Monday, February 10, 2020

Charge! In Charge

Team infiltrated into the territory of Mortal Enemy. Separately, of course. One here, another there, another and another elsewhere. As the number of members on Team increases the danger of being captured increases exponentially. That is, an ideal Team consists of One agent, but this mission required no less than Two since One cannot be in two places at once and synchronicity of action in two sites was imperative. The risk is quadrupled. But to facilitate coordination and to insure accurate feedback Control thought it prudent to send the third agent. And for a reason totally inexplicable Contol added a fourth agent, thus increasing the likelihood of capture sixteen-fold.

No member of team was happy with the decision, yet all members acquiesced in silence. One does not question Control.  It is called “Control” for a reason. And the team was captured. And incarcerated. Team members languished in prison, plotting escape, of course. Telepathically. Because no two members of Team were held together and not one of them knew the fate of the others.

Until at sunrise one cold February morning when they stood together, hands bound, facing the firing squad. Mortal Enemy gleefully announced the execution, or rather, that is, The Great Victory over the nefarious invader, the hatred for whom is forever fixed in the hearts and minds of all denizens of Mortal Enemy.

Control was terrified and scuttled like cockroaches when the light is flipped on, justifiably seeking cover, for the vengeful character of Charge! was well-known. Charge! viewed all things, and particularly all people through the lens of self-interest. To reject an appointment, or an “offer of service to the people” is to earn the undying disdain of Charge! He will forever castigate and berate the offender. To accept the service is to insure that the will of Charge! is carried out, that is until the servant questions him as a matter of conscience or crosses him inadvertently due to a communications glitch. Charge! in the words of David P. Torbet, “practices a scorched worth policy-- burns his friends to find his enemies.” He despises losers. And a loser is anyone who disagrees with him.

Though Charge! is firmly supported by his base, he is not without opposition. The Disloyal Opposition, Discharge! mans the ramparts with her cadre of minions and consistently plays the role of Flea on the Behind of Charge!’s administration. Charge! stands at the peak of the pyramid of like-minded followers. Discharge continues the never-ending assault to the unfortunate end that the very fabric of society is snagged. Then ripped. Then torn to shreds and the country descends, nay, plummets into Chaos.

And thus is no more.  Mortal Enemy finally achieves its goal of complete domination, and without firing a shot. Except for the shots of the aforementioned firing squad.

Sunday, February 9, 2020

Dad’s Model-T and Other Stuff #T

My father often sat at his little Royal portable typewriter and pecked out short stories, memories from an earlier day, or lines of verse to describe a recent life event, often stream-of-consciousness revelations of the way his mind worked, Sometimes. 

I am blessed in that I fell heir to a number of his papers and these random tidbits appear here and there throughout. This snippet covers about two-thirds sheet of standard typing paper, single spaced, elite type. There are about a dozen minor corrections in his hand, blue ink.

My business life venture had to include a Model T Ford automobile. Not much to look at, but I was interested in its possibilities as a race car. It had been remodeled with about anything that would fit wherever, after it was twisted, bent, and bound together with a bit of baling wire, if necessary, and it was generally necessary in those days to have a spool of that kind of mending material for emergencies experienced along the road when far from help of any kind. I do believe that the Ford was brought into existence by Henry Ford as a powerful stimulant to the creative powers of the lower middle class people who were unable to pay for road service when caught far from home. The directions to successful traveling included an odd type of jack & handle, and a small patching kit with which to mend an inner tube. Of course the handle could be used for other purposes after patching inner tubes on hot days. Distance travelers often patched as many as ten or twelve tires in a day. Oh, yes, I almost forgot, a pump of sorts that could be used for inflating the tire. After all that perspiration loss and energy waste the handle could be used to beat the devil out of the car itself, or at least that was the thought. I saw a deep dent lengthwise on a car’s front fender. The driver’s wife explained when the driver was too embarrassed to do so. She said, “It wouldn’t run, so Lester gave it a beating.” Because those were depression days in the 30s, that old car wore its scars with pride for many years. One fender was patched up with a ball peen hammer, pushed back into an acceptable position, and wore this sign: “It’s quilted.”

Temper tantrums were observed by some as noted, but how times have changed. Too many times the driver with auto trouble takes a swig out of a bottle, does a little exercise with blasphemous words then beats the devil out of his wife, scares the little kids nearly to death, then leaves them all until his guilty soul lets him crawl back to his family without an apology. Happy change when the two-footed demon is safely incarcerated. I do think that all society owes itself an apology for the nice places they have for these fellows to sober up in (drunk or just ungoverned tempers).

Part of my business life with my running away from our home of ten children.