of Igor's bedroom - literally. Igor revealed the secrets of his familial history, explained the intricacies of life granting electricity, and happily surrendered the secret family recipes and liquids of sustaining random piles of flesh and other organs in coherent form, all of which Victor promised to keep secret, but ultimately used as the basis of his doctoral thesis:
Once his doctorate was officially obtained, Victor Frankenstein immediately took to acting like an arrogant prick to all those who harmlessly called him by name, and not by his shiny new title.
Dr. Nefarious and the rest of Victor's instructor's at Evil University had pulled a few strings in the community and assured the tumbledown castle would be Victor's from now on, managing even to get him a generous government grant that would fund his research, and provide all that he and Igor would ever need for a considerable measure of time.
Eventually, Dr. Flappy made a full recovery from his injuries sustained under the big top, and ultimately retired from the performing arts altogether. He now sells home appliances at a major retailer located in Toad Suck, Arkansas.
Kyle, former patron of the Keep Klothes Klean Laundromat, married his lover Tyrone, moved to Zimbabwe, and they lived happily ever after.
Joe Wazniack, formerly The Grand High Mystic, is home once again. His planet is in the earliest days of the golden age of peace which will last many, many millennia. Upon Melvin's latest report to Igor, his older brother is hating every single minute of it.
Missy, ever vigilant member of the Cult of the Lowercase T, is still peering in other people's places of worship, demanding to know why they're not willing to pay for the gifts she offers them via the Savior of the Cult of the Lowercase T. It's only out of sheer godliness the rival temple members haven't broken her knees, duct tape her mouth shut, and dropped her in the nearest river.
Roger Frankenstein, his beloved wife, and their circus are now touring the country once again, after the debacle of the human cannonball incident. Jojo The Monkey Christ is now the star attraction. Ticket sales are through the roof.
As for Igor and the newly minted Dr. Victor Frankenstein, the adventure of scientific discovery is only beginning. What could possibly go wrong?
"So, Momma, you play catch with me?"
Momma Igor thought about it for a moment, then offered her response. "Only if you look like Brad Pitt."
"Okay, but you know this end of Brad's film career." Poppa Igor then gently knocked on Igor's bedroom door, stuck his head in for just a moment, stated "Momma and I are going to California for a while boys. Don't wait up for us."
In the presence of absence of Igor's parents, Victor and Igor started to play doctor in the privacy of Igor's bedroom - literally. Igor revealed the secrets of his familial history, explained the intricacies of life granting electricity, and happily surrendered the secret family recipes and liquids of sustaining random piles of flesh and other organs in coherent form, all of which Victor promised to keep secret, but ultimately used as the basis of his doctoral thesis:
Humpty Dumpty - An Evil Perspective:
The Possibilities And The Potential.
The Possibilities And The Potential.
Once his doctorate was officially obtained, Victor Frankenstein immediately took to acting like an arrogant prick to all those who harmlessly called him by name, and not by his shiny new title.
Dr. Nefarious and the rest of Victor's instructor's at Evil University had pulled a few strings in the community and assured the tumbledown castle would be Victor's from now on, managing even to get him a generous government grant that would fund his research, and provide all that he and Igor would ever need for a considerable measure of time.
* * * * *
Eventually, Dr. Flappy made a full recovery from his injuries sustained under the big top, and ultimately retired from the performing arts altogether. He now sells home appliances at a major retailer located in Toad Suck, Arkansas.
* * * * *
Dr. Nefarious, unable to get a proper position in the standard medical care facilities, founded a homeopathic clinic in Los Angeles that encourages anorexia in its patients. Nefarious, so far, has managed to keep his unique means of sexual gratification in his pants.
* * * * *
Kyle, former patron of the Keep Klothes Klean Laundromat, married his lover Tyrone, moved to Zimbabwe, and they lived happily ever after.
* * * * *
Joe Wazniack, formerly The Grand High Mystic, is home once again. His planet is in the earliest days of the golden age of peace which will last many, many millennia. Upon Melvin's latest report to Igor, his older brother is hating every single minute of it.
* * * * *
Missy, ever vigilant member of the Cult of the Lowercase T, is still peering in other people's places of worship, demanding to know why they're not willing to pay for the gifts she offers them via the Savior of the Cult of the Lowercase T. It's only out of sheer godliness the rival temple members haven't broken her knees, duct tape her mouth shut, and dropped her in the nearest river.
* * * * *
Roger Frankenstein, his beloved wife, and their circus are now touring the country once again, after the debacle of the human cannonball incident. Jojo The Monkey Christ is now the star attraction. Ticket sales are through the roof.
* * * * *
As for Igor and the newly minted Dr. Victor Frankenstein, the adventure of scientific discovery is only beginning. What could possibly go wrong?
The End...?
Chapter Sixteen
The sun rose hot over the small town suburbia of Transylvania, Utah the following morning, as it often tends to do. First it hit the town limits, crept west, enveloped Transylvania High and kept going as it eventually snuck upon the tumbledown castle set up a high hill out in the barren wastes outside the city limits.
And as morning continued onwards, a very disoriented Victor Frankenstein was hovering between the unconscious realms and the conscious ones. It was hard to distinguish which was which, as the resulting pain from a brick laden purse was still dancing hard and ricocheting within his skull.
"Hey...clown boy...you dead?" Poppa Igor inquired.
"Mwha...?" was the best Victor could manage.
"Here, drink this."
In the blurry haze of morning shadows seen through his eyelids, Victor was finding himself more and more in the realm of consciousness. He tried to fight it, because the pain here was more persistent, not to mention obvious.
Opening his eyes, Victor first focused gently upon the offered drink, and after an attempt or two, managed to actually find it with both hands, took hold of it, and took a swig. Whatever the refreshment was, it certainly wasn't pleasant, and would've vomited it back out had it not been for Poppa Igor's quick thinking by placing a hand upon Victor's mouth and shoving his head backwards to ensure he did swallow the horrendous concoction.
"Don't be stupid, boy, it good for you. Besides, there's no telling what Momma would do to you if you ruin her new couch. Then we'd have to start all over. Now drink the rest. Understand?"
Victor nodded gently, and drank down another mouthful.
"Good. You'll feel better in one moment. Wait here, I'll be right back."
After a few stomach wrenching moments, Victor was discovering that his mind seemed to be clearing, and the pain was definitely lessening. Encouraged by these results, he drank the rest in one hearty go, just as Poppa Igor was coming back into the von Igor sitting room. He had an expectant look, and something in his hands.
"So, what's your name, clown boy?"
"Victor. Victor Frankenstein."
"So, Victor, you feel better now?"
"Oddly enough...I do."
"Good. You want to play catch with me?"
Victor looked at the man who apparently had been caring for him, his hopeful smile, and the two baseball mitts and required ball for such a sport.
"What the hell..."
Upstairs, Igor had slept peacefully while Momma Igor lovingly reassembled her beloved son. Having had a tiring, traumatic evening, Igor was starting to stir later than usual and heard the gentle humming of his mother reattaching the last bits of his extremities.
"Where Igor?"
"You're in bed, dear. Momma is putting you back together."
"Where Victor?"
"Oh, he's around here somewhere," Momma offered with a touch of grumpiness. She then pulled a final piece of stitching a little harder than was necessary, snipped it, and proclaimed "All done!"
Igor briefly examined his body as a whole to make sure everything was working properly, then cautiously rose up out of bed, and turned to face the eastern windows in his bedroom. Gently Igor experimented with the bonds holding his legs and feet together, then slipped his navy blue slippers onto his bare feet and went to the window.
"Victor playing catch with Poppa?"
"It would seem so. Now, what do you want for breakfast?"
"No breakfast. Igor want to see Victor."
Victor and Poppa Igor had been playing catch for nearly half an hour before the rest of the von Igor's revealed themselves. In the intervening time, Igor's dog Sparky had been trying to catch the ball when it slipped from someone's mitt, and although Victor couldn't exactly put his finger on it, he knew that there was something not quite right about Sparky. Sparky could bark like a dog, chase his tail, pursue a foul ball, and check the messages he left on the nearest fire hydrant for any responses, and still engage in more dog-like activities.*
*Sparky, Victor later discovered, was very accomplished at rolling over, and especially competent at playing dead.
And at the sight of Igor, Sparky barked and ran for the youngest von Igor, while Momma Igor eyed Victor's game with her husband viciously. Still uncertain of what was going on, Victor just smiled when Poppa Igor threw the ball to Victor, then caught it, and was then caught in a fatherly embrace from Poppa Igor.
"I have new son. One that will play catch with me. Igor, get out."
"Poppa..." Igor simply let the statement slide, while Momma growled at the growing kinship between her husband and the young man who was responsible for shooting her beloved son out of a cannon.
"Now don't snarl, Momma. That's no way to treat your new son. Right, my boy?"
"Uh...I guess?" Victor responded as Poppa Igor mussed up his hair in a proud manner.
"Humph!" Momma Igor snarled, went back inside, and slammed the door behind her.
"Poppa, can Igor have moment with Victor?"
"You're not going to play catch with him, are you?" Poppa Igor looked suspiciously upon his one offspring.
"No."
"Good. Come by any time, Victor."
Poppa Igor then took the baseball mitt from Victor, turned towards the house, and stepped inside whistling. It stopped short after the door closed, and a soft CLAAANNGGG! was heard through the early morning stillness.
For a moment, there was a general sense of cautious hesitation between Victor and Igor as, from the house, a muffled argument erupted between Momma Igor's insistence on Victor being responsible for the sorry state of her baby boy, and Poppa Igor's ongoing demands about how Momma Igor was being unreasonable, and that she should reattach his head to its aimlessly wandering body that kept crashing into the sitting room furniture. Finally, Igor broke the silence.
"So, Victor want to go get pizza?"
"Sounds great. Let's go."
And together stepped they into a blossoming friendship.
And as morning continued onwards, a very disoriented Victor Frankenstein was hovering between the unconscious realms and the conscious ones. It was hard to distinguish which was which, as the resulting pain from a brick laden purse was still dancing hard and ricocheting within his skull.
"Hey...clown boy...you dead?" Poppa Igor inquired.
"Mwha...?" was the best Victor could manage.
"Here, drink this."
In the blurry haze of morning shadows seen through his eyelids, Victor was finding himself more and more in the realm of consciousness. He tried to fight it, because the pain here was more persistent, not to mention obvious.
Opening his eyes, Victor first focused gently upon the offered drink, and after an attempt or two, managed to actually find it with both hands, took hold of it, and took a swig. Whatever the refreshment was, it certainly wasn't pleasant, and would've vomited it back out had it not been for Poppa Igor's quick thinking by placing a hand upon Victor's mouth and shoving his head backwards to ensure he did swallow the horrendous concoction.
"Don't be stupid, boy, it good for you. Besides, there's no telling what Momma would do to you if you ruin her new couch. Then we'd have to start all over. Now drink the rest. Understand?"
Victor nodded gently, and drank down another mouthful.
"Good. You'll feel better in one moment. Wait here, I'll be right back."
After a few stomach wrenching moments, Victor was discovering that his mind seemed to be clearing, and the pain was definitely lessening. Encouraged by these results, he drank the rest in one hearty go, just as Poppa Igor was coming back into the von Igor sitting room. He had an expectant look, and something in his hands.
"So, what's your name, clown boy?"
"Victor. Victor Frankenstein."
"So, Victor, you feel better now?"
"Oddly enough...I do."
"Good. You want to play catch with me?"
Victor looked at the man who apparently had been caring for him, his hopeful smile, and the two baseball mitts and required ball for such a sport.
"What the hell..."
* * * * *
Upstairs, Igor had slept peacefully while Momma Igor lovingly reassembled her beloved son. Having had a tiring, traumatic evening, Igor was starting to stir later than usual and heard the gentle humming of his mother reattaching the last bits of his extremities.
"Where Igor?"
"You're in bed, dear. Momma is putting you back together."
"Where Victor?"
"Oh, he's around here somewhere," Momma offered with a touch of grumpiness. She then pulled a final piece of stitching a little harder than was necessary, snipped it, and proclaimed "All done!"
Igor briefly examined his body as a whole to make sure everything was working properly, then cautiously rose up out of bed, and turned to face the eastern windows in his bedroom. Gently Igor experimented with the bonds holding his legs and feet together, then slipped his navy blue slippers onto his bare feet and went to the window.
"Victor playing catch with Poppa?"
"It would seem so. Now, what do you want for breakfast?"
"No breakfast. Igor want to see Victor."
* * * * *
Victor and Poppa Igor had been playing catch for nearly half an hour before the rest of the von Igor's revealed themselves. In the intervening time, Igor's dog Sparky had been trying to catch the ball when it slipped from someone's mitt, and although Victor couldn't exactly put his finger on it, he knew that there was something not quite right about Sparky. Sparky could bark like a dog, chase his tail, pursue a foul ball, and check the messages he left on the nearest fire hydrant for any responses, and still engage in more dog-like activities.*
*Sparky, Victor later discovered, was very accomplished at rolling over, and especially competent at playing dead.
And at the sight of Igor, Sparky barked and ran for the youngest von Igor, while Momma Igor eyed Victor's game with her husband viciously. Still uncertain of what was going on, Victor just smiled when Poppa Igor threw the ball to Victor, then caught it, and was then caught in a fatherly embrace from Poppa Igor.
"I have new son. One that will play catch with me. Igor, get out."
"Poppa..." Igor simply let the statement slide, while Momma growled at the growing kinship between her husband and the young man who was responsible for shooting her beloved son out of a cannon.
"Now don't snarl, Momma. That's no way to treat your new son. Right, my boy?"
"Uh...I guess?" Victor responded as Poppa Igor mussed up his hair in a proud manner.
"Humph!" Momma Igor snarled, went back inside, and slammed the door behind her.
"Poppa, can Igor have moment with Victor?"
"You're not going to play catch with him, are you?" Poppa Igor looked suspiciously upon his one offspring.
"No."
"Good. Come by any time, Victor."
Poppa Igor then took the baseball mitt from Victor, turned towards the house, and stepped inside whistling. It stopped short after the door closed, and a soft CLAAANNGGG! was heard through the early morning stillness.
For a moment, there was a general sense of cautious hesitation between Victor and Igor as, from the house, a muffled argument erupted between Momma Igor's insistence on Victor being responsible for the sorry state of her baby boy, and Poppa Igor's ongoing demands about how Momma Igor was being unreasonable, and that she should reattach his head to its aimlessly wandering body that kept crashing into the sitting room furniture. Finally, Igor broke the silence.
"So, Victor want to go get pizza?"
"Sounds great. Let's go."
And together stepped they into a blossoming friendship.
Chapter Fifteen
The night of Igor's debut performance came one week later, and in the intervening time the majestic blue and gold cannon, which had for all these years served merely as a prop, was checked and rechecked, dismantled where capable, studied, and every connection, seal and bolt was put under tremendous scrutiny as this was to be a return to the good old days of performance yesteryear with an admittedly dangerous act that hadn't been seen in decades.
As an additional means of welcoming Igor to the big top, Roger Frankenstein and his son pored over the endless texts of safety measures and protective equipment and came up with a patriotic red, white and blue sequined jumpsuit complete with polyester cape, gloves, and the appropriate protective headwear.
The Master of Ceremonies, with a new found sense of dedication, took to the airwaves to promote their fresh blood and the performances he'd be undertaking. Roger himself had taken over Dr. Dipsy's role in choreographing the dancing bears, and taught them a few new routines and a new tumbling act as they fought a mock battle over picnic baskets and who would get the edible ambrosia contained within.
And after the promise was made of a brand new show and the ongoing media campaign by its Master of Ceremonies, the circus was beginning to find its audience again, and come Saturday evening the hopeful and the dreamers filed in, along with the parents of the big top's latest act.
Poppa Igor was followed by his wife, with her brick laden purse ever at the ready in case a tap dancing bear should happen to find her son to be a delectable morsel.
"Oh, I hope Igor will be okay."
"Put it down, Momma. Bears not eat Igor."
"They'd better not, or we'll have new grizzly carpeting in den tomorrow."
"Ssh, Momma, circus starting."
The lights went down, the pipe organ began playing a bouncy, cheerful tune, and the center spotlight shined down upon the Master of Ceremonies as he welcomed the crowds and promised them a show they wouldn't soon forget.
First up were the dancing bears, followed by fiery chainsaw juggling, and the standard clown dessert based battles. Victor dedicated a rendition of Perry Como's "Hot Diggity" to the memory of Bertha, which sent Dr. Flappy into paranoid hysterics due to the fact the show was being aired live on the local cable access channels. Bertha herself shed several joyous tears from up in the bleachers, but remained incognito for the sake of the show.
And then, as Flappy's screaming was subsiding due to large quantities of emergency pharmaceuticals, the lights came down again and the music stirred up the crowds with a rhythmic applause that resulted in an eruption of noise as two spotlights shined down - one upon the giant canon, the other on Igor as he strode towards the giant iron beast.
The Master of Ceremonies once again took up his microphone, and unseen in the darkness with only the dramatic rhythm of a drumbeat to fill the nervous hush, he proclaimed the return of show stopping grandeur and how the life of one brave young man hung in the balance.
It was all quite theatrical, but Igor never heard a word of it. His only sensations were one of dampness from the sweat and formaldehyde mixture that he was shedding with great vigor, almost as if such an act would increase his aerodynamic chances of landing safely in the net on the far side of the enclosed tent.
Sometime amongst his worrying, the Master of Ceremonies fell quiet and Igor, with the help of his new friend Victor, loaded himself into giant barrel. Victor offered a quick and enthusiastic "good luck," as the loading chamber was sealed. Victor was then handed a silly, oversized stick of dynamite which was lit that would serve as the means of firing off the hunchbacked cannonball.
And, in the darkness of the cannon chamber, a distant echoing sound reached Igor's ears.
"Ten!"
Up in the seating, Momma Igor fussed with her purse, searching for something.
"Nine!"
On the opposite end of the cannon, Bertha wiped tears of unrequited love from her eyes.
"Eight!"
In his hospital bed, Flappy rested and his television was unplugged, for his own protection.
"Seven!"
The clowns, gathered about in various sections of the seating area, cheered the crowd on as the countdown continued.
"Six!"
Victor, caught up in the moment, was waving the oversized, cartoon inspired, stick of dynamite complete with lit fuse as theatrically as he could. It pulled even more energy from the gathered crowds.
"Five!"
In the barrel, Igor suddenly considered what he hadn't before -- being a human cannonball was essentially a giant game of catch, which was a byproduct of baseball. Both games, Igor realized, never ended well.
"Four!"
"Find it yet, Momma?" Poppa Igor asked of his wife.
"Three!"
"It must be in car," Momma Igor replied, as she continued rifling through her purse.
"Two!"
"No, wait, here it is..."
"One!"
And Victor spun around in place, and dropped the burning flame upon the fuse of the cannon. The earth shaking shudder of noise and chaos launched Igor up into the highest reaches of the big top, and he remained unseen as smoke filled the arena and everyone was distracted by the fact the net fashioned to catch any and all daredevils was completely devoid of said safe capture.
When the world inside the tent settled down and the confusion seemed to last the rest of the evening, until a scream from beyond the net up in the bleachers shocked the circus and its attendees into reality once again, as Igor had collided at high speed with Bertha and broke apart upon impact. Bertha herself was knocked unconscious and those surrounding her were removing dismembered limbs from their clothes and picking smaller body parts from their popcorn and cotton candy, and ultimately they ran screaming from the stadium.
Victor, still lost in the moment of excitement, was kicked back into reality when he saw the parting crowds and the carnage of body parts covering a third of the immediate area where he collided with the spectators.
"Oh god I killed him!"
Victor, caught in a swarm of escaping audience members, managed to fight his way to the
nearest steps leading to the impact zone, and did an unnatural dance hopping and twisting his way
as to not step on his friend's remains, and briefly forget about the carnage as he checked the
unconscious woman's vitals.
Bertha, completely unrecognizable to the graduate student Victor now was, stirred briefly,
looked up into the face of her one true love, and smiled.
"Ma'am, it's okay. Just hang on, I'm a doctor...almost a doctor, at least."
"Funny clown doctor now? My hero...." and Bertha slipped back into unconsciousness.
As Victor tried to piece together the meaning of this one statement, a second voice turned
Victor's attention to the carnage he'd been trying to avoid.
It was Igor's. His head was a few feet up from Bertha's sleeping form, and looked to be
suffering the exact text book definition of Woozy Squared.
"Victor have sewing kit?"
"Igor? You're alive?"
"Igor alive. Victor have sewing kit?"
"Uh, no. Why?"
"Igor need sewing kit. Put Igor back together."
"What?"
"Igor not dead. See?"
Igor's head motioned as best as it could to the left. An arm was slowly dragging itself
along the bleachers towards Igor's head, stopped for a moment, and waved to Victor.
"Igor just need quick patch up and Igor be fine."
There was a scurrying behind Victor that was barely recognizable. It sounded like some
mad woman crying about her son.
"My baby! He hurt my baby!" was the last thing, besides the darkening pain, Victor was
able to recollect that particular evening.
As an additional means of welcoming Igor to the big top, Roger Frankenstein and his son pored over the endless texts of safety measures and protective equipment and came up with a patriotic red, white and blue sequined jumpsuit complete with polyester cape, gloves, and the appropriate protective headwear.
The Master of Ceremonies, with a new found sense of dedication, took to the airwaves to promote their fresh blood and the performances he'd be undertaking. Roger himself had taken over Dr. Dipsy's role in choreographing the dancing bears, and taught them a few new routines and a new tumbling act as they fought a mock battle over picnic baskets and who would get the edible ambrosia contained within.
And after the promise was made of a brand new show and the ongoing media campaign by its Master of Ceremonies, the circus was beginning to find its audience again, and come Saturday evening the hopeful and the dreamers filed in, along with the parents of the big top's latest act.
Poppa Igor was followed by his wife, with her brick laden purse ever at the ready in case a tap dancing bear should happen to find her son to be a delectable morsel.
"Oh, I hope Igor will be okay."
"Put it down, Momma. Bears not eat Igor."
"They'd better not, or we'll have new grizzly carpeting in den tomorrow."
"Ssh, Momma, circus starting."
The lights went down, the pipe organ began playing a bouncy, cheerful tune, and the center spotlight shined down upon the Master of Ceremonies as he welcomed the crowds and promised them a show they wouldn't soon forget.
First up were the dancing bears, followed by fiery chainsaw juggling, and the standard clown dessert based battles. Victor dedicated a rendition of Perry Como's "Hot Diggity" to the memory of Bertha, which sent Dr. Flappy into paranoid hysterics due to the fact the show was being aired live on the local cable access channels. Bertha herself shed several joyous tears from up in the bleachers, but remained incognito for the sake of the show.
And then, as Flappy's screaming was subsiding due to large quantities of emergency pharmaceuticals, the lights came down again and the music stirred up the crowds with a rhythmic applause that resulted in an eruption of noise as two spotlights shined down - one upon the giant canon, the other on Igor as he strode towards the giant iron beast.
The Master of Ceremonies once again took up his microphone, and unseen in the darkness with only the dramatic rhythm of a drumbeat to fill the nervous hush, he proclaimed the return of show stopping grandeur and how the life of one brave young man hung in the balance.
It was all quite theatrical, but Igor never heard a word of it. His only sensations were one of dampness from the sweat and formaldehyde mixture that he was shedding with great vigor, almost as if such an act would increase his aerodynamic chances of landing safely in the net on the far side of the enclosed tent.
Sometime amongst his worrying, the Master of Ceremonies fell quiet and Igor, with the help of his new friend Victor, loaded himself into giant barrel. Victor offered a quick and enthusiastic "good luck," as the loading chamber was sealed. Victor was then handed a silly, oversized stick of dynamite which was lit that would serve as the means of firing off the hunchbacked cannonball.
And, in the darkness of the cannon chamber, a distant echoing sound reached Igor's ears.
"Ten!"
Up in the seating, Momma Igor fussed with her purse, searching for something.
"Nine!"
On the opposite end of the cannon, Bertha wiped tears of unrequited love from her eyes.
"Eight!"
In his hospital bed, Flappy rested and his television was unplugged, for his own protection.
"Seven!"
The clowns, gathered about in various sections of the seating area, cheered the crowd on as the countdown continued.
"Six!"
Victor, caught up in the moment, was waving the oversized, cartoon inspired, stick of dynamite complete with lit fuse as theatrically as he could. It pulled even more energy from the gathered crowds.
"Five!"
In the barrel, Igor suddenly considered what he hadn't before -- being a human cannonball was essentially a giant game of catch, which was a byproduct of baseball. Both games, Igor realized, never ended well.
"Four!"
"Find it yet, Momma?" Poppa Igor asked of his wife.
"Three!"
"It must be in car," Momma Igor replied, as she continued rifling through her purse.
"Two!"
"No, wait, here it is..."
"One!"
And Victor spun around in place, and dropped the burning flame upon the fuse of the cannon. The earth shaking shudder of noise and chaos launched Igor up into the highest reaches of the big top, and he remained unseen as smoke filled the arena and everyone was distracted by the fact the net fashioned to catch any and all daredevils was completely devoid of said safe capture.
When the world inside the tent settled down and the confusion seemed to last the rest of the evening, until a scream from beyond the net up in the bleachers shocked the circus and its attendees into reality once again, as Igor had collided at high speed with Bertha and broke apart upon impact. Bertha herself was knocked unconscious and those surrounding her were removing dismembered limbs from their clothes and picking smaller body parts from their popcorn and cotton candy, and ultimately they ran screaming from the stadium.
Victor, still lost in the moment of excitement, was kicked back into reality when he saw the parting crowds and the carnage of body parts covering a third of the immediate area where he collided with the spectators.
"Oh god I killed him!"
Victor, caught in a swarm of escaping audience members, managed to fight his way to the
nearest steps leading to the impact zone, and did an unnatural dance hopping and twisting his way
as to not step on his friend's remains, and briefly forget about the carnage as he checked the
unconscious woman's vitals.
Bertha, completely unrecognizable to the graduate student Victor now was, stirred briefly,
looked up into the face of her one true love, and smiled.
"Ma'am, it's okay. Just hang on, I'm a doctor...almost a doctor, at least."
"Funny clown doctor now? My hero...." and Bertha slipped back into unconsciousness.
As Victor tried to piece together the meaning of this one statement, a second voice turned
Victor's attention to the carnage he'd been trying to avoid.
It was Igor's. His head was a few feet up from Bertha's sleeping form, and looked to be
suffering the exact text book definition of Woozy Squared.
"Victor have sewing kit?"
"Igor? You're alive?"
"Igor alive. Victor have sewing kit?"
"Uh, no. Why?"
"Igor need sewing kit. Put Igor back together."
"What?"
"Igor not dead. See?"
Igor's head motioned as best as it could to the left. An arm was slowly dragging itself
along the bleachers towards Igor's head, stopped for a moment, and waved to Victor.
"Igor just need quick patch up and Igor be fine."
There was a scurrying behind Victor that was barely recognizable. It sounded like some
mad woman crying about her son.
"My baby! He hurt my baby!" was the last thing, besides the darkening pain, Victor was
able to recollect that particular evening.
Chapter Fourteen
Three weeks had passed since Almighty Steve's disconnection from the iLive to which he'd been attached, and with Joe Wazniack's now permanent absence and remaining psychological hold over the Cheewahwah's Evolved Ones now broken, along with the dismantling of the Temple of Scienceology (Formerly A Cult,) Igor was now out of a job.
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.
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.
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.
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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