Chapter Eight

Twenty years of ongoing silent migration from the barren wastes northward had led Steve's descendents to a place that was to be established as holy, yes we've got proof, Here's-The- Documentation*-Now-Please-Get-Your-Infidel-Ass-Off-My-Land-Or-It's-Going-To-Be-"Allah Kaboomy**" and BOOM!!!, your claim to this area is suddenly invalid.

* Oddly enough, though the parties in question often spoke different languages, their proof of documentation always ended up being the same texts.

**A joyous cry towards the heavens in celebration of one sect's deity. It roughly translates "The God Who Explodes." This skywards cry tends to only be proclaimed by the more unhinged members of said religious sect, who intend on remaining in one piece for a very specific time, depending on the length of the fuse.

Oddly enough the Evolved Cheewahwah's had also ventured north and found it easier to acclimate to their new surroundings. The only problem the Evolved Cheewahwah's had to deal with was gun toting men in their freshly laundered robes and other people that didn't take kindly to dirty, rat-like illegals that insisted you habla espagnol. The most popular reply often sounded like this: "I don't habla illegal immigranty, so git your ass out of Uncle Sam's back yard. You habla that?" This was usually followed by the chack-chack of a gun suddenly being pointed at said Evolved Ones.

"See, seenyor. We're heer for your moneey and your weemen."

In retrospect, The Investigator's would later decide upon visitation some years later, evolving little alien doglike things into people was a definite mistake. Taking little dogs, making them bigger, showing them certain addictive types of foliage, gunpowder and the high velocity lead propelled equivalent of teeth only helped to sink the country even further into the shitter.

As the Cheewahwah's faced their problems, the Descendents of Steve set forth building a temple. The Temple of Scienceology would feature a cavernous basement whose use would be determined at a later time, neon lights on the exterior of the building, a place to store Steve's

designs, thoughts, and notions so they could slowly be leaked into this world's Conversation-Makey's and, most importantly, a cafeteria that would serve the best damn pistachio ice cream known to man or Cheewahwah.

The temple, it must be said, was a marvel of marble, crystal, neon, and possibly even gold plating. It was a lighthouse for crazy people drifting on the calm blue waves and peaceful breezes of complete sanity. And came these people lost in a perfectly normal world to the temple, wallets open and minds ready to believe any dumbass notion because it made more sense to be a gullible jackass than to actually have to think about stuff. This notion, plus the fact it had been given tax-exempt status in North America, legitimized it as a bone-fide religion.

And it was to this temple Igor would report to for his first job. Thankfully, he would have others in the coming years.

* * * * *

It was morning in the von Igor household. All thoughts of karaoke and cases of mistaken sexual preferences had been mostly forgotten about. Igor looked down at what remained of Poppa Igor's bottle of "Cowboy's Delight." It was immediately flushed down the toilet, to be replaced by a fragrance designed lesser to attract and subdue and more to simply neutralize various body odors.

And with one last glance in the mirror, Igor gathered up his no frills flip phone and wallet and headed downstairs.

* * * * *

Look once again at the Temple of Scienceology. Yes, the eye falls upon the exquisite architecture, the use of marble and neon, and such. All perfectly normal. Now walk around it at a distance and you'll begin to notice that, yes, it does look perfectly normal, which is precisely why one would assume there's absolutely nothing that can be honestly described as normal going on inside.

And should you scan you the heavens, and were in the know, you'd realize that the innocuous antenna array placed upon the higher levels of this building is designed to send, receive, and deflect various signals from this planet and from the mother-world, which is still enjoying its prosperous time. Signals sent  and received confirm this lasting peace, much as The Grinch stands upon the mountaintop checking on the progress of holiday theft.

The antenna array that deflects signals is to ensure, so to speak, that the Who's don't come up the mountaintop and slaughter the green monster in his fake Santy Claus outfit and take everything back. After all, if the Jhew Alliance were monitoring this secondary home world, then those with the most toys and expensive Conversation-Makey's would most certainly have them taken away again. Peace most certainly cannot reign*** on THIS planet, because it totally screwed up the last one.

*** If Adolph Industries couldn’t preside over it, it wasn’t worth having. The standard employee affirmation that was taped up to every cubicle in A.I’s HQ read like this: Our Reign Or No Reign At All.

* * * * *

Outside now, the shining Prius of the von Igor family arrives to drop the youngest of the family outside the place of his first experiences with gainful employment. Igor got out of the back seat, and as he did Momma Igor likewise stepped out, tears in her eyes and a hanky in her hand.

"Oh, my baby's growing up so fast," she wailed. Momma Igor then blew her nose through the tears as Igor looked around, embarrassed that someone might see this display of affection. Poppa Igor decided to get out of the car and attend to this situation.

From above, and unnoticed by the von Igor’s, the crashing of glass and an echoing electronic sizzle was drowned out by Momma Igor’s tears.

"Momma, let Igor be. Oh, and tell them to fix their neon, son."

As one, the von Igor's followed Poppa Igor's pointing finger up to the flickering lettering that declared, in bold red letters:

WELCOME TO THE TEMPLE OF SCIENCEOLOGY!!!
(NOT A CULT) 

The electronic flickering was coming from the letters that formed the word “NOT.”

"Igor tell them, Poppa."

"Good boy. Now have a good day." Poppa Igor managed to shout through the constant wails of a mother who knew that this was only the first step to becoming afflicted with that terminal disease known as Empty Nest Syndrome.

"Igor call when it quitting time."

Momma Igor managed to compose herself for a moment to say "That's a good boy" before losing all control as Igor slowly stepped towards the front doors. As he passed through the exterior glass doors, there was a final burst of somber wailing and a moment of Poppa Igor protesting, which was immediately followed with a muffled thwack which could only have been a faux crocodile skin purse containing a brick which most likely sent a father's head into the steering wheel. Then Igor was pretty certain he heard something like an air bag being deployed and was pretty certain it would be followed up by the clack-clack of Momma Igor's high heels walking down the pavement, leaving Poppa Igor to think about his mistakes, with his head upside down in the trunk and the torso trying desperately to find the key Momma Igor threw down the sewer grating.

Inside the spacious, modern and extremely clean lobby were sets of elevators to Igor's front and sides, with staircases to each side of each individual elevator for good measure. In front of Igor sat a receptionist who was unnecessarily cheerful when needed which replaced the inhuman blank stare in her pale face and clouded eyes Igor first noticed as he stepped into the temple's lobby. The medieval style aluminum foil helmet she wore upon her head wobbled as she came to life to greet Igor.

"Good morning! How may I help you fight the alien overlords?"

Confused, Igor simply replied "Igor here to see Grand High Mystic. Igor offered job."

"I see. One moment please."

The receptionist then, to Igor's continued bewilderment, did not pick up the corded telephones upon her desk, neither did she make use of the three shockingly new smart-phones. Instead she stood up, zoned out, placed her hands in the air as if to form a human Y, and began to make a noise which was half hum, half shriek, while also managing to somehow speak in tongues despite not opening her mouth to let the noise escape from.

Igor gave it a moment, then asked "What lady doing?"

For a second the sounds she made continued, then abruptly stopped.

"I’m letting the Grand High Mystic know you're here." She then sat back down, and resumed the unnatural cheerful attitude she displayed earlier.

"Well...okay. If lady says so."

"Would you like a tin foil hat, young man? It keeps the brain eating viruses out."

"Igor fine, thanks."

This should've been the first sign of danger, but for Igor, it was just a casual curiosity. Casual would've become much more formal as the receptionist begin to emit high pitched noises that betrayed her lineage: that of an evolved Cheewahwah.

"Funny, she doesn't look Cheewahwah," is what you should be thinking at this moment in the literary prose. And the fact that she's been set to vibrate is going to be of no concern as well, although it should clue you in on the coming details.

Igor was just about to spin around to look for a tiny shaking dog when the Grand High

Mystic swept into the room and extended his arms in a gracious manner as if to welcome Igor to

his new home sweet home, then said "follow me please, young man," and led Igor to a room

designed for, it seemed, a multitude of many humiliating tests and electrical experiments, would

be conducted.

"What this?" Igor asked as he looked at a bank of various electrical based meters, Geiger

counters, a few science-fiction based scanning devices (obviously broken) from the biggest

syndicated television shows of the last twenty years, and a manual egg beater that was attached to a twelve volt battery for no real discernable reason, although there were dried and crusty remains of egg yolk covering two-thirds of the nearest wall to the table said devices were laid upon.

"You're the technical expert, or so we hope." The smile from the Grand Mystic sent a

shudder through Igor that knocked a few of his extra wisdom teeth loose and were almost

accidentally swallowed.

The Mystic then opened his arms at half extension, letting the elegant fabric of his robes

fold into a somewhat benevolent, papal manner. He then motioned with his left hand, sweeping

over the table of devices while summoning forward with his right hand.

"Can you, young man, identify these devices?" Igor stepped forward, and demonstrated

that he knew what was what. He rattled off their names as he picked each and everyone up, then

put them back down and moved along the table.

"Tricorder, 1960's model. Modern tricorder. Medical tricorder. These Sonic Screwdrivers. This garage door opener. This...why egg beater hooked up to car battery?

"Oh, ignore that. Anderson uses that to combat his erectile dysfunction." Igor immediately

dropped the egg beater, and continued. "Geiger counter, and this..."

"Yes...?"

"This ohmmeter."

"Ah, I'm afraid it isn't."

"It is, Igor know. Igor have three."

"Sorry, young man, that's not an ohmmeter."

"Then, Igor ask, what is it?"

"An S-Meter. We here at the Temple of Scienceology use this to measure...."

"...electrical resistance." Igor added.

"NO! For the last time, it's not an ohmmeter! We keep those in the kitchen! S-Meters are

holy objects brought to this world from a time long forgotten!" The Grand High Mystic then

picked up the S-Meter, and unhooked two hidden alligator clamps from the underside and

extended two more bullet shape probes and a horseshoe shaped antenna from the top of the

housing.

"Please step forward, young Igor."

"What for?"

"Why, a scan of course. We have to make sure you were born to be one with our family.

Of course, there is a fee that goes with the scan, but don't worry, once we've confirmed your

employment, weekly deductions will be take from your pay check to cover the costs of S-Meter

scanning, interpreting the results, and general maintenance covering wear and tear, and the likes."

"How much does S-Meter fees cost?"

With a slight smile, came the response from the Mystic. "An arm and a leg, I'm afraid."

"Oh, Igor can handle that easily." Igor began yanking at the surgical threading that was

holding his right arm and leg to his body. "Igor have extras anyways. Maybe it time to update

Igor's look anyways."

"No, Igor! STOP! We require cash!"

"Certain of that? Leg here among finest of past Olympians. It'd be more valuable if Igor

had the other one, but cousin ended up with it."

Shaking slightly, the Grand High Mystic managed to compose himself while Igor laced up
the stitches he'd cut loose and, when all was reasonably normal again, the S-Meter scan began.
Igor was told to stand up straight as possible, while the alligator clamps were affixed to his ears.
One of the bullet shaped probes was placed under Igor's tongue, and the other, although
somewhat cool to the touch, Igor had to admit was a pleasing experience in his rectum. The
electrical shock that emanated from the probes wasn't. "Do try to hold still," was the only means
of assurance the Mystic offered Igor as the S-Meter continued to do its thing, as a secondary dial was turned ever so gently to the right. As the unknown electrical intensity coming from the S-Meter increased, an ominous smell of  baked turkey and tapioca pudding began to emanate from the hunchback's pores, and as the maximum settings were reached, things really began to get confusing.

Setting Twelve, as it was known, was rarely used and highly controversial. Those chosen
few that were allowed the great honor of utilizing the S-Meter often shared  worried whispers
about what Setting Twelve could be used to determine, as none of them had ever needed or dare
imagine a need for such a setting. Only the Grand High Mystic knew, and the questioning began
thusly:

"Igor, can you hear me?"

"Igor hear..."

A button was punched which sent a random jolt into the many probes. Igor's body
trembled briefly and his eyes began to glow an unhealthy red. Then the tension of his body
relaxed, yet the ominous red glow remained.

"Igor, do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

"Igor, from now on, I want you to refer to me as 'master,' do you understand?"

"Igor understand."

The body shaking button was punched again, and Igor lurched again.

"Igor understand, master."

"I thought as much. Now tell me, what do you know of The Jhew Alliance?"

"........" was Igor's response.

"I'll ask again. Tell me everything you know about The Jhew Alliance."

The silent response came again.

"Do you know who we are?"

"...mass....ter.....yoooo.....rrrrrr......Grrraaand Hiiiii Meees Tick."

"We, Igor, are the Descendents Of Steve, the loving founder of Adolph Industries. The
Jhew Alliance is the greatest threat to our kind. Do you understand anything of what I have just
said?"

"......, massterrr."

"I have a task for you, Igor. A task I hope you are up to. You are up to taking on tasks for
me, your master, correct?"

"Yessss.....massterrrrr...."

"Good. This building was constructed by the Cheewahwah race, as ordered by the
Descendants of Steve, and it will herald a new beginning for this world. There are those from the
stars we call The Jhew Alliance. They exiled us from our home, and in doing so cast us from
paradise. But here, we have rebuilt the dreams and ideals of Almighty Steve, and placed his
creations among the people of this planet. Our network is vast and growing daily. And soon, very
soon, the love and gifts of Adolph Industries will help us overtake this planet, and we shall use its resources to reclaim our home planet. And now we come to your involvement in our plans, young man. There are those amongst the population that have refused the gifts of Almighty Steve. We suspect The Jhew Alliance could initiate these individuals to the cause of destroying this temple and all memory of Steve and his creations. We must not let that happen. Do you understand, Igor?"

"Yesss masssterrr."

"Good."

And with that, the S-Meter was deactivated, and Igor fell to the floor in an unconscious
heap of mysterious aromas and bubbling liquids. The Grand High Mystic took this moment to lay Igor upon a table, allowing him a moment's rest while removing the S-Meter probes and such
from this latest test subject.

After a few moments of some dizzying mental acrobatics the center was found again and
Igor awoke, thirsty and confused. The Grand High Mystic had known this was coming and had a
cup of water ready.

"How are you feeling, my boy?"

"Igor...thirsty...master."

The Grand High Mystic handed the cool cup of water over, into Igor's weakened hands as
both were necessary to hold up such a light weight. The Mystic told him to drink slowly, and Igor never noticed the difference between what he was and what he had become in the usage of the term "master."

"Igor pass test?" Igor work for Scienceologists?"

"My boy, you came through all our screenings with flying colors. And it says here..." he
picked up a random tablet computer, "...that all tests for Jewfluenza**** were negative."

****A debilitating disease that once spread amongst the members of the Descendents of Steve.  It reinforces the common sense of the infected individual, while simultaneously strengthening the part of the brain that refuses to be dominated, controlled, or exterminated by means of physical or psychological warfare, not to mention technological tyranny.

Igor took another sip from his very heavy cup of water and asked "What Jewfluenza?"

"Nothing you have to be concerned with, blessed be Almighty Steve."

The Mystic then looked at Igor to return the praise, but simply shrugged his shoulders in a
sign of weakened dedication to Almighty Whatever. As Igor stumbled off the table, the Mystic did help him make the three foot fall safely and helped to steady Igor as he tried to stand upright.
Then he remembered what Poppa Igor had told him.

"Oh,  Poppa Igor says temple's neon sign broken."

"Wait...what?"

"Don't worry. Igor fix it, master."

"No, Igor that won't be necessary. We will attend to it. Could you wait here for a
moment?"

"Igor guess so, master."

"I'll be right back."

Then turned the Mystic in a flash of speed and he was out the door, through the lobby,
blasted past the receptionist at such a speed it knocked her tin foil head gear off (which resulted in temporary sanity until it was replaced) then through a service door, up the maintenance steps a few flight of stairs, until he broke through the appropriate door which led to the building's roof
and the neon signage which showed deliberate tampering by means of a hammer having taken out
some of the electrical wiring and precision smashing of certain neon tubing.

A note was attached to the hammer, in the receptionists’ handwriting. It simply said:

We're Coming For You, Adolph Industries. There Will Be No Stopping Us. Love, The
Jhew Alliance.

The Mystic crumpled up the note from the offending Jhews, shoved it into an unseen
pocket, and immediately headed back into the building, down the stairs, and to where the main
lobby where the receptionist sat.

"How may I help you fight the alien overlords, master?"

"I'm sorry I have to do this to you Susan. Hold still for a moment."

"Yes, master."

Slowly, he reached out a hand and gently removed the aluminum foil from Susan's head.
The instant it was lifted, Susan's eyes cleared and focused, as if waking up for the first time today.

Then the Mystic grabbed her by the throat, pushed her up against the nearest wall, and demanded
an explanation. For a moment, Susan screamed breathless choking screams until the eyes went in and out of focus, and then illuminated in such a way that let the sent shivers through the Grand
High Mystic. Then Susan's mouth spoke with the devious grinning voice of a transmission from
the planet which Adolph Industries had been banished.

“Hello Wazinski. Long time, no see.”

At the mentioning of his given name, the Mystic released his grip on Susan, replaced the
aluminum foil on Susan's head which sent her immediately back into her standard calm stupor.

"Will that be all today, master?"

"I'm giving you the rest of the day off. Go, now!"


"Yes, master."

And without question, Susan took her personal belongings from her desk and out the door
she went. The instant the door closed behind her, the Mystic took the phone on her desk out of its cradle, pushed the appropriate buttons to activate the intercom system, and issued the statement he felt for certain he'd never give.

"We have been breached. All security and maintenance personnel prepare for lockdown."

And the response, coming from all sectors and corners of the temple, was issued almost
telepathically. It was just two words.

"See Seenyore. "

Chapter Seven

    As the transition from Spring to Summer continued, thus too came the transition from high school to whatever glorious possibilities lay beyond in that mysterious, energetic land pontificators refer to as "The Future."

    Those same pontificators go on and on in books and speeches about How Great It Will Be, What You Will Achieve If You Follow Your Dreams, and another such nonsense which means absolutely nothing. Even Dr. Suess had gotten into this game, but he at least had the sense to say, in his own unique way, things are going to get fucked up, and if you just keep pushing forward,  you'll be fine.

    Graduation night was unapologetically simmering. Out on the school's football field, under a baking, setting sun, Igor sat next to his friend Josh While Josh kept apologizing for the science fair debacle, along with the fact that he won on account of good looks and tight pants, Igor's friend continued to offer almost unheard statements as Igor was far too focused on Amanda, the class Valedictorian, who was sexy as hell. The words she used sort of connected in Igor's mind, even though she was going on and on about how Jesus was coming back again in a few years to enslave the human race so we might as well get used to it.

* * * * *

    Post graduation parties, it seems, exist for one reason: it's the official start of the Coming Attractions of just how fucked up the world is going to be. There's alcoholic beverages, controlled substances, young females with big chest humps of ill repute and, quite possibly the most delectable temptation of all, karaoke.

    But Igor was ready to face all of it. Having slapped on a dash of his dad's "Cowboy's Delight" cologne, he felt he was ready for whatever life threw at him. A group of blurry girls with blurrier chest humps rubbed against him and someone in the group slurred the phrase "Hey cowboy" at him.

    And then there was the live microphone hooked into the audio equipment. Josh and Sunny Jameson were singing an old Sonny and Cher tune, and when that song came to an end, an idea came into Igor's mind into thinking that, hey, one song won't make you a junkie. You can quit ANY TIME you want. Igor knows what Igor's doing.

    The songs shuffled through randomly as Igor stepped up onto the stage, and picked up the microphone. He turned and looked at the machine, which read Escape Club. "Wild, Wild West" was the tune, and by the time Igor had gotten to the bit where the lead singer calls out "...this one's called 'The Outlaw...'" his tongue had twisted back and forth far too much and fell to the floor like a fish slapping itself up against the tiles searching for water to fall back into.

    But...someone, someone, was enjoying it. A soft voice called out "Ride 'em cowboy!" and the lips from which came said exclamation were soon up on the stage kissing Igor's.

* * * * *

    Outside of the sing a long induced haze, a darkened sky lays across the atmosphere. Out there, somewhere, in a part of the galaxy as yet unknown to NASA's inquisitive technology, there is a planet that, when discovered, humanity will realize is remarkably similar to ours. The dominant species, oddly enough, very closely resembles the human race. Even more similar, and stupefying, is how technological giants of their world pushed forward the bleeding edge of discovery so fast and hard that it was mercilessly tearing the minds of the population from their bodies.

    Just five years ago, a simple device called the Ringy-Dingy-Conversation-Makey*
 only went ringy-dingy.

*This device, comparable to the Earth's cellular phone, was designed, built, and sold by Generic Electronics, a benevolent company founded on the principle of delivering quality products at fair market value, while also keeping said products simple, affordable, and easy to use.
After a few ringy's and maybe a dingy or two (depending on your own preferences) someone miles away would answer their Conversation-Makey and friends could catch up on old times. Or the interstellar equivalent of pizza could be ordered. Or even obscene Conversation-Makey's would take place.

    But that was five years ago. And the march of progress goes forward, even if it really doesn't want to. Sitting in a darkened space under their parental unit's living quarters was a man, let's call him "Steve." Steve, admittedly not his real name, would sit looking at his seventy-five inch Movie-Watchy and think to himself: "You know, Movie-Watchy screens are really huge, which makes a lot of sense. Conversation-Makey's are also useful, which also makes sense. Therefore, combining the two should make so sense at all, which means I'll be rich!"

    What was shown on Movie-Watchy's was popular entertainment that only came in two sizes: Huge Ass was for the original presentation in enclosed stadiums, and Damn That's Big for living quarters. Steve believed it was time for Conversation-Makey's to be really, really small version of Movie-Watchy's. Granted you wouldn't be able to see what was going on, and the sound would raise shitty to state of the art, but Steve wouldn't be swayed. It was time to breed Conversation-Makey's and Movie-Watchy's.

    And the first banana peel of their society's collective mind power had been laid.

* * * * *

    The rest of the night was a blur. There was touching. Lots of touching. There was kissing. Lots, and lots of kissing. And that was just what happened in the karaoke bar. A faint memory of long blond hair, skin soft and delicate as dew covered rose petals, a passing memory of lightly scented perfume...

    ...and then there was sunrise pouring in through an unfamiliar window as it lit up a young lithe body with a wash of soft hair laying upon naked shoulders, down the small lean back, and across the sleeping figure's chest. A pink cowboy hat obscured the face of Igor's new love. Igor kissed the small frame of this young goddess in the most delicate fashion possible, removed the hat, and found pink kissable lips attached the most sexiest young man Igor had ever slept with.

    If this sleeping male angel chose this minute to woke up, he would've sworn men off for good. Igor's uncertain reaction to these events was simply this: What The Hell.

* * * * *

    As the years passed on Steve's planet, so came the advances in Conversation-Makey's. Movie-Watchy's had also gotten bigger and now wanted to be overgrown versions of Conversation-Makey's, which wasn't necessary cause everyone already had a Conversation-Makey of some kind. But for the new breed of Conversation-Makey's, made by Adolph Industries, and headed by Steve, the march outwards to conquer other products would seem unstoppable.


    Conversation-Makey's now had maps**, allowed you to order pizza in a far more complicated fashion,  kept you in touch in many new and frighteningly unnecessary ways, and became increasingly complex while also becoming increasingly simpler to use.

** Feeling the need to distinguish themselves from the albeit useful, but admittedly generic, mapping equipment by Generic Electronics, Adolph Industries devised a marketing plan built on shiny objects and trademarks with grammatically incorrect product names. This latest feature was to be known as the i'mLost.
    More banana peels had come loose in the years, and now people could do pretty much anything on their Conversation-Makey's. The population actually forgot to look where they were going simply by looking out in front of them. They had to ask the i'mLost on their Conversation-Makey's where their home was, even though they were just ten feet away from it. They also listened to the Sound-Makey's on their Conversation-Makey's which would only work, and this was important, AS LONG AS IT WAS MARKETED BY ADOLPH INDUSTRIES!

    Adolph Industries had Conversation-Makeys, Sound-Makey's, and then came the bigger versions of their Conversation-Makey's which just shook the bananas out of the tree and peeled them for the population. And progress marched forward while sanity was trodden underfoot.

    Fifteen years after Steve created his first Conversation-Makey that was the embodiment of jealousy of every other technology, Steve was dead but the beast lived on. The Conversation-Makeys could now redesign and remake themselves. They put out new versions of themselves every six months, and the population kept buying them...until disaster struck.

* * * * *

    The lean, taut body of Tristan, as Igor checked the young man's drivers license, was seventeen. In the corner of his bedroom was, predictably, a karaoke setup. As Igor shuffled out of the bed, Tristan slowly rolled over in bed and a flash of bright, sparkling blue gleamed from his perfectly manicured toes. His soft hair continued to lightly cover his physique, as if the setup had been designed for an black and white photo spread for Abercrombie & Fitch.

    Igor lightly stepped his way to the available musical selections near the CD player. After some scanning of the scattered discs, Igor found what he was looking for. True it was ambitious, and certainly out of character. But recent events were anything but keeping with normality. Igor would croon the young man awake, like the sweet chirp-chirp-chirping of birds upon his window sill.

    At least, that was the plan. But, for those of those who've been there and attempted that, knew the terrible facts: the extended cut of "Crimson and Clover" is not for the vocally challenged. Igor gurgled the first words of the opening verse, and Tristan was shocked into a state of consciousness.

    "Who the hell are you?"

    "Igor serenading Tristan. Tristan is guy, but soft like girl. It confuse and excite Igor. Tristan rub Igor's hump?"

    "Your name is Igor?" Tristan look immensely depressed.

    "Yes." This wasn't turning out the way Igor had imagined, so it fit in perfectly with the events from the last twelve hours of his life.

    "Shit, I thought you were Mick Jagger! Get the fuck out!"

* * * * *

    The circus grounds had  been a rather solemn place lately. Only seven exploding apples pie bombs had gone off in the last seventy-three hours. Dr. Flappy's broken body had been wrapped up and sent off to the nearest hospital for medical procedures too gruesome to mention. In addition to the intensive rehabilitation program Flappy would endure for the next seven months, there was the constant lingering smell of bearded woman flesh in his soul. Flappy would never be the same again, despite the prayers of the ever present candlelight vigil and twenty-one selzter salute being held outside every night.

    But life must go on, as it always does, and as best it can.

    Inside Bertha's tent, an exceptionally stimulating dream sequence was unfolding. I, the chronicler, shall be blurring the more erotic details. Bertha, dressed in a nearly transparent leotard with rhinestones upon her more feminine sections, was riding atop an elephant in the most sensual fashion she could manage. Her right elbow was digging into the left shoulder blade of the pachyderm, and her hairy chin was resting in her hand. The right arm was busy waving to the amassed crowd.

    As the elephant train Bertha was part of circled around the center ring, she could see handsome young Victor, wearing his traditional baggy clothing that just seemed to whisper to Bertha "Remove Forcibly."

    Bertha then straightened up, uttered a command in German to the beast she was astride, which then stretched its trunk out, wrapped it around Victor, and placed him on its backside facing Bertha.

    "Victor look handsome tonight."

    "Thank you, Bertha."

    Bertha smiled, and her skin blushed, though it was pretty much unseen underneath the furry face of whiskers. Then she grabbed Victor by the neck, nearly breaking it, and planted an unnecessarily juicy kiss upon him. When she broke the kiss, she nearly broke Victor's collar bone, though the smile remained.

    "Handsome clown give Bertha babies now?"

    Noted psychologists, distinguished thinkers, and the more reputable psychics have discussed the theory of the collective unconscious. Basically it says everyone has access to the same amount of information, be it in conscious, unconscious, or in an altered state of mind. It was Victor's great misfortune to not only have finally grasped this cosmic resource of knowledge, but somehow selected the library of Bertha's thoughts as his choice reading at this very moment. The scream from across the circus grounds rattled tents and shook Dr. Flappy's bandaged body in the local ICU. It only stopped as Victor had attempted to drown himself in the vegetarian lion's watering trough.

* * * * * 

    That night, in his bedroom, Igor contemplated the events of his first failed relationship. Tristan was absolutely horrified that he'd left a horrendously disfigured guy into his bed that wasn't a famous rock star. After all, the general theory about groupies is they'll bang their idols, no matter how horribly grotesque and wrinkled they are. A perfectly example of this is when Kid Rock found himself to be surrounded by exceptionally beautiful women performing sexual acts upon his person in an internet leaked video some years ago. But when you took away the money and notoriety, Igor and Kid Rock are just ugly bastards no self respecting woman or man would touch.

* * * * *

    The often wondrous thing about disaster is, when it's going to attack, it comes quicker than lightning and you can't purchase a metal rod to deflect or channel it to another victim.

    Disaster came when the Conversation-Makey's had predicted the end of Steve's world, and the gadgets had been right. This wasn't a flood to end all floods, huge chunks of sky falling onto the planet, or even the always stated, but never happened rise, of a clean, energy efficient, industrialized society. This was far worse -- an organization called the Jhew Alliance, which thrived on its complete and total lack of any product put forwards by Adolph Industries, had utilized the common sense it maintained and found the way to scuttle the mind poisoning onslaught of the Conversation-Makeys and shut down the world wide link ups, which would coincidentally bring about a million years of peace, prosperity, and happiness on their planet. This golden age was followed by more peace.

    As the shutdown was collapsing, the brain dead believers in Conversation-Makey's were led to an intergalactic cruiser that had been constructed by what remained of Adolph Industries research and development department. The latest advance had been galactic temporal scanners, which pointed to both a time and a place where this generation of Conversation-Makey's users could live in harmony with the current population.

    And, best of all, all the advances the Conversation-Makey's had made in the last decade could, very slowly, be incorporated into this new planet's population. As the final seals closed on the star cruiser, and the calculations were finalized, the people were put into Extended-Sleepy's and headed for that blue green marble which, in its time, would be known as Earth.

    As those locked in the Extended-Sleepy's, being not of Earth, would find comfort in the temples constructed by A-List Movie-Watchy celebrities. And they would eventually refer to themselves as Scienceologists.

* * * * *

    Twenty years ago, they had landed, and not a moment too soon.

    The evolution of the native Conversation-Makeys had seen their leaving the primordial soup of residential areas and were now available in the native four wheeled Get-Aroundy's. At least in the country to the north of the landing site they had. In this odd country, with its sporadic grand temples, rich history and tantalizing coast lines, Conversation-Makey's were mostly operated in immobile boxes with something called "pesos."  Talk about starting at the level below the barrel. Even the natives had thought so, which is possibly why there was a constant exodus north to the country with the more accessible Conversation-Makey's.

    According to the analysis conducted by the ship's Conversation-Makey's, the population was not indigenous to this planet. At least not the big, dirty looking ones that wore rain catching hats and went around saying "See Seenyore."

    What follows is a brief history of the Before Time as uncovered by the invading ship's Conversation-Makey with the new collective unconsciousness probing application:

    First there were Mayans, which although a bit violent and had odd gods and wonderful architectural techniques. The Mayans did all they could with this litterbox country, packed up, offered a final prayer*** to the lands they were vacating, and headed for greener climates.

***  Screw It. Let's Get The Hell Out Of Here!

    Then there was the race of Cheewahwahs. They came in a multitude of tiny spacecraft and landed in this deserted waste of inland country.

    Then came a group of highly advanced, staggering intelligent race of beings known as The Investigators. They likewise landed in this dusty, barren land and found the Cheewahwah invading force. A representative of The Investigator's and the Cheewahaha's decided to meet in Cancun on a starlit evening to discuss plans on becoming the dominant, colonizing race.

    "Listen," the Investigator's representative said, "you're just a tiny, shaking thing on spindly legs. My pet Chupacabra would eat you in a second...and possibly will if I can't find the little bastard to bring it home. So how about we put the best among you into rapid evolution and then you can keep this shit hole wasteland and we'll just move onto a nice place. That sound good to you?"

    "Arf!" said the Cheewahwah representative.

    "Thus it is agreed." And with that the meeting was settled.

    Today the descendents of the original Cheewahwah settlers keep tabs on the Evolved Ones. Though the procedure was highly complicated and astonishingly replete with scientific words and procedures, it can't be proclaimed loudly that it was a success.

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.