navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Cool Universe XVI
Passions in Prose
Post A Reply Post New Topic Cool Universe XVI Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
mirror man
Senior Member
since 2001-01-08
Posts 814


0 posted 2003-07-26 04:33 AM



Cool Universe
by
mirror man

Chapter 16



     It was morning when Abnorman finally arrived upstairs, and there was Daddyo standing by the cellar door.
     “So what happened?” said Daddyo.
     “He got away,” said Abnorman, holding up the tail with the bolt attached to the end of it.
     “Too bad,” said Daddyo.  Then he sniffed the air and said, “What’s that smell?”  Then he looked at Abnorman and said, “You’re all wet.”
     “Yeah,” said Abnorman.  “It’s hell down there.”
     Then Daddyo came closer, sniffed the air, and said, “Pee-yoo!  You stink.”
     “Sorry,” said Abnorman.  “I think the river’s polluted.”
     Then Mama Cool came in, sniffed the air, and said, “Pee-yoo.  What’s that smell?”
     “It’s Abnorman,” said Daddyo.  “He’s been down in the basement all night looking for that demented rat.”
     Then everybody came out, sniffed the air, and said, “Pee-yoo!  What’s that smell?” about a hundred times.
     “Can I help it if the river stinks?” said Abnorman.
     “That’s the River Styx,” said Daddyo.
     “I think he needs a bath,” said Mama Cool.
     “Yeah,” said Abnorman.  “A nice, warm bath.”
     “No,” said Daddyo.  “You’ll stink up the bathtub.”
     Then followed a long argument about how bad Abnorman stank and whether or not he should use the bathtub.  In the end, it was decided that he should stand outside in the back yard and they would hose him down.  Which they did.  Then, when he was thoroughly hosed down, they let him back in the house, he changed clothes and climbed into bed.
     “I don’t feel so good,” Abnorman moaned.
     “That’s what you get for crawling around in the basement all night in your pajamas,” said Daddyo sympathetically.
     “Ohhhhh,” Abnorman groaned.
     “He does look kind of pale,” said Mama Cool.
     “I think I’m coming down with something,” Abnorman sniffled.
     “And I think he has a fever,” said Mama Cool, laying a hand on his forehead.
     “Ahhh, he’s just faking,” said Daddyo.
     “Now really,” said Mama Cool impatiently, “how could he fake a fever?”
     “By holding his breath,” said Daddyo.
     “Am not!” said Abnorman.
     “There,” said Mama Cool.  “He’s not holding his breath.”
     “I didn’t see him breathe,” said Daddyo suspiciously.
     “Ohhhhh....ohhhh,” Abnorman moaned.
     “How did you get all wet, anyway?” said Mama Cool.
     “Somebody let Homer out,” said Abnorman, giving Daddyo an accusing look, “and he ran down in the basement, and I ran down after him, and I chased him through the catacombs, but I lost him, and I met Cousin Satan, and he almost caught him, but he got away, and this is all that’s left of him,” and he held up the tail with the bolt on the end of it, “and I think he’s in Hell now.”
     “Likely story,” said Daddyo.
     “It’s true,” Abnorman protested, “every bit of it.”
     “Yes, yes,” said Mama Cool, not at all convinced.
     “Ohhhh,” Abnorman moaned, “I’m definitely sick.”
     “He doesn’t look well,” Mama Cool said worriedly.
     “Faker,” said Daddyo.
     “I’m sick.  Sick,” said Abnorman, and then he turned green and said, “and I think I’m gonna be sick!” and he pooched up his mouth and crossed his eyes.
     “Yaaaa!” they all screamed, jumping back.  “He’s gonna puke!”
     “Aaaaaagh!  Gaarrrghh!” Abnorman yelled.
     “Yaaaa!” they screamed, jumping back again.
     “Bwaagh!  Baaarrrf!” Abnorman yelled, leaning over the side of the bed.
     “Yaaaa!” they screamed, and ran out the door.
     Then they slammed the door and Abnorman was alone.

     And so began the history of Abnorman’s first serious, big time illness in life.  This was the way it went in his house: if anyone got sick, that was his problem; if he got well, that was okay, but if he didn’t, that was his problem.  It said so in the Big Book of Cool Family Tradition.
     If there were dudes somewhere -- and Abnorman supposed there were -- who detested being doted on hand and foot, pampered, and fussed over when they were sick, and just wanted to be left alone, then Abnorman’s house would have been the perfect place for them.
     Not only did they not dote on him, they wore gas masks when they came into the bedroom, took out all Too Cool’s and Maximum Cool’s stuff and made them sleep in the living room, and then they sealed the door and cut a hole in the bottom through which Mama Cool passed food on a tray and occasional  messages.
     On little strips of paper Mama Cool would write “How are you feeling today?” and “I hope you are feeling better,” and “We all wish you would get well soon,” to which she would sign “Love, Mama Cool and Daddyo and everyone else.”  And everyone had the same handwriting as Mama Cool; which Abnorman thought was very thoughtful of them all, changing their handwriting like that so he could read it easier.
     One message read, “How is your loathsome disease treating you today? -- Love, Mama Cool and Daddyo and everyone else.”
     To which Abnorman wrote, “Not so hot. -- Love Abnorman.”
     Another one read, “Get well soon. -- Love Mama Cool and Daddyo and everyone else.”
     To which Abnorman wrote, “Pain is the perfect misery, the worst of evils, and excessive, overturns all patience. -- John Milton.”
     To which everyone wrote, “Then just get better.  John too. -- Love, Mama Cool and Daddyo and everyone else.”
     To which Abnorman replied, “Sinking fast. -- Love, Abnorman.”
     Another one read, “Best wishes. -- Love, Mama Cool and Daddyo and everyone else.”
     To which Abnorman replied, “Send for help. -- Love, Abnorman.”
     Another one read, “Thinking of you. -- Love, Mama Cool and Daddyo and everyone else.”
     It was a very stimulating conversation which took place over several days.

     Meanwhile, down at the gates to hell, King Rat mused over Abnorman’s latest progress report.  
     “This doesn’t look good,” said King Rat worriedly to his cohorts.
     His cohorts all agreed.  It didn’t look good at all.
     “What shall we do?” they all said to King Rat.
     “I don’t know yet,” said King Rat.  He looked to a cohort on his left.  “What’s she feeding him?”
     “Chicken soup,” said the cohort.
     “Chicken soup!” said King Rat.  “Yuck!”
     “Yes,” said another, “and fruit for vitamin C.”
     “Yuck!” said King Rat.
     “And vegetables,” said another, “for fiber.”
     “Yuck!” said King Rat.
     “And freshly baked bread,” said another.
     “Double yuck!” said King Rat.
     “And they’ve installed a thermostat,” said another, “to keep him warm and cozy.”
     “No!” said King Rat in horror.
     “And they’ve installed a vent,” said another, “to circulate the air.”
     “Enough!” said King Rat.  And, “Ohhhh, poor, poor Abnorman!”
     And all his rat cohorts agreed.
     And they all shook their heads sadly.
     “We must do something,” said another cohort, “before it’s too late.”
     “Yes,” King Rat agreed.  He looked to one cohort and said, “You, go dig up some cow hoof soup.”
     “Yumm,” said the cohort eagerly.
     “Not for you,” said King Rat, “for Abnorman.”
     “Oh,” said the rat cohort sadly.
     “And you,” said King Rat to another rat cohort, “find a can of homemade noodles, you know, the kind they make at home in the factory.”
     “Yes, sir,” said the other rat cohort.
     “And you,” said King Rat to another rat cohort, “find some old porridge somewhere, something that’s been sitting on a shelf for about two months and has lots of juicy bugs crawling in it.”
     “Yumm,” said the other cohort eagerly.
     “And you,” said King Rat to another, “go dig up a dead horse.  Green, if you can find it.”
     “Yumm,” said the other rat cohort.
     “And you,” said King Rat to another, “find some mush somewhere, preferably fried last week.  And you, gather some slugs from the back yard.  And you, get up there at that vent and plug it up somehow.  And you, find that thermostat and break the wires.”  Then he looked around at all the rats running on their errands and said, “These are the things a growing Cooler needs, especially a sick growing Cooler.  We will nurse him back to health.  He must not die.”
     So that’s what they did.
     Every time Mama Cool slipped a bowl of chicken soup through the hole in the door, Abnorman would look at it and recoil in horror.  Then, in the next instant, it would disappear and return as a bowl of cow hoof soup or green horse stew.
     “Yumm,” said Abnorman eagerly.
     And every time Mama Cool tried to slip him fresh fruit or vegetables, Abnorman would recoil in horror and the fresh fruit and vegetables would disappear and magically reappear as fried mush and deviled slugs.
     “Yumm,” said Abnorman eagerly.
     And every time Abnorman breathed a breath of fresh air, he would recoil in horror, until the vent was stuffed up and the air in his room became stagnant and stinky.
     “Mmmm,” said Abnorman appreciatively.
     And soon the constant, temperature controlling thermostat quit working and his room became cold or hot or whatever the temperature was outside, according to the whims of chance.
     And Abnorman sighed in relief.
     So it was the rats that did all that rotten stuff, and not, as some used to think, his pseudo-family cool group.  Just so you know who to blame.

     Along with the messages and food also would sometimes appear articles clipped from newspapers or magazines.  Abnorman wasn’t sure where these came from, but he read them to help pass the time.
     One article bore the headline “The Healing Powers of the Lowly Cow Hoof,” another “Better Bugs for Better Health,” and another “Vitamins from Vomit” in which were underlined the words “Waste not, want not.”
     After that came articles such as “The Power of Mind over Disgusting Pustulant Dissolution,” and “I’m okay, I’m Okay,” and “It Could Be Worse: Testimonials of a Leper Colony.”
     All this information was not only educational but emotionally comforting.  And it seemed as though Abnorman could actually like being sick.  But then one day, when it looked as though Abnorman wasn’t getting any better, because to be honest he really wasn’t trying that hard, a whole book appeared: Final Exit.
     He didn’t know where that came from either, like the others, but he didn’t really have to read it.  Instead, he made up his mind right then to do something about getting better.  He didn’t know what, but sitting around in bed all day, eating cow hoof soup and waiting to die was not, he decided, all it was cracked up to be.  Besides that, he had to pee.
     He crept up to the door and listened.  He heard the TV playing and voices in the background.
     “Hey!” Abnorman yelled.  “Anybody out there?”
     “What was that?” someone said.
     “Probably the kids next door,” someone else said.
     The TV played some more, and then Abnorman yelled, “Hey!  Anybody!” and he rattled the doorknob.  “Let me out!”
     “There it is again,” someone said.
     “Just rats,” someone else said.
     The TV played some more, and then Abnorman yelled, “Hey!” and he pounded on the door, “It’s me.  Abnorman.”
     Then someone turned down the TV and Daddyo said, “Get back in bed.  You’re d--- you’re sick.”
     “I gotta use the bathroom,” Abnorman yelled.
     There was a moment of silence, and then Daddyo said, “Darn.  I forgot about that.”
     “Come on,” Abnorman yelled, rattling the doorknob again.  “I gotta go!”
     “Okay, okay,” Daddyo yelled back. “Hold your horses already.”  And then Abnorman heard some rattling from the other side, and Daddyo said, “Here you go,” and he shoved something through the hole in the bottom of the door.
     Abnorman looked down at the floor.  There was a bottle and a bucket.  The bottle was labeled “No. 1” and the bucket was labeled “No. 2.”
     “What’s this?” said Abnorman.
     “You said you had to go,” said Daddyo, “so go already.”
     Abnorman kicked them back out with a clatter and a bang.  Then he began pounding on the door with both fists.  “Let me out!  Let me out!  I gotta use the bathroom.”
     “No way,” said Daddyo from the other side of the door.  “Someone might catch your disease from the toilet seat.”  And then he pushed the bucket back through the hole and said, “Use the bucket, and be glad you got that.”
     Abnorman could see this was going nowhere, so he went into the closet and dug up a crowbar.  He slammed it into the doorjamb and yelled, “I’m coming out!”
     Then someone yelled, “He’s coming out!”
     Someone else said, “He can’t get out...can he?”
     “I’m coming out!” Abnorman yelled again.
     Smash!  Bang!
     “Oh no!” someone yelled.  “He’s coming out!”
     Thump!  Crash!  The door began to buckle.
     “Yaaa!  He’s coming out!”
     “I’m coning out!” Abnorman yelled again, “and anyone who tries to stop me is gonna get infected!”
     Smash!  Crash!
     “Help!  Help!  He’s coming out!  We’re all gonna die!”
     Smash, smash, smash!
     “Yaaa!  Run for cover!  Run for cover!  Yaaaaaaaa!”  A thousand pounding feet came rushing by like a herd of wild elephants.
     Smash!  Bash!  And then Whooosh! and the door flew open.
     Abnorman peered cautiously around the doorway, crowbar held high in case there was a fight.  He needn’t have worried.  No one was in sight.
     Then he walked out to the kitchen and looked around some more.  No one there either.  Then he went into the bathroom and shut the door.
     When he came back, a sign was painted on the bedroom door.
     “PLAGUE!” it read, in big, bold, black letters.  And beneath that, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
     “I’m all done now!” Abnorman yelled to no one in particular, and slammed the door behind him.
     A little while later, he heard voices outside.  Someone said, “I think it’s okay now,” and then footsteps outside his door, more voices, mumbling, grunting, and something heavy was pushed against the door on the other side.
     Abnorman looked through the hole in the bottom of the door. It was the piano.

     After that, it was all down hill.  Even with all the nourishing food.  Even with all the hopeful messages.  Even with all the helpful articles.  Even with all that, Abnorman only got worse.
     He endured the private degradation disease puts the body through, the chills and cold sweats, the hot flashes, the rashes, the dry heaves, the trots, the puss, the puke, the watery reeking...whatever.  He languished in a state of painful semi-consciousness for the next few days, lapsed into a coma, and finally, with a shudder of dread of something after death, he took a walk into that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.
     He shuffled off the coil.
     He gave up the ghost.
     He kicked the bucket.
     He bit the dust.
     He died.

     “Oh, no!” King Rat wailed.  
     And all the rats wailed with him, “Oh no!”
     “Abnorman’s dead!”
     “Abnorman’s dead!”
     “Abnorman’s dead, dead, dead!”
     And there was a great mourning at the gates of hell.
     “Hey, wait a minute,” said King Rat suddenly.  “This is Planet Cool.”
     “Oh...yeah,” said all the other rats.
     And so they waited in happy expectation.

     But up in space, Kulaat and Grope weren’t about to wait for Cool nature to take its twisted course.
     “Ready!” said Kulaat to Grope.
     Grope blinked once, meaning Ready.
     “Aim!” said Kulaat to Grope.
     Grope blinked twice, meaning Aimed.
     “Fire!” yelled Kulaat to Grope.
     And Grope pushed the Fire button and a blinding flash of reanimation rays lanced down somewhere on Planet Cool.
     Kulaat blinked as he looked at the screen.  “Where’d it go?”
     Grope shrugged, meaning Heck if I know.

     And down in hell, Cousin Satan yelled, “Yaaa!”
     He had been marinating Yo in a special sauce of cow hoof soup and pustulating porridge when there was a blinding light from over head and Yo suddenly jumped up and began to growl.
     “Grrrr!” said Yo Dummy.  “Grrrr!  Grrrr!” and “Growl!”
     “Yaaa!” yelled all Cousin Satan’s helper demons, who jumped away and ran for cover.
     And slowly the thing that once was an empty-headed, insipid wooden character became none other than....
     “The Evil Pokonose!” all hell screamed in horror.
     Jeez, this is the goddam stupidest thing I ever read.
     Anyway, it would be a while before the Evil Pokonose could climb the basement stairs, so the universe was safe yet.  At least until the next chapter.

     After a few days, having noticed that Abnorman wasn’t eating any more, the rest of the Cool Family put on their gas masks, pushed the piano away from the door, pulled out the nails holding the door shut, and took a peek inside.
     There was Abnorman, lying in bed, dead as a mackerel two days out of water.  They all stood around, hung their heads sadly, wiped the tears off their gas masks, and then carried him out back and buried him behind the shed.
     They took off their gas masks as they were walking away, and Mama Cool said, “Shouldn’t we say some words over his grave first?”
     “Oh...sure,” said Daddyo, and they all came back and stood around Abnorman’s grave.
     There was a long silence, and then Daddyo said, “Um...uh.  Let’s see.  He’s dead...He’s definitely dead...um...uh...Abnorman’s dead.”  He hung his head.  “Oh yes, Abnorman’s dead...uh...dead, dead, dead...um...”
     “How about ‘He was a good dude,’” said Mama Cool.
     “You want me to say that?” said Daddyo.
     “It would be nice,” said Mama Cool.
     “And then we can leave?” said Daddyo.
     “It would be nice for starters,” said Mama Cool.
     “What,” Daddyo grumbled.  “You want a whole eulogy?”
     “That would be nice,” said Mama Cool.
     “Maybe we should just start small,” said Daddyo.
     “Whatever,” said Mama Cool.
     “Okay,” said Daddyo.  “Let’s see.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  He’s dead.  And he was a g---.  He was a g---.  Uh...Oh, yeah.  He was a good tax deduction.”
     “He was a good dude,” said Mama Cool, wiping a tear from her eye.
     “Yeah,” said Daddyo.  “What she said.  There.  Now can we leave?  I got things to do.”
     “No,” said Mama Cool.  “I want you to say it.”
     “I don’t wanna,” said Daddyo, crossing his arms in front of him tightly.
     Everyone looked at Daddyo.
     “Please,” said Mama Cool.  “Just this once.  He’s dead, you know.  What can it hurt to say something nice about him, now that he’s dead?”
     “What if he’s faking?” said Daddyo.
     “What?”
     “What if he’s faking?” said Daddyo.  “How do we really know he’s dead?  He could be laying down there right now, listening to everything we say, and gloating over it.”
     “Oh, now really,” said Mama Cool.
     “Hey, you never know,” said Daddyo.
     “He’s dead,” Mama Cool said, frowning.
     “Yeah, well what if he is?” said Daddyo.  “It’d be just like that crazy cousin of his in Californaheim to come back here and reanimate him.”
     “Just say it,” said Mama Cool.
     “Someone might make fun of me,” said Daddyo.
     “No one’s going to make fun of you,” said Mama Cool.
     “It doesn’t say anything like that in the Book,” said Daddyo.
     “Say it, God damn it!” Mama Cool yelled.  

     Wow!  This was a first for Abnorman, and the one and only time he ever heard Mama Cool swear at Daddyo.  It completely killed all his deathly gloating.

     Everyone jumped back.  Even Daddyo.
     “Say it,” Mama Cool said, breathing fire and brimstone.  “Say it!”
     “Okay!  Okay!” Daddyo snapped.  Then he stepped forward, clasped his hands reverently behind his back and said, “Hewasagooddude.  There.  Happy?”
     This seemed to appease Mama Cool, and she calmed down, and then looked at Too Cool and said, “How about you?”
     “What!” said Too Cool.
     “Don’t you want to say something too?”
     “Oh, yeah,” said Too Cool.  “I’m sorry he’s dead.”
     “How about you, Maximum Cool?” said Mama Cool.
     “Oh, sure,” said Maximum Cool.  “I’m sorry he’s dead too.”
     “Anyone else?” she said.
     “We’re all sorry he’s dead,” they said, even though there wasn't anyone else to say it.
     “Happy now?” said Daddyo.
     Then Mama Cool said, “Yes, yes,” and began to cry, and everyone walked away, embarrassed and also relieved.
     “Daddyo,” said Too Cool, as they walked away, “can I have his Cosmic Comic books?”
     “Sure,” said Daddyo.
     Then Too Cool said, “Ha, ha.  Daddyo said he was a good dude.  Ha, ha.”
     “Shut up!” Daddyo yelled, “or I’ll take away your Cosmic Comic books.”
     Mama Cool stayed a little while longer, wept some more, planted a daisy over Abnorman’s head, and then left too.

     Abnorman looked around to see what death was like.  It was cold and wet and lonely and it smelled bad.  He remembered the time Great Grama Cool died.  They put her in a coffin and gave her a funeral in the church and then buried her with flowers over her grave.  This certainly wasn’t like that.  And besides that, he had the feeling he wasn’t in the same place.  That was when he decided he didn’t like being dead.
     Then he saw something.
     “Well look at that,” Abnorman cried.  “Homer!”
     So it wasn’t a total loss.

     Later that same day, Abnorman took Homer and crawled out of his grave.  He crawled through his former house and into his former bedroom.
     “Yaaa!” said Too Cool, dropping his Cosmic Comic book and running out the door.  So Abnorman got his Cosmic Comic books back.
     Then he crawled into his former bed and pulled out the Tome of Niceness.
     He turned to page 29.
     “Congratulations,” it said.  “You are now an official Good Guy of the Cool  Universe.  You are free to explore the real world.”
     “That’s nice,” said Abnorman.
     “(turn the page),” it said.
     Abnorman turned the page.
     “However, be warned,” it said.  “The world has changed since you last saw it.  So take something with you for protection when you go.  I suggest something not so nice.”
     “Yeah,” said Abnorman , closing the book.  “That sounds nice.”  He decided he would take his flying phlegm Cousin Satan had given him with him to school the next day.
     Then he crawled into bed and went to sleep.


     copyright 1998, 2000

     Author’s note: this is a work of fiction.  All characters and events portrayed in this work are fictional, and any resemblance to real life hypocrites, bullies, and liars is merely coincidental.

[This message has been edited by mirror man (07-26-2003 04:56 AM).]

© Copyright 2003 mirror man - All Rights Reserved
mirror man
Senior Member
since 2001-01-08
Posts 814

1 posted 2003-08-05 01:15 AM


To anyone reading this:

Author's unpleasant note: this is the final and only version of this novel that I have released to the public.  However, this novel has been copied and used by others without my knowledge or consent.  So if you should happen to come across another copy of this novel, under this name or another, in any medium, on the web or not, it is not released with my knowledge and consent and so is pirate.  Or plagiarism.  Or both.

mirror man
Senior Member
since 2001-01-08
Posts 814

2 posted 2003-08-09 08:42 AM


Special note to teachers, educators:

This novel, this version, may be copied and distributed in any medium as needed for classroom study.

-- mirror man


Post A Reply Post New Topic ⇧ top of page ⇧ Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.
navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Cool Universe XVI

Passions in Poetry | pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums | 100 Best Poems

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary