Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Happy Hallowthanksmas!



This is an excerpt from The Great Rutabaga Insurrection. Very rough, first draft.

***

Being appalled turned into rage as he saw the Thanksgiving Day decorations setting next to the Halloween decorations. There were a few inflatable Tom the Turkeys, stuffed pilgrims, autumn themed oven mittens, and fancy multicolored leaves, but nothing to justify the slashing of the Halloween decorations. PK turned on the lights to get a better look.

“Nutmeg,” he flatly said as he saw nothing but a Christmas Wonderland inside the warehouse. He started to shake and shiver like that Elvis chap back in Lost Wages, Nevada. This was blasphemy in its highest form, Halloween was still days away and the store was loaded with festive decorations of a holiday that was still two months away!

He finally collected himself, “Bah humbug!” he snarled. “Where is he?!?” the pumpkin stormed around the decorations as thick smoke now billowed from his lid. “Where are you fat man? I’ve had it with you!” He stopped in front of a reindeer; it magically came to life, “Where is he?” The reindeer pointed its shiny scarlet nose to its right. The deer went back to being a decoration as the irritated pumpkin marched away.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! There you are Nick, thought you could easily hide from me, didn’t you?” PK thundered as he stormed over to a life size replica of Santa Claus. PK snapped his fingers, brilliant red, green, and white lights danced around the image of Father Christmas as Jingle Bells could be heard. There as a festive poof of everything good about Christmas and Santa was standing in front of the irate pumpkin.

“PK, what’s the big idea. My elves and I were in the middle of packing for Reykjavik, Iceland; then it’s Albuquerque, New Mexico. Time is short, then I have to pack for Fletcher, North Carolina and then Opa-Locka, Florida,” the exacerbated man said.

“What’s the big idea?!?” PK bellowed. He motioned to the stuff around him, “Take a look, it’s not even Halloween yet! You’re encroaching on my holiday! Do I ever encroach on yours? NO! In fact, pumpkincide continues during Christmas with people drinking coffee and passing out those abominable pies!”

“But PK…,” Santa said.

“Not buts Nick and not to think I’m not appreciative of the Yoko Ono’s Greatest Hits collection on CD last Christmas, because I use it to scare those meddling kids and their dog, but this has got to stop!” PK looked over in the direction towards one of the Tom the Turkey inflatable dolls and snapped his fingers. The gobbler came to life, the turkey talked incoherently fast as it sped over to the indigent pumpkin. He pointed at the fowl with his thumb, “We want to have a word with you.”

The turkey glared at Santa and then nodded in agreement as it gobbled away, “Gobble! Gobble! Gobble!”

PK went on one of his trademarked long winded hot air speeches. “You are a usurper. U, s, u, r, p, e, r; usurper Nick. You should be ashamed of yourself! Didn’t your mother teach you manners Nick?” he asked as he stuck his scrawny index finger in the fat man’s jelly belly. “Oh wait, that’s right, you raised by elves. Instead they taught you how to overeat and binge on milk and sugar cookies!”

Santa innocently opened his arms and tried to talk to the angry pumpkin and turkey, “But PK, Tom…” PK pulled his finger back and shamelessly wagged it at the defensive man, “This is the thanks I get for setting you up with Jessica! She was the hottest girl in town, a redhead no less! All the boys wanted to date her and now look at her! She’s as big as the B.F. Good Wrench blimp! Have you no shame! How could you do this?!?!?”

“But PK…”

“Enough!” PK shouted as Tom once again gobbled something incoherent. “I have had enough of you encroaching upon my holiday! It’s October 27th! Christmas is still fifty nine days away! I can’t even have an evening out on the town with the Russian Widow, Ruby, or Charlotte Knight without hearing Christmas music in October! Sacrilege my boy and blasphemous as well! I shall not stand for this anylonger!”

“But PK…,” poor Santa tried to interject but the pumpkin was on a roll.

“Tell him Tom!”

The snarling gobbler took a deep breath, his beak widened as he exhaled. Santa blinked as Tom spoke faster than the IXS Enterprise on that Star Wreck TV show. PK’s mouth slowly opened as he couldn’t even understand the mad turkey, but he nodded his head and went with it. The crazed bird finished and put his wings on his side.

“Anything to say for yourself, Nick…,” PK gnarled.

The wise man slowly spoke in a nonthreatening tone, “PK, Tom, I’m just as appalled as you two are about the commercialization of Christmas. Remember that I’m just a symbol of Christmas, a secular symbol.

Santa pointed over to a nativity, “That’s the reason PK.” The Bethlehem Star on top of the barn brightly shined as the barn yard animals were lowing. There was a flash of light and two angels appeared next to the barn. They wore dazzling white robes. The angels smiled as they looked at the pumpkin. In a blink of an eye they were gone, the animals returned to their inanimate state, and the star turned itself off.

Saint Nick turned his attention back to the pumpkin and turkey, “I’m not the real reason, just like Tom isn’t the real reason for Thanksgiving. I’m not the real reason for the season. I don’t make my first official appearance until after the annual JC Brady Have a Happy Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

“Uh…” the dumbstruck pumpkin uttered.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

NaNoWriMo 2015



This is an except from The Great Rutabaga Insurrection, my NaNoWriMo project. This is the first draft, very rough.

***

Inside an armored hangar of Gotham NAS sat a sleeping F/A-39 Crusader II. Old Glory was proudly displayed behind her as the hypersonic bird rested. Her pilot, Lieutenant Commander Ryan Wolf, had his hand on her fuselage as he admired the new nose art that read, “Brooklyn.” It was in honor of his bodacious wife, Brooke. Her middle name is Lynn, thus her nickname was Brooklyn.

“A penny for your thoughts lieutenant,” CAG said, snapping Wolf from his musing.

“It feels wonderful to be back,” the smiling pilot replied.

“We’re grateful to have you back,” the Vietnam era pilot stated.

“This time of the year I would be getting geared up to escort Santa Claus.”

“Miss it?”

“Yes and no. It was fun, Santa’s sleigh could bend the space-time continuum to make the flight only last a few hours. However, to the body it was a near day, sometimes I was dragging my leg behind me as I limped to my front door.”

“Yes and you probably had someone waiting on you to massage it, didn’t you lieutenant?” CAG smirked.

“Ruby a couple of years, Jessica one year…,”

“Forget I asked lieutenant,” Quinn said as he waved his hands. The phone rang, “Hold that thought.” He answered it, “Commander Quinn speaking.”

He patiently listened and the replied, “What’s that ensign? Pike, slow down, I can barely understand you.” He listened and flashed a funny look “What do you mean we’re missing a tank? What’s going on ensign?!?!” he asked. Seconds later he spoke again, “You’re on I-995.” What? Call the main gate.” CAG put the phone down and looked at Ryan, “Your pumpkin frenemy stole a M60A3 MBT (Main Battle Tank) its heading west on Interstate 995. Intercept and engage if need be.”

Bittersweet for Ryan, he was ecstatic to get back into the air, but PK was driving a tank. He was legendary for his shenanigans, but this one topped them all. He dressed and scrambled up his birds ladder. He sat down in the cockpit and strapped himself in as the hangar doors opened. He put his helmet on and awakened his bird with the push of a button.

He strapped his oxygen mask on and taxied out to the tarmac. Butterflies filled his stomach as he reached the launching point. “Wolf 1, this is Eagle Control. You are cleared to launch.” His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and engaged the VTOL (Vertical Takeoff Landing). The butterflies vanished as the Crusader effortlessly lifted off the ground.

It was wonderful to be back in the air. It felt like Pike’s Peak had been lifted off his shoulders, he felt like a kid in a candy store; even if that stupid pumpkin had stolen the nearly mothballed tank.

PK’s large head was sticking out the top as he drove the USMC (United States Marine Corps) tank. He had somehow placed a helmet atop his rotund orange head. He didn’t bother to snap it on; the chin strap was flapping in the wind as the tank lumbered down the interstate. Accidents were transpiring but that didn’t concern the king of the pumpkins. He had to get this tank to the pumpkin patch and stopped those nasty armored rutabagas turned the entire continent into a rutabaga field!

The Crusader shrieked overhead, PK lifted up his head and smiled, “Welcome back my boy!”

“Foxtrot, PK. What the hell is going on?” Wolf demanded.

“Whoa! You kiss Brooke with that mouth? I’m going to call your mother and tell her you forgot all about those manners she taught you. Perhaps she’ll drive up and wash your mouth out with soap so the next time you kiss Brooke your mouth will be clean!”

Wolf snapped, “I’ve been authorized to stop…”

“Stand down lieutenant! We have a national security issue here,” Colonel Rogers’s voice popped in on the radio. “PK was given permission to take the tank, but the Pentagon failed to notify Gotham NAS. You are ordered to assist him.”

“Join me Ryan, together we can rule New Jersey as Pumpkin and Wolf!”

“PK, would you stop playing Star Warp! One little mishap and you’re going to take out innocent civilians!”

“I’m hardly playing my boy. Lord Magenta Khan is about to detonate the Genesis Apparatus! North America will be turned into a rutabaga patch,” the pumpkin said as he put goggles over his fiery triangular eyes.

“Now he’s playing Star Wreck,” Wolf groaned.