Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers parted ways with Sammy Ammo. They were overcome with hunger while watching Wilsie McHickoryboob wiggle through the chair like melted cheese stringing from a toasted sandwich. It had reminded them both of grilled cheese sandwiches, invigorating their appetite, as they devoted the rest of their day to fulfilling their need for a grilled cheese sandwich.
After Sammy Ammo and Wilsie McHickoryboob confirmed their new alliance, Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers decided to take advantage of being in center city. They were both succumbed to fulfilling their existence, driven to saturate their needs, as they departed through center city of Awful, Ohio, searching for the structure that they expected to get fed hot grilled cheese sandwiches from.
The streets they were walking through were decorated with large buildings plastered over the surface of every block gridding center city of Awful, Ohio. The structures were articulate in design, modern in style, and aroused with prestige from the economic success, gloating in arrogance from the pompous architects that drafted their beings. Rarely entering into the center city of Awful, Ohio, Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers observed their surroundings, which filled them with the same awe that was used to endow Awful, Ohio with its entitlement. They were foreign to the sublime surroundings, growing accustomed to the piece of structure that was Sammy Ammo’s. However, they had been there before, and began to walk in the direction they believed they should be walking in.
Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers were witnessing the large portions of the Awful, Ohio population walking past them. Each disciple was walking urgently, dancing around the bases of the buildings, searching for locations to either exchange money or make money. All of the chaos and the aesthetics of the sublime buildings had an inebriating affect on Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers, as they were unfamiliar with the fast paced life style meandering through center city of Awful, Ohio. Their unfamiliarity with center city of Awful, Ohio condemned them from their whereabouts, as they began to question each step, wondering if it was getting them closer or further from their destiny.
The buildings overlooked the both of them with the power of a secluding maze, confusing their memories with identical street corners, not sure which direction to take, as the buildings could be heard laughing from above with every misstep. But perseverance pushed them through. They were able to make their way through the arrogant architecture, trudging past the meandering economic disciples, finally discovering their destiny.
Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers stood before a building lacking the grace and allure that the surrounding buildings were possessed with. The structure was rebellious in appearance, dearth, and low to the ground, standing no taller than one story. A patina had began to sparkle from the aged metal, creasing into the folds around the window and door frames. It was elongated like a hoagie, covered in sheets of dented aluminum, resembling a mobile home. The splotchy outside did no justice to its purpose inside, as food was served all day long, every day, offering coffee, sandwiches, and other common foods for a relatively reasonable price. Protruding from the mobile-shaped structure was a rusty flagpole. And hoisted to the top of this rusty flagpole was a soiled flag, flapping like dirty toilet paper, releasing debris into the wind. The flag was crusty, grimy, and shabby, speaking in a layman’s language, appointing the name of the building as “Loogie’s Diner.”
“It’s about damn time we find this place,” grumbled Chuck Splatter, agitated at how long their walk through the city took, expressing his relief. He and Doink McTriggers walked towards the front door and entered into the disenchanted building that offered the purpose of their search.
Loogie’s was a common diner that had become widely accepted in the center of Awful, Ohio. It wasn’t a generic, overpriced restaurant that sold slabs of animal for the price of an automobile. It was a generic, underpriced restaurant that sold slabs of processed animal leftovers for a reasonable price. And because of these under prices, a large portion of the Awful, Ohio population bound to the economic gauntlet would flock to Loogie’s to feast, savoring the reasonable prices like the breakfast gravy courting their biscuits. It was a city landmark, respected for its cheap food, and cherished for the convenience of being open all day and all night, every day, offering simple food from the comfort of a booth or a counter.
Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers entered into the structure, walking towards the booth that appeared to be ideal for feasting on grilled cheese sandwiches. The booths were coated in an out-of-date, faux leather covering that was tearing from all the wear. A loud poof exhaled from the cushion, as Doink and Chuck sat across one another, compressing the broken springs all the way to the base board of the booth with the weight of their bodies. A waitress named Claire, dressed in a one-piece, tan suit with hot sauce stains matching her polished nails, walked over to take their orders.
Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers had already known what they were going to order, without the assistance of Loogie’s menu, informing Claire of their grilled cheese devotion. Claire recorded their orders onto her note pad with the pen that was gripped by fingers, tipped with long, red nails. Her gaudy gum smacked loudly with every chew, earning Chuck’s attention, as he looked up to stare at her makeup filled face. She returned eye contact and quickly fled from the table after having looked at the facial massacre of Chuck Splatter, disinterested in empty flirts to earn extra tips. Doink laid his arms across the table, growing goose bumps from the cold laminate covering. It appeared to be marble.
Claire walked through Loogie’s, away from Doink and Chuck, moving past the other booths that were covered in faux, red leather. Her slip-resistant, restaurant shoes tapped loudly on the square, tile floor, which continued tapping, as she returned behind the counter. She ululated to the chefs through the window, posting Chuck Splatter’s and Doink McTriggers’ orders for the cooks to prepare. She grabbed a pot filled with hot coffee, turned around, and filled up two empty cups belonging to two individuals that were sitting at the counter. The two individuals were Baltazar Garcia and Troy Slushy. They were sitting at the counter, going over the script that they were still in the process of putting together. They had encountered numerous donors, and had become rich with authenticity, extracting scripted lines of dismay, melancholy, ecstasy, fear, and grief, all creating an excellent recipe of anti-action batter.
Baltazar had recorded all of these emotionally filled reactions, creating their authentic script that they were relishing in, sipping on their cups of coffee. But, as an indirect result, all of the donors were believing the content that Troy was reciting to them. The donors believed that aliens were on the verge of attacking, that aliens had already attacked, and that aliens had even abducted members of Awful, Ohio. The message spread quickly through Awful, Ohio.
But Baltazar and Troy were still in search for more donors, as their search delivered them into Loogie’s Diner, where they were expecting to find the last source for their authentic lines.
“OK Troy, we’re going to need one last great scene here, and the script will be completed. Can we get that?” asked Baltazar, ready to progress with the script, swiveling in his stool like a Ferris wheel. Baltazar was serious with his question, gloating with belief that his destiny was starting to become fulfilled as a movie director. He was smiling at Troy, knowing that good directors need to get their actors motivated for their next scene.
“We have one more scene that needs to be finished, and then our script is completed. I know this has been an exhausting day, but if we keep our perseverance going, then we’ll be able to get this thing finished,” reinforced Baltazar, holding the script in his hand, staring at Troy, who was sitting beside him, preventing his chair from swiveling.
Troy Slushy was facing foreword, listening to the direction of Baltazar. Troy had grown exceptionally confident with his acting skills, feeling that the lines he extracted from the donors required an exceptionally skilled and talented actor, which he felt was also something worthy of high honor, which Troy took it upon himself t
o do.
“So what is it that I’ll have to do next?” Troy spoke slowly, arrogantly apathetic, holding his cup of coffee, assured that whatever Baltazar was going to ask him to do would be accomplished with minimal effort because of his newly discovered talent.
“OK Troy, this is going to be the biggest scene in the script. A lot of things are going to be revealed for the audience, so we’re going to need a pinnacle performance! You’ll need to recite an improvised monologue. It requires emotions, purpose, feelings, and especially honesty! These donors need to feel your honesty. And as long as they do that, we’ll have everything we need for a great scene!” Baltazar slapped his hand onto the counter, excited, exhausting supportive sentiments towards Troy Slushy, ready to get the final scene recorded for their authentic, award-winning script.
Baltazar had directed them to enter into Loogie’s because the last scene was to take place in a booth, where he needed Troy to recite lines to two males sitting in that same booth. Baltazar continued to explain the scene to Troy, the details, the emotions, and the direction that the scene would require. Claire was working in front of them, ignoring their conversation. Instead, she was focused on the hot plates of grilled cheese sandwiches that the cooks had just completed, slipping through the warm window. Claire’s bright, red tipped fingers grabbed the two plates of grilled cheese sandwiches, and walked from behind the counter, tapping her slip-resistant shoes against the tile floors, where she walked past the booths in Loogie’s, until finally reaching her destination.
Doink lifted his arms off the table, as his goose bumps went away when Claire had finally returned, holding two hot plates of food. She handed one plate to Chuck Splatter, who smiled in return. She was going to smile back, but remembered the facial massacre that she had witnessed while taking his order, and quickly looked away, hoping to escape unscathed. She placed the other plate of hot food in front of Doink, and managed to avoid eye contact, fearing that Doink would look similar in appearance as Chuck. She left without saying anything to either of them, tapping back to the safety behind the counter, unconcerned about earning her tip.
“It’s about time this gets here,” mumbled Chuck Splatter, discouraged by being ignored by another woman, picking through the edible contents on his plate. The yellow cheese was melting from the bread, sticking to the plate, clinging for dear life, fearing the monstrosity that Chuck Splatter appeared to be. But its grip wasn’t strong enough, as it stretched with the bread, elevating off the plate and positioned into Chuck’s mouth, where he chewed violently, mouth wide open. Doink reacted a little more cautiously with his meal, picking up his fork, poking and prodding at the sandwich like an enema.
Chuck chewed his food, while contemplating his destiny as the disfigured being, ignored and feared by everyone in Awful, Ohio. The reaction of Claire and Wilsie sifted through his mind, unconcerned with his emotions, as they made him aware of how unworthy he was to be in their presence. Chuck then remembered how Sammy fearlessly faced him on that day when they first met in the alley, treating him like a human, accepting him immediately, because of a simple heart beat that proved his worth, and asking him to join his destiny. Chuck loved Sammy, and his warming acceptance, and he wanted to continue being part of that destiny. Chuck then began to think of Wilsie, and how she was abruptly trying to prevent that destiny. Chuck then determined that he would despise Wilsie. All of these thoughts developed emotional, irrational reactions that Chuck then presented to Doink McTriggers.
“So what do you think of Wilsie McHickoryboob? Do you think that she’ll help us find anything on Mad Ted?” Chuck Splatter paused, chewed for a little bit to see if Doink would respond. He didn’t.
“If you ask me,” continued Chuck Splatter, “I think she has no business being in our business. Clearly, we’re capable of handling things like this on our own. And what can she actually offer us? I mean, she hasn’t even been able to find anything on Mad Ted, and that’s what she’s supposed to be doing for a living!” chortled Chuck Splatter, spraying pulverized cheese and bread bits from his mouth like a spigot, laughing at what he thought was a unique point of irony.
Doink McTriggers avoided the edible shrapnel. He was still prodding at his food, attempting to line it up onto his fork. His grilled cheese sandwich looked beautiful, and he was very particular about how to handle the organic creation that he believed was a work of art. He insisted on using utensils, as he was armed with a fork and a knife, carving slowly through layers of toasted bread and cheese, so not to rupture the surface. Doink stared closely, watching the jagged edges of each serrated tip of his knife dive into the surface of the toast. He was focused, meticulous, and crafty, carving like a surgeon.
A satisfactory piece was removed from the whole body of the sandwich. Doink placed the severed appendage onto his fork, and then proceeded to enter it into his mouth, as he started chewing, while responding to Chuck, “yeah, I know what you mean. Sammy wants us to work with a story-starved journalist, incapable of finding anything on Mad Ted, expecting that all of us working on it will increase our chances. It seems like we’d be better off trying to find something on our own.” Doink was relatively calm with his response, keeping focus on his sandwich. “It would be a modern day miracle if we do come up with something, considering how little information there actually is on Mad Ted.”
Silence had overcome both of them, as they reengaged themselves with the activity of eating. Chuck Splatter continued forcing the food into his mouth, while Doink was trying to figure out what to do with his French fries. They both plowed a few loads of food into their gullets, chewing mercilessly, which Chuck then continued, “I just hope that we do find something. The payoff will be huge. But I just don’t want to find out that there is nothing out there for us to find. I don’t want to waste time searching for something that can’t be found, when we could be doing what we’ve always been doing. I mean, we know what works. Sammy points his loaded hand at a store owner, and we get everything that is entitled to us. We know it’s a reliable system. This thing that we’re doing with Wilsie, we don’t know if this is going to work.” Chuck Splatter spoke vehemently.
“Yeah, but I think Sammy may be trying to accomplish more than what he’s already accomplished,” replied Doink, eyeing the sandwich that remained on his plate.
The suggestion confused Chuck, as it appeared to him that the three of them had everything that any reasonable person could ask for. His memory opened like a golden satchel, exposing visions of the three of them, saturated in the glory of their camaraderie, enjoying the jubilee of all their labor.
“Why do you say that?” Chuck asked, rolling the assemblage of his face in perplexed, heart-broken gestures.
“I don’t know, I just have this feeling that holding up store owners is no longer satisfying,” responded Doink, haphazardly listening, still focusing on dismembering his sandwich.
Chuck Splatter stopped eating for a moment to stare across the room, allowing his thoughts to digress. He looked over to his right to see a different waitress behind the counter, impatiently waiting for a few customers to finish browsing through Loogie’s menu. Behind the waitress, the cooks could be seen from a window slapping spatulas against a large grill like the front line of a hockey team. Periodically, the waitresses would routinely stick their heads into the window to hark orders to the cooks, telling them which meals to prepare. Chuck looked around to his left, watching the few booths that were seated with people. All of them were deep in faux leather, supported by broken springs, face deep in Loogie’s menu, trying to decide what it was that was going to fulfill their appetites. Chuck then turned back to Doink, watching him intricately carve another segment from what was a perfect sandwich.
“Well, what else could he possibly need to satisfy him?” questioned Chuck again, depressively angry, accepting the possibility of Doink’s suggestion. His finger tips began clanking against the laminate table top like jumbling torpedoes, one hot fuse away from erupting. “Everything he needs is right her
e! He’s got us, and we’ve got our routine; everything that we need is right here!” The tapping finger tips exploded into a raging fist that pounded the surface of the table top. The plates and glasses jumped.
“Yeah, but I still think he wants to do more with his life,” replied Doink, unaffected by the outburst of wrath.
“Do you think he’s getting bored with everything? Do you think he’s looking for new partners?” Chuck fearfully asked, regretting the question as soon as it fled his mouth, fearing the answer that Doink may respond with.
“Maybe,” responded Doink. Doink had little interest in Chuck’s concern, as he was consumed by the articulate complexity of his sandwich, propping another segmented piece of grilled cheese onto his fork.
Chuck deeply analyzed Doink’s haphazard suggestions. He grew insecure, thinking that Sammy may actually be growing bored with the monotonous, daily routine of running a muck with him and Doink through Awful, Ohio, holding up store owners for all of their goods. Chuck Splatter began to envision his next encounter with Sammy, being informed by Sammy that he was now going to start working with Wilsie McHickoryboob, the investigative journalist who was incapable of finding anything on Mad Ted, and that he and Doink were left to handle the rest of their lives on their own. The thought was hurtful.
“I don’t know what to think. If he is looking to replace us, then we’ve got to stop it from happening!” concluded Chuck, scared and uninformed. “We’re just going to have to find something on Mad Ted before Wilsie does, to prove our worth to Sammy. That way Sammy will need us to stick around, because of the information that we have, making us more important than Wilsie!” Chuck Splatter then grabbed the knife, and began tapping the blunt end against the laminate table top that pretended to be marble, sounding like a nervous woodpecker, hoping it would energize his mind into discovering the information on Mad Ted that he was searching for.
Doink McTriggers swallowed a dismembered portion of his sandwich. He grabbed a napkin to wipe off the debris that sprinkled the edge of his compressed lips. He responded calmly, disinterested, “Yeah, it would be great if we could come up with something. But I just don’t think it’s worth putting too much into it. Wilsie hasn’t found anything. So it seems pretty clear that we’re not going to be able to come up with much either.”
“No!” shouted Chuck Splatter, powered by the tapping knife. He was concerned with Doink’s motives, now questioning his reasoning. “We can’t just roll over dead like this! We have to find something useful on Mad Ted! It is what Sammy wants, and we will find something that will help Sammy overtake Mad Ted’s power, so that he may liberate Awful, Ohio! It is for the sake of Sammy, our friend, and for the sake of us!” Chuck sat back in the booth, remembering all of the debauchery with Sammy Ammo, imposing purpose into his life. It was meaningful and encouraging, offering Chuck a destiny that was missing from his life, before the day he witnessed Sammy amalgamate with the pistol in the alley. Chuck felt that there was no essence in his life without Sammy, and was determined to be the source of the information that Sammy was searching for.
But before Doink was able to respond to the concerns that Chuck was presenting, a stranger emerged from the surroundings of Loogie’s diner. The stranger was dressed recklessly and greasy, purposely approaching the booth that was hosting Chuck and Doink. The stranger sat down beside Doink McTriggers, sitting with a loud poof as his body compressed all the way to the base board of the booth, unsupported by the broken springs. Both Doink and Chuck stared at the stranger, focused on his actions to discover his intent. The stranger prepared himself by clearing his throat, but was hindered by the unsightly appearance that was Chuck Splatter. The stranger thus switched booths, sitting beside Chuck Splatter so that he would not have to stare at him. The stranger was Troy Slushy, whose purpose was unknowingly embodied in the solution that Chuck Splatter was seeking.
“Gentlemen, we’re all in grave danger!” Troy spoke quickly, to emphasize the importance of the words that he was about to tell Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers. He kept turning his head around, as if to keep an eye out for someone that was coming after him, giving the donors the impression that everything that he was saying was honest. Chuck Splatter’s and Doink McTriggers’ attention was refocused onto the unexpected entrance of Troy Slushy into their booth, as they were no longer relaxed.
“I am bearing valuable information that I managed to retrieve through unbelievable methods that no one would believe. This information will affect all of Awful, Ohio and its citizens for the worst! It is crucial that you deliver this message to your leader so that the catastrophe that my information is predicting is prevented!” recited Troy, twitching with paranoia.
Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers looked at one another. They weren’t sure what to make of the stranger and they were sure what to make of the information that he claimed to have. Chuck ceased tapping the knife on the table, as he was intrigued by the statements that the stranger was saying. He didn’t believe that Troy was speaking with truth, and felt that he was playing a prank on him. But instead of unleashing some corrective wrath, he decided to play along with the statements of Troy Slushy, signaling to Doink to question the stranger’s intentions.
“What is this danger that we are all in?” questioned Doink.
Troy Slushy lowered his head towards the table, so not to be seen by anyone, and he then began speaking slowly, and quietly.
“The information that I am endowed with is sought by the authorities. They are attempting to stop me from speaking the truth!” announced Troy. His face flexed in wild folds of paranoia.
“So what is this truth that you have that is so important,” mocked Chuck Splatter, smirking. Doink was listening, also smirking with sarcasm.
“The information that I have will affect the rest of your lives if the proper actions are not executed.” Troy Slushy spoke with a stoic face, reciting his lines with strict precision, so that the two donors would respond with seriousness. “Within forty-eight hours, Awful, Ohio will be under a full assault by an alien invasion!”
Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers lost any chance of taking the stranger seriously. They began laughing wildly, mimicking whirly noises like a UFO, asking if the aliens were going to be little green men that were coming to Awful, Ohio to eat all the cattle. Troy was upset that they were not cooperating with the script, jeopardizing the authenticity the script needed. He felt his reputation as an actor being threatened by not being able to extract the most important lines necessary for the script. Troy began to feel the emotions within his own being, allowing him to transcend through the pretended situation, and transform it into a reality.
Troy slammed his fist on the table, screaming, “listen to me! You and this entire city are going to be destroyed if you don’t do something about this!” Troy was grinding his teeth, breathing quickly through his mouth that wheezed like the snarls of a growling jaguar. Panic traveled through his veins, believing that aliens were on the brink of invasion.
Doink and Chuck stopped laughing. They were startled by the anger, no longer taking the situation lightly. They sat there silently, until Doink had managed to respond, “How do you know this?” Doink spoke slowly. He was having a difficult time releasing these words from his mouth, considering the content of extraterrestrials and world invasion, not wanting to give the subject matter such serious consideration. Troy was able to calm down, pleased to have gotten their attention.
“Two nights ago, I was laying in my bed. I heard a noise in the kitchen, so I went up to investigate the noise. When I walked into the kitchen, a bright, strong light was overwhelming my being, knocking me down on the floor. I hit my head hard. Here! you can feel the bump!” Troy offered the bump that he earned in Baltazar’s log cabin to Doink and Chuck, hoping they would be even more convinced of the validity of the subject matter. However, both donors declined to rub his bump.
“But anyway, the light was so blinding and so thick that I was unable to see anything around me. It
was like I was in a pool of white stuff! I couldn’t tell where I was, I couldn’t tell if I was alive anymore, I wasn’t able to distinguish anything. Then, I couldn’t feel the kitchen floor beneath me anymore. Gravity had disappeared, as well as temperature and my clothes.” Troy was theatrically waving his hands through the air, describing his abduction as an experience in a changing chute.
“I wasn’t sure what was going on. I was scared. But then, the lights began to dim down. I was now resting on the floor of a different location. I was still naked, but I was no longer in my home. I tried to move my body, but I was paralyzed. All I could do was rotate my head and try to make out my surroundings. I was in an oval room, resting on the floor. The room was very clean, but it had an odor that I wasn’t able to make out. It made my eyes water, blurring my vision. The walls of the room were lined with paintings. I was having a difficult time seeing the paintings, because of my blurred vision, but it appeared that the paintings wouldn’t face me. I kept trying to rotate my head so that I could get some sort of visual. But every time I would try to look at them, they would rotate in the opposite direction. I couldn’t see anything, but then there was a distinct noise that sounded like movements of multiple objects. And then, I was raised from the floor, and implanted into a chair that I didn’t even know was there! I was still paralyzed, naked, but warm. I think I was comfortable, but I can’t remember all that well.”
Troy Slushy jumbled as many recollected memories together as he could gather. Before engaging with the scene, Baltazar had directed to Troy that the more redundant details the monologue would contain, then the more believable the situation will be for the donors, regardless of logical accountability. Chuck and Doink remained sitting in the booth, frozen at the details that the stranger was reciting to them. They were focused, entertained, and in disbelief of their own excitement, eager to hear the conclusion of the stranger’s remarkable story.
“But as I was sitting in this chair, the noise formulated into a language. But I wasn’t receiving the noise through my ears. The noise was vibrating from the chair!” Troy began to pound the booth to add affect to the story, but it was muffled by the broken springs. But he continued “The vibrations carried through my body, landing into my brain. These vibrations coming from the chair were communication vibrations, and I was able to understand everything that these vibrations had to say. Apparently, the aliens, as they had told me later on, had injected me with a gelatin worm that had wiggled into my brain, allowing me to understand their language. They spoke a ticklish language, crawling all over my naked body, like the lice of a massaging bed in a hotel room.” Troy thought the description would dub him as Awful, Ohio’s poet laureate.
“But the vibrations explained to me that I was aboard an alien space ship, from a distant planet. Apparently, the aliens had done some tests and analysis on my body. They were searching for weaknesses of the human body, so that the aliens could discover the easiest way to exterminate the human population from Awful, Ohio, so that the extraterrestrials could take it for themselves.”
Chuck and Doink’s faces began to elongate. Their mouths had opened, as they were hypnotized by the information. They remained frozen in their seats, and flabbergasted to what they were hearing. They wanted more. Troy was watching their reactions, subconsciously praising his performance.
“They then returned me back to Awful, Ohio,” concluded Troy, as he ran out of details, abruptly finishing the story without any closure.
“Well, what else did they tell you? They must have said more to you,” rebutted Chuck, anxious for more information. His body was frozen, locked into the booth, unable to be released from the position until it was able to receive the information.
“Yeah,” reinforced Doink. “What else did they tell you?”
“More details!” shouted a distant voice from a nearby booth. It was Baltazar Garcia, recording everything being discussed in the booth, hoping to give Troy some guidance.
But Troy had used up all of his detailing resources. Loogie’s was a troubling location for Troy to improvise his actions. It was very dull inside, and it lacked the motivation that he needed to continue his monologue to the donors. His forehead began to collect beads of sweat, as his wrists and hand started to become balmy. He began to look around Loogie’s for some type of inspiration to help construct a conclusion to offer to the questioning donors.
“What are you looking around for? Do you see any authorities?” asked Chuck, lowering his head towards the table, also concerned of being seen by the authorities.
“Why, yes!” praised Troy, going along with it. “Ever since I returned, I’ve had this inclination that there has been someone, or thing following me. I’m confident that it is the Awful, Ohio authorities,” repeated Troy, forgetting that he had already mentioned the paranoia of being followed.
“Yeah, we’re always on the lookout for them too,” spoke Doink, lowering his head.
Chuck and Doink looked around for anyone that may have looked suspicious. Troy continued looking for inspiration, glad that he was able to buy some time. He looked down onto the laminate table pretending to be marble, and then like an answer to a prayer, a bright, red bottle of hot sauce was resting on the laminate counter top of the table at their booth. It spoke: “Mad Ted’s Uckin Hot Auce.” Motivation once again filled throughout his body, as he had now discovered the solution to his problem that he was going to use to convince the donors. And that was the closure that Troy needed.
“Gentlemen,” Doink and Chuck stopped looking around Loogie’s, refocused on Troy. “As I was sitting inside of what I believe was a flying saucer, I was informed by the extraterrestrials through their vibrations that their home planet was on the brink of destruction. So years ago, they had sent a lone, courageous member of their alien race to Awful, Ohio. The alien member’s mission was to herd the human population, enforcing them to construct a massive city, so that the aliens may then invade the area, and live in the city after the humans have constructed the city. This alien member was to create a monetary currency, derived from fabricated value that would entice the Awful, Ohio population into creating the habitat for their own personal desire.”
“How is an entire planet worth of aliens supposed to live in one city?” reasoned Doink McTriggers, interrupting with his rationality.
Troy was growing agitated by the reasoning, but knew that a great actor would not be hindered by the limits of logic.
“Well,” Troy started slowly, “the aliens are the size of hamsters. So they have a large enough population to fill a planet, but because they are so small, they only take up a smaller amount of space. So all of Awful, Ohio will be large enough to house all of the members of the distant planet.” Troy was relieved at the rebuttal he was able to provide, praising his improvisational skills that only reinforced his belief that he was rising talent in the acting scene.
“Who is the alien member?” questioned Chuck and Doink, at the same time.
The question whacked Troy in the face with earnest ambitions, as he had prepared the perfect answer for the anticipated question that he was desperately trying to extract. He calmed himself down from overreacting with the opportunity, and with sternness and discipline, he remarked, “the alien member is Mad Ted.”
The answer tolled through Chuck and Doink. They immediately looked at one another, staring deeply, as they both were abducted into excitement by the information that had just been delivered to them. They were relieved of all fear of being replaced by Wilsie McHickoryboob, as they had discovered the information that they were going to deliver to Sammy Ammo. They wanted more information and demanded to know more.
“Mad Ted?! Tell us more!”
Troy stuttered, caught off guard by the excitement that his performance was receiving. He started to develop more details on Mad Ted, fearlessly knowing that whatever he would say would be believable because of his exceptional acting skills.
“Well, decades ago, before Awful, Ohio became the economic success t
hat it is today, it was a small, shabby location, with very little structures and very little production. It started to really become successful once Mad Ted opened his hot sauce factory into the area. That’s when ‘money,’ really started to become abundant into the area. And this ‘money’ was used to herd all of the population, and it helped increase the population, and it was used to trick people into constructing all the buildings and structures that create Awful, Ohio.”
“Yeah, it all makes sense,” responded Chuck Splatter to the misconceived statement lacking empirical evidence. Chuck Splatter was enlightened with this new knowledge. “Money does control everyone in Awful, Ohio.”
“And Mad Ted has been the director behind all of it,” reinforced Troy, continuing the fallacy.
“Yeah, but Mad Ted doesn’t look like any alien,” suggested Doink, thinking that Mad Ted’s odd appearance was completely normal.
“You’re right!” agreed Troy. He was growing more frustrated with Doink and the rational questions deduced from his observations. But Troy knew that an actor of his caliber would not have any problems delivering the response to the donor’s rebuttal, and offered the following reason:
“That’s because Mad Ted wears a human suit. The cockpit is actually Mad Ted’s head. You see, the hamster-sized alien sits inside of Mad Ted’s head, where it controls the body of Mad Ted with lots of controls, switches, and toggles. All of these controls are powered by a master computer processing chip that is more powerful than all of Awful, Ohio’s processing chips combined. This chip is how Mad Ted is capable of being so successfully efficient. And this alien has been living in that suit for decades, utilizing this computer processing chip, herding all of Awful, Ohio, for the benefit of the alien invasion that will take place in forty-eight hours.”
Chuck Splatter leaned across the table to whisper something to Doink McTriggers.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. We’ve got to get this information to Sammy right away! I mean, that computer processing chip is exactly what Sammy is going to be looking for! We have to go find Sammy as soon as possible!” demanded Chuck.
Doink readily agreed. Doink removed himself from the booth, leaving his unfinished grilled cheese sandwich. Chuck pushed Troy Slushy out of the way, to leave with Doink, as Troy fell hard to the tiled floor.
“Hey, where are you going?” recited Troy, from the floor.
Chuck turned around to answer, “we’ve got to get this information to someone who knows what to do with it.” Chuck Splatter was forceful with his response, as he and Doink made their way out of Loogie’s Diner, without paying for their grilled cheese sandwiches, or leaving a tip for Claire.
Troy Slushy was still laying on the floor, as Baltazar Garcia emerged from the concealed booth, gloating, “Troy, that was brilliant! You were able to extract everything and more for the script! They believed everything that you said, and not only that, they had responded to everything that you said with accurate responses that will work perfectly into the script!”
Baltazar was very excited with the work that he just witnessed, as he helped remove Troy Slushy from the floor. They both took a seat into the booth that Chuck and Doink had just vacated.
“How were you able to come up with all of that great material, Troy?” questioned Baltazar.
“Well, Baltazar,” responded Troy, puffing out his chest, huffing on his knuckles like he had just defeated an enemy with ease, “it really just depends on the person. Some people have it, and others don’t.” Troy propped his feet onto the table, leaning back into the broken springs. He grabbed a piece of unfinished grilled cheese sandwich, and apathetically started eating away at the leftovers.
“Well, Troy, that was incredible, and that’s the end of the script,” responded Baltazar, holding the thick manuscript in his hands, showing it to Troy. The news was refreshing, as both Troy and Baltazar relaxed in the broken springs, anticipating the great rewards that they expected to receive from their hard work.
The success that Troy believed he was guaranteed to receive as the next great actor in Hollywood inflated his hubris, concealing his hatred for the sun, and his desire to voyage into the infinite darkness of the west with Lacy. He imagined glam and fortune, receiving large contracts from big time, Hollywood executives after displaying his acting talents. Troy Slushy remained in the booth, feet propped up, enjoying the leftovers of Chuck Splatter and Doink McTriggers, as he was quietly thinking of the great life that awaited him, as the next great actor.
Chapter 15
Clearly, none of this is a coincidence.