🚀 go-pugleaf

The Mediocre Adventures of Manman
Manman Returns, Episode 19:  It's A Mediocre, Mediocre, World


The guard unlocked Ed's cell, slid open the door.   A tall, dark butler
stepped into the cell.  The butler carried a comfortable chair upholstered
in a tasteful floral print.

Ed sat up on his bunk.  "Hey," said Ed.  "Who are you?"

The butler set the chair against the wall opposite Ed's bunk.  "I am
Jenkins," said the butler.  He nodded at Ed, cleared his throat.
"Announcing the simple yet elegant Martha Stewpot, the famous Mindy
Kingsford."  The butler cleared his throat again.  "And friend."  The
butler spun smartly, left the cell.

Martha Stewpot strode into the cell, took a seat on the floral-print chair.
Mindy walked into the cell, stood next to Martha's chair, leaned casually
against the wall of the cell.

Martha lowered her head the precise 32 degrees.  "I am Martha Stewpot."
She leveled her head.  "This is my friend, Mindy Kingsford."

"Pleased to meet you, Ed," said Mindy.

Martha gestured toward the door.  "Our... associate, Fabulo Extravagante,
is sulking in the hall."

A voice drifted in from the hall.  "I am not sulking, Martha Stewpot.  I am
absorbing the feel of this place.  Already, my brilliant mind is at work on
ways to make this pathetic jailhouse Excellente.  I have no time for
prisoners, most of whom could not afford my _Be Excellente_ course in any
event."

Martha smirked.  "You've now met Fabulo."  She nodded precisely.  "Now, Ed,
we have some questions to ask you."

Ed shook his head.  "I have a few questions to ask Fabulo, too."

Martha crossed her arms.  "I suggest that you do not joke with me, Ed.
You're facing serious charges.  We may be able to help you."

Ed winced.  "No," he said.  "You can't help."  He leaned back against the
wall of the cell.  "Please, leave me alone."

Mindy glanced at Martha, back to Ed.

"I'd like to hear your story, Ed," said Martha.  "I'm an easy person to
talk to.  You could call it a talent."  Martha's eyes seemed larger.  She
leaned forward in her chair.  "Tell me your story, Ed."

-----

Underneath the Hardcore Shopping Club, the Greenslimy Aliens stood in small
groups.  Each group was huddled around a small stack of Tinkertoys.  The
groups fiddled with the Tinkertoys.  They made low, burbling noises among
themselves.  They formed the Tinkertoys into strange configurations,
burbled, pulled the Tinkertoys apart and rearranged them.

"One minute," said the Alien at the podium.

The burbling grew louder.  The Aliens began to rearrange the Tinkertoys
more quickly.  In several groups, disagreements broke out and the Aliens
hurled Tinkertoys at each other, slapped each other with limp tentacles,
scolded each other with high-pitched streams of burbling.

"Time," said the Alien at the podium.  "Who has the answer?"

Silence.  The Aliens looked uneasily at each other.  They shifted from foot
to foot.  They whispered softly behind cupped tentacles.

The Alien at the podium cuffed the microphone with a loud pop.  "Come on,"
said the Alien.  "Surely someone has the answer."

A small, forest green Alien in the front raised a small contraption made of
Tinkertoys.  The contraption seemed to be a combination tierack and food
processor.  The Alien slowly raised the contraption.  "This?" asked the
small Alien.  The small Alien's tentacles quivered with tension.  The Alien
swallowed.  Thick slime pooled at the small Alien's feet.

The Alien at the podium made a spitting sound into the microphone.  "Not
even close.  Come on, Aliens, we can do better than that.  Even the
Greyslippery Aliens from the Camp Dimension can do better than that."

The Aliens burbled amongst themselves.  The small Alien dropped his
contraption.  The Tinkertoys came apart when they hit the concrete.  A
wooden Tinkertoy disc rolled across the concrete.  Aliens stepped away from
the disc.  The small Alien slouched back into the crowd.  The disc rolled
through the crowd of Aliens, hit the wall of the room, fell over.  The disc
wobbled against the ground, then lay still.  The Aliens burbled.

"Now, friends," said the Alien at the microphone.  "We have to do better
than this.  How will posterity remember Invasion Yet-To-Be-Named if we
can't finish a simple team-building exercise?"

Another Alien stepped forward, fingering a bagel-slicer made of Tinkertoys.

-----

Manman sat at the foot of a long table.  The table was draped with a clean,
white tablecloth.  A china plate sat on the tablecloth before him.  Silver
utensils sat to either side of the plate.   Large women draped with
colorful cloth and sparkling jewelry sat to either side of Manman.  They
spoke to each other in soft, excited whispers.  Down the length of the
table, sober men wearing dark suits and white shirts alternated with
brightly-garbed women.  Both the men and the women ate in small bites,
chewing their food swiftly and methodically, as though even the smallest
unmasticated bit would poison them.

Senator F. Ron Trumner sat at the head of the table.  The Senator held a
glass.  He stood, tapped the glass with a spoon.  A clear note rang out.

"Friends, guests, lobbyists and supporters.  Americans.  Thank you for
turning out tonight for the first official fundraiser for the
Trumner-Manman '96 campaign.  In the years to come, you will be able to
tell your children and the children of your children that you were present
at the beginning.  You will tell them how you sat at this table and
listened to Senator F. Ron Trumner describe the values that he stands for.
You will tell them that you knew then that the Senator's values were the
values that the country needed.  You will tell them that you paid $1000 per
plate for the privilege of hearing the Senator speak, and that you
considered it money well spent."

Manman held up his plate.  "Excuse me, Senator," said Manman.  "Could I
charge the plate to Commissioner Slam?"  He set the plate down carefully.
"Otherwise, I'm afraid that I will have to return the plate."

Senator F. Ron Trumner flexed his face.  "As always, Senator F. Ron
Trumner's running mate has reminded the Senator of yet another crucial part
of the Senator's message."  The Senator nodded at Manman.  "Thank you
Manman, but there is, of course, no charge for you."  The Senator chuckled.
The people along the table chuckled.  Manman set the plate down.  A
dark-suited man near the Senator rose, hurried toward Manman's chair.

"Thank you Senator," said Manman.  Manman stood and raised his glass.  "I
would like to propose a toast.  Does everyone have a glass of lukewarm..."
The dark-suited man reached Manman, began to whisper urgently in his ear.
Manman nodded.  "I would like to stop making a fool of the Senator, and
shut my mouth you idiot don't repeat... oh."  Manman sat.  The dark-suited
man nodded at Senator F. Ron Trumner.

The Senator cleared his throat.  "You are here tonight because you have
paid for the privilege of being here tonight.  There are those who would
like to be here tonight, but they are not here tonight because they have
not paid."  The Senator leaned against the table.  His back grew straight.
He clutched at the tablecloth to steady himself.  "We must be ever vigilant
against the threat of those who do not have the values to be able to afford
the things that we would all like to be able to afford, but that many
Americans cannot afford because they are too busy working to keep this
country great.  And because of this, Senator F. Ron Trumner thanks you for
your support in coming here tonight."

The Senator's face flexed.  Senator F. Ron Trumner's voice grew quiet.
"But, although he is a modest man, the Senator needs to ask even more from
you.  Yes, Friends of Trumner, it takes money to be heard in today's
America.  In the America the Senator wants to build, it would not take
money to hear about the Senator's values, because everyone would have the
Senator's values, but that is not the America of today.  And so, the
Senator must ask you to reach a little deeper into that shared core of
values that makes America the country that it is.  The Senator wants you to
live those values as deeply as you are able to.  The Senator asks you to
give generously to the Senator's campaign."  The Senator's face grew grim.
"He does not ask you this for himself.  He does not ask you this for
Manman.  He asks this for the country."

A long breath came out of the Senator.  The energy left the Senator's body.
Senator F. Ron Trumner's arms relaxed.  He sighed deeply, lifted his hands
off the table, clasped them together.  He shook his hands, then unclasped
them.  He wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand.  He sank down
into the chair.

The people lining the table applauded.

-----

The trees grew taller and the forest grew thicker as Manman and Juan
walked.  The bark of the trees had changed from having thin, vertical folds
to having thick, widely spaced horizontal bands.  The foliage was lighter,
deciduous-looking.  There was little undergrowth.  The ground was covered
with short blue moss that yielded slightly under their feet.  Juan stepped
hard against the moss, felt the moss rebound against the pressure.  It felt
good.  The dull ache in his legs faded.  He began to hum a song he had
learned in childhood, an ancient song about a wild pig who believes that he
can hunt deer better than a panther, swim faster than an alligator, consume
more coffee than a coffeeburro.  He found the words difficult to remember,
except for the part where the pig trades his tusk for directions to the
hidden valley of the coffeeburros.  Juan opened his mouth to sing the
verse, then became convinced that the pig had traded his tail, not his
tusk.  Juan hummed louder.  He hoped that he would remember more of the
words if he kept humming.

Manman trailed behind Juan.  He thought that the trees were beginning to
look more familiar, somehow, but he was sure that they still didn't look
like they belonged in RatherLarge City.  He sighed heavily.  He had tried
for what seemed like hours to get Juan to explain to him how they were
going to get back to RatherLarge City.  He still didn't understand it, and
Juan had finally given up on trying to explain it.  One thing was sure,
though:  too little oatmeal was involved for Manman to be comfortable.

Manman idly brushed his fingers against the trunks of the trees as he
walked.  He hoped that, sooner or later, he would find a way to convince
Juan to help him look for the oatmeal.

-----

Martha's lips curled in a dangerous smile.  "Ed," she said.  "Considering
that you are in jail for attempting to assassinate a candidate for
Vice-President, I would tend to believe that you would want someone to hear
your side of the story.  We came a long way to speak with you, Ed.  You've
been somewhat rude to us, so far."  Martha held Ed's eyes with a cool
stare.  "Nevertheless, we are prepared to help you out, Ed."

"This color scheme is most drab," called Fabulo from the hall.  "I do not
believe we should help him unless he agrees to work with us on this point.
He must take responsibility for making his surroundings Excellente."

Martha frowned.  " I, Martha Stewpot, am personally prepared to help you.
You can safely ignore Fabulo."

Outraged huffings and puffings came from the hall.  Mindy hurried into the
hall.  Hushed whispers drifted into the cell.

"Thanks for the offer," said Ed.  "But I don't believe you can help me."
He shrugged.  "Still, I suppose that if you're willing to try, it'll hurt
you more than me."

Martha smiled.  "Of course, Ed, we would like a favor in return.  It's a
small thing, really.  It's something that you would have to do, anyway, if
we weren't helping you."

Ed shrugged again.  "What do you want?"

"Excellente Color Coordination," called the voice from the hall.  "Nothing
less than that will I settle for."

Martha leaned forward in her chair.  "Tell us about Manman, Ed."

Ed sighed heavily.  He leaned back against the wall.  "Not this again."

Martha leaned close to him.  Her eyes seemed to fill Ed's vision.
"Manman," she said.  "Tell us about Manman."

-----

Andy stood at the window of the Howard Johnson's hotel room.  Across the
street, a red neon donut blinked on.  Curly white letters blinked on around
the edge of the donut -- "EAT AT SAM'S."  The donut and the letters blinked
off.  Andy's ears twitched in anticipation.  The outline of a blue mug
appeared where the donut had been.  White lines indicating steam blinked on
above the cup.  The word "HOT" blinked on inside the cup.  The white lines
blinked on and off, indicating that the steam was rising from the cup.  The
word "JOE" appeared below the cup.  The words blinked on and off a few
times, then the sign went dark.

Andy sighed, turned away from the window.  Manman lay on a bed across the
room.  Jane dozed in an armchair next to the small television set.  Dadaman
sat on the other bed, legs crossed, gently tapping a green ostrich egg with
some sort of long, spiral seashell.

Andy set his SmallPortable Computer on the nightstand.  He flipped it open,
began idly tapping at the keys.  The computer's hard drive whirred faintly
in the still room.  The coffeeburro's ears twitched rapidly.

Jane's eyes opened.  She smiled at Andy.  "Still awake, I see."

Andy nodded solemnly.  His ears twitched.  He hoofed the trackball.  "Of
course," said the SmallPortable Computer.  "There is much to do."

Jane shook her head.  "Like what?  Here we are in LargeImportant City,
looking for an increase in the level of Mediocrity, with no clues to go
on."

Andy brayed softly.  The SmallPortable Computer's speaker clicked.  "I've
found a pattern to the increases in Mediocrity.  Between 8 PM and midnight,
the level increases at approximately 15 minutes after every hour, 40
minutes after every hour, and 57 minutes after every hour.  The level of
Mediocrity holds steady during the rest of the day."

Jane chewed at her lip.  "Interesting, but not very useful.  We still don't
know what's causing the increase."

Andy whickered quietly.  He tapped rapidly at the keyboard.  "The levels of
Mediocrity are increasing during commercial breaks on popular television
shows."  The keys clicked quietly.  "If I'm right, we should be able to
find out why in a few minutes.  Please turn on the television."

Jane flicked on the television set.  A large group of small, furry animals
hopped through waving fields of grass, pursued by a large, reptilian
creature with long sharp teeth.  A thin red beam of light shot from the
reptile's mouth.  One of the mammals disappeared in a thick puff of black
smoke.

"Oh, no," squealed the remaining mammals in unison.   A large mammal with a
scrap of cloth draped jauntily over one ear glanced behind him.

"We have to fight," said the large mammal.  "We'll be killed for sure if we
keep running."  A thin red beam dissolved another mammal into a pool of
sticky-looking black fluid.

"Oh, no," squealed the mammals.

The large mammal turned.  "I fight!" cried the large mammal.  He shoved his
way through the tide of other animals.  The reptile sped towards the large
mammal.  The reptile's mouth opened.  Sharp teeth swung freely in the
reptile's gums, gleamed in the sunlight.  A beam of light shot toward the
large mammal.

"Oh, no," squealed the large mammal.  The scrap of cloth fell from his ear.

The screen went dark.  Large, white letters scrolled across the screen.
"To be continued."

Andy tapped at the computer.  "This should be it," said the computer.

-----

Martha leaned back in her chair.  "You haven't told us much, Ed," she said.
"But you've spoken in a simple style, and there were a few moments of
eloquence.  I will accept your story.  Is there anything else you would
like to tell me?"

Ed smirked.  "I don't like your television show very much.  Especially the
part in the latest one about making simple yet elegant tablecloths out of
surplus fishing nets."

Martha's lips curled ever so slightly.  "You really shouldn't trifle with
me, Ed."  She touched her cheek with an outstretched index finger.
"Nevertheless, I have decided to believe you."  She pointed at Ed. "Jenkins
will post bail."

Ed sat forward on the bed.  "I hope you know what you're doing."

Martha smirked.  "I have a scheme."

-----

The television screen was dark.  Slowly, the darkness grew gray.  Faint
patterns of light began to show on the screen.  A strong, masculine voice
spoke from the television.

"Today," said the voice. "It is a time of darkness.  A time when the values
we hold dear have been tested to their limits and beyond their limits."
The screen grew brighter.  The patterns sharpened, began to resemble
mountainous terrain.  "It is a time when neighbors fear neighbors, when
fathers fear sons, when mothers fear daughters and little old ladies cannot
cross the street even when the white 'Walk' symbol is prominently
displayed."  Faint hints of movement.  In the middle of the screen, the
pattern flexed.  Music crept through the air from somewhere very far away,
brass, drums, woodwinds.  The pattern grew more distinct, two bright
vertical blobs against a darker background.

"It is a time of uncertainty.  Yet there are those who remain certain.
There are those who stand for values, and who would like to make their
values the country's values again."  The music grew louder.  Cymbals
crashed.  Bright trumpets blew ornate fanfares.  The blobs suddenly came
into focus.

Senator F. Ron Trumner glared dolefully out of the screen.  Manman stood
beside and slightly behind him.  Manman appeared to be staring at the back
of the Senator's head.  The music swelled to a crescendo.

The Senator's face flexed.  The Senator spoke.  "Senator F. Ron Trumner
stands for your values.  With his running mate, a proven superguy, he will
stand up to those who do not share your values.  He will gently but firmly
tell them that they are not welcome here, and that if they do not want to
share the values that made this country great, that they will not change
our values.  Our values are as steady as our convictions.  Our convictions
are as steady as our voting records.  F. Ron Trumner would like your vote."

Manman blinked at the back of the Senator's head.  "Is that really your
hair?" he asked.

An American flag filled the screen.  The music came to an abrupt halt.
Small letters across the bottom of the screen read "Paid for as a public
service by the Independent Voter's Council and RatherLarge Productions,
Inc."

Jane shut off the television.  She blinked at the screen.  "Andy, that
looked like Manman."

The coffeeburro's hoofs hammered at the SmallPortable Computer.  "I think
that was Manman," said the computer.  "Though Manman is also here with us.
That appears to be the way that things are at this time.  And yet, they
cannot be."  The coffeeburro brayed in frustration.  "I'm sorry, Jane.
Juan would be able to explain it much more clearly, if he were here."

Dadaman walked slowly to the television.  He looked from the television to
Manman's still body.  He looked back at the television.  "Antipasto yurgle
nyloned horsehair?"  Dadaman's face contorted in thought.  He turned to
Andy.

"Bugle loudly the croissants," said Dadaman.  He produced a large,
freestanding chalkboard from somewhere behind Andy's left ear.  He began to
draw on the chalkboard with a small bundle of feathers.  The feathers left
a clean, gray chalk line on the board.

"I think Dadaman is trying to tell us something,"  said Jane quietly.

Dadaman's hands flew over the chalkboard.  Strange figures appeared on the
chalkboard, squiggles, spirals, intensely disturbing angles connecting in
ways Euclid never anticipated.  Odd characters ran in slow meanders across
the screen, dripping down onto the chalk tray.  Strange villages of stick
figures smeared together beneath the characters.  Graphs of strange,
shallow functions slid from left to right up the board.

Jane and Andy blinked at the chalkboard.  Andy's ears twitched.  "Jane,
does this make any sense to you?"

Jane chewed at her lower lip.  She frowned.  "I'm not sure.  Dadaman still
confuses me sometimes."  She shrugged.  "It looks like some sort of
equation."  She shook her head.  "No, more like a flowchart with equations
explaining it."

Dadaman began to gently rake the chalkboard with an antique three-pronged fork.

----

Ed sat in the back of the red, white and blue van.  Fabulo slouched against
the opposite side of the van, his lips pressed tightly together.  Mindy sat
next to Fabulo, Jenkins drove, Martha sat in the front seat of the van.
The van slowly pulled away from the loading dock of the courthouse.

"Quite ingenious," said Ed.  "I wondered how we were going to avoid the
reporters."  He had dressed in a plain white shirt and dark slacks which
Jenkins had given him before he left his cell.  His head and arm throbbed.
Purple spots obscured parts of the van.  Still, Ed felt more optimistic
than he had since he had first met Manman.  He was confident that, whatever
happened, Martha would be more interesting to the Authors than he was.

Martha made a low noise in the back of her throat.  "Ingenious is one word
for it.  I prefer to say that the plan was simple, yet elegant.  I'm glad
that you can appreciate that, Ed."

Fabulo snorted.  "If crouching in the back of a plain van is simple yet
elegant, I for one am happy to be Excellente.  Should I have wanted to
rescue this plain little man, I would have invented an Excellente plan
involving noise, explosions, loud music, attractive women swooning over my
Excellente lips and combat-dishevelled hair."

"You'd never have made it," said Mindy.  "I'm sure that the LargeImportant
Police have guns."

Fabulo blanched.  "You have truly lured me into the den of the lion, Martha
Stewpot.  Only riding in this horribly plain van could be less Excellente
than the use of guns."

Martha chuckled.  Mindy shook her head.  "You know, Fabulo," said Mindy.
"You only encourage her when you do that."

Fabulo leaned back against the side of the van.  "If I am encouraging her,
it is only to reveal her true nature.  She is a cruel and heartless
person."

They rode on in silence.  The van stopped at a stoplight.  Jenkins muttered
softly in the driver's seat.  Ed's body shook.  His back ached.  He felt as
though a brick sat on his sternum.  He squirmed in discomfort.  His hands
trembled, his fingers flexed involuntarily.

Ed tensed his muscles, forced himself to sit still.  "You know, Fabulo,
there's a question I've been meaning to ask you."

Fabulo puffed his chest out.  "Perhaps there is more hope for you than I
had imagined, little plain man."  He tossed his head, stared at Ed from
behind a few wisps of hair.  "Ask and you shall hear the answer straight
from the perfectly formed lips of Fabulo Extravagante."

"Authors," said Ed.  "What do you think about the Authors?"

Fabulo tossed his head.  "They have never asked me for advice, therefore
they must not be Excellente."

Ed forced himself to smile.  A muscle in his left eyebrow went into spasms.
"You have a broad worldview, Fabulo."  He held the smile.

Fabulo tossed his head.  Behind strands of blonde hair, his eyes narrowed.
He pouted his lips.  "Thank you, Mr. Little Plain Man.  I can see that you
have some shreds of an Excellente soul in you, unlike many others, some of
whom are in this van."

Jenkins's snort echoed through the van.

-----

Jane stared at the chalkboard for a long time.  She turned her head ninety
degrees to the left.  She turned her head ninety degrees to the right.
She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

"Urgent apostrophes," said Dadaman.  Dadaman waved a scale model of the
bombing of Nagasaki in front of Jane.  He threw the model against the wall.
It splintered.  Confetti slid down the wall.  "Winnebago oasis.  Sharp!
Sharp!  Biodegradability!"

Jane let out a long sigh.  "I don't know, Andy.  I'm sure there's something
Dadaman wants us to know, but I can't figure it out."  She squinted at the
chalkboard, shook her head.  "Something to do with some sort of liquid, I
think."

"No farcical obsolescence!"  Dadaman pelted Jane and Andy with live
mollusks of varying sizes and species.  Andy and Jane dove behind the bed.

"Knock it off," called Jane.  "Those hurt!"  The rain of mollusks
continued.  Snails fell in lazy parabolas, burst against the carpet next to
them, sharp shell fragments scratching Jane's skin.  Squids caromed off the
imitation wood paneling behind them.  Octopi tentacles dangled from the
edge of the bed.  Ink ran freely down the walls, off the bed, over the
carpet.  "The damage deposit!" screamed Jane.

The coffeeburro brayed a warning.  He pulled a coffeebean from his
saddlebag, clenched it between his teeth.  He crouched low behind the bed,
gauged the fall of the mollusks, the trajectory, the frequency of the
projectiles.  He took a guess at where Dadaman was, and when Dadaman's
hands would be empty.  With a muffled war-bray he leaped from behind the
bed, prepared to spit the bean at Dadaman.

A squid struck Andy squarely in the face, covered his eyes and nose.  The
coffeebean fell to the floor.  Andy staggered.  His left front hoof skidded
on the coffeebean.  Andy went down, braying in pain.  Ink flowed over his
face and into his nose.  A particularly large clam struck him in the left
ear and clamped down.  Andy brayed in pain.  The squid stuck a tentacle
down Andy's throat.  Andy rolled, tried to find his way back behind the
bed.  His flailing hooves became tangled in the bedspread.  He pulled the
bedspread off the bed.  Assorted octopi came with it.  Andy found himself
surrounded on all sides by clinging tentacles.  Ink ran over his body, into
his ears, down his throat.  The small beaks of the octopi began to gnaw at
his thick fur.  He brayed in fear.

He felt Jane's hands pulling at the bedspread.  He forced himself to lie
still.  Jane's fingers worked deftly at the tentacles, rapidly removing
octopus after octopus.  Her fingers worked their way under the squid,
gently coaxing the tentacle from Andy's throat.  She pulled the squid away
from Andy's face.  Her face was red, streaked with squid ink.  Her eyes
were swollen.  She began to work on the clam attached to Andy's ear.

"He took Manman, Andy."  She shook her head.  "As soon as you fell down, he
scooped up Manman and left."

The coffeeburro brayed in pain as Jane eased the clam off of his ear.


WHERE DID DADAMAN GO?

WAS THAT LAST SCENE REALLY NECESSARY?  (WERE ANY OF THE OTHERS, FOR THAT
MATTER?)

WHAT PLANS DOES MARTHA STEWPOT HAVE FOR ED?

WHEN WILL THE GREENSLIMY ALIENS BEGIN THEIR INVASION?  WILL THEY MISS THEIR
TEE-TIMES IF THEY DON'T HURRY UP?

WILL WE EVER HEAR ABOUT THE OATMEAL AGAIN?


... no actual mollusks were harmed, harassed, or even inconvenienced during
the posting of this episode of SUPERGUY...

Next episode:  Ed eats.

(c) 1996 Dirk Myers

[Continuity note:  Ok, I admit it.  Manman Returns is out of continuity.
This episode takes place around the time of the conventions for the two
Famous American Political Parties... say, sometime around August.]