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Shortcut-man – the astounding superhero whose powers permitted him to very nearly save small amounts of time – had already cold-rinsed his breakfast dishes (soapless) and was busy shaving dry-faced with a dull and unwetted razor when the call came on his Shortcutphone.  Every call before noon was spam so he smacked block.  On the third time this happened he answered it.

“Shortcut-man!  Thank god I got through!  This is the chief of police, and there’s a madman threatening the city with  –”

“Supervillain got the gist see you there bye,” said Shortcut-man.  He hung up, hastily wiped the rivers of blood off his face with a meter of toilet paper, then jumped into his tights and got it right without falling over on the fourth try before rushing out the door and doubling back for (in order) his keys, then his wallet, then the Shortcutphone.  To catch up he backed out of his parking spot without checking his mirrors.

CRUNCH

“My fender!”
Shortcut-man sighed impatiently, reversed harder until the crunching stopped and the outraged shouting hit its peak, then drove away.  This wasn’t the sort of conversation he had the time for.  There was an emergency somewhere just out of reach, echoed in the chime of the CHECK ENGINE reminder he’d expertly analyzed as some sort of redundant system error six months ago, and he needed to keep his mind focused on solving it as fast as possible.  Unnecessary delays could happen the moment you let your guard down, he mused as his car’s engine shot out of its hood like a jack-in-the-box and screamed like an eagle.    

***

“Please stop,” begged Lou of Lou’s Automotive Maintenance.  “I’m begging you.  God, I’ll fix it for free, just stop.”
“The more I help, the faster my car’s repaired,” explained Shortcut-man as he used his Shortcut-Strength to pick up another work bench, a box of parts, and a big greasy oil drum and drag them closer.  He slid a bucketful of rags, two shop vacuums, a push-broom, a water cooler, and the shop cat under his left arm to save time, took two steps and dropped everything.  Damn.  One day that’d work.

“I will be sued if you keep doing this – I’m going as fast as I can.  Look, get something to eat, just, go, please.”
Shortcut-man considered this matter briefly, as he did all things, and concluded that this was good advice.  He’d skipped breakfast to maximize his morning speed but now his head felt fuzzy and his legs were wobbly.  Normally getting food would be a waste of time, but if he already had to wait, packing two inefficient activities into one was just a shortcut in and of itself. 

But that was no reason to wait. 

“Give me your fastest fast food with the maximum calories at the highest velocity,” he told the drive-through window. 

“Sure.  The burrito breakfast wedge.  Want a drink?”
“Does that increase my calories?”
“Yes, by-”

“Yes. I will pay an extra fifty dollars if it’s done by the time I reach the window.”
“Sir, we don’t-”

“Fast food is more money for greater speed the faster I receive my order the more I’ll pay goodbye.”

So saying, Shortcut-man walked to the next window, intercepted a paper bag passing between the cashier and some guy in a car, dropped his entire wallet on the windowsill and left.

There was no drink in the bag.

“Shameful,” said Shortcut-man, almost choking as he walked and chewed hashbrowns at the same time. “But that WAS very fast.”  He sprinted through a flashing crosswalk, wheezed out a rogue fragment of potato, then tripped over a raised curb and broke his nose.

***

“Car’s ready – jeez, you okay?”
“As long as I don’t tilt my head down I’m fine,” said Shortcut-man, chin raised to the heavens and snotty blood trickling down each cheek..  “I would pay you but I had to use my wallet for lunch.  Farewell.”  Thus saying, he backed out of the lot without checking his mirrors.

CRUNCH.
“My sign!”

Shortcut-man sighed impatiently and reversed harder.  The crunching intensified.

“Stop!”
Shortcut-man shook his head impatiently and slammed on the gas.  His car groaned and slowly separated around him until a large steel sign reading LOU’S AUTOMOTIVE MAINTENANCE apologetically crept through the back of his seat and caressed his spine.

“I’ll use public transit,” he said, kicking the drive’s door open and stepping into traffic then into more traffic then into the bus stop.  “What’s this?  The bus won’t be here for over five minutes!  Well, I can’t waste my time like that.  I’m going to walk sixteen blocks until I get to wherever it was that I was going.”

So saying, Shortcut-man departed at full speed with head held high, then tripped over a second curb chin-first.

***

“How many fingers am I holding up, pal?”
“That’s a pointless question,” said Shortcut-man indistinctly.  “Are you sure you’re a real doctor?” 

“Careful on the jaw action there buddy, you’ve got a fracture so compound it’s developing interest.  One of your teeth went up your nose.”

“Forget the teeth and the nose, why did you put my leg in a cast?!”
“Well, a car ran over it.”
“But I’ll just have to take it off again later.”

“That isn’t very-”

Shortcut-man sighed irritably and shattered his cast with a simple Shortcut-flex, after which he began to heroically Shortcut-limp down the hall. 

“Get back here!”
“No.  I have to go somewhere to do something about a supervillain, probably.”
“You don’t even KNOW?”
“I wasn’t going to sit around long enough to find out!”

“Doom be upon thee in this blessed hour,” spake the hospital speakers in a fluted chorus of screams, wails, and curses.  “For now that the authorities have refused to field my greatest faux Shortcut-man to meat with me, this house of heeling shall become a house of beeting!  So swears the Malaproper!.”

“See, there he is,” said Shortcut-man.  “Where’s your broadcast come from?”
“If you follow the red-”

“Enough technobabble, doctor!  I’ll find it myself,” said Shortcut-man, who proceeded to follow the yellow arrow, the blue arrow, the green arrow, and the purple arrow before walking past an open doorway inside which lurked a chinless, hairless man with dweeby spectacles and dweebier power armour, hunched over a microphone.

“BE WEAR!” he hollered.  “Yew are two latte, Shortcut-man!  For in demure moments, my Spooner-Balm shall denotate and explode this smithing to buildereens! A feteing tribute to-URK!”

“Got him,” said Shortcut-man, shaking his bruised fist.  “Bozos always like to spend too much time talking.  Which way’s Buckland Avenue?  I want to go home.”

“Thataway,” said the communications director, who was chained to the roof of the room.  “Uh, he said something about ‘Spooner bom-”

“Thanks,” said Shortcut-man, using his Shortcut-strength to walk through the walls of the hospital in the correct direction.  He emerged on the street covered in brick dust, a calvacade of nervous policemen eagerly awaiting him.

“Job’s done, kids,” said Shortcut-man.  “And just barely in the nick of time too.  That’s why you always need a Shortcut-man.”
“Actually, we needed you to stop Cryptoclydeus from merging the waterfront into a data center this morning,” explained the chief of police.  “He did it six hours ago.  Malaproper broke out of the jail only after we had to pull everyone on the force to manage the civilian casualties and general devastation, it’s been on the news all day.”
“Who has the time to read?” said Shortcut-man.  “That’s rhetorical it’s not me.  I’ll let you handle things from here.”
“Wait!  We’re here FOR you!  You’re under arrest for leaving the scene of a vehicular accident, damage to Lou’s Automotive Repair’s property and customers, refusal to pay for services rendered, littering a place of business with an empty wallet, and theft of a Breaktacular Combo Hash N Brown Combo Bakelette Meal!”
Shortcut-man nodded solemnly.  “I stopped listening after ‘wait,’ but I think I get the gist.  You’re welcome, officers, the pleasure’s all mine.”  Then he turned on his heel, fell over due to his broken leg, and was tackled by half the police force.

***

He sat behind bars.  They’d taken his mask. They’d taken his tights.  He missed them, mostly because he only wore one set of clothing to save on time. 

He’d sort of tuned a lot of how he’d gotten there; saying ‘not guilty’ every time they asked him a question may have proven to be the fastest way to get out of the trial, but it had still taken too damned long.

They’d said he’d be in here for at least nine years.  But that was okay.  He could find a way to shave that down.

Nothing saves time like Shortcut-man!

The tree had been dying.  The tree was dead.

It was a very small way for something to start happening, but when the ball bounced off its trunk – as it had every other day – it hit dry hollow husk rather than rich wet heartwood and went thunk more than thok, then veered left and left and off out of the little dirt-traced court and into the tall thick green of the imaginary audience and beyond into the broader meadow of society, where the weeds turned to trees and the trees went wild.

“I’ll get it,” said the smallest child, whose name was Qen and who knew from past experience that it was better to volunteer for the miserable than be volunteered for it and then mocked.  So they waded into the sharp blades that had been a lawn and out of the lot that had been a house and under the yellowing shade of the few leaves that knew it was autumn but hadn’t given up yet, and they read the crushed red-and-gold carpeting on the door like a bus route through roots and humps and hillocks and dead stone until they found their ball.

They lifted it up out of a dead man’s hand.

Greetings, said the dead man.

Qen didn’t say anything at this, but they DID make a noise.

Be at peace, said the dead man, with deepest calm.  I am your king, and I meet you in friendship, hand in open hand.  Tell me, how fares the realm?

“You’re not a king,” said Qen.  “You’re a dead body.”
A dead boy can be a king more easily than most living ones, said the dead man patiently.  Look upon me, and if you will not trust your words, then trust your eyes.  Do you believe me to be a king true?

Qen looked at the dead man, this time without jumping or making the noise.  There was more to see than they’d expected: his hand had been laid bare beneath the ball, but the rest of him – tall and straight-backed, sat half-at-rest as if about to rise – had been upthrust in the slow upwards writhe of the bushes-cum-trees that breathed around them both, then slowly stripped of its dirtborne shawl by the wind and rain until it lay near-naked, almost visible.  The king’s brow was grave and noble; his teeth were anachronistically white; his voice was clear and unhesitating.  He looked very regal in his graveborne throne.  One hand clasped a thick root tightly, as if it were the arm of a throne; the other extended palm-up, beckoning softly, now unburdened by Qen’s quarry. 

“I think you look like a king could, a bit,” admitted Qen.  “If he was dead.”

And I think you look like a boy does, of any time and place, said the king.  The smooth bones of his jaw radiated dry warmth in the oranging evening sky, the smile carried by all skeletons edged with paternal tenderness.  But I ask you once more, now that we have compared our thoughts: how fares the realm?

Qen looked at the realm, what they could see from there. 

“It’s okay,” they said.  “Getting colder.  And we can’t play ball in the parking lot anymore, so we have to do it here and it always goes everywhere and I have to find it. That sucks.”

Your words bring ill news, and yet I feel a pang of sympathetic heartache, the king told Qen, for I too know the pain of loss.

“I lost it first, and it’s MINE,” said Qen, clasping it tight with both hands.  “Find your own.”
The pain of losing my people, the king continued.  Of seeing them falter and fall before the foe, of watching their bodies fill their fields, of the triumph of the enemy over that which I protected.

“Oh.  I thought you meant the ball.”

That?  Ah, I took it for my sceptre.  How long it has been since I fell! In what idle hands must it rest, that the ancient needs of my house lie in such disorder? 

“Iunno.  What’d it look like?”

Golden was its head, wrought as a fierce beast noble and brave. It spanned the length of my arm to my elbow and a hand’s-breadth more, and when I held it men paid heed to me and when I raised it men bowed low before me and were glad of it.  Now it is lost and I rest here among the old cinders of my reign.  I ask you, boy: will you not return this new orb to my hand, that I might once more hold authority made material manifest and rebuke those who would scoff and mock and flout me?

“Iunno,” said Qen, as they turned the ball in their hands and felt all the little scars and bumps (from the tree, from the over-enthusiastic kicks of the biggest kids, from that one time it went through a window).  “It’s not ALL mine.  It’s some other people’s too.  Don’t know if I can give it up.”
You can’t give it up, said the king somewhat sternly.  It was already mine.  I have rightful authority over it and you and the other peoples of all this place and the sceptre’s form in my hand merely acts as a slight reminder of that to those too weary to see without the use of their tired and mundane eyes. 

“Dunno,” mumbled Qen.  “Don’t see your name on it.”
My ownership of it is granted regardless of initialisms, said the king, a little more wistful now. 

“Says who?”
The divine.
“The who?”
The divine, the law, the letter, the purpose, the spirit, the rule of all that is and all that must be.  It ordained that I might rise to the throne, it outlined the terms and responsibilities of that rule, and when I failed to meet those terms – when I doubted in my ability to defend my realm from wickedness without and within – it watched me fall.  But it is merciful and wise beyond all measure, and there is no fall from any height, to any ashes, that will refuse to admit one both humble and determined to rise aloft to the heavens once more.

“I don’t see the divine here,” said Qen, who had been looking nervously around for much of this.

The divine is everywhere that is, said the king, but it may be more evident in some forms than others for those of us that need more proof than our glad hearts alone.  Can you not behold my crown?

Qen beheld.  Then stood on tiptoe and beheld harder.  Then squinted.  Then suffered inspiration.  “The flowers?  You’ve got flowers on your head.”
Really?  The weight of the ages has left me wearied and made me think them a more substantial helm.  Flowers?  What of my crown – the bronzed circlet that wreathed me in the reminder of my power to ordain the fates of my people; the silvered crest that placed me above all others by the will of that which is beyond us all; the unbreakable diamond that glittered with its own light as a reminder that some things cannot be altered by the hands of mankind.

“I can’t see any of that, they look like dandelions?”

Even the smallest works of the will of the universe echo the greater whole, the king pondered.  And though small, they are gilded golden.  A simple braiding, a crest of ivy, and a gem of glass – such as I have heard break in this place before – and my brow shall go bare no longer; the law of the land shall be false no more; the question of authority shall be answered firmly and truthfully for good and for evver. I beseech you, boy: will you not recognize the authority of my crown, that I may be once more acknowledged as the rightfully-chosen ruler of all I survey?

“They’re growing out of your skull,” said Qen, nose wrinkled and lips peeling.  “It’s really gross.”

If you don’t call it a crown, I’m just wearing a silly hat made of bits of things, said the king with great passion and some irritation.  Nobody respects the sort of person who does that.  You need to call it a crown and you need to say the crown was put there by the universe or else nobody’s impressed by the person wearing it and they’ll laugh at me instead of deferring to me!

“People laugh at everyone,” said Qen. “They laugh at me a lot too.”

It’s terrible, isn’t it? said the king in a way that did not invite a response.  They show no respect. You stand before them and rally them and tell them to do their duty and they shrink and cower and whimper and side with your enemies who would defy the will of all – as expressed through my person – and then you have no choice but to take up arms against them, lest all descend into chaos and madness.

“You’ve got two arms already, why do you need more?”

As the arm is merely the extension of one’s will, so too is the tool – the weapon, the blade – merely the extension of one’s arm, pondered the king.  When they no longer heed the sceptre; when they no longer place themselves below the crown; when they err, that is the sword’s duty. To restore peace and justice to a clamorous and ruined land, no matter the cost. 

“I don’t see a sword either.”

A stride to your left.

Qen strode one step to their left and almost fell over. 

Dig lightly.  Three handfuls of soil.

It was four and a half, because Qen had small hands, and the thing they found almost snapped when handful number half exposed its cutting edge to the air – to more air; it had rusted almost through-and-through.  A jagged red silhouette that hugged tight to a core of antique metal, and a red-stained pommel.

This, they always listen to in the end, the king told Qen.  When their courage fails, when their reason strays, when their wickedness prevails, they always heed this, and then it all becomes right.  I was so close to victory when I was struck down from behind.  Traitors, conspirators, and colluders with the enemy from afar and beyond all that is good and right.  The blade never fails, but the hand that grips it may slip, and long has it lain fallow, awaiting a champion. 

Qen’s hands were sweaty.

I beg of you, boy: will you not be chosen in my name?  Will you not take up my divine sword and lead those who would rejoice at my name in righteous and glorious battle?

Qen breathed in and out and furrowed their unwrinkled brow and shook their head. 

“No,” they said.  “I’ve got to bring the ball back now before it gets dark.  And mom told me not to play with knives.”
It’s NOT A KNIFE, BOY, shouted the king in his belly-deep baritone, ribcage quaking with anger and the footsteps of a foraging ground squirrel. A knife is for CUTTING THINGS and a sword is for KILLING PEOPLE or REMINDING PEOPLE YOU CAN KILL THEM.  They are VERY DIFFERENT.

“Gbye,” said Qen.  And “not a boy.”  And the last thing they didn’t say, they dropped the sword, which clang-clanged-cracked over the dead man’s knee as they turned and ran back to the lot, ball in hand. 

They were late, and were mocked for it, but were too distracted to think on it because they were thinking about something else.

“Mama?” they asked.  Dishes done, lights about to go out. None of the knives had looked like they were for killing people.

Mama stopped at the light, a little sagged over but knowing what that kind of tone meant: pay attention.  “Yeah?”

“Can dead people hurt you?”

“Some of them can if they’re jerks, yeah. Just only one way, and it’s the same way the good ones can help you.”
“How?”
“Listening to them. But baby, nobody can give them that power except for you, you got that?”
“Okay.”

The lights went out.  Their eyes went shut.  And none of their dreams had swords in them. 

Deck Expenditures

Deck materials: ~$6,000

-Acquired ahead of time on discount from Cousin Beth’s business. Colour is unfortunate but tolerable and will wear nicely.

Demolition of old deck: $0

-Phoned Fred’s sister in for the work at favourable rates.  Job postponed due to presence of groundhog. She says dealing with animals isn’t in her job description.

Humane trap to remove groundhog: $79

-Purchased from hardware store and left overnight baited with banana.  Bait was removed without triggering the trap.  Increased trap sensitivity and left overnight baited with apple.  Apple was removed without triggering the trap.  Increased trap sensitivity and left overnight baited with peanut butter.  Peanut butter was removed and trap was triggered without a groundhog inside it.  Fractionally decreased trap sensitivity and left overnight baited with corn.  Corn was removed and trap was triggered without a groundhog inside it and then shoved into middle of driveway, where it was nearly run over.  Informed by hardware store that humane trap is non-refundable after three days. 

Solar-powered pest-repellent ultra-sonic sound-&-light combo-emitter 12-pack: $56

-Purchased from hardware store and placed throughout the lawn in ‘checkerboard’ pattern. Dog began peeing and wouldn’t stop until ultra-sonic was deactivated.  Parrot began screaming ‘wakey-wakey’ at sundown and wouldn’t stop until light-emitter was deactivated.  Groundhog showed no visible sign of discomfort.  Informed by hardware store that solar-powered pest-repellent ultra-sonic sound-&-light combo-emitter 12-packs are not returnable after removal from packaging.

Air gun: $169

Coffee thermos: $0 (preowned)

Mercenary services of neighborhood children: $10

-Purchased air gun from hardware store and stayed awake all night atop old deck.  Fell asleep at sunrise with no sign of groundhog; subsequent research revealed that groundhogs are diurnal.  Woke before sunrise the next morning and stayed up all day atop old deck; subsequent research revealed that most groundhog burrows have at least two exits.  Neighborhood children identified exits two through three, woke before sunrise the next morning and stayed up all day atop old deck, spotted groundhog returning home through exit four. 

Motion detectors: $40

-Purchased motion detectors from hardware store and rigged them at all four exits to groundhog burrow, then woke before sunrise and stayed up all day atop old deck.  Investigation in the evening revealed that all four motion detectors had been gnawed to pieces. Fired air gun down burrow.  Informed by hardware store that air guns are not returnable after firing. 

Lethal trap: $50

-Purchased second-hand fur trap from Mr. Maddersen’s garage sale and placed it over exit four, filled other three entrances with a mixture of gravel and sand.  Woke to find blocked exits had been excavated + fur trap had been removed and smashed and appended with a threatening cut-and-paste letter from neighborhood kids, who proclaim the groundhog their friend.  Mr. Maddersen feigned senility at the word ‘refund.’

Shotgun: $226

-Purchased from hunting store, then got up early, blocked exits two through four with large rocks + gravel, and waited by exit four.  Groundhog whistled in ear at noon while checking phone; jumped and fired shotgun at foot, removing left big toe.  Told officer neighborhood children must have been setting off fireworks.  Informed by hunting store that they will not accept guns that have tasted human blood for fear of creating ‘man-eaters.’

Homemade smoke bombs: $0

Aerosol air fresheners: $100

-Smoke bombs were manufactured from firestarters and damp paper with a touch of lighter fluid and inserted into newly-dug exits one through five after spending the week hunting them down (neighborhood children are conducting boycott on behalf of groundhog).  Smoke immediately billowed upwards from exits without entering tunnels and filled home. Told fire department it was a barbecuing mishap. 

Large, angry weasel: $5,000

-Purchased from disreputable website, put on a water diet for 24 hours, then released from cage at exit four.  Weasel escaped after tactical strike to face.  Website admin cited caveat emptor + threatened revealing my address to authorities.

Inhumane trap: $200

Replacement weed whacker: $677

-Combined scrap metal + broken lawnmower + remaining aerosol air fresheners + electric lighters into ‘blender-explosive’ land mine, embedded under exit five.  Awoken at 2AM by exploding lawnmower noises, rushed outside to find BE landmine prematurely detonated by the insertion of expensive weed whacker into exit five and ‘gRoUNDhoG LIVES!!!’ spraypainted on door surrounded by grubby footprints of neighborhood children. 

Backhoe rental (1-day): $473

Bribe to rental manager: $500

-Acquired backhoe from hardware store ahead of backlog through creative means. Blocked exits one through three with cement and began digging at exits four through five, only for backhoe to collapse into one-meter-deep pit along with 36% of backyard due to groundhog undermining.  Hopes of groundhog fatality dashed when groundhog emerged from undiscovered exit six and whistled during desperate fumbling for emergency exit latch as further subsidence sucked the backhoe beneath the topsoil.  Escaped, showered, went to basement for laundry and suffered tactical weasel strike to the face due to escaped large, angry weasel lairing behind water heater.  Now banned from hardware store.

White phosphorus: $11,877

-Purchased white phosphorus from Cousin Grotus and piped it down exits one through six.  Remaining 63% lawn set ablaze with unquenchable flame; neighbourhood children filed report to Hague; mailbox filled with passive-aggressive notes from neighbours regarding property values and norms. Negative: groundhog remains defiant. Positive: demolition of old deck is now no longer necessary.

Mission fee for Agent Z: $750,000

-Paid fee to ex-coworker of great-aunt Germania: Agent Z.  One week of surveillance followed by two weeks of shadowing followed by one week of habituation followed by fifteen-second demolition of house by Agent Z via plastic explosives after counter-seduction by groundhog convinced them to betray the contract. 

Darkweb bounty on groundhog’s skull: $1,000,000 in bitcoin

-Purchased the services of every killer in the province to kill the groundhog as weekend project.  Groundhog escaped via culvert to overpass, where it jumped into shipment of logs, leading into two-day car chase to sawmill, cargo ship, construction site, city hall.  Seventeen of forty hired guns lost due to friendly fire, sawblades, unsafely loaded cargo containers, swinging girders, exposure to municipal politics.  Groundhog went down in a hail of bullets at long last and immediately returned as vengeful revenant, killing remaining twenty-three assassins.

Exorcism: $0

-Requested service in first local denomination searchable on internet.  Priest attempted to do his best against swarms of locusts, endless screaming echoing from beneath house; death of all plants on block; but groundhog’s prayers were too powerful and priest was hurled far away into the land beyond the greybow.  Sky has begun to weep ichor.

Emergency rental room out of town: $1,000

-Groundhog tore remnants of home and single remaining vehicle into the sky as departure grew imminent, held in iron grip of rage and pain.  Saved by heartfelt pleas of the neighbourhood children to spare humanity so they may have one more chance to learn and grow, opening the vice of hatred clasped tight ‘round its heart and softening its resolve.  Groundhog returned vehicle to rubble of driveway and departed for the Burrow Below All.

***

Building permit for residential deck has been rejected due to failure to pay the associated civic fee.

Alice wiped the kitchen counter for the sixth time, watched the glass topple and explode, and felt merciful relief and oncoming anxiety.  Well, that was one more thing to do.  Well, that was going to be the last thing she’d have a real excuse to do before she did it.

So she tried to live in the moment – aching back, wobbly dustpan, frayed handbrush, flying flecks of glistening sharpness and all – and when she put it in the garbage can she felt her body pressing down on her like a big wet blanket over her shoulders.

It was time.

She’d felt troubles loom large before her before, but the Tabliette^TM on her table shrank as she approached it, becoming smaller and denser and sleeker and impossible to detect or dislodge, like the ticks she’d used to find on her legs after field work.  It slid invitingly into her palm and she felt the ethereal tickle of every hair on both her arms standing on end with gooseflesh-shivers.  The screen was already up and waiting; the vibration of her footfalls brought it out of sleep mode.

“Unlock,” she told it.

“Hello!” it said brightly.  “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.  Did you want me to Unlock?  The Unlock feature is now available for Power Subscribers ^TM at the cost of only ONE Feature Token^TM a month, two if you want Instinct Unlock^TM!”
Alice unlocked it with her finger, then slapped her credit card on its face.

“Tap not registered.  Try again?”
She tried again.

“Tap not registered.  Try again?”
She tried again.

“Tap not registered.  This card has been placed on automated lockdown. Please try another card or call your financial services hotline!”

Alice dug out her other credit card and slapped it on the Tabliette^TM’s face.

“Thank you!” it said.  “It looks like you haven’t purchased a lot of protein recently.  Shall I order you groceries?  To decline this, please say so now-”

“No,” said Alice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch tha-”

“No,” said Alice.
“I’m sorry, did you say ‘so’?”
“NO,” said Alice.

“Got it!  Groceries ordered.”

Alice sighed and clawed at the base of the machine with her thumb, then waited fifteen seconds for the button to pop up that would let her skip half of the next fifteen seconds of advertising.  She could gamble online, it informed her confidently.  She could gamble and win BIG savings for her retirement fund and be the envy of everyone else that was stuck mouldering away in an old age home while she was on a cruise fleet.  And it was a free risk, because she could just use her health insurance for it.  She’d lived this long, why chicken out now when she could put all your cards on the table?

The button popped up.  It took her three tries to press it, but she was only forced to listen to the last jingle and the website address.

“Hi!  Welcome to your homepage!  Would you like to EMAIL or CALENDAR?  You can also SHOP or APPS!  Say ‘SIMantha^TM, help!’ and I’ll help you with whatever you need!”

“SIMantha, disable,” said Alice.  Old reflex.

“Sorry, as of update 11 that feature is now available for Power Sublime Subscribers^TM only!  If you want me to be quiet, you can try muting me for only five minutes a Feature Token^TM!  Don’t worry: I can still hear you while muted!”

Alice exhaled heavily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Never mind.”  Alice thumbed open the browser with one hand.  Password required.  Damn.  She opened her Profile Wallet^TM and signed in with her government ID, driver’s license, birth certificate, and sworn statement of lacking intent to commit treason, then signed into the WalletLink^TM app, then signed into the browser.

“Sorry, that password is expired.  Please enter a new password.”

Alice screamed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that!”

“Fuck OFF.”
“Wow, pottymouth!  Sorry, real-time interaction with adult language is available for Power Sublime Sleek Subscribers^TM only, at the low cost of ten Feature Tokens^TM a minute!”

Alice reset her password, confirmed on her third-and-fourth-party authentication programs (one on her All-Ways-ON^TM texter phone, the other the standard voice analysis package attached to her FaceLife^TM calendar, which could not sign out and would phone the police if she uninstalled or damaged it), tried to sign in, was informed her session had timed out, exited her Profile Wallet^TM, signed into it again, realized she forgot to sink out of WalletLink^TM, signed out and in of it, had her Profile Wallet^TM session expire again, signed out of everything and made some coffee, then signed back into the wallet, the link, and finally her browser one after another.

The browser froze. Alice made more coffee and added extra sugar.

***

After opening the task manager (cost of three Feature Tokens^TM) and killing sixteen of the backgrounded processes that tended to accrue in the computer’s limbic system (automated penalties amounting to one hundred twenty-four Feature Tokens^TM), Alice was able to log into her browser, which let her log into the App Center^TM, which let her install the FinesseShop^TM app, which would let her view descriptions and multiple non-thumbnailed images of a product before buying it, as well as a pre-checkout preview of all mandatory pricing addons such as packaging, shipping, processing, tracking, handling, nonmangling, and labelling.

That accomplished, she clicked on the search bar.

“I’m sorry, you’re out of Feature Tokens^TM!  Buy more by saying ‘buy more!’or don’t buy more by saying ‘don’t buy more!’  Alternatively, you can use the totally free AI-powered Imagination Search^TM to look for products nobody’s ever dreamed of, not even you!”

Alice groaned and opened the least-favorite pocket of her purse to shake out a handful of disposable plasticoid USB-STRAWS, thin as hypodermics and as cheap as licorice. The first two snapped in half, the third jammed, the fourth sank home, forcing her browser to switch to a forced fullscreen window of a slow-motion explosion that made the Tabliette^TM heat her palm like a hot pan on the stove.

“C-rank pull: you now have two Feature Tokens^TM!  Don’t spend them all in one place – spend them EVERYWHERE, on EVERYTHING^TM!”
Alice’s fingers moved across the touchscreen.  Button, button, wrong button, backspace, button, button, button, wrong button three times in a row, wrong button instead of backspace, backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace ONCE too many times, button, button, button, button, button, space, autocorrected to the wrong word, enter by mistake, one Feature Token^TM consumed on a search for CARS, autoplaying a forty-five second unskippable advertisement for the Model 5318008 Teslamentation^TM.

Alice got up, made certain she was out of coffee, went to the washroom, and screamed again, but into her hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that!”

She turned the tap on full and screamed again.  That worked.  Then when she was done she washed her hands, marched back into the room, picked up the Tabliette^TM, pushed in her search one two three four, enter, and jumped as half of her field of vision was filled with perfectly glistening white teeth.

“Enjoying your retinal implants is fine, but enjoying them while using our competitor’s products is a sometimes food!  The web design choices of the Greater Amazonian Evilsystem^TM including micro-strobing stimuli that are prone to fucky-wuckying-up your Googleplex^TM HiFEyes, and they are hecked out right now!  While they reboot, please enjoy this complimentary ten-minute Supraintelligently^TM-generated personally-tailored Ted Microchat^TM, at NO additional fee or cost beyond your medical maintenance penalty!  Judging from your past viewing preferences, this presentation’s key topics will be GRANDCHILDREN and CLEANING TILED FLOORS, and it will presented by YOUR PICTURES OF YOUR DEAD HUSBAND.  Thank you, and remember: shop Googleplex^TM Americas^TM, or not at-”

Alice took a deep breath and slammed her head backwards against the top of her coach, producing a faint crunch from the rear of her skull.  The beautiful white teeth gurgled away into the blue nothingness that now overfilled her eyes, empty but for simple white text.
system has upsetti’d spaghetti 🙁  plz restart k thx! >_<

Wincing through the pain, she groped blind-thumbed against her touchscreen, stabbing wildly.

“Please confirm purchase.”
Stab.

“Please reconfirm purchase.”

Stab.

“Would you like to sign up for our-”

“Add a personalized custom Supraintelligently^TM-generated message to-”

“For only $0.99 more-”

“Donate to us and we’ll-”

“Set up a ShopEasy^TM profile now and-”

“Enter your email and receive a-”

“Would you like to start your free trial n-”

“Is this the credit card you-”

“Your inputs will be used as training data for-”

Stab stab stab stab stab stab stab stab stab DING

“Your order for 1 Green Floral Happy Birthday, Granddaughter! Card^TM and six pounds of ShopCoin^TM has been placed and will delivered in one to eighteen business days  How’d we do?  Please rate our service on a scale of one to five stars!”

Alice watched as the blue screen faded into the primary-coloured logo swirl of her retina’s boot sequence. 

“One,” she said.

“Thank you!  Remember, all your feedback is information, and the more information we have, the more we can help!”Alice wiped the kitchen counter for the sixth time, watched the glass topple and explode, and felt merciful relief and oncoming anxiety.  Well, that was one more thing to do.  Well, that was going to be the last thing she’d have a real excuse to do before she did it.

So she tried to live in the moment – aching back, wobbly dustpan, frayed handbrush, flying flecks of glistening sharpness and all – and when she put it in the garbage can she felt her body pressing down on her like a big wet blanket over her shoulders.

It was time.

She’d felt troubles loom large before her before, but the Tabliette^TM on her table shrank as she approached it, becoming smaller and denser and sleeker and impossible to detect or dislodge, like the ticks she’d used to find on her legs after field work.  It slid invitingly into her palm and she felt the ethereal tickle of every hair on both her arms standing on end with gooseflesh-shivers.  The screen was already up and waiting; the vibration of her footfalls brought it out of sleep mode.

“Unlock,” she told it.

“Hello!” it said brightly.  “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.  Did you want me to Unlock?  The Unlock feature is now available for Power Subscribers ^TM at the cost of only ONE Feature Token^TM a month, two if you want Instinct Unlock^TM!”
Alice unlocked it with her finger, then slapped her credit card on its face.

“Tap not registered.  Try again?”
She tried again.

“Tap not registered.  Try again?”
She tried again.

“Tap not registered.  This card has been placed on automated lockdown. Please try another card or call your financial services hotline!”

Alice dug out her other credit card and slapped it on the Tabliette^TM’s face.

“Thank you!” it said.  “It looks like you haven’t purchased a lot of protein recently.  Shall I order you groceries?  To decline this, please say so now-”

“No,” said Alice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch tha-”

“No,” said Alice.
“I’m sorry, did you say ‘so’?”
“NO,” said Alice.

“Got it!  Groceries ordered.”

Alice sighed and clawed at the base of the machine with her thumb, then waited fifteen seconds for the button to pop up that would let her skip half of the next fifteen seconds of advertising.  She could gamble online, it informed her confidently.  She could gamble and win BIG savings for her retirement fund and be the envy of everyone else that was stuck mouldering away in an old age home while she was on a cruise fleet.  And it was a free risk, because she could just use her health insurance for it.  She’d lived this long, why chicken out now when she could put all your cards on the table?

The button popped up.  It took her three tries to press it, but she was only forced to listen to the last jingle and the website address.

“Hi!  Welcome to your homepage!  Would you like to EMAIL or CALENDAR?  You can also SHOP or APPS!  Say ‘SIMantha^TM, help!’ and I’ll help you with whatever you need!”

“SIMantha, disable,” said Alice.  Old reflex.

“Sorry, as of update 11 that feature is now available for Power Sublime Subscribers^TM only!  If you want me to be quiet, you can try muting me for only five minutes a Feature Token^TM!  Don’t worry: I can still hear you while muted!”

Alice exhaled heavily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Never mind.”  Alice thumbed open the browser with one hand.  Password required.  Damn.  She opened her Profile Wallet^TM and signed in with her government ID, driver’s license, birth certificate, and sworn statement of lacking intent to commit treason, then signed into the WalletLink^TM app, then signed into the browser.

“Sorry, that password is expired.  Please enter a new password.”

Alice screamed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that!”

“Fuck OFF.”
“Wow, pottymouth!  Sorry, real-time interaction with adult language is available for Power Sublime Sleek Subscribers^TM only, at the low cost of ten Feature Tokens^TM a minute!”

Alice reset her password, confirmed on her third-and-fourth-party authentication programs (one on her All-Ways-ON^TM texter phone, the other the standard voice analysis package attached to her FaceLife^TM calendar, which could not sign out and would phone the police if she uninstalled or damaged it), tried to sign in, was informed her session had timed out, exited her Profile Wallet^TM, signed into it again, realized she forgot to sink out of WalletLink^TM, signed out and in of it, had her Profile Wallet^TM session expire again, signed out of everything and made some coffee, then signed back into the wallet, the link, and finally her browser one after another.

The browser froze. Alice made more coffee and added extra sugar.

***

After opening the task manager (cost of three Feature Tokens^TM) and killing sixteen of the backgrounded processes that tended to accrue in the computer’s limbic system (automated penalties amounting to one hundred twenty-four Feature Tokens^TM), Alice was able to log into her browser, which let her log into the App Center^TM, which let her install the FinesseShop^TM app, which would let her view descriptions and multiple non-thumbnailed images of a product before buying it, as well as a pre-checkout preview of all mandatory pricing addons such as packaging, shipping, processing, tracking, handling, nonmangling, and labelling.

That accomplished, she clicked on the search bar.

“I’m sorry, you’re out of Feature Tokens^TM!  Buy more by saying ‘buy more!’or don’t buy more by saying ‘don’t buy more!’  Alternatively, you can use the totally free AI-powered Imagination Search^TM to look for products nobody’s ever dreamed of, not even you!”

Alice groaned and opened the least-favorite pocket of her purse to shake out a handful of disposable plasticoid USB-STRAWS, thin as hypodermics and as cheap as licorice. The first two snapped in half, the third jammed, the fourth sank home, forcing her browser to switch to a forced fullscreen window of a slow-motion explosion that made the Tabliette^TM heat her palm like a hot pan on the stove.

“C-rank pull: you now have two Feature Tokens^TM!  Don’t spend them all in one place – spend them EVERYWHERE, on EVERYTHING^TM!”
Alice’s fingers moved across the touchscreen.  Button, button, wrong button, backspace, button, button, button, wrong button three times in a row, wrong button instead of backspace, backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace ONCE too many times, button, button, button, button, button, space, autocorrected to the wrong word, enter by mistake, one Feature Token^TM consumed on a search for CARS, autoplaying a forty-five second unskippable advertisement for the Model 5318008 Teslamentation^TM.

Alice got up, made certain she was out of coffee, went to the washroom, and screamed again, but into her hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that!”

She turned the tap on full and screamed again.  That worked.  Then when she was done she washed her hands, marched back into the room, picked up the Tabliette^TM, pushed in her search one two three four, enter, and jumped as half of her field of vision was filled with perfectly glistening white teeth.

“Enjoying your retinal implants is fine, but enjoying them while using our competitor’s products is a sometimes food!  The web design choices of the Greater Amazonian Evilsystem^TM including micro-strobing stimuli that are prone to fucky-wuckying-up your Googleplex^TM HiFEyes, and they are hecked out right now!  While they reboot, please enjoy this complimentary ten-minute Supraintelligently^TM-generated personally-tailored Ted Microchat^TM, at NO additional fee or cost beyond your medical maintenance penalty!  Judging from your past viewing preferences, this presentation’s key topics will be GRANDCHILDREN and CLEANING TILED FLOORS, and it will presented by YOUR PICTURES OF YOUR DEAD HUSBAND.  Thank you, and remember: shop Googleplex^TM Americas^TM, or not at-”

Alice took a deep breath and slammed her head backwards against the top of her coach, producing a faint crunch from the rear of her skull.  The beautiful white teeth gurgled away into the blue nothingness that now overfilled her eyes, empty but for simple white text.
system has upsetti’d spaghetti 🙁  plz restart k thx! >_<

Wincing through the pain, she groped blind-thumbed against her touchscreen, stabbing wildly.

“Please confirm purchase.”
Stab.

“Please reconfirm purchase.”

Stab.

“Would you like to sign up for our-”

“Add a personalized custom Supraintelligently^TM-generated message to-”

“For only $0.99 more-”

“Donate to us and we’ll-”

“Set up a ShopEasy^TM profile now and-”

“Enter your email and receive a-”

“Would you like to start your free trial n-”

“Is this the credit card you-”

“Your inputs will be used as training data for-”

Stab stab stab stab stab stab stab stab stab DING

“Your order for 1 Green Floral Happy Birthday, Granddaughter! Card^TM and six pounds of ShopCoin^TM has been placed and will delivered in one to eighteen business days  How’d we do?  Please rate our service on a scale of one to five stars!”

Alice watched as the blue screen faded into the primary-coloured logo swirl of her retina’s boot sequence. 

“One,” she said.

“Thank you!  Remember, all your feedback is information, and the more information we have, the more we can help!”

DO NOT LITTER

Keep the firmament clean and ignorant for allveryone

Do not discard your leavings such as carapaces, concepts, cruelties, or calamities; rather, unsubstantiate them

Remove your errant thoughts with genteelness so they do not become embroiled in humanity

No propane cooking or cooling

Coal cooking and cooling is possible in the quarries and circles

Stopp-squark stoppage-based cooking cooling and

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN FINALITY

***

DO NOT FEED THE HUMANS
Do not nurture humanity with thought or deed or theed or dought

A humanity that remains remote may be remarked; a humanity that feeds becomes wastage or wizened

Worse, a humanity that feeds may tort sorcerous and will not untort save by careful Attention

Keep humane human practice present

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN SUNDERING

***

HUMAN PROSCRIPTIONS

All humans must be overheld and undersway

Pick up after your humans and before your humans

Humans must remain leashed and cannot be understood nonleash

No humans that are not unsorcerous or not wizen

No no humans that aren’t not unsorcerous or not wizen

No humans that are sorcerous or wizen

Never yield to humans

Prevent humans from delving deep

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN PAIN UNTOLD

***

NO FISHING FOR HUMANS WITH THE ROD AND LINE AND HOOK

The hook cannot be a cubit and it cannot be alive

The rod and line must be spared and spoil unmoored under the sun

Overhold the human in your grasp and release them unswayed and unknown

No retainment of unsprouted minds

Do NOT unretain sorcerous or the wizened

Rebate all sorcerous or wizened to the grasp of the Attention

No lead in your no hooks, all humans must be lead of their own sway

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN TUMULT UNTRAMMELED

***

SPECULATOR GUIDANCES

No cutting down the humans one at a time or by the dozens they may not be felled or reaped regardless or regarded

The humans are present for enrichment and ambience do not cause spoilage by removing them

Do not tear the limbs from the humans for purpose in the great fire

Do not uproot the humans to plant them in wealthmore soul

Do not uproot any sorcerous or wizened for disposal under selfsway, Know them and rebate them to the grasp of the Attention

BREACH OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN CAUSE AND EFFECT

***

HUMANS MAY NOT SPEAK
All humans must not bemouth the tongue unless spaken unto

Do not spaken unto humans

No words of wizen or mutterwise sorcerously shall come weal

We I You are Known and they are reality

They lack correctness for the tongue and will bemouth badly and so sew untruth

BREACH OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN UNTROPY

***

DO NOT RIDE HUMANS ON THE SEA WAY

The sea way is for passage of abstractions and hallowed only eternally

A human on the sea way may be submerged or awashed but NEVER ridden, even under high moon

If you compreapprehend another riding a human on the sea way utter a plea to the Ear of the Attention IMMEDIATELY and wane yourself betides the firmament calms, with all sensations and sensiles retracted

If you hail a human on the seaway and it performs the Motion for your regard it has been ridden and you are undersway to overhold it and spirit it starward to be educhrysalyzed, and riven, and nevernamed

You may not pick or affirm or mock the nevername

BREACH OF THE GRAVEN SHALL NEVER RESULT

***

NO SMITINGDO NOT LITTER

Keep the firmament clean and ignorant for allveryone

Do not discard your leavings such as carapaces, concepts, cruelties, or calamities; rather, unsubstantiate them

Remove your errant thoughts with genteelness so they do not become embroiled in humanity

No propane cooking or cooling

Coal cooking and cooling is possible in the quarries and circles

Stopp-squark stoppage-based cooking cooling and

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN FINALITY

***

DO NOT FEED THE HUMANS
Do not nurture humanity with thought or deed or theed or dought

A humanity that remains remote may be remarked; a humanity that feeds becomes wastage or wizened

Worse, a humanity that feeds may tort sorcerous and will not untort save by careful Attention

Keep humane human practice present

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN SUNDERING

***

HUMAN PROSCRIPTIONS

All humans must be overheld and undersway

Pick up after your humans and before your humans

Humans must remain leashed and cannot be understood nonleash

No humans that are not unsorcerous or not wizen

No no humans that aren’t not unsorcerous or not wizen

No humans that are sorcerous or wizen

Never yield to humans

Prevent humans from delving deep

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN PAIN UNTOLD

***

NO FISHING FOR HUMANS WITH THE ROD AND LINE AND HOOK

The hook cannot be a cubit and it cannot be alive

The rod and line must be spared and spoil unmoored under the sun

Overhold the human in your grasp and release them unswayed and unknown

No retainment of unsprouted minds

Do NOT unretain sorcerous or the wizened

Rebate all sorcerous or wizened to the grasp of the Attention

No lead in your no hooks, all humans must be lead of their own sway

BREACHING OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN TUMULT UNTRAMMELED

***

SPECULATOR GUIDANCES

No cutting down the humans one at a time or by the dozens they may not be felled or reaped regardless or regarded

The humans are present for enrichment and ambience do not cause spoilage by removing them

Do not tear the limbs from the humans for purpose in the great fire

Do not uproot the humans to plant them in wealthmore soul

Do not uproot any sorcerous or wizened for disposal under selfsway, Know them and rebate them to the grasp of the Attention

BREACH OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN CAUSE AND EFFECT

***

HUMANS MAY NOT SPEAK
All humans must not bemouth the tongue unless spaken unto

Do not spaken unto humans

No words of wizen or mutterwise sorcerously shall come weal

We I You are Known and they are reality

They lack correctness for the tongue and will bemouth badly and so sew untruth

BREACH OF THE GRAVEN SHALL RESULT IN UNTROPY

***

DO NOT RIDE HUMANS ON THE SEA WAY

The sea way is for passage of abstractions and hallowed only eternally

A human on the sea way may be submerged or awashed but NEVER ridden, even under high moon

If you compreapprehend another riding a human on the sea way utter a plea to the Ear of the Attention IMMEDIATELY and wane yourself betides the firmament calms, with all sensations and sensiles retracted

If you hail a human on the seaway and it performs the Motion for your regard it has been ridden and you are undersway to overhold it and spirit it starward to be educhrysalyzed, and riven, and nevernamed

You may not pick or affirm or mock the nevername

BREACH OF THE GRAVEN SHALL NEVER RESULT

***

NO SMITING

In a great green park at a small stool at a wooden table sat an old man who was mostly beard and a prickle of small black eyes, which were fixed on a thing that confounded him. According to the tides and currents of his hair he was frowning, and as he frowned he spoke, and he said “you there! What is this?”
Thus summoned, the six-year-old approached, soccer ball in hand. “That’s a chessboard,” he told the man cheerfully. “For chess.”

“I see, I see, I see,” the old man muttered. “What do you do with it?”
“Play it and win if you take the king. I’m really good, better than my dad.”
“I see, I see, I see. What is your name?”
“Simon.”
“Would you teach me this?”
“Okay!” said Simon, with the enthusiasm of someone very young being asked to educate someone very old.

And so they played twice, and the first game the old man lost.

“I fired a cannon out of my rook,” said Simon proudly. “So I can take that piece even though it’s too far away.”
“I see, I see, I see,” said the old man. “I truly wish I had your inspiration. If I win this next game, may I borrow some?”
“Okay!” said Simon, who had tasted blood and wanted some more.

But this second game the old man won, for he was thinking one move ahead instead of Simon’s minus three and asked him a question about what his favorite animal was, which distracted him from escaping the trap laid for his king for just ten minutes too long.

“Shit!” said Simon sort-of-involuntarily.

“Thank you for the inspiration,” said the old man, and he shook Simon’s hand. “You may go.”
“Okay,” said Simon. He picked up his ball and wandered off into the grass again, where he considered the sky with a puzzled expression.

“All tired out already, tiny man?” asked his mother. “But we just got here! Whatcha thinking about? Tell me one of your stories.”
“I dunno,” said Simon. He stared at the blue sky and green trees and the moving cars and the white-capped water. “I dunno.”

***

The old man sat at his small stool and looked around himself and was pleased with what he saw and how he saw it.

“Hello!” he called to one piece of it in particular. “Would you care for a quick game?”
“Me?” asked the woman on a park bench, tie loose and scalp rumpled.

“Yes, excellent. Come on, don’t be shy. What’s your name?”

“Cathy,” said Cathy. “And it’ll have to be done before lunch break is, but I was in chess club back in high school so I can probably make this fast. When’d you start playing?”
“Today,” said the old man.

“I’ll spot you my queen and a move. That should be good.”

“I see, I see, I see. You know, I truly wish I had your skill. If I win, might you share some of it with me?”

“Well, if you want tips I can give those win or lose, if we’re REALLY speedy,” said Cathy. “But sure, why not? I can give you a secret or two if you win.”

And so they played, and initially the old man was on quite the backfoot before he made his move.

“I see, I see, I see,” he said, confidently moving his knight straight through six ranks in a single swoop, then seizing a rook and two pawns adjacent to it.

“Excuse me?” asked Cathy.

“I have mounted my knights on tyrannosaurs,” said the old man. “A tactical advantage.”
“Damnit,” said Cathy. “I don’t know HOW I missed that!”

She put up a good fight after that, but the old man reinforced his bishops with mammoths and then it was all over bar the mop-up.

“I concede,” she sighed. “I can’t believe I missed something so obvious.”
“On the contrary,” said the old man, shaking her hand. “Thank you for your skill. You may go.”
“Right,” said Cathy. “Right. I’ll just go back to work.” She shook her head and walked back to work, tripping over her own shoelaces every six steps all the way to her desk, where she forgot her password, account name, email address, the names of her coworkers, and her wallet.

“What do you think you’re DOING?!” demanded Claire across the aisle.

“My best, okay?” said Cathy. She reached for her coffee and watched as it bounced off her fingertips onto the floor. “My best.”

***

The old man cracked his knuckles bone by bone, tendon by tendon, and was pleased at all the ways he could count them. He stretched his vertebrae and divided them by his stiffness multiplied by his satisfaction, then got down to business.

“Hello!” he shouted from across the park. “Would you like to play?”
“Oh for the love of god let me have this,” complained the mayor from his picnic table, “this is the first midday bagel I’ve had time for in three months! I just wanted one before the snows came in, is that so much to ask for?”

“I see, I see, I see,” said the old man, “but I don’t understand. You are the mayor. Why not simply do as you please?”

“I have authority, but every gram of authority comes with a kilogram of responsibility,” said the mayor. “And that’s mostly the responsibility to attend meetings.”

“I see, I see, I see,” said the old man, thoughtfully stroking his beard. “But I truly do wish I had your authority nonetheless. Maybe if I win a game I could take up a little of it? To make it easier for you.”

“You have until I finish this bagel to set up,” said the mayor, pointing a finger and lox at him. “No deals.”

“What is your name?

The mayor shook his head. “Nobody pays attention to municipal politics anymore.” And he told him.

“Good. If you chew fast you will finish it exactly on time,” said the old man. He was correct.

They played, and the mayor might have stood a chance, but things took a turn in the midgame.

“You can’t do that,” declared the old man serenely, as the mayor moved his rook to take his queen.

“What? Why?”
“I severed the supply lines to your troops sixteen turns ago, when I moved my h-pawn off the board and into your backlines. Each move since then has taken place on six simulated five-dimensional boards in my head, reconstructing all social and economic structures represented by this abstract battlefield. Your rook can barely withstand siege, let alone afford a sortie. Your knights cannot fodder their horses and your pawns will revolt against you and flee the field to look to their own before the next turn is out. Will you concede your crown gracefully to me or prolong your people’s suffering?”

The mayor sighed and tipped over his king, which went clack.

“I see, I see, I see,” said the old man, shaking his hand briskly. “I’ll get back to you on this. Have your people get in touch with mine.”
“Okay,” said the mayor. “What do I do now?”
“Are you still here? Go home. Take a hike.”
“Alright,” said the mayor. He gave a little bow and began the commute to his house, step by loafered step along the bike trail, suit flapping in the wind off the water.

***

The old man kicked back in his seat, snapped his fingers, and sighed as a passerby wordlessly draped her big comfy coat over his thin shoulders. He pointed and a cigar was placed in one hand, a donut in another.

He took a puff. He raised the donut to his mouth.

“Yo, dipshit!”

She was big and white-headed and yellow-mouthed and strong-limbed and her eyes were pale yellow under a fierce brow.

“This is MY park, asshole!” she told him, voice echoing like a gunshot. “You think you can set up in here without me? Think twice!”

“I see, I see, I see,” smiled the old man toothily (and gummily). “You know… I truly wish I had your confidence. Would you care to wager it?”

“Ack! Come at me, loser!”

“I see, I see, I see,” said the old man. His fingers moved over the board with the speed of a pianist’s. Pawns and rooks plopped from the sky into place like whalefalls into sediment “What is your name?”

“None Of Your Business and Eat Shit.”

“I see, I see, I see,” said the old man, his grin growing in width and terribleness.

“Tell me, have you ever played chess?”
“Ack. What’s chess?”
“Chess is –”

“Don’t care, I’ll kick your ass it at.”

“I see, I see, I see. Would you prefer white or black?”

“White and fuck you. Ack! What’s that question mean anyways?”

“Which colour your pieces are.”
“Pieces of what, shit?”
“I see, I see, I see,” chuckled the old man with a noise like tar bubbling. These,” and he held up his black queen, “are chess pieces. Each time we take a turn, we may try to capture them, and whoever is unable to prevent capture of their king wins the-”

She smacked the queen out of his hand so hard his fingers stung.

The old man stared at her. “You-”

She snatched up his knight and swallowed it. “I win,” she coughed. “Ack! Ack! Ack!”

“That’s not allowed, that’s not fair, and that’s a KNIGHT!” seethed the old man. He pointed furiously, finger white with rage. “THAT’S the king!”
She ate the king too.

“You cannot win by EATING THE PIECES!”

“Says who?” she told him. “You? Fuckoff.”
“I see,” intoned the old man, and his prickling little eyes seemed barbed in the pale grey light of the overcast afternoon, “and I see, and I see, and I say, by mine authority, by mine mastery, and by mine grasp of matters intangible, all of which that I hold (within Myself, which I hold perpetually and indefinitely and indefatigably), that you are violating the terms of this agreement, promised by your own named soul and staked upon that within which you hold above all else.” His finger steadied, its blood flow stabilized, and the rustle of the leaves in the park died down to almost nothing at all. “This game you shall abide by, in the name of all that is and all that you are.”

She flipped the board over into the old man’s face.

“You VERMIN!” he shrieked, quite losing hold of himself.

Pressing her advantage, she jabbed the old man in the himself.

With the cry of a jackal he dropped it, with the cry of a baby it burst, and all that the old man was that had been taken from others broke loose and spilled free out into the world to race home to its owners as rivers race to join the sea. The old man howled at this and grasped with his bony hands, and she jabbed them too, and his face, and his beard, and his glittering eyes until he rose up and fled wailing into the sky upon his cane, pursued all the way.

Simon stirred from his place on the park bench beside his mother as he watched them leave, wide-eyed. Something warm slipped back into his chest, but he scarcely noticed.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, small guy?”
“I just saw a man lose at chess to a seagull.”
“Oh thank christ,” said his mother, and she hugged him and bought them fries on the way home.

At four AM, five thousand words into a twenty-thousand-word edit, nigh-graphless and chart-benighted, her data askew, all because of one little slip anyone could have made, Ellen made the decision.

She didn’t realize it at the time. That’s how you get regrets.

In the moment it was very simple. She got up and stretched and groaned and sighed and walked out the door and down the hall and outside and under the dying moon and the light-polluted satellites that were the closest things to stars she sprinkled some popcorn on the ground that were not quite grains and she nearly got the words from the old book at the back of her grandmother’s book right.

“I ask for help, I ask for help. Give me help and I will give you back. I promise this in threat of great terror.”

Then she went indoors failed to edit another ten thousand words and woke up half an hour late for her thesis defense.

“You pass,” said the examination chair, as Ellen rushed into the room sweating and panting and wearing half of two different jackets with no wallet.

“Huh?” she replied.

“You pass,” repeated the examination chair, and Ellen saw that she wasn’t the only one sweating. Her arm was twitching on top of her desk; there were slight cooing noises echoing around the room. She shuddered and feathers spilled out her sleeves. “You pass, you pass, you pass. Are you happy? Are you happy? Can you go now? Can you go now?”
“Err, well, I-”

“I’m NOT TALKING TO YOU,” said the examination chair loudly. “YOU PASS! Go! Be passed! Farewell! Good luck! Goodbye!”

Their arm rustled. A lump moved. The examination chair’s face was paler than a bleached bone from an owl pellet. Everyone else in the room was trying not to breathe too hard. The window was open and there was loose millet on the floor.

“Goodbye,” said Ellen, eventually. And she left the room and shut the door and tried not to think too much about the shrieking and flapping noises, because she had to go home and start making birdboxes. Eleven big birdboxes, one for each year she’d spent at school.

It took a while. But when her arms grew tired or her fingers cramped or her elbow twinged, Ellen just had to look up and through the glass and see a sparrow in a bush and remember the look on her examination chair’s face and just like that, she was motivated again, and everything was fine.

She had her degree, after all.

***

Just before dinner, after the last real estate agent had stopped taking her calls, after her fifth argument with Morgan about how was she going to afford the house if she blew all their savings on her idiot friend’s tech start-up, Ellen made a different decision, or the same one twice.

Because it wasn’t fair. Because Jim had told her it was a sure thing! Because of one itty-bitty eensy-weensy little slip that anyone could have made.

So she ate fast and told Morgan she didn’t want dessert and went out down the street to the little parklette that all her bird boxes hung in where nobody ever tried to take them down, and she spread fresh scratch grain on the ground and she tried something like the words again.

“I ask for help, I ask for help. Give me help and I will grant yours back. I promise this with threat of great terror.”

Then Ellen went indoors, stole leftover desserts from the fridge, told Morgan she had a headache, and passed out.

She woke up to her phone ringing.

“Wurh,” she enunciated to it.

“The property’s down to a hundred k. Take it or leave it.”
“Whud?”
“I said A HUNDRED-K! Every crow goose and pigeon in town moved in overnight and they ALL HAD THE RUNS. It’s guano from wall to wall block to block with this place at the heart of it, and nobody wants to buy a toilet, two-bedroom or not. Take the damned millstone from around my neck and spend the rest of your life rinsing it down for all I give a shit, just pay me and stop talking.”
“Yhus,” said Ellen. And hung up.

Morgan made an inquisitive noise next to her.

“We got a house, babe,” said Ellen. “Gonna go do something first.”
And she placed an order online for ten giant birdfeeders, one for each hundred thousand dollars she’d saved on the house, and a few years of mixed seeds and suet and grain, and a lot of industrial strength guano removal. And when the totals made her wince she thought of the devastation surrounding the place and she relaxed and paid and everything was going to be fine.

She had the house, after all.

***

After Ellen talked to the lawyer, she made a decision and knew it.

Because Morgan was going to end up with the kids.

Because Morgan was going to end up with the house.

Because everyone was going to take Morgan’s side.

Because word was going to get out and she still didn’t have tenure yet.

Because of one itty-bitty eensy-weensy little slip that anyone could have made and that wasn’t any sort of big deal ever because come on of COURSE professors did this sort of thing, half the stupid books the English department went on about were about professors doing this sort of thing, because this sort of thing were undergraduates and well who cares? What’s the big deal? Why pick on her for it?

With all that in her head, it was easier to do it than ever. She didn’t have to ignore what her body was doing, she didn’t have to stop paying attention, she could dig the book out of storage and flip to the page she remembered, she could shake her head ruefully at how fuzzy her memory had gotten, and she could take the book and a bag of uncooked hot dogs out to the back porch and slit the bag open like a gutted hen and chant:

“I ask for help, I ask for help. Give me help and I will give it back. I promise this under threat of great terror.”

And then she went indoors and had a cup of coffee while she filled out a few online delivery orders and a lot of grades followed by an early, contented night. When she got the phone call at lunch the next day she’d had plenty of time to tell herself how to be concerned.

“Seagulls? Really? And they carried them away out the window? Oh my god. How awful! I know we had our differences, but not like this….oh no, oh no, sob. Sob. Sniff. I’ll move on and heal. I guess I’d better call the lawyers, wheeeeeeeee talk to you soon bye thanks.”

Click.

“Yes!”

The packages were already on time even. Fourteen marble bird baths of massive scale and elegance, one for each year of her and Morgan’s marriage, squatting at her doorstep like giant expensive toads. But joy made Ellen’s arms strong and her heart light, and so the hours it took to get them into the backyard felt like minutes, and the hours it took to get them situated felt like hours, and the hours it took to get them assembled felt like days and by the time the basin slid off the biggest one and landed on her foot and broke her toe she felt like she’d been looking at these stupid fucking things for YEARS so she hopped and screamed and just did one itty-bitty eensy-weensy little tiny little tiny nothingburger of a kick at the nearest tree.

One of her birdhouses slid out of it like a yolk from a cracked egg.

Ellen looked at the rubble.

A yolk from a cracked egg slid out of it.

“For fuck’s sake,” she sighed. “Stupid bullshit. Goddamned nothing going wrong. Just one kick, Jesus. Piss on it all.”

She had two armfuls of towels and a hammer when her phone rang.

“Hello?”
“Is this Ellen Moody?”
“Doctor Ellen Moody.”
“Not necessarily? You’re being investigated for academic misconduct. It seems your thesis defense may have been rigged; every member of the examination team has come forward alleging that they were held at pigeonpoint during your presentation. Also if you come on campus you’ll be removed by security.”

Ellen gave this careful forethought while her thumb hung up without asking the rest of her. She stared at the blank screen and tried to form a thought that wasn’t screaming.

An email popped up. Blessed distraction.

Hello!

Exciting news! Your home is being repossessed!

Ellen’s thumb conspired with the rest of her hand to wing her phone into the nearest wall and jump backwards, landing on her broken toe. Her scream was drowned out in the doorbell, her paranoia was washed away by her pain and anger. It could be the police, it could be the university’s president, it could be God with a laser gun, whoever was there was going to PAY for existing near her.

She opened the door.

It was Morgan.

They were wrapped in a long cloak of ragged cloth and white-and-grey gull feathers, their cheeks and brows dark-marked with a paste of guano and volcanic sand to keep the sun from their eyes. In one hand they bore a staff of spiralling driftwood, hardened by wind and wave; in the other they cradled a hand now missing its two shortest fingers. Standing next to them was a three-meter phorusrhacid.

Its beak was half a meter long, dagger-tipped, and axe-thin. Its eyes were big but seemed small in its face. Its feathers were grassland grey-and-tan.

Both of them were looking at her.

“They told me the rules,” said Morgan, and their smile was the warm little thing that had made Ellen look twice. “Three times. You know the threat.”
Ellen’s body made the decision without her realizing to open her mouth and say something.

“It’s not fair,” probably. “Hold on a second,” could be. “Help!” maybe. She could’ve thought of a lot of things.

But she didn’t realize the decision she was making by moving. Only one slip, but that’s how you get regrets.

Just for a little moment though.

Lake Legonk has been renowned for tales of the mysterious creature (or creatures) lurking in its depths since the mid-1920s.  Today, to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the first sighting of the unknown beast, the Legurk Laconic is pleased to bring the public the first known interview with it as part of our Local Legends series. 

It’s a pleasure to meet a local legend.  What’s your name?

It’s ccLLrCKC CC Davis, and it’s a pleasure to meet you as well – oh, but you can call me Mrs. Davis, I know the contraglottal gun-stops are a bit much on a mammalian throat. No sense asking after any Mr. Davis, though, not since the expedition of ’73.  You know, I can’t remember the last visitor I got out here.  Maybe Ms. Murdoch?  Yes, that nice young Ms. Murdoch, before she ran for mayor.  That was…’89, I think?  Yes, ’89.  I remember because she campaigned on fixing the stoplights and that didn’t happen until ’93, and oh my everyone was upset about that.  “Let her be!” I said.  “She’s working on it!”  Well, I didn’t say that, because I didn’t have visitors, but that’s just how it is when you’re a mysterious creature living in a lake, isn’t it?  Oh, and what’s your name?

Why did you decide to become a local legend?

Well, as with so many young people, I did it by mistake while trying to make my parents upset.  ‘Go into the family business!’ my father said; but no, I didn’t like fishing.  ‘Find a nice young man and settle down!’ my mother said; but no, I was too young to be tied down by calves.  ‘Come to antarctica with me to explore the eldenreefs!’ my sister said; but no, I preferred milder winters and a sun that spent at least half-a-day above the horizon year-round.  So I spurned them all and wandered the Atlantic until my money ran low, then I checked the papers for low rents and came out here to Lake Legonk and set myself up in an abandoned car around the lake’s midpoint – I believe it was one of the first cars in the area; the first car crash too.  ‘Budgie’ Meggs, the great anti-prohibitionist.  They said he drove it into Legonk in defiance when they blocked the road off ahead, but personally I think he was just blind drunk and couldn’t steer worth a damn. Always a bad idea to sample the product, you know.  I never touched the stuff myself, still haven’t – oh, the young people loved me, and then they loved stories about majestic-12, and then they loved to talk about the nines and elevens, and then chemical trailways, and nowadays lordy lou I simply can’t keep up.  Personally I think they should’ve stuck to telling stories about mystery creatures, but I’m scarcely an unbiased audience, am I, dear?  But I’ve never believed a word of it.  Don’t bite a story someone’s dangling in front of you just because it’s shiny and tells you you’re cleverer than everyone else, you hear me?  You’re a reporter, you’d better know what I’m talking about or we’ve all not got the hope the good lord gave a clam.

How did you become a local legend?

You know, when I first came to Lake Legonk it was a little bit of a backwater (oh, the pun is unintended, please don’t put that in the paper!).  See, once the War had ended the little Graw Factory had to stop making shells and go back to canning fish, and the demand simply wasn’t the same.  Half the town was unemployed, half the town upped sticks and left, and half the town wasn’t in a very good mood about it.  So I thought, well, ccLLrCKC CC CtrlcK, I bet what these people really need right now – really really truly need, above all else, what they’re lying awake in bed at night aching for, tears leaking from their eyes and dampening their pajamas – is silly stories about a big odd beasty living in their drinking water.  No, no, don’t laugh – it’s true!  Nothing distracts from everything like nothing does, and what’s more of a nothing than a mysterious creature?  It’s a big-fish-tale that the whole town can share, and unlike a real fish, you’ll never have to clean it or gut it or debone it or cook it or scrape it into the trash can because your finicky husband doesn’t appreciate pickled eel heads.  Silly little jaws on you primates, too small and slender to crunch through a nice chewy skull – oh, but I shouldn’t bother you with old wives’ arguments, should I? Nice young person with your fancy little recording computer, I’ll bet the girls are lining up at your door and all the fussing I’m talking about is whole months away in your future, isn’t it?  I tell you, once I started up my act, it didn’t take long for the handsome sort to beat a path (pardon: ROW a path) to my door.  They say power’s an aphrodisiac – pish posh, it’s peanuts to fame, and I was the most famous thing in town.  “Mah, I’m dating the girl from the postcards” they said of me – hah! A few hard lessons I had to learn then, with strict grades: whimsy isn’t infatuation; infatuation isn’t love; and love’s a finicky blossom that needs plenty of flipper grease to keep it watered or it shrivels and dies on you and never comes back.  Still, I don’t think I truly regret a thing; who I am now, I am because of mistakes I’ve made, and what would I be if I’d never made them?  Smaller and plainer and safer and duller than dishwater, I’d wager. 

What did you enjoy the most about being a local legend?

A bit awkward to answer this one, because I know what I should say and I know what the truth is.  I SHOULD say ‘the people’ all right and proper, because I did meet so so so MANY of them and a lot of them were just lovely, like Dr. Dermlet; and the Papes who ran the eat-and-shop down by Orchid Bay; and little Bixie Besquet who I pushed back to shore after she waded out too deep without water wings – I was godmother to her firstborn, you know?  Charles?  He died back in… after the turn of the millennium, surely.  A little young, I thought.  A real shame.  But anyways I can’t say ‘the people’ because what I loved most of all was the THRILL.  The sheer rush of it all, a cocktail made from 90-proof Getting Away With It and a red-hot twist of All Eyes Are On Me topped with a little meaty olive of How Can I Top This Next?  It went straight to my head and blew the top right off, I tell you.  And I always could top it next time!  I could!  There was a solid thirty-year stretch where I couldn’t help but improve – at first I was doing the old could’ve-been-a-branch trick, where I tugged old dead trees along just above the surface on rough-water days, and when that got folks buzzing I started startling moose into crossing the lake in the hazy twilight, always the cows, without the antlers see; and then after that I met Dr. Dermlet. Oh, that dentist was the devil himself!  He caught me coming up for my bimonthly breath and he introduced himself bold as anything and asked if I’d ever thought of setting up photos, and when I told him showing the truth’d ruin the mystique he laughed straight in my face and said ‘honey, a photo only shows the truth if you want it to: I can lie to a camera’s face like it was my old teacher.’  And oh he did!  We rigged up a model of my head made of wood and plaster and I put it on top of my ACTUAL head and puttered along just beneath the surface and he took pictures until my neck hurt so badly I thought it would pop right off like a cork, then we sent the finest of those photos off to the papers and…. Well.  That was when the tourist trade took off, and it didn’t die down for the next half-century.  I was the economy of Legurk after that, more or less – a weekend didn’t go by when I wasn’t shooing a school of fish by a radar camera or leaving snapped and chewed driftwood all over the beaches or playing long notes on my bassoon at the wee hours of the morning, and the public ate it all up with a shovel, never mind their spoons.  Dear old Dr. Dermlet.  He left town in a hurry back in ’49, I think… after two of his wives met each other by chance at the grocery store and started up a conversation on their husband’s fussiness about how he liked his salmon baked, then realized things weren’t adding up.   A scoundrel in every way!  I wonder what happened to him, sometimes.

What was the most difficult thing about being a local legend?

The hangover.  The longer the rise, the loftier the peak, the more dreary and endless the fall – you’ll be sick to your stomach long before you reach the ground, and once you do, oh my God does it ache.  And the worst part is that you lose the fear of it after you’ve spent enough time up there – little dips and eddies happen all the time.  So what if there’s a lull in cruise excursions this year?  It’s happened before.  So what if one of your eyewitness accounts gets nudged off front page by royal family gossip?  It’s happened before.  So what if you get in another argument with your husband over how much money he’s spending on clothing and he takes a few days to come out of his snit and never quite says I’m sorry?  It’s happened before.  And it has!  It did!  But lines are made out of lots of little dots all arranged just so, and you can’t tell what angle they’re leading you until you’re already hellbent on the downslope.  I do think the tipping point was the expedition of ’73, though.  That went so very poorly, and though I do regret it every night I refuse, I absolutely cannot condone admitting partial fault in any of it.  It was Mr. Davis’s idea (he and his fool friend-of-his-brother’s), not mine, and I followed the instructions of the wretched bathyscaphist to the very crossed t and dotted i, and what happened?  No more cameras, no more press team, no more bathyscaphe, and no more husband.  If they hadn’t sued me first I would’ve sued them – imagine, blaming me for bumping the hull in the wrong place – me!  The location was specially marked and plotted!  Me!  Saying I didn’t know my own strength, as if I hadn’t pulled and snapped half-a-thousand 12-pound-test fishing lines over the years without once hauling a gawker overboard!  I tell you, it was a real struggle not to swear in court, and they were damned well lucky my mother raised a gentlewoman who took the first half of that word seriously.  Wretched, nasty little snivelling scrapmongers, if you’ll pardon me saying so. I expect my fame would’ve shrunk even faster if I’d tried to keep myself in public after that, they put me in so bad a mood; everyone wants to hear about a mysterious creature in the lake, but nobody wants to have one slap your canoe tit-over-tail because she’s in a foul mood due to litigious weasels.  As it was I let myself moulder, I ate a lot of bottom-feeding fish, and after a decade or two of sulking…well.  I think the quiet had grown on me.  There were a few skeptical investigations of the lakebed I played along with, but I’m content to let the people play as they please by now. 

As a local legend, there anything you would like the readers to know?

Don’t marry your agent.

Thank you for your time

And thank you for yours.  Just, one little thing, if possible – would you.  Could you take a photo of me?  Just give the lens of your camera a smear, and – I don’t have any vaseline, but you can use your thumbprint for that.  Just one blurry photo?  Please?

ccLLrCKC CC Davis is the creature of Lake Legonk and a Local Legend of Legurk.  To read other articles in our Local Legends series and fund its continued growth, please subscribe to our parent news organization.

BOOGEYMAN DISTRICT 5781A, SUNDAY 18, OCTOBER 2026, 8:00-9:00PM

In Attendance

Mr. Socks Arthur, Chairman & President

Mr. The Hairy Man, Vice-President

Ms. A Dinosaur, Secretary

Mr. Dracula #74871

Mx. Narrow Harrow

Agenda

-Welcoming of the new member

-Roll call

-Discussion of the move

-Refreshment break

-Vote on proceedings

-Final comments

Minutes of Meeting

8:00PM: A hearty welcome is granted to Mx. Narrow Harrow, the fifth and newest member of the district.  Chairman & President Socks Arthur extends his personal gratitude to our expanded circle and assures all present that the district treats all its members equally, regardless of whether they originate from the internet, the silver screen, or a gruesome story told by a babysitter.  Mr. Dracula #74871 inquires as to whether or not that extends to family members of the founders of the boogeyman professional association.  Vice-President The Hairy Man tells him to shut up.  Mr. Dracula #74871 inquires as to if that was an order.  The Chairman & President makes use of the ceremonial gavel.

8:05PM: Roll call begins.  Vice-President The Hairy Man motions to first complete the order of discussion from the prior meeting concerning the allocation of closet vs under-the-bed vs corner-of-the-eye hours (see minutes of SUNDAY 11, OCTOBER 2026) as the meeting was concluded before all parties had made closing arguments.  Chairman & President Socks Arthur decrees that it wait until after roll call.  Mx. Narrow Harrow informs the Chairman & President that according to the district charter the prior meeting was never formally concluded due to absence of closing arguments and therefore a new roll call is prohibited without interim absence (through injury or misfortune) or departure of any participants present.  Mr. Dracula #74871 calls them a goddamned nerd.  Mx. Narrow Harrow says they did the reading before arriving.  Mr. Dracula #74871 demands to know if they actually did that or just asked a chatbot.  Chairman & President Socks Arthur censures Mr. Dracula #74871 for offensive stereotyping.  Mr. Dracula #74871 appeals the censure on the grounds that using a chatbot as a poor substitute for personal research is a general indication of poor scholarship and knowitallism, not one restricted to those originating from the internet.  Vice-President The Hairy Man concludes his closing argument concerning the allocation of closet vs under-the-bed vs corner-of-the-eye hours.  All present agree to whatever it was.

8:15PM: Roll call begins.  Mr. Dracula #74871 complains that he is the only member of the district without a title.  Mx. Narrow Harrow points out that they don’t have a title either.  Mr. Dracula #74871 says that anyone with an entry on NameThatMeme.com doesn’t deserve a title.  Mx. Narrow Harrow says that anyone who needs a serial number to be identified and isn’t even based off of one of the good draculas like Lugosi or Lee shouldn’t throw stones in a glass home.  Mr. Dracula #74871 demands the censure of Mx. Narrow Harrow.  Chairman & President Socks Arthur announces the refreshment break is happening early. 

8:30PM: Refreshment break concludes.  Vice-President The Hairy Man raises the issue of allocation of behind-the-dryer hours vs in-the-hallway hours vs outside-the-window hours, adjusted for a given member’s personal and professional preference for ambush, lurking, and out-of-doors work.  Chairman & President Arthur Socks loudly introduces discussion of the imminent moving, tabling sub-topics of (A) relocation of district headquarters on the new premises (B) surveying and division of new boogeying areas (e.g. creaky floors, dark corners) and (C).  Mx. Narrow Harrow politely notices that a new discussion may not begin with a raised issue by a member in good standing.  Mr. Dracula #74871 informs Mx. Narrow Harrow that Vice-President The Hairy Man isn’t in good standing with anyone because if he were he’d have been nepo-helicoptered into a cushy boardroom at Boogeyman Central. 

8:40PM: Vice-President The Hairy Man demands a vote for expulsion of Mr. Dracula #74871 from the district. Mx. Narrow Harrow clarifies that such a vote may not be called for by any member who is (A) a non-officer or (B) directly involved in dispute with the potential expulsee.  Vice-President The Hairy Man informs Mx. Narrow Harrow that they should shut the h#ck up and demands to know why, if Chairman & President Socks Arthur is too big a wuss to stand up to Mr. Dracula #74871, Secretary A Dinosaur hasn’t.  Secretary A Dinosaur informs the district at large that it is very difficult to type up minutes without the ability to pronate one’s hands and she is focused on her work.  Vice-President The Hairy Man suggests that Secretary A Dinosaur use dictation software.  Secretary A Dinosaur informs the district at large that her vocalizations are outside the range of human comprehension.  Mr. Dracula #74871 raises the issue of why Secretary A Dinosaur is qualified for her position given the ‘obvious inadequacies’ of her physical form.  Secretary A Dinosaur provides a frank and full demonstration of the inadequacies of a hominid bauplan when confronted with raptorial prey restraint (RPR).

8:55PM: Application of bandages and repair of meeting room.  Several apologies are demanded and none are given. 

9:05PM: Chairman & President Arthur Socks reintroduces discussion of the imminent moving and its accordant sub-topics.  Mx. Narrow Harrow clarifies that discussions may not be reintroduced within the same date and time that they were initially raised.  Mx. Narrow Harrow is commended for their due diligence, appointed to the position of Chief Legal Officer, and formally gagged using a copy of the district charter. 

9:10PM: Preliminary suggestions of boogeying areas to be surveyed and defined using the new premises’ floorplan are heard.  Mr. Dracula #74871 suggests that all lurking positions be supplied with free bloodbags, suggestion is denied.  Chief Legal Officer Narrow Harrow suggests something through their gag, suggestion is denied. Mr. Dracula #74871 demands an immediate hold on all tabled matters until someone tells him why they get a title and he doesn’t, demand is denied.  Vice-President The Hairy Man suggests that the matter of allocation of hours be hashed out and used to define the borders of boogeying areas on a case-by-case season-by-season member-by-member basis, suggestion is denied and Chairman & President Arthur Socks attempts to ram a balled-up wad of anklets through Vice-President The Hairy Man’s eyesockets. 

9:30PM: Impromptu open-floor exchange of views and injuries is interrupted by Mrs. Thompson’s announcement that if the district doesn’t keep it down she’ll personally ensure the next meeting is conducted inside of the running laundry machine, and that furthermore it is past nine PM, why is nobody in her son’s closet. 

MEETING ADJOURNED