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The Mediocre Adventures of Manman
Manman Returns, Episode 21:  Promises Not Meant to Be Kept


The LargeImportant City Civic Arena rumbled with the voices of thousands of
people holding polite, dinnertime conversations.  Martha Stewpot, Mindy
Kingsford, Fabulo Extravagante and Ed sat at one of the tables.  Ed
shoveled canapes into his mouth.  The left side of his fake mustache stuck
to one of the canapes.  He chewed vigorously.  He swallowed the canape and
a good portion of mustache.

"Amazingly elegant, yet simple, the way they manage to get dietary fiber
into these," said Ed.  "I don't think I've ever eaten better in my life."

Jenkins approached.  He cradled four large menus in his arm.  "I will serve
you," said Jenkins.  He bowed to Martha.  "I have inspected the food.  It
is adequate."

Martha frowned.  Jenkins passed around the menus.  Martha opened hers,
stared at it.  "Not encouraging, Jenkins."

Jenkins bowed.  "Indeed."

Ed chewed thoughtfully on the corner of his menu.  It was dry, tasted like
vinyl-covered plastic.  The flavor sent shivers down Ed's spine.
Incredible, he thought.  Even the menu is delicious.

Jenkins snatched the menu away from Ed.  Jenkins opened the menu.  "If sir
would care to open the menu, then he could order something more...
suitable."  Jenkins pushed the menu back into Ed's hands.

The menu read:

	Appetizers

		Roast Petroleum-Derived Cheese Food Product
			-- Sharp Cheddar-y or Mild Swiss-ish

		Deep-Fried Opossum Feet
			-- the Senator's favorite, with Ranch Dressing

		Blanched Tree Fronds
			-- imported from the Tree Frond Farms of
				the south seas

		Low Calorie Special -- Mixed Vegetables
			-- highly praised by Manman


	Salads

		Mixed Greens
			-- a blend of over 20 greens
				includes red, green, and butter lettuce, kale,
				arugula, edible nasturtium blossoms,
				spinach, endive, watercress, and others
				lightly coated with soapberry vinaigrette.

		Diced Jicama and Orange Salad
			-- a touch of honey gives this salad its special
				charm. a dash of cayenne ensures it's not
				for the timid.

		Low Calorie Special -- Saltines
			-- served in an individual cellophane packet
				highly praised by Manman



	Entrees

		Western Pond Turtle Soup
			-- extra garlic and a hint of ginger make this
				soup sparkle.  served with crusty French
				bread for dipping.

		Roast Whole California Condor
			-- basted with the finest butter from cows
				liberally dosed with Bovine Growth
				Hormone.  (From the Senator's private
				reserve.  First come, first served,
				we have only a limited number of this
				prized dish).

		Sea Otter Souffle
			-- a delightfully surprising kelp relish highlights
				the subtly smoky, oily flavor of the otter

		Low Calorie Special -- Oatmeal Surprise
			-- highly praised by Manman


	Dessert

		Chocolate Annihilation
			-- three kinds of chocolate in a
				cosmic collision that will send your
				palate to a higher dimension

		Coconut Cream Knish
			-- the rich taste of cream.  the tropical
				passion of coconut.  wrapped together
				in a knish.

		Cheesecake a la Coronary Disease
			-- our richest cheesecake ever.
				don't tell your cardiologist!

		Low Calorie Special -- Lime Gelatin Product
			-- highly praised by Manman

Saliva rushed into Ed's mouth as he read.  "It all looks good," he muttered
to himself.  "Jenkins," he called.  "Can I have one of each?"

Jenkins frowned.  Martha looked up from her menu.  She caught Jenkins's
eye, dipped her head.  Jenkins relaxed.  He droned, "That would certainly
be possible."  He nodded to Ed.  "Thank you, sir."

Ed chewed on the corner of the menu.

Fabulo ran his index finger down the menu.  His lips moved, slowly, without
losing the hint of a pout.  "Outrage!"  Fabulo threw his menu over Ed's
head.  "I cannot eat the dishes described on this menu."  Fabulo tossed his
head, pouted his lips in exasperation.  "Not a single dish can be certified
Excellente.  Are the plates Color-Coordinated?  Has each dish been taste
tested by three stylish young apprentice chefs?"  Fabulo crossed his arms.
"It is not even acceptable that I should sit in this place and eat such
food."

"Please, Fabulo," said Mindy.  "Martha and I have been scheming this for a
long time.  Please don't spoil it."  Jenkins calmly retrieved the menu,
handed it back to Fabulo.  Fabulo took the menu gingerly.  He opened it.
He closed his eyes and put his finger on the menu.  He opened his eyes.
His lips moved.

"I shall have Oatmeal Surprise," proclaimed Fabulo.  "I hope that, contrary
to my expectations, it is at least acceptable."

-----

Uninterred panglossian stars rebound lasagna horoscopes.  Breathe the
emphatic green.  Binder.  A move coprolith, purchase fig tree within.
Slowly.  Hidden.

Dadaman moved carefully along the sidewalk.  He stayed close to the walls,
skirting the illuminated circles under the streetlights.  The chickens
followed for a few blocks, then wandered away along the sidestreets.  A
lone man in a pale shirt crossed the street in front of Dadaman, stopped,
turned to face Dadaman.  The man tilted his head as though sniffing the
air.  He took a short step forward, tilted his head the other way.  His
eyes flicked nervously in his face.  The man dropped his gaze to the
sidewalk and walked on.  Dadaman stood in the shadows for a long time
afterwards, but the man did not come back.

The streets were quiet.  Dadaman heard an occasional car pass somewhere
close by, but never saw them.  The fussing of the chickens faded into the
distance.  He moved steadily towards downtown LargeImportant City.

Every few blocks, he dropped a small, bronze bolt on the sidewalk behind him.

-----

The Greenslimy Aliens swarmed from the Hardcore Shopping Club, wave after
wave cresting on the steps, flowing down to fill the parking lot.  Each
Alien carried an Incredibly Sinister Weapon, a golf club, a map, and a
manila envelope carrying their registration materials for Invasion
Yet-To-Be-Named.  Each Alien wore a shirt with slightly different patterns
and colors than any other Alien, hideous plaids and pastels.  The Aliens
waved their Weapons threateningly.  They inspected their maps.  They milled
around uncertainly.  They exchanged uneasy glances, fiddled with their
manila envelopes.  They waved their Weapons a little more.  The Aliens
began to mutter amongst themselves.

A lime green Alien climbed up on the hood of a small red car.  "Hey,"
called the Alien.  "Does anyone know which way north is?"

The Aliens muttered.  They waved their weapons, straightened their shirts,
crumpled their maps, fiddled with their registration packets.  On the edges
of the parking lot, a few Aliens practiced their golf swings.

"Anyone?" asked the Alien on the car.  He twisted the manila envelope in
his hands.  "A compass?" asked the Alien hopefully.  "Did anyone bring a
compass?"

-----

The gully opened at last into a broad, shallow valley.  Juan and Manman
stood in an indentation at the crest of a steep slope.  A large lake ringed
with tropical-looking trees glittered in the sunlight at the far end of the
valley.  Dark, jagged mountains ringed with clouds rose beyond the lake.
On the near side of the lake lay the ruins of a small city.

"We're somewhere," said Juan.

Manman blinked.  "I'm pretty sure that's not RatherLarge City," he said.
"There should be more Fourteen-Eleven stores."

Juan shook his head.  "No, it's not RatherLarge."  He shrugged.  "Still, it
might be a good idea to stop there.  We may be able to find out if we're
near RatherLarge."  He patted his satchel.  "If there are still people
around, we may also be able to convince someone to plant the sacred
coffebean."  He smiled.  "This place looks ideal for the bean.  I think it
would grow well here, and produce a delicious cup of coffee."

"Do you think oatmeal would grow well here?"  Manman scratched his head.
"Juan, does oatmeal grow in beans?  Or does it come in the little packets?"

Juan shook his head.  "I am not sure you would like the answer," he said.
He stepped forward, lopped a branch from a thorny bush covered with pale
yellow flowers.  "We must be going."

They set off across the valley in the direction of the ruined city.  Juan
hummed cheerfully as he slashed through the undergrowth.  He patted his
satchel.  A faint scent of coffee filtered into his nostrils, lifting his
mood and lightening his step.

-----

Senator F. Ron Trumner leaned against the window of his suite on the top
floor of the LargeImportant City Plaza Deluxe-O-Rama Hotel.  The sopoforic
sounds of the Seventy Sappy Strings playing "Don't Promise Me The World, I
Have A Small Apartment" filled the suite.  Behind the Senator, seventeen
large television sets displayed the audience at the LargeImportant City
Civic Arena.  Manman sat in a comfortable chair near the window.  Manman
looped string around his left hand.  He began threading the string over the
fingers of his right hand, making a cat's cradle.  The dark-suited man sat
on the arm of Manman's chair.  Several men in navy blue suits with
scarlet-cream-navy arm bands lounged on couches and folding chairs around
the room.

"It's going well, sir," said one of the men.  "They seem to be enjoying the
food.  Masterful campaigning, sir."

The Senator sighed heavily.  Beneath him lay LargeImportant City, a grid of
twinkling lights marred only by the dark spaces of parking lots.  He wished
that he could open the window, smell the air.  Tonight, victory smelled
like a wildfire in the distance, and he was certain that the air would
carry that smell.  He straightened.  He brushed at his coat.  He whirled
away from the window.  "You haven't seen anything, yet," he said.  "After
tonight, Trumner and Manman will be household words.  The election will be
a formality."  The Senator pulled at his coat.  "It's never too early for
an October surprise.  Mark Senator F. Ron Trumner's words."

"Yes, sir," said the man.

The Senator glanced at Manman.  "What's he doing?"

Thick loops of string bound Manman's wrists together.  "Playing cat's
cradle," said Manman.  "It's a very exciting game.  I would be happy to
teach it to you."  Manman blinked at his wrists.  His arms strained against
the string.  "I think I've made a wrong move, though.  Could someone help?"

The dark-suited man rubbed his face, began to pull gently at the string
around Manman's wrists.

-----

The scent and sound of the GreenSlimy Aliens faded slowly from the concrete
room underneath the Shopping Club.  Slam squirmed uncomfortably beneath his
pile of shoes.  He wanted to make sure that the Aliens were gone.  He had
no intention of being included in the invasion force.  After all, he hired
clerks for that sort of work.  He squirmed uncomfortably as a large running
shoe dug into his left kidney.  He counted slowly to one hundred.  He
listened.

He thought he could hear a faint sound above him, as though dozens of
Aliens were shouting as loud as they could.  He held very still, strained
to make out the words.  His heartbeat was loud in his ears.  He squirmed
forward, pressed his ear to a baseball shoe, grimaced as he scratched his
cheek against the sharpened cleats.  The Aliens sounded very far away.  He
picked up the word "rumpus."  Good, he thought.  That must mean the
invasion is underway.

Slam flexed his body slowly.  He shifted, carefully loosening his
badly-cramped muscles.  He pressed forward, finding the slim spaces between
the shoes, twisting his body to match the gaps, pushing forward an inch or
two at a time then stopping to manipulate a complaining limb.   Slowly,
stealthily, as though waking from hibernation, Slam wiggled his way out of
the pile.

He lay on the cold concrete.  He felt tired, his breath was ragged from the
exertion.   He wondered if it would be possible to begin excavating his
escape tunnel during the invasion.  I wonder how the invasion is going, he
thought.   He still heard the faint cries of "rumpus" above him, accented
by rhythmic pounding.  Sounds like a fight, he thought.  He pictured the
distance between himself and the invasion, the asphalt, the concrete, the
steel plates he had installed between his room and the parking lot.  He
smiled to himself.  Slam rubbed at his legs, carefully stood.  He looked
around the room.

The Alien who had stood at the podium sat on a metal chair behind one of
the folding tables.  The Alien sipped at a can of Drink(tm).  It casually
crossed its tentacles.  The Alien leaned back in the chair.

"Hello, Slam," said the Alien.  "Feeling chipper, are you?"

Slam's face reddened.  His legs crossed involuntarily.  A sharp knot of
vertigo grew in the pit of his stomach.

"Sssir," said Slam.  "I mussst have... fallen asssleep."  He slithered a
step closer to the door.

The Alien burbled thoughtfully.  Tentacles twitched under the chair.  "Of
course," bubbled the Alien.  "A nap will do a world of good."  The Alien's
tentacles moved over something on the table.  It sat forward in the chair.
"Don't let me interrupt you."  The Alien flicked a tentacle at the door.
"Go on about your business, Slam."

Slam's feet moved toward the door.  "Thank you, ssssir," hissed Slam.  He
bent slightly at the waist.  "I'm sure the invasssion will go well."  He
turned, hurried away from the Alien.

The Alien sipped at the Drink(tm).  Tentacles moved across the table.  Slam
half-slithered, half-ran toward the doorway.

"Oh, Slam," said the Alien.  "Hold on just a second."

Slam stopped.  He bounced nervously on his heels as he turned to face the
Alien.  "Yesss sssir?"

The Alien held up a toilet-paper dispenser made of Tinkertoys.  A roll of
lime green paper hung on the dispenser.  "I think you'll need this," said
the Alien.

-----

Andy brayed quietly, tugged gently at Jane's sleeve.  "Andy," said Jane.
"I can't understand you without the computer."

Jane and Andy stood on the sidewalk near the Howard Johnson's.  The
coffeeburro's ink-splattered fur stuck out in rough spikes.    Jane wore a
tiedyed T-shirt, blue jeans, a purple baseball cap.  She slung an umbrella
over her shoulder, patted Andy with her other hand.  Jane looked down the
sidewalk past Andy.

"So you think it's this way?"

Andy twitched his ears.  He brayed softly, delicately closed his teeth on
Jane's sleeve and pulled gently.

"OK," said Jane.

They walked in silence.  Jane's head hurt.  She still felt dizzy.  The
weight at the back of her skull sent out tendrils of darkness, wrapped
itself around her brain.  Her mind grew dark, slow, thoughts drifted
through her head like blind cave fish.  She didn't feel herself crying but
her eyes were wet.  Fluid ran over her cheeks.  She blinked it away.  She
shook her head, felt droplets fly.  Out of the corner of her eye, down a
crossstreet, a blue neon bowling pin blinked on, wavered as liquid filled
her field of vision.  The weight in the pit of her stomach dropped away, a
dark wind rushed through her, vertigo trembled through her limbs, she
stumbled against the curb.  Jane reached out and found Andy's soft back.
She wrapped her fingers in the fur.  The familiar scent of coffee filled
her nostrils like a tiny glimmer of light in the distance.  She closed her
eyes and let the coffeeburro lead her.

In the empty spaces behind her eyes, she found she could see Manman clearly.

-----

Jenkins balanced a large tray of food over his left arm.  He threaded his
way through the press of delegates, stopped behind Ed.  He began to unload
the tray on to the table in front of Ed.

Fabulo cleared his throat.  "I do not see why Mr. Plain Little Man is
served before I, Fabulo Extravagante, have received my dinner."

Jenkins slid a steaming platter of roasted sea otter in front of Ed.  "You
must wait your turn.  The gentleman from the western state ordered before
you did."  Jenkins tucked a ceramic container of kelp relish into the
corner of the platter.  Ed's fork darted across the platter, spindling
chunks of otter.

Fabulo pouted.  "You are yet again proving that you lack an Excellente
soul, Jenkins.  Even this plain little man knows to ask for advice."

Martha scowled.  "Fabulo," she said.

"Mmmpf."  Ed's cheeks bulged.  Kelp relish caked his fake mustache.  Ed
swallowed.  "It's good," said Ed.  He crammed another forkful into his
mouth.

Jenkins slid the platter closer to Ed.  With a simple yet elegant flourish,
Jenkins deposited a wooden plate bearing a roasted bird on the table.  Pats
of butter melted on the bird's back, rich golden rivers ran over the bird,
trickled over the bronze skin, pooled on the plate.

"Fabulo," said Mindy.  "Since you didn't really want anything, why does it
matter if you don't get the first plate?"

Fabulo's eyes were wide.  They followed the trickle of butter down the side
of the bird.  Fabulo's lips pressed together.  He swallowed.  "Might I,
perhaps, sample that dish?  It is possible that it would prove to be
acceptable."  A pat of butter slid down the side of the bird.  Fabulo's
tongue slid over his lips.

"Mmmpf," said Ed.  Kelp relish ran down Ed's chin.  "Ok," said  Ed.

Fabulo reached for the bird, greedily licking his lips.

-----

Juan stepped gingerly into the foundation of a ruined house.  Bricks lay
scattered across the foundation.  Ashes swirled behind Juan as he moved
through the rubble.  "Stay back," he told Manman.  "There may have been a
basement."  Juan kicked at a brick.  "There doesn't seem to be much left."
He looked around him.  The town was small, perhaps two dozen houses in all.
All were in ruins.

"Perhaps we could find some cleaning supplies," suggested Manman.
"Housework is really quite enjoyable, particularly if you can listen to the
Seventy Sappy Strings while you clean."

"Cleaning supplies wouldn't help, Manman.  The house will have to be
rebuilt."  Juan pushed at a pile of scorched timbers.  The timbers
collapsed with a cracking sound.  Beneath the timbers lay a small box.
Metal showed through the blistered white paint on the box.  Juan kicked the
box.  It made a dull sound.  Paint flaked off, clung to Juan's sandal.

"Perhaps we could help by inspecting the architectural drawings.  I'm
particularly fond of architectural drawings."  Manman raised his hands to
indicate a rectangle.  "Models are much less interesting.  The depth, you
see.  Hard to figure out."

Juan pushed the box with his foot.  "There's something in here."  He bent,
lifted the box.  He shook it.  Something inside rattled.

"Pencil sketches are best, of course," continued Manman.  "Watercolors are
so... well, there are too many colors."  Manman pointed at the box.
"What's that?"

Juan shrugged.  "I'm not sure."  He turned the box over in his hands.
Paint flakes cascaded to the ground.  Every side of the box was smooth,
each edge perfectly flush, no sign of an opening.  Juan shook the box
again.  It rattled.  He turned the box, pulling at the corners.  "There
doesn't seem to be any way to get it open."

Manman gestured at the box.  "It's probably broken.  If we take it back
with us, maybe Commissioner Bigshot can fix it.  The Commissioner is good
at that sort of thing."

Juan frowned.  "I don't think it's broken," he said.  He scratched away
some of the paint with his fingernail.  "Under the paint, it looks fine."
He traced the edges of the box with his finger.  "Still, I don't think
there's anything we can do here."  He glanced at the rubble.  "It doesn't
look like anyone will come back for it."  He weighed the box in his hand.

Manman nodded.  "Yes, they're probably out looking for a good architect.
It's often hard to decide whether to use the classified ads or the yellow
pages.  I tend to prefer the classifieds, myself, but some prefer the
yellow pages."

Juan set his satchel on the ground.  He rummaged through the satchel,
shifting the contents until there was room for the box.  He took a
brightly-colored scrap of blanket from the satchel, wrapped the box in the
blanket.  He carefully lowered the box into his satchel.  He closed the
satchel, hung it back over his shoulder.

Manman waved vaguely at a point near the horizon.  "After all, you can read
the classifieds every day, but the yellow pages only come out once a year."
He waved his arms emphatically.  "If I were looking for an architect, I
would definitely use the classifieds."

Juan stepped carefully through the debris.  "I think we should get moving."
He sighed.  "It's a shame to leave without planting the bean.  It's a
perfect spot."  He patted his satchel.  "Still, we should be going."

Manman nodded agreement.  "You're right.  Architects are unlikely to be
working around here."  He waved at the sun.  "The light is rather poor."

Juan stepped over a beam.  "Well, I don't want to run into whoever or
whatever did this."

Manman nodded seriously.  "You're right.  An architect would have remodeled
instead."


WOULD AN ARCHITECT HAVE REMODELED INSTEAD?

IF AN ARCHITECT DIDN'T DESTROY THE TOWN, WHO DID?

WHAT'S DADAMAN UP TO?

WILL ED NEED TO DIET AFTER THE CONVENTION?

WILL SENATOR F. RON TRUMNER WIN THE ELECTION?

WILL FABULO EVER QUIT WHINING?

... a loaf of whine, a jug of SUPERGUY and thou...

Next episode:  Manman pontificates, "You can learn a lot from rocks."

(c) 1996 Dirk Myers