🚀 go-pugleaf

The Mediocre Adventures of Manman
Episode 15:  The Mediocre Candidate
by Dirk Myers


The LargeImportant City Civic Arena rumbled softly with the drone of
thousands of voices.  An empty stage draped with scarlet-cream-navy bunting
rose from the front of the arena.  A thirty-foot-tall poster of Senator F.
Ron Trumner was attached to the wall behind the left side of the stage.  On
the right side of the stage hung a thirty-foot-tall scarlet-cream-navy
curtain.  The voices rose in intensity as a man in tattered
scarlet-cream-navy clothing strode onto the stage.

"Greetingsss," said Slam.  "Asss mossst of you know, I have been a clossse
friend of Sssenator Trumner'sss sssince he wasss a young congresssional
aide and I wasss a lobbyissst for Kitssschodyne, Inc.  Well, asss we all
know, I eventually bought out Kitssschodyne, Inc. and turned it from a
defenssse contractor into a sssuccesssful retail chain."  The crowd
applauded.  Slam dipped his head modestly, waved for silence.  "In the
sssame ssspan of time, Sssenator Trumner hasss done sssomething even more
amazzzing.  He hasss gained the ressspect, popularity, book sssalesss, and
back-room clout that will carry him to the Oval Office.  Yesss, he will
become the nexxxt Presssident of the United Ssstatesss."

The crowd applauded wildly.  Slam hissed over the crowd "I pressent to you
-- Sssenator F. Ron Trumner!"  Slam slithered off stage as Senator F. Ron
Trumner stepped to the podium.

-----

Andy the coffeeburro worked furiously on the SmallPortable computer.  Jane
lay stretched out on the floor of the room.  Large, fluffy marshmallows
protruded from her ears.  She was glad to have the coffeeburro's help, but
she was beginning to realize that there was a downside to working with a
master of the sacred coffee bean.  In two days, Andy had not slept a wink.

The floor of the blue-fabric draped room was littered with the remains of
several days of Dadaman's activity.  The corpses of power tools lay
commingled with stickly globs of lime Jell-O.  Animate bus tokens attempted
to spend themselves in the shattered remains of gumball machines.  Wads of
duct tape stuck to the ceiling.  Dadaman himself slept nearby, curled into
a knot which should have been impossible under several laws of physics, not
to mention anatomy.

Jane closed her eyes.  Faint clacking reached her through the marshmallows.
She briefly considered using either cumulus clouds or live rabbits instead
of marshmallows.  She decided that she was tired enough to sleep through
Andy's typing.

The coffeeburro worked on into the night, braying faintly from time to time.

-----

Ed staggered through the arena.  A large badge stuck to his uniform read
"Hello, I'm: ED THE INSURANCE GUY, NOT AN ASSASSIN."  From time to time he
would bump into people.  He knew the procedure for dealing with these
encounters.  He would apologize, express relief that no serious harm had
been done, then launch himself into his prepared sales pitch.  He would
tell his victim that the chance collision illustrated the uncertainty of
life, asked his victim to imagine the results of the collision if Ed had
only been a runaway two-hundred ton block of marble instead of a slightly
unsteady insurance salesman.  He described the heartbreak of families torn
apart by chance encounters with marble blocks, the bills and financial
hardship associated with cleaning the remains of a loved one off a two-ton
block of marble.  He explained the increasing incidence of collisions with
marble blocks over the last several years, explained further that his
company was about to raise premiums as a result.  He confided that he had
been authorized to sell a few more policies at the current rate, offered
the victim his card... by which point the victim had disappeared several
sentences ago.

That was fine with Ed.  He hated his cover story.  He hated the arena, and
he hated his mission.  He felt the IV under his uniform coat.  The bag
attached to the IV was running low on Drink(tm).  He wanted to be done with
his mission before the Drink(tm) ran out.  He knew that Drink(tm)
withdrawal was not something to be taken lightly.  A Zapomatic
Extraordinare was in his pocket.  By touch, he set it to Kill-N-Fry.

For a moment, he wondered how he had learned to set a Zapomatic by touch.
Just as he felt he could remember, he bumped into "Hello, I'm:  The Duchess
of Rottleworth" and had to begin his sales pitch all over again.

-----

"Excellente," burped Fabulo, pushing away his empty bowl.  "Truly it is
borscht to scheme over."

Mindy and Martha, seated together at the other end of the dining room
table, glared at him.  "How would you know?" asked Mindy.  "You haven't
been scheming at all.  You've just been shoveling borscht into your face."

Martha smirked.

Fabulo tossed his head.  "You two have been wasting the borscht in
scheming.  The borscht you have is no doubt cold by now.  I, on the other
hand, have been fortified and I am now ready to scheme Excellente schemes."

Martha chuckled.  "You may be ready, but the scheming is over."  She lifted
a spoonful of borscht to her mouth, blew gently across it.  "And our
borscht is still quite warm, thank you."  She smiled a dangerous smile at
Fabulo.  "Martha Stewpot's soup will not go cold unless she allows it go
cold.  That would be neither simple, nor elegant."

Fabulo shrugged.  "Fine, if you do not want to use my Excellente good looks
in your scheming, that is no skin off my well-formed lips."

Mindy shrugged.  "We never said we couldn't use you.  You have to admit,
though, that scheming isn't your strong point, Fabulo."

Fabulo tossed his head.  He pulled the hat out from under the table and set
it on his head, cocked it at a sharp angle.  "Perhaps not, but my looks
would lend a certain something to any scheme, I think."

Martha stirred her borscht.  "Perhaps so, Fabulo."  She lifted another
spoonful of borscht.  "Just remember who you are dealing with."  Martha
pursed her lips and blew across the spoon.  Steam curled off the borscht,
floated toward Fabulo.

-----

Senator F. Ron Trumner stood in front of the podium.  His face flexed into
a fleeting half-smile, sagged into a somber mask.  He gripped the podium
firmly, leaned into the microphone.  The crowd gasped.  He seemed to be
locked in some sort of combat with the podium.  His arms were tense, his
shoulders quivered with effort, his back was as straight as a bar of iron.

"My friends," began Senator F. Ron Trumner.  "Senator F. Ron Trumner is
here tonight to make an important announcement.  An announcement important
for any candidate, an announcement even more important for a candidate with
the sort of values you know that Senator F. Ron Trumner has, wants, and
stands up for."  The crowd applauded wildly.  "You and Senator F. Ron
Trumner have been through much together.  We have grown up together as a
country.  When the Senator began serving this country, he was young.  And
the country felt young to him.  He had values.  And those were the values
that the country had."  The crowd applauded.  Senator F. Ron Trumner raised
his hand.  "But it has been a long time since the Senator began to serve
you.  The values of the country have changed."  Scattered booing, hissing.
"The Senator cannot always tell you what he would like to tell you."  Loud
booing.  "But he must tell the truth as he would like to see it.  The
values that made this country great are the Senator's values."  Applause.
"The country's values will be Senator F. Ron Trumner's values again."  Wild
applause, scattered cheers.  The Senator straightened a moment, let the
applause wash over him.  He flexed his face.

Senator F. Ron Trumner leaned forward and gripped the podium again.  "And
that brings me to my announcement.   I am here to announce my running mate.
A man..."  The crowd began to applaud wildly.  Cries of "Man!  Man!" began
to echo through the arena.  The Senator held up his hand.  The crowd fell
silent.  "A man who embodies values."  The crowd applauded.  The Senator
held up both hands.  The applause tapered off.  "A man with a record, a man
who is well known, some would say a hero..."  The crowd began to chant
"Man!  Man! Man! Man!"

Senator F. Ron Trumner released the podium.  He took a glass of water from
the shelf under the podium.  He sipped water.  The chanting continued.  He
waved a hand at the crowd.  He took a white handkerchief from his pocket
and wiped his forehead.  The chanting continued.  He nodded at someone
offstage, put the handkerchief back in his pocket.  The Senator took
another sip of water.  He put the glass back under the podium.
The Senator pounced on the podium.  His voice boomed through the arena,
drowning out the crowd.  "I will run with Manman!"

The crowd exploded into screaming, laughing, crying, babbling, thundering
applause.

-----

Jenkins had set up a large TV at the foot of the table.  Mindy and Martha
watched the screen intently as the small figure of F. Ron Trumner leaned
into the microphone.  As the applause began to swell, Martha made a quick
movement with her head.  Jenkins stepped from behind the set, switched the
TV off.

Fabulo looked up from the brightly colored patterns he was drawing on the
tablecloth.  "Have you finished with that ridiculous political show now?
Can we watch something about fashion?"

Martha glared at him.  "Jenkins, take him down to the television room.  Let
him watch two hours -- no more.  And only if he promises that he will read
a book when he's done."

"A book?"  Fabulo's eyes were wide.  "Why would I be wanting to read a
book?"  His eyes grew sly.  "Ah, I understand.  Perhaps one of the books
which I am on the cover of?"  Fabulo looked over at Jenkins.  "Lead me to
where it is you want me, Jenkins."  Fabulo tossed his head.  "I could not
disappoint the simply lovely yet elegant Martha Stewpot."

Jenkins sighed.  He motioned for Fabulo to follow him.  Fabulo swaggered as
he left the room, hesitating for a split-second's backward glance at
Martha.

"I don't know how you put up with him," said Martha.  "He's more trouble
than he's worth."

Mindy shook her head.  "Sometimes I think so."  She shrugged.  "Sometimes I
think it's all an act.  I wonder if he isn't smarter than both of us put
together."

From somewhere down the hall, they could hear Fabulo yelling.   The words
were difficult to make out, but Mindy was fairly sure that she could hear
something about "books with no pictures" and "not Excellente."

Mindy turned to Martha.  "Sometimes I know better."

Martha picked up a slice of dark, crusty peasant bread.  "Forget Fabulo.
What should we do about Manman?"  Her sharp teeth tore at the bread.  She
chewed once, then swallowed.

-----

Ed pressed his way toward the stage.  "Excuse me," he said to a large woman
in a sequined purple dress. "I'm Manman's insurance agent.  I need to speak
to him about his coverage.  He'll need a different policy if he's going to
be a candidate."  He pushed past the woman, elbowed his way past a man in a
baby blue tuxedo.  "Excuse me, actuarial emergency.  Client moving into a
higher risk profession, excuse me."

A row of scarlet-cream-navy clad guards blocked the front of the stage.  As
Ed drew nearer, the guards moved subtly, opening a clear path between Ed
and the podium.  Ed wrapped his hand around the Zapomatic.  The trigger was
slightly cold against his index finger.

The crowd around him exploded into applause.  Ed drew the Zapomatic, kept
it close to his body.

-----

Andy stared at the screen of the SmallPortable computer.  He frowned.  He
hoofed the trackball, hit a few more keys, checked the screen again.  The
frown deepened.

He nuzzled Jane's foot until she sat up.  He presented her with the
SmallPortable computer.  Jane rubbed her eyes, frowned into the screen.
She pulled the marshmallows out of her ears.  They turned into tiny
marshmallow-colored pigeons and flew away.  She frowned into the screen.  A
crooked line ran up and down across the screen, flat near the left edge,
dipping toward the middle, rising toward the right side of the screen.

"I don't understand this, Andy.  What is it that I'm seeing?"

Andy snorted in frustration.  His hoofs flew across the keyboard.  He
turned the screen to Jane.  "Jane:  This is the level of Mediocrity in
RatherLarge City over the last few days.  On the left of the screen are the
few days before you and Dadaman arrived.  The line is fairly high relative
to the rest of the world, but perfectly flat.  In the center of the screen,
you and Dadaman arrive.  The line dips well below normal, probably
compensating for the earlier, higher amounts of Mediocrity."

Jane turned to Andy.  "Yes, without Manman around, Dadaman tends to...
overwhelm the normal background level of mediocrity."  Jane shrugged.  "It
was another good reason to keep touring."

Andy brayed, shook his head, worked the keyboard again.  "Look at the way
the line climbs to the right.  It's now almost twice as high as it was
before you and Dadaman arrived."

Jane frowned.  "That can't be right.  It should be back down to almost
background levels.  Dadaman and Manman cancel each other out.  That's the
way things work."  She turned the screen back toward Andy.  "You must have
it wrong."

The coffeburro snorted.  "No, Jane.  I've checked it three times.  The
graph is right.  Someone is deliberately manipulating the level of
Mediocrity."

-----

Manman stepped to the podium.  The applause stopped.  The arena became
completely silent.  Manman beamed around at the audience.  He frowned.

"There are a lot of people here.  I don't believe I have enough saltines to
go around."  He brightened.  "However, I see that food is being served.  I
will buy lukewarm water for everyone."  He stepped away from the
microphone, tried to flag down a waiter passing in front of the stage.
"Bill the water to Commissioner Slam," he whispered to the waiter.

The dark suited man stepped onto the stage, tugged Manman back in front of
the podium.  The man whispered into Manman's ear.  Manman smiled.  The dark
suited man stepped away from Manman.

"I am pleased to be here tonight.  I have the privilege of accepting the
honor of being the running mate for Senator Trumner."  Manman heaved a sigh
of relief.  "And I don't have any more lines.  Thank you."

The crowd exploded into applause.  Manman stepped away from the podium.

-----

Ed lunged toward Manman.  The scarlet-cream-navy guards melted away to
either side of him.  The Zapomatic Extraordinare felt like an extension of
his arm.  His pulse raced.  Drink(tm) flowed freely into his vein.  The
promise of sleep called to him like the faint memory of a technical support
job with the RatherLarge City Police Department, far away, yet teasingly
close.  The barrel of the Zapomatic pointed directly at Manman.  Manman's
eyes opened wider.   Manman pointed at the Zapomatic.

"I think I've seen one of those before," said Manman.  "But I can't remember..."

Ed squeezed the trigger.  The Zapomatic ray split the air with loud
sizzling sound, struck Manman between the eyes.  Manman fell over.

Dozens of conventioneers tackled Ed.  The scarlet-cream-navy guards,
sensing that something was wrong, began pulling the conventioneers off Ed.
Beneath the pile of conventioneers they found Ed, curled into a small ball,
clutching the Zapomatic, fast asleep.

-----

Manman choked on his oatmeal flavored water.  He held one fist politely
over his mouth as he coughed.  He began to turn slightly red.

"My friend," said Juan.  "You have, I think, attempted to inhale into your
trachea when you should, rather, have been swallowing the wonderful liquid
that is served in this place, which is neither here nor there, into your
esophagus."  Juan frowned.  "Although, I must admit, this dialogue is
becoming rather unpleasant, although, I must also admit, that it must
always have been that way, for that is also the kind of place this is."

Manman coughed out the last of the misplaced water.  He caught his breath.
"I felt very strange there for a minute, Juan."  He frowned, scratched his
head.  "Not mediocre at all.  More like..."  He shook his head.  "I didn't
like it one bit."

Juan spread his hands expansively.  "And yet, there must have been a
reason, for in this place, all happens for a reason.  And yet, for no
reason at all, for that is also the nature of this place.  And yet, why it
should have such an unpleasant effect on my speech patterns is still
unclear to me, yet that too is the nature of this place."  Juan swirled the
coffee in his mug.  "Perhaps this is what we have been waiting for."

Manman shook his head.  "It's very strange.  You sound like you're talking,
but you don't seem to be saying anything."  He scratched his head.
Suddenly, Manman's face lit up.  He beamed at Juan.  "Perhaps we're
related."

Juan Valdez spread his hands again.  He began to open his mouth, hesitated,
closed his mouth.  He brought his hands together and stared Manman in the
eyes.  Slowly, emphasizing the motion, Juan shook his head no.


IS MANMAN DEAD AGAIN?  DOES THIS MEAN THAT THE AUTHOR IS GOING TO INTRODUCE
YET ANOTHER COPY OF MANMAN?  WILL THE COPY THAT ED SHOT ALSO END UP IN THE
PINK IGUANA TAVERN?  HOW MANY COPIES OF MANMAN WILL THE PINK IGUANA TAVERN
LET IN BEFORE THE REGULARS COMPLAIN?

WHY DOES JUAN TALK LIKE THAT?

WILL ED GET PROMOTED TO HR STORMTROOPER NOW?

IS SOMEONE REALLY DELIBERATELY MANIPULATING THE MEDIOCRITY LEVEL OF
RATHERLARGE CITY?  IF SO, WHY?  IF NOT, WHY IS THERE A TEASER QUESTION
ABOUT IT?

WILL FABULO READ A BOOK IF IT DOESN'T HAVE PICTURES?  WOULD MORE PEOPLE
READ MANMAN IF MANMAN HAD PICTURES?

...oh, I'm just going to stay here in my little white room and read SUPERGUY...

Next Episode:  Senator F. Ron Trumner says "This has nothing to do with
vegetables."

(c) 1996 Dirk Myers