Monster Media 1993 #2/Image.iso/magazine/s_m0793.zip/S&M-07

Text File | 1993-06-20 | 11KB | 175 lines

 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
 John's Diner░░░░░░░░░░░ It Is What It Is... ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ by Del Freeman
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         "What IS this stuff?" demanded Ruby Begonia in a loud voice.
    Several heads turned to regard her, wide-eyed. "I mean LOOK at it.
    Does anybody know what it is?" She took her fork and picked at the
    brown puddle atop a mound of something on her plate. The substance
    clung to the tines of her fork like glue.
         "Just shut up and eat it, Ruby," advised Al Ruffin. "The
    show's gonna' be starting any minute."
         "Listen up, Ruffin... just because some scam artist beat us
    out of $27.95 for lunch and a lecture on the values of life,
    doesn't mean I've got to eat stuff I can't identify. Nosirree,
    fella. If I can't recognize it, I'm not eating it. Unless somebody
    can identify this stuff right now, I'm calling the lab to have it
    analyzed." She folded her arms stubbornly, staring at the mass of
    something on her plate.
         "It's not bad, Ruby," said Zack Klein between mouthfuls. "Has
    this kind of nutty flavor - really tasty."
         "Besides, Rube, you know it's good for you. I mean, the
    brochure promised it would be all high roughage and strictly
    vegetarian," said Waddell Robbey.
         "And that's another thing," answered Ruby, picking up where
    she'd left off earlier, "that brochure. Who ever saw one carved in
    cuttlebone like that, anyway? I tell you, this whole thing's a rip-
    off. Whoever this mysterious Great Master is, I'm willing to bet
    he hasn't got any more answers than the rest of us. You people are
    nuts. Here we are, halfway across the U.S., just veritable inches
    away from a good sax solo and a relaxing evening with Sweet William
    and the Hillster, and what are we doing? I'll tell you what we're
    doing. We're sitting here jammed into this tent like the homeless,
    waiting for some scam artist to change our lives. I don't know why
    I ever let myself get talked into this... closing the Half Shell
    all weekend, probably losing thousands of bucks just to sit around
    drinking rose water, (what the heck is that, anyway?), and
    listening to some scam artist talk trash. Nuts!"
         "Ruby, you won't get anything out of this if you don't try to
    expand your consciousness," advised Michael Hahn. "What it is is
    what it is," he intoned. "I am it and you are it and it is it."
         "Ah, Zen *This,* Michael," snapped Ruby. She looked around the
    tent, mentally tallying $27.95 per person, adding an additional
    $27.95 for Lucia's hat, which occupied its own seat. "You know,
    this Great Master clown is cleaning up on these suckers," she
    opined. "Maybe we can get in on this action..."
         "The master doesn't care about money, Ruby," said Michael. "He
    only wants to help mankind live in harmony."
         "Yeah, well, nothing's quite so harmonious as a Cadillac with
    a trunk full of cash," said Ruby.
         A drum roll announced the evening's performance, and busboys
    dressed in flowing white robes rushed to clear away plates before
    the lights dimmed. The curtains on stage parted to reveal a large
    globe, pulsating with light. Mood music filled the tent, rose to
    a crescendo and then diminished as a calm voice began an
    incantation.
         "O, hear us mighty one. We come to you in supplication. Our
    lives are harried, frantic... without meaning and purpose. We seek
    solace, guidance... peace. We salte you, O mighty Garfinkel."
    The audience moaned in rapture as murmurs of "Garfinkel, yes,
    yes," rose from the crowd.
         "Who? WHO? Did he say GARFINKEL?" Ruby demanded. "Does he mean
    Garfinkel as in the cartoon cat, Garfinkel? Or does he mean
    Garfinkel as in Simon and, Garfinkel?"
         The crowd shushed her and turned their rapt faces back toward
    the pulsating globe as the voice droned on... "It is what it is.
    Accept it. Embrace it. Become one with it..." said the disembodied
    voice.
         The voice recited every platitude Ruby could imagine. It
    preached peace. It talked about stress management. It explained
    supply and demand and how to open those zip lock boxes so the
    thingies actually popped up. Finally it got to the pitch.
         "...and so, faithful friends, the ministeries of the Great
    Master thrive on love but they run on money. Yes, friends, that
    root of all evil thing which we all acknowledge. It costs money to
    offer you the fine repast you have enjoyed this evening..."
         "...and just what the hell was it, anyway?" muttered Ruby.
         "...just as it costs money to bring you the word of the
    prophet. For now, only we few recognize the teachings of the great
    leader, but soon, my friends, soon... the whole world will know the
    wisdom of Garfinkel. That's why you must give. Give til it hurts.
    Give til you can't give anymore and then give some more. We must
    keep the eternal light of life and happiness pulsating continually,
    brethren, and that takes sheckles. If the word is to spread, my
    flock, it will spread on your bounty. Let us meditate as we
    contribute to the cause..."
         The crowd began to chant "Oooohm... Garfinkel... Oooohm...
    Garfinkel..." as the busboys in white robes passed among them,
    wearing Garfinkel cat eats on their shaved shaved heads and
    brandishing plastic trash cans. Two or three of the crowd seemed
    to convulse in seizures, muttering in a non-language, their eyes
    rolling back in their heads.
         "The spirit is upon them," Michael told Ruby as he dug deep
    in his pocket for his offering. "Oh, God, I only wish I could
    achieve such an exhalted state," he breathed.
         "Egad," said Ruby.
                                   ***
         Ruby and her friends sat in the darkened tent listening to the
    silence.
         "Now what are we gonna' do?" whispered Zack.
         "Probably have to rent a bus to get back home," said Waddell
    in hushed tones. "Ruby, I don't know why you had to go and start
    up with the bus driver about the legitimacy of his birth, anyway."
         "Well, technically she didn't exactly do that," said Al
    Ruffin. "All she did was inquire as to whether he was a divine
    creature, sprung from the loins of the Prophet, Garfinkel. I mean,
    it was a legitimate question...".
         "It was a legitimate question that got us stranded here in
    this moldy tent all night, that's what it was," said Waddell in
    annoyance.
         "Oh cool your jets and keep your voice down, Waddell," said
    Ruby. "Doncha' wanna' see who's behind this scheme? That turkey's
    gotta' come out of there sometime, and when he does, we'll be
    waiting. Right here. You don't think he's gonna abandon those cans
    of money, do you?" She pointed to the side of the tent where more
    than a dozen small trash cans sat overflowing with change and
    dollar bills.
         The light went off.
         The pulsating light promising eternal life and happiness just
    went off.
         "Maybe the batteries burned out," offered Al.
         "Nah," said Ruby. "Whoever's behind this whole scheme turned
    it off, stupid. Why waste electricity on an empty tent? Didja think
    that thing was real? Shoot, it's just a money-making gimmick. I
    suspect we're gonna' see who's been fleecing us any minute."
         They heard a click, click, click in the darkness and turned
    their heads toward the sound. They waited silently.
         Clickclickclickclickclickclick. The sound came closer.
         They heard movement near the trash cans.
         "HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" shouted Ruby, snatching her roadside
    companion heavy-duty flashlight from her "So many men, so little
    time... but take a number" totebag and aiming it at the cans of
    money.
         The creature caught in the spotlight turned at the sound of
    her voice, blinking against the harsh spotlight.
         "Ooooohm..." intoned Ruby.
         "Ooooohm, indeed," echoed her companions.
         "So, what do you have to say for yourself?" Ruby demanded.
         "A bird's got to make a living," answered Cosmo.
         "And what was that gunk you served us for dinner?" she asked.
         "Eggplant," said Cosmo. "Eat it, it's good."
         "$27.95 for eggplant and some mumbledygook about a cartoon
    cat?! Jeez, Cos, you've got no scruples whatsoever, have you? This
    scheme has already been tried, you know. I mean, you're missing Toto,
    but otherwise you've got it down pat."
         "Yeah. Somebody should definitely NOT have allowed you to
    watch The Wizard of Oz, Cosmo," judged Zack.
         "Wait a minute, Zack, this gives me an idea," said Ruby.
    "Hmmmm, maybe he's got something here. What if we took this show
    on the road? Imagine how many suckers just like us we could
    fleece... at $27.95 apiece, say 15 cities in 30 days, uhh,
    that's ... ummm... that's ... well, it's a lot of money. What do
    you say we become Cosmo's silent partners?"
         "Awwwwk!" squawked Cosmo. "Pierce your spleen!" he threatened.
         "Well, now Cos," said Ruby in a patronizing tone, "you don't
    really think anybody would pay money for this if they knew a bird
    was behind it, do you? It seems to me like you have little choice
    in this matter."
         Cosmo subsided, considered his options, looked yearningly at
    the buckets of money and dropped his head.
         "That's better," said Ruby. "Okay, now gang, are we in or
    what?"
         They shook hands and proceeded to heft the cans of money onto
    the pick-up truck Cosmo had waiting outside. Ruby and Zack Klein
    climbed into the front seat. Waddell, Al and Cosmo hopped atop the
    back of the flatbed and they turned the truck in the direction of
    the next town and the next windfall.
         "Say Cos," ventured Al as the truck pulled onto the expressway
    ramp leaving Virginia, "what WAS that stuff on top of the eggplant,
    anyway?"
         "Peanut butter," admitted Cos. "A bird's got to eat."

                               -end-
                   Copyright (c) 1993 Del Freeman