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mirror man
Senior Member

since 2001-01-08

Posts 814

0 posted 2003-07-28 07:37 AM

Cool Universe
by
mirror man

Chapter 17

     The next day, Abnorman went back to school.  But, unbeknownst to him, the Evil Pokonose had gone inside before anyone else and captured Mr. Fizz, taking his place.  This was actually part of a plan by Cousin Satan who, having created at least half the evil in the Evil Pokonose, had decided to use him as his end-term project.

     Inside, everyone was taking their seats, and a profusion of draped figures, covered paintings, mobiles, manuscripts, boxes and other things sat in a corner by Mr. Hemorrhoid’s desk.  A sign above it read “End-Term Projects Here” with an arrow pointing down.  Mr. Hemorrhoid was there, and standing next to him were Mr. Fizz (aka the Evil Pokonose), the science teacher, Mr. Air, the art teacher, and Mr. Word, the Coolish teacher.
     Abnorman put his project with with the others and took his seat.
     “Everyone,” Mr. Hemorrhoid said loudly, pointing, “Sit!”
     Everyone sat.
     “Okay,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid, “did everyone get their projects done?”
     They all nodded...except one little dude in the corner who raised a trembling hand.
     “Yes?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “Excuse me, Mr. Hemorrhoid, sir,” said the little dude.  “I was wondering if I could turn my project in tomorrow---”
     “You didn’t get you project done!” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “No, sir---”
     “DIE!” yelled Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     The little dude fell down dead in his seat.
     Everyone stared at the little dead dude in his seat.
     Then Mr. Hemorrhoid looked around the room, smiled, and said, “Anyone else didn’t get their project done?”
     Everyone shook their heads.
     “That’s good,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  Then he turned to Mr. Fizz and said with a wink, “You gotta be tough on ‘em sometimes, or they won’t learn.”
     Mr. Fizz nodded knowingly.

     Mr. Hemorrhoid turned to the class and said, “I believe you all know Misters Fizz, Air, and Word.  Mr. Fizz will assist me in grading all the Science projects,” and here Mr. Fizz nodded, “and Mr. Air will assist me in grading all the Art projects,” and here Mr. Air nodded, “and Mr. Word will assist me in grading all the Coolish projects,” and here Mr. Word nodded.  “I will be grading all the Math projects myself.  We will be doing this in every class, to make sure everyone gets a fair, impartial, and informed grade.  Any questions?”
     Everyone shook their heads.
     Everyone also stared at Mr. Fizz, who looked curiously like a big dummy.  But then, that could have been normal.
     “Good,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  “Now we can begin.”
     Mr. Hemorrhoid suddenly frowned and pointed an accusing finger across the room.  “You!” he yelled.  “You with the bag over your head.  What do you think you’re doing?”
     Everyone looked across the room, and there was a dude sitting by the window with a bag over his head.
     “Who?  Me?” said a startled voice from inside the bag.
     “Yes, you,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  “What’s the big idea?”
     “I’m wearing a bag over my head,” said the dude with the bag over his head.  “It’s my end-term project.”
     “Well take it off,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “You don’t understand,” said the dude with the bag over his head.  “If I take the bag off my head, bad things happen.”
     “Bad things?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  “Like what?”
     “Earthquakes!” said the dude with the bag over his head.  “Floods!  Hurricanes!  Death!  Destruction!  Chaos!!”
     “Ha, ha,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  “Nonsense.  Take it off.”
     “But---”
     “Take it off!” Mr. Hemorrhoid screamed.
     “Yes, sir.”  The dude took the bag off his head.  It was Pretty Boy.
     Suddenly everyone took a deep breath.  All the dudettes sighed and got goofy expressions on their faces.
     “Oh, he’s so cute,” said one.
     “He’s such a hunk” said another.
     “He’s wonderful,” said another.
     “He’s perfect,” said another.
     All the dudes tensed in their seats.
     “He’s a jerk!” said one.
     “He’s a creep!” said another.
     “He’s a pre-bert!” said another.
     “Kill him!” said another.
     A book went flying through the air and crashed through the window by Pretty Boy’s seat.  A knife went flying and stuck in the top of his desk.  A shot rang out and blew away his pencil holder.
     “I see what you mean,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  “You may put the bag back over your head.”
     “Thank you, sir,” said Pretty Boy, putting the bag back over his head.  Everything returned to normal.  “It’s hard to be understood with a bag over your head.”
     “Yes,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “You understand,” said Pretty Boy.
     “I understand that when you say bad things happen, what you mean is bad things happen to you,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  “Since it’s an obvious disruption, I’ll let you wear the bag over your head.  But don’t be getting any ideas that you’re special.”
     “Yes, sir.”
     “I won’t treat you any different than anyone else,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “Yes, sir.”
     “And if that bag over your head causes you problems,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid, “that’s your problem.  Don’t come whining to me.”
     “Yes, sir.”
     “And if you disrupt the class again, I’ll kick you out!” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.  Thank you, thank you, sir.”
     “Good,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “I’m glad that’s over with,” said someone.

     Mr. Hemorrhoid smiled and walked over to the corner where the projects stood.  He cleared a path to one of the larger ones in the back and pulled it out with muffled grunts and scrapes across the floor.  When he got it out to where he wanted it, he pulled off the covering.  It was a statue of a guy dude, totally naked, sitting on a rock with his chin resting on his hand.
     Mr. Hemorrhoid read the card that was taped to its forehead.  “The Thinker,” he said, and then, looking at Cousin Rodin, “Is that right?”
     “Yes, sir,” said Cousin Rodin.  “He’s thinking.”
     “What’s he thinking about?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “I don’t know,” said Cousin Rodin.
     “You don’t know?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “No, sir,” said Cousin Rodin.  “You’re supposed to look at him thinking there and imagine what he’s thinking about.”
     “How should I know what he’s thinking about if you don’t know what he’s thinking about?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “Oh, he’s not thinking anything in particular,” said Cousin Rodin.  “It’s more like a puzzle...a game.  You see---”
     “Never mind,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  “I don’t like puzzles.  And I’m not very keen on nakedness, either.  Is there some particular reason why he’s naked?”
     “It helps to express his inner thoughts,” said Cousin Rodin.
     “So what’s he thinking?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “I don’t know,” said Cousin Rodin.
     Mr. Hemorrhoid turned to Mr. Air and said, “He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, and he’s naked to express his inner thoughts, which nobody knows.  What do you think?”
     Mr. Air looked it over slowly, at the rock, at the knee, at the elbow, at the hand, and said, “A little undone, don’t you think?  It could use more definition.  What kind of rock is that?”
     “Bronze,” said Cousin Rodin.
     “Kinda big, isn’t it?” said Mr. Air.
     "Excuse me?" said Cousin Rodin.
     "I said it's big!" said Mr. Air.
     "Yes, I suppose it is."
     "It's big!" yelled Mr. Air.
     “Yes, sir,” said Cousin Rodin.
     "Is yours that big?" said Mr. Air.
     "No," said Cousin Rodin.
     "Is anybody's that big?" said Mr. Air.
     "I wouldn't know," said Cousin Rodin.
     Mr. Hemorrhoid and Mr. Air conferred silently for a second, and then Mr. Hemorrhoid took out his pen and wrote a C+ on the card.  Then they conferred again, and Mr. Air crossed out the plus -- “For bigness”  -- and then Mr. Hemorrhoid and Mr. Air shoved the Thinker back in the corner and covered him up.

     Mr. Hemorrhoid turned around suddenly, grabbed a paper off his desk, and waved it in the air.  “Cousin Descartes,” he said loudly.
     “Yes, sir,” said Cousin Descartes.
     “Cousin Descartes,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid, “will you please explain to me what this is?”
     “It’s my thesis,” said Cousin Descartes.
     “I know that,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid, frowning.  “What I want to know is what is this cogito ergo sum stuff?”
     “That’s Latin,” said Cousin Descartes.
     “Oh,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid thoughtfully.  “Please explain what it means.”
     “It means ‘I think, therefore I exist.’” said Cousin Descartes.
     “I think, therefore I exist?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid doubtfully.
     “Yes,” said Cousin Descartes.
     “What does that mean?”
     “As I explain in my paper,” said Cousin Descartes, “it is an axiom of existence regarding the mind.  This, along with other innate objects---”
     “Never mind that,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid angrily, then, “That’s ridiculous.”  He picked up a pen from his desk.  “Does this pen exist?”
     “Yes, sir.”
     “Does it think?”
     “No, sir.”
     Mr. Hemorrhoid pounded a fist on his desk.  “Does this desk exist?”
     “Yes, sir.”
     “Does it think?”
     “No, sir.”
     Mr. Hemorrhoid grinned and pulled the Bad Dude Eliminator from behind his desk.   And suddenly the room was dead silent.
     It was the first time anyone had actually seen the Bad Dude Eliminator and lived to tell about it, and a collective reverence seemed to raise from the class.  It was only a yard long, not the ten feet they had previously thought, but it had all the accessories it was said to have and more: air holes, sand paper, spikes, and razor blades.  On its handle were notches with names written beside them of unknown bad dudes, gone and now deceased.  And when Mr. Hemorrhoid raised it over his head, it glittered in the sunlight coming through the windows.
     “Does this exist?” Mr. Hemorrhoid asked.  Hee, hee, hee.
     Cousin Descartes broke into a cold sweat and said, “I don’t think---” and suddenly disappeared.
     Pop!
     Mr. Hemorrhoid dropped his Bad Dude Eliminator and looked around the room.  “Where’d he go?”
     Everyone looked at each other and shook their heads.  “Wasn’t my fault,” they said.
     Mr. Hemorrhoid looked around Cousin Descartes’s empty desk suspiciously, under it, and then said, “Yeah, well never mind him.”  He handed the paper to Mr. Word.
     Mr. Word looked it over, nodded silently, and said, “It would help if he had wrote it in Coolish.   And it’s too long.  I don’t have all day to grade these things, you know.  And I don’t think I like the way he said it.”  Then he took out his pen, wrote a large C on its cover, and added a minus sign for bad language.

     Mr. Hemorrhoid walked over to the corner and picked out another project, this one a small box.  He read the card.  “Truth imitator?” he said.  He looked at Cousin Satan.
     “Yes, sir,” said Cousin Satan, standing.  “That’s mine.”
     “Hey!” said another kid in the back.  “That’s my idea.  I made a truth imitator too.”
     “Where?” said Cousin Satan.
     “There,” said the kid, pointing.  And to Mr. Hemorrhoid, “He stole my idea!”   He pointed at Cousin Satan.
     Mr. Hemorrhoid looked at Cousin Satan.  “Is that true?”
     “Of course not,” said Cousin Satan.  “His is merely a truth imitator imitator.”
     “Oh,” said the kid in the back.  “That’s...okay.”  I guess.  He sat down.
     “Good,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid, smiling.  He looked at the card again.  “So  what is it?”
     “It imitates truth,” said Cousin Satan proudly.
     “Ah big deal,” said another kid in the back.  “I made a truth finder.”
     “Where?” said Cousin Satan.
     “Right there,” said the kid pointing.
     “Never mind that,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  And to Cousin Satan, “What’s it do?”
     “It makes pretty sounds, says nice words, and looks good,” said Cousin Satan.
     “Haha!” said the kids with the truth finder and imitator imitator.
     “That’s it?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “Mostly,” said Cousin Satan.  “It also lies, cheats and steals.”
     Mr. Hemorrhoid looked it over impressively.  “So how’s it work?”
     “Just push that button on the top.”
     “This one?”
     “Yes,” said Cousin Satan.
     So Mr. Hemorrhoid pushed the button.
     Suddenly, the truth imitator jumped up on four legs, walked over to the truth finder, and pulled out a large hammer.  And smashed it to little tiny bits.
     Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!
     “Hey!” said the kid with the truth finder.  “He destroyed my project!”
     Mr. Hemorrhoid looked sternly at Cousin Satan.
     “Oops,” said Cousin Satan sheepishly.  “It was in destroy mode.  I forgot.  One of its primary objectives is to destory all sources of truth.”
     “That’s not fair!” said the kid with the truth finder.
     “Haha!” said the kid with the truth imitator imitator.
     Then suddenly the truth imitator walked over to the truth imitator imitator and smashed it to bits also.
     Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!
     “Hey!” said the kid with the truth imitator imitator.  “He destroyed my project!”
     “Oops,” said Cousin Satan sheepishly.  “It was in protect mode.  I forgot.”
     “That’s not fair!” said the kid with the truth imitator imitator.
     Mr. Hemorrhoid looked at the kids with the truth finder and imitator imitator and said, “We’ll get to that later.”  And to Cousin Satan, “Protect mode?  What’s that?”
     “That’s it’s secondary objective,” said Cousin Satan.  “After it destroys all sources of truth, it must destroy all sources of imitation.”
     “I see,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  He turned to confer with Misters Air, Word, and Fizz/Pokonose, turned back, and said, “Then logically, it would destroy itself.”
     “Oh, yes,” said Cousin Satan happily.  “It will.”
     Mr. Hemorrhoid turned again to confer with Misters Air, Word, and Fizz/Pokonose, turned back, and said, “May we see a demonstration?”
     “Certainly,” said Cousin Satan happily.  “Just put a quarter in the slot on top and push the button again.”
     “A quarter?” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.
     “Hey,” said Cousin Satan.  “You don’t expect it to do all this for nothing, do you?”
     Mr. Hemorrhoid frowned, conferred with Misters Air, Word, and Fizz/Pokonose again, and turned back.  He wrote a large D on the box.
     “Hey!” said Cousin Satan.  “That’s not fair.”
     “Sorry,” said Mr. Hemorrhoid.  "But we don't see the purpose of it."  Also, no one had a quarter.
     "Oh!" yelled Cousin Satan indignantly.  "There's something terribly wrong here when the truth is so dangerous!"  And he sat down.
     “Haha!” said Misters Air, Word, and Fizz/Pokonose.

     And so it went.
     Cousin Henry got his treatise back, “Social Communism,” with a blank for a grade and a note that said, “There is a Mr. McCarthy who would like to speak to you after class.”
     “Finally, someone who will listen,” said Cousin Henry.
     Cousin Id got his paper back, “The Theory of Guilt,” with a C-minus and a note that said, “It’s not my fault.”
     Cousin Shakesdude got his play back, “Verona Chainsaw Massacre,” with a grade of B minus and a note that said, “This is more like it.  A guy named Ed Wood wants to speak to you out in the hall.”
     Abnorman got Homer back with a grade of C minus and a note from Mr. Fizz/Pokonose that said, “What good is a nice reanimated rat?”
     The only ones who got A’s were Cousin Machiavelli for his paper, “The Prince Dude,” and Cousin  Nietzsche for “Why I Write Such Excellent Books.”
     “Crazy!” said Cousin Neitzsche.

     For some reason, all this honesty, fairness, and sanity was upsetting Abnorman.  So he reached in his pocked for his flying phlegm.
     And it was gone!

     Yaaa!  Oh no!

     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 (07-28-2003 09:02 AM).]

mirror man
Senior Member

since 2001-01-08

Posts 814

1 posted 2003-08-05 01:17 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 08:43 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

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