»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
Cool Universe XXI
| Passions in Prose |
|
Cool Universe XXI |
|
|
mirror man Senior Member
since 2001-01-08
Posts 814 |
Cool Universe by mirror man Chapter 21 The first thing Abnorman noticed when he walked into the front room was that there was a new TV where the old one used to be. “Hey!” he said to no one in particular, “we got a new TV!” “Yes,” said Daddyo, walking up to the TV next to Abnorman. “I got it for Christmas.” He pushed the ON button, and it surged to life. At the same time, all the lights dimmed in the house. “Gee, it uses a lot of juice,” said Abnorman. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Daddyo. “What’s a few less pennies compared to the joy it brings?” Abnorman didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. “Look,” said Daddyo. “It’s color.” And it was. “Wow!” said Abnorman. “And it has stereo speakers,” said Daddyo. And it did. “Wow!” said Abnorman. “And it has a remote control,” said Daddyo, taking the remote control off the top of the TV and showing Abnorman. “You just push the button to turn it on or off here, and you push this button to raise or lower the sound here, and you push this button to change the channel.” “Wow! Wow!” said Abnorman. Daddyo played with the sound, changed the channels, and even brightened and dimmed the screen. It also had buttons for horizontal and vertical control. “Can I play?” said Abnorman. “Sure,” said Daddyo, giving him the remote. “I got it for everyone. Watch it as often as you like, son.” Abnorman didn’t jump this time, but he didn’t think he would ever get used to being called Son. “Sure,” he said, “thanks.” “You’re welcome, son,” said Daddyo, and he walked back to the Christmas tree. So Abnorman sat down, grabbed the remote control, played with the channels and volume for a while, and then settled down to watch Mr. Twiddly. Mr. Twiddly was famous on Planet Cool. Nearly every Cool Family Group watched Mr. Twiddly on Christmas day. That was because he knew Santa Dude personally. “Hello, boys and girls. Tweet!” Mr. Twiddly whistled form the TV. He always talked in whistles. And he was wearing his sailor’s cap. And his hair was green also. This was the first time Abnorman saw Mr. Twiddly’s green hair, and he turned around to everyone and said, “Hey! Mr. Twiddly’s got green hair!” “Yes, he does, beloved son,” said Daddyo and Mama Cool. “Yes, he does, brother dearest,” said Maximum Cool and Too Cool. Abnorman sat back down feeling strangely paranoid and guilty for feeling strangely paranoid and guilty. He looked back at the TV. “Today I have a special treat for you,” Mr. Twiddly whistled. “Santa Dude couldn’t make it today. Tweet! He was supposed to be here, but something came up at the last minute.” He looked worriedly off camera, frowned and said, “I know that’s a big disappointment,” and he looked back at the camera, “but we can have our own Christmas party. We’ll play games, and sing songs, and Tweet! watch cartoons, and we can even open our presents together. I brought my Christmas tree.” The camera panned across stage to a Christmas tree all decked out in lights and ornaments and tinsel with a pile of gift-wrapped boxes underneath. The camera panned back to Mr. Twiddly. “How’s that sound? Good, yes? Tweet!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “That’s good. And since it’ll be just you and me here today, I thought we might talk about something that’s been bothering me for some time now. Tweet! Yes. Tweet! Mr. Twiddly wants to talk about Mr. Twiddly for a change. Won’t that be fun? Tweet! Yes, it will. Because Mr. Twiddly is a real dude. Yes, he is. Tweet!” “Hah!” said Abnorman, pointing at the TV. “Mr. Twiddly is too real.” “Yes, he is, beloved son,” said Daddyo and Mama Cool. “Yes, he is, brother dearest,” said Maximum Cool and Too Cool. Again, that feeling of strange paranoia and accompanying guilt for feeling strangely paranoid and guilty. He looked back at the TV. Mr. Twiddly continued, “Now, I know that a lot of you boys and girls already know Mr. Twiddly is real, but some of you don’t. Some of you think Mr. Twiddly isn’t a real dude. In fact, some of you think Mr. Twiddly is a fake. Tweet! Some of you even think Mr. Twiddly’s just a picture on your TV set, like a cartoon.” Mr. Twiddly made a sad face and continued, “But that’s not true. No, it’s not. Tweet! Because Mr. Twiddly is real. Just as real as you are---” “Santa Dude’s here,” someone said off camera. “What?” whistled Mr. Twiddly. Santa Dude walked on camera with a train of elves behind him. He walked with a stiff, mechanical gait, and his eyes stared strait ahead, unblinking. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said. “Hello, Mr. Twiddly.” “Hah!” said Abnorman to no one in particular. “Santa Dude is too real.” “Of course he’s real,” said everyone at once. Abnorman just stared at everyone and sat back down in his seat. This feeling of strange paranoia was getting stranger every time he felt it. And also the guilt. He decided to just watch TV. “Santa Dude! Tweet!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “But I thought you weren’t coming.” “Oh no,” said Santa Dude. He wore one constant expression as he talked -- which was a smile -- and his lips didn’t move, his mouth just opened and closed. “I wouldn’t disappoint all the boys and girls out there. It’s Christmas.” He waved to the camera stiffly. “Hi, everybody.” Abnorman could hear all the neighborhood Dufuses and Dippies somewhere yelling, “Hello Santa Dude!” at their TV sets, like Santa Dude could hear them. Then again, maybe he could. Mr. Twiddly looked at him oddly, and said, “What happened?” “Oh, nothing,” said Santa Dude, waving an arm mechanically, “Nothing at all.” His voice was high-pitched and unnatural. He looked like he was on drugs. “That’s good,” whistled Mr. Twiddly worriedly. “Let’s sing a song,” said Santa Dude. “Ho, ho, ho.” He waved to the camera again and began singing “Up on the roof top, reindeer paws,” and the elves sang back up. “Wait a minute. Tweet!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “I was just talking to the boys and girls about something important.” “Oh?” said Santa Dude. “Sorry. What were you saying?” “I was telling them that I’m a real dude---” “Ha, ha, ha!” said Santa Dude. “Ha! That’s good. Go on.” “No, really. Tweet!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “I was telling them that I’m a real dude. I sleep and eat and drink and live in a real house---” “Ho, ho!” said Santa Dude. “Ho! That’s rich.” Mr. Twiddly stared at Santa Dude and blinked. This wasn’t like Santa Dude at all. “No, really,” he said. “Yeah?” said Santa Dude. He hung there for a moment as if thinking, and then said, “Okay. Let’s talk real. Okay. What do you eat?” “Well...uh, I eat cookies,” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “Is that all? All?” “No,” whistled Mr. Twiddly, “I also eat all my veggies.” “That’s good,” said Santa Dude. “And what do you drink?” “Milk,” whistled Mr. Twiddly proudly. “I drink all my milk. Milk’s good for you. Tweet! Milk helps build strong bodies---” “Yeah, yeah,” said Santa Dude. “Save the commercial for later. So where do you live?” “I live in the Twiddly House,” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “It’s a little white house with a white picket fence around the yard and little gingerbread boards---” “Ha, ha, ha,” said Santa Dude. “Ha! That’s good. A Gingerbread House. That’s good. Ho, ho. Ho!” Mr. Twiddly frowned and whistled woundedly, “But it’s true. It’s all real. Tweet! And so is Mrs. Twiddly and all the little Twiddlies.” Santa Dude looked at Mr. Twiddly blankly, did a little jump, and said, “You got kids?” “Sure I got kids,” whistled Mr. Twiddly, just a little irritated. “Don’t you?” “Sure,” said Santa Dude, pointing to his elves. “These are my kids. Kids.” Mr. Twiddly stared at Santa’s elf kids. “Those are your kids?” he said. “Sure,” said Santa Dude. “What’s wrong with that?” “Oh, nothing,” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “I just thought....” “What’d you think?” said Santa Dude. “I don’t know,” whistled Mr. Twiddly honestly. “I guess I never thought about it. Those are your kids?” Wow. Elf kids. “Sure they’re my kids,” said Santa Dude. “These are my kids. Where’d you think they came from? The Good Fairy?” “I don’t know,” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “I guess I just thought they were elves. You know, from a hollow tree and all that.” “No, not ‘from a hollow tree and all that.’ That,” said Santa Dude. “Where do your kids come from?” “Well now, really!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “Really what?” said Santa Dude. “What?” “Oh, really!” whistled Mr. Twiddly, “Tweet!” and he began to turn red. There was a long pause, and then Santa Dude said, “Now wait a minute. You say you’re a real dude. Dude, right?” Mr. Twiddly nodded. “And you say you eat your milk and cookies and all your veggies and live in a gingerbread house, right? Right?” Mr. Twiddly nodded. “And you say you have kids. Kids, right?” Mr. Twiddly nodded. “But you won’t say where you kids come from,” said Santa Dude. His head wobbled back and forth. “I don’t know. I don’t. That doesn’t sound too kosher to me.” “Well, I’ll tell you,” whistled Mr. Twiddly, turning to the camera, “one day, me and Mrs. Twiddly were out walking in the cabbage patch---” “Oh, come on!” said Santa Dude. “What?” “You’re not going to start with that cabbage patch stuff again,” said Santa Dude. “Okay,” whistled Mr. Twiddly, “so where do your kids come from? Tweet!” “From Mrs. Dude, of course,” said Santa Dude, smiling. “OH! OH!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “Oh, what you said! Tweet! Tweet!” “What?” said Santa Dude. “What did I say? Say?” He looked off camera and held up two stiff arms. “We don’t talk about those things!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. “Ohhhh!” He covered his ears. Santa Dude stared blankly at Mr. Twiddly and said, “I don’t get it. Get it. First you say you want to talk real, and then you say shut up. You can’t have it both ways.” He wobbled his head, pointed an accusing finger at Mr. Twiddly, and said, “Either you’re real, or you’re not. Or you’re not.” “Oh! Oh!” “If you’re real, you must have come from somewhere, right?” said Santa Dude. “So where’d you come from? From?” Mr. Twiddly just sobbed. “Okay then, I’ll tell you,” said Santa Dude. “Your old dude and your old dudette got naked one night---” “AAAAA!” screamed Mr. Twiddly. “Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!” “---and they got in bed---” “Shut up! Shut up!” screamed Mr. Twiddly. “And Mama Twiddly grabbed the old twiddly t---” “Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” screamed Mr. Twiddly. “Tweeeeeeeeet!” He pointed frantically off camera. “Cut that! Somebody cut that!” “Sorry,” said somebody off camera, “we can’t. Everything’s live.” “Oh no! Oh no!” whistled Mr. Twiddly, pulling his hair. “I’m ruined! Tweet!” He sat down in his Twiddly chair and began to cry. Santa Dude stared off camera, shrugged woodenly, and looked back at Mr. Twiddly. Nobody said a word, either on camera or off, as Mr. Twiddly sobbed his twenty-year TV career down the drain. It was a pitiable sight. Then Santa Dude said, “Well then, I guess it’s true what they say. You’re not real. You’re not.” “What?!” Mr. Twiddly jumped out of his Twiddly chair. “You’re not real,” said Santa Dude. “I mean, look at you. You got green hair---” “That’s hair dye!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. He walked up to the camera and pulled up his bangs. “See, folks? Tweet! I got brown roots. See? Tweet!” “And you talk in whistles----” “That’s a whistle!” whistled Mr. Twiddly. He reached in his mouth and pulled out a whistle. “See folks? It’s a whistle.” He was talking normal now. “And you wear that stupid sailor hat. Sailor hat,” said Santa Dude. “Nobody wears a hat like that any more, not even sailors.” “That’s just a prop!” Mr. Twiddly yanked it off his head and threw it off camera. “I bet you’re not even a sailor,” said Santa Dude. Then Mr. Twiddly frowned and said, “Of course, I’m a sailor. I mean, I was one at one time.” “Likely story,” said Santa Dude. “Story.” Now Mr. Twiddly was mad. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Well you’re not so hot either.” “What’s wrong with me?” said Santa Dude. “What’s wrong with you?” said Mr. Twiddly. “Why, look at you. You wear a stupid red suit, and fly around in a sleigh yelling ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ all the time, and you have a bunch of short kids with pointy ears. Ha, ha, ha, ha!” “I’m an elf. Elf,” said Santa Dude. “Ha, ha,” said Mr. Twiddly. “Elves ain’t real” “Yeah?” said Santa Dude. He pointed a wooden finger at Mr. Twiddly and said, “What would you know about real?” Mr. Twiddly stared at Santa Dude’s finger and did a double take. There was a string attached to the end of it. “Santa Dude,” said Mr. Twiddly quietly, “there’s a string----” “Don’t look at that!” said Santa Dude sharply. Then Mr. Twiddly looked at the rest of Santa Dude. There were strings attached to all his fingers. And one for his hand. And one for his other hand. And strings for both his shoulders. And strings for his head. “Santa Dude,” said Mr. Twiddly, “There’s strings---” “Don’t look at them!”” said Santa Dude sharply. “But...but,” said Mr. Twiddly. “And don’t look up there!” said Santa Dude, pointing to the ceiling. And then, of course, Mr. Twiddly just had to look. A hole had been chopped in the roof, and there was The Evil Pokonose pulling on Santa Dude’s strings. Mr. Twiddly’s mouth fell open. “Yo!” he said, because The Evil Pokonose still looked a little like Yo Dummy. The Evil Pokonose grinned down at Mr. Twiddly. He pulled out his pop gun, aimed it, giggled, and pulled the trigger. Pop! The cork shot down and hit Mr. Twiddly right between the eyes. And knocked him out cold. As Mr. Twiddly fell backward, Santa Dude’s elves rushed behind him and caught him before he hit the floor. Then they all lifted him up in their little arms and carried him off stage singing Christmas songs. “Dummy,” said The Evil Pokonose with a sneer. And then they broke for a commercial. 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 (07-30-2003 04:47 AM).] |
||
| © Copyright 2003 mirror man - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
mirror man Senior Member
since 2001-01-08
Posts 814 |
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 |
Special note to teachers, educators: This novel, this version, may be copied and distributed in any medium as needed for classroom study. -- mirror man |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
