🚀 go-pugleaf

(Tab D.  Goes mighty well with Slot C, if you ask me.)

------

Robert Smith wore a long, blond wig.  Bright red lipstick covered his lips
and part of his left cheek.  Mascara smeared his lower eyelids.  He slumped
lower into the seat of the bus and moaned.  "Why me?"  Robert Smith tugged
at the wig.  "It could have been him.  This is so depressing."

The bus was empty except for a young man sitting two seats in front of
Robert Smith.  The young man wore a light blue T-shirt.  He had dark hair
and carried a paper bag.  The young man half-turned in his seat, caught
Robert Smith's eye.  The young man nodded to Robert Smith.

"How depressing," whimpered Robert Smith.

The young man stood, walked to the front of the bus.  He stopped behind the
driver's seat, reached into the paper bag.  He took out a sandwich, held it
out at the driver.  "Don't move," said the young man.

The driver's eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror.  "Don't worry,
buddy," grumbled the driver.  "I ain't gonna take your sandwich."

Robert Smith lay down across the seat.  He sobbed softly.

The young man looked down at his hand.  "Whoops," he said.  "Sorry."  He
put the sandwich back in the paper bag, took out a gun with a short barrel.
He pointed the gun at the driver.  "Now," said the young man.  "My name
is... um... John Doe.  I'm a dangerous terrorist."  He jabbed the gun into
the back of the driver's neck.  "You're going to drive this bus to... um...
somewhere."

"What?" asked the driver.  "You're hijacking the bus?"

"Right," said John Doe.

The driver shrugged.  "OK, sure, you hijacked me.  Where do you want to
go?"  The driver nodded at the dashboard.  "Keep in mind that we'll need
gas in about an hour."

"Just drive," said John Doe.

"Help," muttered Robert Smith.  "I'm a damsel in distress.  Being abducted
against my will.  Oh, help.  Help."  Robert Smith shook his head.  His
blond wig fell off.  He sighed, rolled off the seat onto the floor.  He
dragged the wig across the floor, put it back onto his head.  "How
depressing," he complained.

The driver looked in the rearview mirror.  "Geez," he said.  "There's a red
sportscar hanging right on my bumper.  You want me to lose 'em?"

John Doe looked down at the gun in his hand.  "Um... that is, no.  Don't...
um, don't look in the rearview mirror any more.  Just drive."

"To somewhere," said the driver.  "Right.  You want me to call in a list of
demands?"

"Right," said John Doe.  He blinked at the driver.  "Have you been hijacked
before?"

"Nah.  I watch a lot of movies, though."

"Hey, me, too.  What did you think of that one where the guy puts the bomb
on the bus?"

The driver spat noisily on the floor next to his seat.  "Hell(tm)," rumbled
the driver.  "If you can find a bus where the speedometer works, you sure
wouldn't want to blow it up."

There was a loud thump from somewhere in the back of the bus.

"Well, I think the speedometers work in New York."

"I thought they were in Los Angeles."

Robert Smith lay face down on the floor.  He peered out through the blonde
strands of the wig.  The vibration of the bus depressed him.  He sighed
loudly so that John Doe and the driver would know how depressed he was.

The driver pointed at the speedometer.  "You see?  It shows 35 no matter
how fast we go."

"Huh," said John Doe.  "I didn't know that."

The back door of the bus banged open.  A red sportscar drove next to the
bus.  A muscular man carrying a dark bundle of rags stood on the passenger
seat the car.  The man slung the bundle back, prepared to throw it.

"Watch," said the driver.  "I can step on the gas hard, and the needle
won't move at all."

The sportscar dropped away from the bus just as the man slung the bundle.
The dark bundle landed somewhere behind the bus.  The sportscar's tires
squealed as it disappeared behind the bus.  The back door of the bus banged
shut.

"Wow," said John Doe.  "Is that legal?  I thought that you had to have a
working speedometer."

"Well, you do, but what cop is going to waste time stopping a city bus?
It's not like it's my fault, you know.  I don't fix the damn things."

"Huh," said John Doe.  "Well, like, what if someone was going to put a bomb
on a bus, anyway?  Could they get away with it?"

Robert Smith sighed loudly.  "Help.  I am being held hostage by a vicious
terrorist.  I am an innocent and beautiful damsel."  He sighed again.
"This is so depressing."

"Well, you could," said the driver.  "But around here, you wouldn't be able
to tell which route that bus was on.  I guess maybe they keep track, down
at the department, but us drivers pretty much take what we get."

"Huh," said John Doe.  "So, you couldn't call in the bomb threat."  He
looked down at the gun in his hand.  "Right, I'll keep that in mind."

There was more thumping at the back of the bus.  The rear door came open again.

"I figured that you knew all that, and that was why you were hijacking me."

"No, no, this is strictly a paying gig.  If I do this, my band gets a
record contract."

The driver looked sharply back at John Doe.  "You play in a band?"

"Yeah," said John Doe.  "Two of 'em, actually.  Hormone Rampage and
Underwater Hit Men with Fake Mustaches."  John Doe shrugged.  "I haven't
decided which one gets the contract yet.  The Rampage is more commercial, I
think, but the Hit Men are more fun."

"That's an amazing coincidence," said the driver.  "My brother opened for
the Underwater Hit Men last weekend.  You know Bernie Stahl?"

A dark bundle hit the floor in the back of the bus.  "Ouch," said the
bundle.  "I am Angstman," sighed the bundle.  "Please surrender your weapon
and release my new love-interest-to-be, the charming and intelligent
Roberta."

Robert Smith adjusted his wig.  "My hero," he whimpered.  "This is so
depressing."

"I agree," said Angstman.

"Bernie's great," said John Doe.  "Actually, I played in his backup band
for a while when it was Grain Alcohol featuring Bernie Stahl."

"No kidding?"  The bus driver shook his head.  "Living in a small town is
pretty cool.  If this was LA, I never would have been hijacked by someone
who knows Bernie."

Robert Smith and Angstman crawled quietly out the back door.  They landed
next to each other on the side of the road.

"You can have the wig," said Robert Smith.

"You can be Angstman," said Angstman.

"It's too depressing," they said in unison.

The Robert Smiths lay at the side of the road, whining at each other.

-----

PRESS RELEASE

Hortonville -- The new hero, Angstman, has disappeared as suddenly and
mysteriously as he arrived.  According to Benny Carminita, Angstman was
last seen attempting to foil a bus hijacking.  "It's tragic," said Mr.
Carminita.  "However, the Angstman property should be hotter than ever now.
It's some comfort to know that Angstman will never be forgotten.  Until
such time as Angstman is identified and his relatives come forward, I am
pleased to announce that I will continue to handle the marketing and
promotion of the Angstman property."

"He would have wanted it that way," added Mr. Carminita.

Mr. Carminita has arranged a midnight vigil and pop concert in downtown
Hortonville for later tonight.  The concert will feature Underwater Hit Men
with Mustaches, a band which Mr. Carminita has called "the second greatest
sensation to come out of Hortonville."

-----

It grew dark.  The Robert Smiths lay face down by the side of the road,
making faint moaning and whimpering noises.  The stars may have been out,
but they were too depressed to notice.  They buried their faces in the
gravel at the side of the road.

"I'll bet we're going to freeze to death," said Robert Smith.

"Depressing, isn't it?" agreed Robert Smith.

They lay in silence for a while.

"It's not cold enough to freeze to death," said Robert Smith.

The other Robert Smith sighed.  "You really depress me, you know that?"

"Likewise," groaned Robert Smith.

A car passed.  Dust from the road settled over them, irritated Robert
Smith's nose.  He sneezed.  Somewhere far off the road, frogs called to
each other.  It began to rain.

"It's not really so bad, is it?" asked Robert Smith.

They lay together in the rain.  The moon rose, though neither of the Robert
Smiths noticed.

"I miss being Angstman," Robert Smith finally said.  "It's depressing."


IS THIS THE END OF ANGSTMAN?

IS THIS THE END OF THE ROBERT SMITHS?

IS THIS THE END OF THE STORY?

WHAT DID ALL THIS HAVE TO DO WITH A SOLSTICE SPECIAL?

WHERE DOES THIS FIT IN CONTINUITY?

WHY DID THE AUTHOR BOTHER WITH THIS, ANYWAY?

Superguy:  There's no low-calorie version.

(c) 1996 Dirk Myers

Zen Navigator is the intellectual property of Gary W. Olson, and is used
with permission.

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual people, places or
events is purely for humorous intent and/or is purely coincidental.

If you really needed the sentence above, please put down your crayons now
and ask the nurse to adjust your medication.  You'll be glad you did.

Are you still here?  Still reading this?  Isn't there something better you
could be reading?

I tell ya, some readers...