Superheroes -- A One Minute Story

"Tell me a story! Tell me a story!"

"What kind of story?" I said, an errant drop of milk running from my spoon down my chin.

"Tell me a ... a Superhero story!"

"A superhero story? What kind of superhero story?"

"Tell me one about Captain Ethan!"

"Captain Ethan? What does he do?"

"Well," said the five-year-old and then tilted his head and looked down for a moment, "He can fly. And he's super strong. With a lot of great equipment. He's got a spaceship and a motorcycle and a jet car. And he's very acrobatic."

"He sounds just like me!"

"Daddy..." the boy said, taking the tone of a five-year-old school teacher. "You can't fly."

"Yeah," I agreed. "That's too bad."

"Can anyone fly?"

"Sure."

"Who?"

"Anyone...in an airplane or a helicopter or a rocket ship or a balloon or a hang glider..."

"Daddy!"

"What?"

"Can anyone fly without those things?"

"Sure...birds, flying squirrels, bats..."

"Squirrels can't fly!"

"Yeah, but they can jump really far..."

"Dumbo can fly, too."

"Yes, but he's a cartoon."

"But he's got these big huge floppy ears."

"Yes, but he's a cartoon."

"I know."

"You know you can't really fly, right?"

"I know..."

Me too, I thought, and took one last look over the tops of the trees and then finished my breakfast.

#

Grifters ... A One Minute Story

"I didn't take it. I really didn't."

John stared at his wife, and hoped he didn't blink. I'm being sincere. I'm being really really really really sincere.

I'm indignant. I'm very indignant. Obviously, anyone who was accused of taking it, and, of course, had not taken it, would be indignant. See how indignant I am?

I wouldn't act this way if I had done what you said. I wouldn't. No one would. This is how one would act if they were accused of doing something that they didn't. Clearly, I am acting that way, and not the other.

"You took it, didn't you?"

Jolene wanted to roll her eyes. John's eyes were shifty. The corners of his mouth were drifting up into that ... not really a smile ... sort of a twitch ...

I hate that look ... it's his worst look. It feels like he's laughing at me ... like he thinks I'm too stupid to understand ... like I'm an idiot and he's toying with me and he thinks he can get away with it...

"No!"

I could push this... I could crush him... But...no, I have to believe him... take him at his word... pretend to understand... it's all for the best...

"Fine."

"Fine."

"So what do we do now?"

"You'll have to tell me," she said.

# # #

Heaven in a Cup

Dunn Bros Coffee

I have tasted of the holy, and it is a Granita.

Not just any Granita, but a large Granita from Dunn Bros. Coffee.

And not just from any Dunn Bros. Coffee, but from the friendly folks in the shop by the historic Minnetonka Mills in Minnetonka, Minnesota. I can't speak for the other shops. I know you can't get this drink everywhere.

Let me just explain that a Granita is akin to the Starbucks Frappacino or Caribou Cooler. Sort of like a Morton's porterhouse is akin to Applebee's House Sirloin.

See, your typical Frappa-whatever is a mix of espresso and milk and water or something, poured over crushed ice and blended. The result is a decent, caffeine-filled, icy confection. Made poorly, you're left with icy chunks and chalky residue from the powdered espresso. Blended too fine, and you get a watery, chalky mush. Drunk with a straw, the liquid mix is typicallys sucked out, leaving you with half-a-cup of brown ice.

But the Granita...ahhh, the Granita. I don't know what they put into it: the usual espresso to be sure...sweet syrups are added... hazelnut? vanilla, to be sure... I don't know... I should ask, but I'm not sure I want to know...

They fill it right to the top, so you tilt it ever so slightly and allow the first taste flow into your mouth. Hold it there a moment. It's like tasting cloud. A cloud of deliciousness. Let the feeling run over you. It's stunning, really. Forgo the straw -- drink it right out of the cup -- it's more delicious that way, and remains delicous right down the bottom of the 20 ounce cup.

Other tips:
- Don't drink the Granita with sweet foods, like doughnuts. The sugar dilutes the tastes of the Granita. Do no dilute the taste of the Granita.
- Accept no substitutes. If your Dunn Bros. offers Frozen Lattes, they're not the same as the Granita. If you don't have a Dunn Bros., I'm sorry. Get thee to Minnetonka!

Maintenance - A One Minute Story

Another short work of fiction...for you, Aaron...

"I'm healthy as a horse! A cow, even!"

"A cow?"

"Yes. A cow. One who has been stuffed full of the most delicious nutritious, muscle-building ingredients. One ready for consumption in the finest of dining establishments."

"So, you're saying you're ready to be slaughtered and eaten, then?"

"What I'm saying is that you have nothing to worry about."

"Well, that's good, then. Was I worried?"

"I thought you were. You should be."

"Now you're just messing with me."

"Aren't I important to you?"

"Of course!"

"Then why aren't you worried?"

"Because you told me not to be! And what would I be worried about?"

"Anything. I could be run over by a bus. Stung by a scorpion. Murdered by a late-night prowler. I could be struck down by an aneurysm. I could have a heart attack."

"Probably from eating all that cow."

"You ought to watch yourself, you know."

"I'm doing just fine, thanks."

"Everyone could use a little maintenance."

"And what, pray tell, do you prescribe for me?"

"You are getting a little heavy. And your diet. I'd be concerned about that."

"I had a salad."

"Yesterday. What nutritional delights did you foist upon yourself today?"

"That'd be a Bacon Double Cheeseburger, Bob."

"That would be lunch...and for dinner?"

"That'd be a Quarter Pounder with Cheese."

"And?"

"And...and I go sit in box and I feel shame."

Silence...

"And then what?"

"And then I get back to work, that's what. How do you feel about that?"

"I feel healthy as a horse!"

# # #

Another Day in Paradise - A One Minute Story

A One-Minute Story(tm)

Johnny sat on the beach, staring at the sunset, bathing suit nestled in the sand and arms wrapped around his knees, which were folded under his chin. He was sitting the way you were supposed to, when you were staring at the sunset, on a beach. He'd been there for two hours. Just like that.

The air had cooled and Johnny held is breath for a moment. It was time. Still he didn't move.

The waves grew larger and more violent for a moment, and then crashed, foaming. The thin vanguard sheet of water slid up the beach, farther than it had before, and, not surprisingly, to Johnny at least, deposited an object at Johnny's feet.

He picked it up. It was a letter-sized resealable plastic bag, with a letter inside.

Johnny unsealed the bag and pulled out the letter, taking care to keep it dry.

He read the letter, crumpled it up, and threw it in the ocean. It dissolved quickly, and disappeared. He laughed, loudly, and if anyone else were around, they'd feel embarrased for him, even if he didn't.

And he didn't stop laughing, even as the bombs began to fall, and the slick, black suited men emerged from the waves with their guns, and swept past him, as if he weren't there.

It was just another day.

* * *

The Return of Ignorant Man, Part 2 - Ignorance Is Indeed Bliss

The Return of Ignorant Man, Part 2 of 3

Much later, when the ambulence had gone, Ignorant Man turned on the television. "C-SPAN" was superimposed on the lower right corner.

The man on TV wore a blue suit, red tie and a vague smirk, and he spoke with a distinct Texas drawl. "I think younger workers—first of all, younger workers have been promised benefits the government—promises that have been promised, benefits that we can't keep. That's just the way it is."

Ignorant Man's eyes widened and he leaned back. 'The power is strong in this one,' he thought, and, taking no more than a nanosecond to clear his mind completely, turned off the television.

He then allowed himself to think, as he rarely did. He thought about his encounter with the man who'd been reduced to squirming mass of unanswerable questions just hours earlier. The encounter was unsettling at best, befuddling perhaps, and, at worst, would require Ignorant Man to seek answers, an activity he tended to actively avoid. He preferred his mind uncluttered, and was particularly adept at keeping it that way.

But he allowed himself to think about when he looked down at the man, who had worn a mask that covered his head down to his nose with half-moon openings that revealed coal-black eyes.

And, almost without thinking...no, entirely without thinking...Ignorant Man removed the man's mask and gasped with surprise. And, as one unaccustomed to feeling any sort of surprise, he ruminated for a moment on the uncomfortable fact that the man now unmasked was none other than Billy Joe Bob-san, his teacher, his guru, the one who, for a discounted rate of no less than tens of thousands of dollars, revealed to Ignorant Man the power of naievete, and set him on the path to...being Ignorant Man, which as Ignorant Man thought about it, raised a great number of questions. As always, however, he was wary of turning his power upon himself.

"Billy Joe Bob-san!" he cried. "Where have you been? What are you doing here?"

"No more questions!"

"How can you say that?"

"Stop it! Send more cash! Here!" And his guru handed Ignorant Man a card, on which was printed the name "Dragon Bob: Equatorial Adventures" with a phone number and an address in Montreal. Curious, Ignorant Man turned the card over, and there was handwritten in tiny script the words: "He must not know. Cash only! Do not lick the badger!"

Ignorant Man turned back to his former mentor and opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to ask a question, but was silenced.

"Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop..." Billy Joe Bob screamed at the top of his lungs, over and over and over again until the young couple with the 2-year-old living just above Billy Joe Bob's basement apartment could no longer stand the noise and called an ambulance, which arrived to take Billy Joe Bob away and leaving Ignorant Man with nothing to do but watch TV and ponder what do do with this newfound mystery and how to make it go away.

Finally, after sitting for four-and-a-half hours with his chin resting firmly and resolutely against his fist, Ignorant Man arose.

"If ignorance is indeed bliss," he said aloud, puffing out his chest, "and, it is, then I must seek knowledge to once again attain that blessed state." He paused, and nodded his head to himself. "Yes. That's right. And so, I will call this 'Dragon Bob', I will bring cash, and, I will lick this badger. Or not. Depending."

Suddenly, the ceiling shook with a loud stomp. "Dammit, shut up down there. The kid is napping!"

Smiling, Ignorant Man made for the door.

WHO IS DRAGON BOB?

WILL IGNORANT MAN BRING CASH? OR LICK THE BADGER?

WHAT IS THE BADGER? A METAPHOR FOR OUR DEEPEST FEARS? OR A SHARP-TOOTH CREATURE OF THE CANADIAN WILDERNESS?

EITHER WAY, STAY TUNED FOR THE THRILLING CONCLUSION OF THE RETURN OF IGNORANT MAN, NEXT WEEK. OR SO. WHEN I WRITE IT...

-------------------------

The Return of Ignorant Man, Part 1

((Note: Ignorant Man is a character I created for a shared superhero universe thingie called "Superguy" back in 1989 ... enjoy the glory that was SuperGuy here. Also: this is a work of fiction.))

A man awoke in a dark, silent place.

"'Where am I?" he said aloud. His voice echoed. He looked around and saw only darkness. He was sitting upon what he thought was a hard floor -- concrete, perhaps -- but could see nothing, as if he was floating in space.

'Nowhere,' he thought.

"Who am I?" he said aloud again, and smiled slightly as his voice echoed as it did before.

'I am Bart," he thought. 'An ignorant man.' He mustered his courage and thought again. He thought *hard*.

'No! Wait!" he thought. 'I am THE Ignorant Man!"

This notion pleased him greatly. The knowledge only increased his naivete. He put his fist under his chin and spoke in a low clear voice.

"I am Bart, the Ignorant Man, and I am nowhere." 'Now,' he thought, 'we're getting somewhere.'

"Goonie!" he shouted and giggled helplessly for a good 10 seconds as his voice reverberated around him. "Goonie goonie goonie!"

After awhile, the man calmed, and placed his hand back under his chin.

"I must ponder this. How does a man get to be nowhere? How can there be a nowhere? Nowhere means not anywhere, and where anywhere is there cannot be nowhere because it is where it is. But if it is what it is, and it is where it is, then where was it when it was there if not somewhere that is now nowhere? And if nowhere is what was once anywhere then why..."

"Shut up shut up shut up!" A voice cried out in the darkness.

"Was that my voice?" The man, Ignorant Man, asked.

"No, goddam it. It was no one!" Deep in our evolutionary past, the human brain was wired for language. Soon after, humans learned a communication mode wherin a person makes a statement, but speaks in such a way that it is apparent to the listener that he means exactly the opposite of the literal meaning of the statement. In English, we call this sarcasm. But through years of training with a dubious guru deep in the heart of one of the Dakotas, Bart cleared away his ability to recognize or even define sarcasm, and thus remained...unaware...of what the voice was trying to tell him. It went part and parcel with the power of naivete...the power of Ignorant Man.

"No one?" Ignorant Man asked, quizzically. "Can there be no one, when one speaks? Can there be a voice, without one to speak it? If there was, say, a voice without a mouth, would that mouth be able to eat? And if it could eat, would it not have to have a body? Or if not, what then of the food..."

There was a terrible scream. It echoed all around Ignorant Man. A light came on, and he was awash in white. He blinked. And then blinked again.

When his eyesight returned, he discovered that he was...someplace! Someplace cold and drafty. He was in a large room, with wood paneled walls, a concrete floor ('aha!' he thought), and cheap wood framed furniture covered in tough, rough, mossy colored cloth. Two chairs, and a couch.

Across the room was a wooden door with a rusty brassy knob. On the floor, in front of the door, was a man, curled up in the fetal position, muttering to himself.

"Stop, just stop, you goddam, ignorant, stupid, stooge. You just can be that unbelievable unconscioubulously stupid and ignorant..."

"Are you okay?" Ignorant Man asked.

"Stop...just stop!"

"What should I stop?"

"Ahhhhhhhhgggggggghhhhh!"

IGNORANT MAN HAS CLEARLY TURNED THE TABLES ON A DASTARDLY VILLAIN.

WHO IS HE?

WHAT DOES HE WANT?

CAN THERE BE A MORE DEVASTATING POWER THAN THE POWER OF NAIVETE?

GOTTA GO NOW!