🚀 go-pugleaf

[Author's note:  Just pretend this went out on the 21st of December, and we
won't have to send the scooters after you.  Got it?]



The red sportscar squealed in a sudden U-turn.  Benny Carminita's
multicolored shirt flapped in the breeze, revealing his fat, hairy belly.

Ahead of him, a psychedelic VW minibus cut around a slow white Bronco.
 Benny rubbed at his belly with his left hand.  His belly tingled, a faint
sense of electricity prickled the skin just above his bellybutton.  There's
something about that bus, he thought.  Something I can use.  Benny patted
his belly, reached for the cell phone.  A practiced flick of the wrist,
three quick buttons.  The phone buzzed quietly in his ear.

The bus's left turn signal blinked steadily.  The white Bronco came up along
the right side of the bus.  "Carminita Talent Agency," said a sunny voice on
the other end of the phone.  Suddenly, the minibus veered to the right, took
an offramp.

"...bitch," muttered Benny.  He dropped the phone, clamped both hands on the
wheel, wrestled the sportscar onto the offramp.  He caught a glimpse of the
exit sign as he went past.

"Exit 41A," the sign read.  "Hortonville Business District."

The exit ramp made a sharp 360-degree turn.  Benny slowed, eased the
sportscar through the curve, teased the nose of the car away from the
concrete barrier.  The VW minibus accelerated, seemed almost to flow around
the curves as though the bus was flexible, as though it swam along the road
like a seasnake.

The tingling grew stronger, almost painful.  He lost sight of the rear of
the minibus.  Benny hit the brakes again, fumbled for the phone.

"...and if you think you can get away with this sort of thing, you've got
another think coming, you pervert!" bellowed the voice from the phone.
 "When I find you, I'll take your sensitive parts..."

"Miss Stathin," said Benny calmly.  He tapped the brakes, muscled the wheel
to the right.  "Miss Stathin, please.  Be calm, Miss Stathin."

"...and they won't find enough to put in a can of chicken soup!  And then,
I'll..."

"Miss Stathin," repeated Benny.  "It's me, Benny."

The line grew quiet.  On the other end of the phone, a woman's tinny voice,
heavily overlaid with violins, crooned, "You've got 99 and 44/100ths of me,
but I sure don't feel pure."  The sportscar slid into the final arc of the
turn.

"Benny," said Miss Stathin.  "You have a weird sense of humor."

"I've got a discovery," said Benny.  "I feel it in my gut."  A shock ran
over his abdomen.  "Start putting a press release together."

The sportscar came out of the turn.  A short straight stretch led to a four
way intersection.  A rusted stop sign stood in front of the intersection,
grey rows of buildings with faded signs as far as Benny could see.

There was no sign of the bus.  "Damn," said Benny into the phone.

"Excuse me?" asked Miss Stathin.

"Never mind," growled Benny.  "Just get that press release ready."  He
flicked the phone closed, tossed it onto the passenger seat.  At the stop
sign, he closed his eyes.  The tingle was still there, running across the
skin of his stomach.  Left, he thought.  He opened his eyes, punched the
accelerator.  The sportscar squealed into the intersection.

-*-*-*-

Northern Hemisphere Promotions

in association with

You'd Rather Be a Fish, Inc.
(makers of the Amazing Angst-o-matic Line of Fish Lures)

and

RatherLarge Productions

presents

Angstman!
A Special Production in Honor of Winter Solstice

by Dirk Myers
(with the kind loan of a character by Gary W. Olson)

adapted from the original musical by
Delay of Inspiration Document Preparation
(a complimentary service of Mademoiselle Muse, Inc.)


-*-*-*-

A faint beam of light shone on a dull pencil.  The pencil moved listlessly
over a faded crossword puzzle.  The pencil tapped the paper.  Somewhere
nearby, an engine rumbled.  The engine downshifted, the rumbling grew
louder.

"Five letter word," said a flat, whiny voice.  "Synonym for distress, or the
state of being distressed."  The pencil tapped at the paper.

"I don't know," whined an identical voice.  "Please don't ask me again.  I'm
so depressed."

The pencil made little circles on the page.  "It was your idea," said the
first voice.  "I told you I was too depressed to figure out the clues."

"Well, I was too depressed to fill in the squares."

Two simultaneous heavy sighs.  The muffled sound of two figures collapsing
onto the floor.

"Hey," said a voice from somewhere nearby.  "Are you two still back there?"

Heavy sighs.  "I think so," said a voice.  "I'm too depressed to check right
now, though.  Maybe you can check."

Another heavy sigh.  "Sorry, I can't.  I'm too busy staring at the floor."
 Yet another sigh.  "It's awfully depressing."

"Well, if you guys are still back there," said the voice, "This must be your
stop."

Long, drawn out sighs.  "It might as well be," said the voices in unison.
 "We don't care."  The rumbling stopped.  A car door slammed somewhere
nearby.

The back doors of the van opened.  Sunlight spilled into the van.  On the
floor of the van lay two bundles of black rags.  Empty fast food containers
surrounded them, crushed drink containers and crumpled potato chip bags were
stacked in the corners of the van.  The figures moaned pitifully and pressed
their faces against the van's floor.

"Wow," said Zen Navigator.  "You guys have been back here for a long time.
 Why didn't you say anything."

Mutterings came from the figures.

"What?"

The Robert Smiths sat up, blinked at the bright light, held the backs of
their hands over their eyes.  "We were too depressed to talk," said one.

"Finally, we got bored, too," said the other.

"So we just stared at each other a lot.  But then, someone threw the paper
to us."

"So we stared at the paper."

"Eventually, we got a pencil, so we decided to do the crossword."

"Only he couldn't figure out the clues."

"I was too depressed to figure out the clues."

"Well, I was too depressed to fill in the boxes."

Zen Navigator smiled at them.  "Great! I'm glad you had fun!"  He spread his
arms expansively.  "And now, you're here!  Everybody out!"

"Do we have to?" whined the Robert Smiths in unison.  "We're awfully
depressed right now."

In a long process involving much whining, sighing, and complaints of
depression on the part of the Robert Smiths and much encouragement, pulling,
and descriptions of the Zen nature of the problem on the part of the
Navigator, the Robert Smiths eventually found themselves slumped on the
sidewalk outside of a small grey building.  A faded orange sign duct-taped
to the side of the building read "Vacuum Cleaners Mended, While U-Wait."
 They moaned faintly, turned their faces to the concrete.

"Have fun, guys," said the Navigator as he closed the back of the bus.  "No
need to thank me, I'm always glad to help."

The Robert Smiths took him at his word and lay motionless as Zen Navigator
drove away.

 -----

The tingling in his belly grew stronger as the sportscar neared a Vacuum
Cleaner repair shop.  Benny rubbed at his stomach.  It's going to be a big
score this time, he thought.  His stomach felt as though it was connected to
an electrical outlet.  Benny could practically feel the hair on his scalp
rising with the current.

"It's gonna be huge," he said to himself.  "All I need is the right angle."
 Benny patted his stomach.  It felt warm.  His hand tingled from the
contact.  "Wow," said Benny to himself.  "Wow."

He passed the repair shop, noted two bundles of dark rags on the sidewalk in
front of it.  A bolt of electricity leaped from his stomach into his brain.
 He smelled ozone, tasted burnt skin.  He shook his head at the bundles, his
lip curled in amusement.  Hicks, he thought.  Probably couldn't read and
thought that was the Salvation Army.  Benny kept working on the angle.
 Real-life drama, he decided.  Whatever it was, he needed real-life drama.
 Rescuing a drowning victim, maybe.  He knew a few people who faked
accidents, if they could fool the insurance companies, they could sure fool
a few reporters.

He came to the next intersection.  The tingling in his stomach faded.  It
was still there, but not as strongly.  It felt more like a mild numbness
than the electrical storm that had raged through his belly on a few minutes
earlier.

He'd passed whatever it was.

Benny whipped the car around in a tight -- and highly illegal -- U-turn.

 -----

The Robert Smiths lay on the sidewalk in front of the vacuum repair store.
 The sidewalk was hard, rough, cold, but they found themselves too depressed
to do anything about it.  They missed the comforting darkness in the back of
the Zen Navigator's minivan.  It depressed them not to be there, and the
more they thought about it, the more depressed they became.

Small moaning noises came from the Robert Smiths as they began to realize
the immensity of their depression.

They heard a car pull up, stop by the curb.  A man's rough voice muttered,
"This?"  A faint slap of flesh on flesh.  "The belly says so," growled the
man.  The door slammed.  Footsteps on the sidewalk.

The Robert Smiths tried to make themselves look very small, they imagined
themselves as tiny spots of ink on the sidewalk.  The thought depressed
them.

"Hm," said the man's voice.  "Two of 'em."  They heard the man's feet shift
on the sidewalk.  "HELLO?" shouted the man.  "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

The Robert Smiths let out a sigh that sounded (to them) like a cold wind
roaring between the stones of a long-empty mausoleum.  They moaned, the
sound of a gallows creaking.

"HELLO?" the man bellowed.  "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

The Robert Smiths sighed again.  "Please go away," they whined.  "We're too
depressed to talk to anyone right now."

"Weird," said the voice.  "Do you always talk like that?"

"No," said the Robert Smiths.  "We don't talk at all most of the time.
 Please leave us alone.  Or give us a crossword puzzle, then leave us
alone."

"We're fond of crossword puzzles," said one of the Robert Smiths.

"Unless we're too depressed," said the other.

"Ah-ha," said the man uncertainly.  "Um."  The feet shuffled against the
sidewalk.  "Need a lift?"

"You won't be able to," said the Robert Smiths.  "Not at all.  We're always
this depressed."

"Unless we're more depressed," said one of the Robert Smiths.

"I don't want to think about that," said the other one.  "It's depressing."

The Robert Smiths sank back into silence.  Faint moans escaped from one or
the other of the Robert Smiths.

The man's voice sounded somewhat annoyed.  "I see," he said.  "Can I give
you a ride?"

"No," said one of the Robert Smiths.  His head moved side to side against
the sidewalk.  "We had one, but we got put out here."

"I don't think I could go through that again," said the other Robert Smith.

"I know I couldn't."

"So it's settled, then," said the first Robert Smith.  "Please go away."

The Robert Smiths lay still.

The man grabbed the feet of one of the Robert Smiths and dragged him toward
the car.

"Help," said the Robert Smith, half-heartedly.  "I don't really want to be
kidnapped.  Please put me back."

"Take him," said the other Robert Smith.  "I'll be just fine here.  Other
than being depressed, of course."

"I was fine, too," said the Robert Smith being dragged.  "Right where I was.
 You can put me down now.  You've tormented me enough.  I'm miserable."

Benny hoisted the Robert Smith into the passenger side of the sports car,
and set him down on the seat.  The Robert Smith eyed Benny's shirt
nervously.  "That shirt is awfully bright.  I don't like it."  The Robert
Smith screwed up his eyes and sunk down into the seat.

"Sure, buddy," said Benny.  "I'm sure you don't."  He patted the Robert
Smith's spiky black hair.  "Just settle down."

Benny went back to the other Robert Smith and began to drag him toward the
car.

"Please don't," said the Robert Smith being dragged.  "I really don't like
being dragged.  You've already got one of me."

"And I'm not happy about it either," chimed in the Robert Smith in the car.
 "I thought you should know that you're making me very depressed."

Benny snorted.  "You can't just lie here on the sidewalk for the rest of
your life."  He hoisted the Robert Smith into the car.

"I might not live very long," said the Robert Smith being hoisted.  "I don't
want to, anyway.  I'm too depressed."

"If he dies, I want to die, too," said the Robert Smith in the car.  "You
can't let him die without killing me.  You'd make me terribly depressed if
you did."

Benny dropped the second Robert Smith next to the first one.  "Neither of
you is going to die.  Now, just shut up until I figure out what to do with
you."

 -----

Benny Carminita paced through the hotel room, his cellular phone pressed
against his ear.  "Miss Stathin," bellowed Benny into the phone.  "Yes,
this is Benny.  Benny.  Your boss, Miss Stathin."  Benny nodded vigorously.
"Yes, that's right.  It's Benny."  He smiled into the phone.  "Yes, Miss
Stathin.  Now, I need you to set up a few things."

The Robert Smiths lay on the floor to either side of the bed.  Their faces
were pressed into the short, blue carpet.  They sighed from time to time as
Benny spoke.

"Right," nodded Benny.  "I need a victim."  Benny waved at the Robert
Smiths.  "This is big," he said.  "Yes, bigger than skydiving off the Space
Needle.  Bigger than Ramrod?"  Benny shook his head vigorously.  "Well, not
quite as big as Ramrod.  But big, all the same.  All I need is a media
event to start it off.  OK, well, maybe two."  Benny nodded.  "What?  I
just said yes.  Right, call me when it's set."  Benny snapped the phone
shut.

Benny rubbed at his belly.  He felt as though the electricity in his belly
was alive, dancing through his limbs.  He looked down at the Robert Smiths.

"Well, guys?" asked Benny.  "Anything you want."

The Robert Smiths muttered into the carpet.

"Right," said Benny.  "You guys have names?"

One of the Robert Smiths rolled over onto his side.  "Yes," he said.  "But
it's depressing."

The other Robert Smith sighed in agreement.

"Look," said Benny.  "You can tell me your names, or I can pick something
to call you.  Something really depressing."

The Robert Smiths rolled over onto their backs.  One asked, "what would you
call us?"

Benny thought for a minute.  He rubbed his belly.  The name came to him.
"If you don't tell me your names," he growled.  "I'll just have to call you
both Burt Ward."

The Robert Smiths sighed in much the same way that air is expelled from a
collapsing house.  "That's depressing," sighed the Robert Smiths.  "We
don't want to be called that."  They sighed again.  "You can call us Robert
Smith."

The skin on Benny's stomach sizzled as though it was pressed against a
frying pan.  "Robert... Smith?"  He flipped the phone open and dialed
frantically.

-----

PRESS RELEASE


Hortonville -- According to reliable sources in the entertainment industry,
an anonymous superguy has recently relocated to the fair city of
Hortonville.  Although no one has yet spotted this superguy, all the major
networks and newspapers have sent legions of reporters in an attempt to
gain an exclusive glimpse of this superguy.  Any network or newspaper who
does not have at least a dozen reporters in Hortonville is no doubt doomed
to irrelevance and bankruptcy in short order.  This means you.

Hortonville is conveniently located off I-89 at exits 40-42 and boasts a
wonderful array of hotels, restaurants, and specialty shops.  Should you
happen to visit Hortonville, don't miss the world's largest ear of corn,
which has been shellacked and is prominently on display in the town square.

-----

(Tab A.  Insert this into Slot B.)