Robert Arthur Smith - The Ducks of Doom vol. 5.pdf - Robert Arthur Smith - allforjesus2001

THE DUCKS OF DOOM

Chapter 121-150

A WEEKLY SERIAL

With all of the Boring Bits Left Out

By Robert Arthur Smith

www.duckparade.com

rasmithr@yahoo.com

THE DUCKS OF DOOM was a 2002 Independent e-Books award finalist.

Robert Arthur Smith,

CHAPTER 121:QUICK LEARNERS

"How did it come to this?" Cohen said. "Not only am I being stalked by closet monsters,

I'm caught in a love triangle with a radiant Scottish beauty and an academic pear."

"It's hard being part of a triangle when the other sides don't even know they're doing

geometry," said Jerry.

"I'm doomed," moaned Cohen.

"Stop bleating about it and do something," said Jerry. "Buy her some rutabagas. Ask

her out to the ritual sacrifices."

"I'm too shy; what if I make a fool of myself?"

"You won't notice the difference."

"Maybe not, but SHE will."

"So check the closet; that always makes you feel nice and anxious."

"What a wonderful friend YOU turned out to be!" said Cohen.

Then, because the closet had been invoked, he peered into it.

"There'd better not be any monsters in here," he said.

Gracie gave him an encouraging smile.

"That's the spirit!" she said. "You have to be firm with monsters. They'll hate you at first,

but they'll soon learn to respect you."

Neville put a protective arm around Gracie. "Next time, let ME chase the monsters

away," he said. "I can protect you."

"I know," said Gracie. "I feel much safer now that I've got my big brave Neville to protect

me."

Cohen ground his beak, watching jealously as Gracie put an arm through Neville's and

patted him on the tractor tire. "My big pear!" she said.

Smoke issued from Cohen's nostrils. He clapped a hand over his snooter and went

cross-eyed trying to hold in the telltale billows, but even so, little tendrils escaped through his

fingers, coloring the air blue.

"Smoke gets in your eyes," said Jerry.

"Ha ha ha; very funny!" said Cohen. "Have you no respect for my broken heart!"

"Not so loud," said Jerry. "The others will think you're flipping out. Talk about something

important."

"Quite right," said Merlin. "Enough mooning about! We have important business to

discuss."

"I AM NOT MOONING," said Cohen. Then he hid in the closet for a moment, because

everyone was staring at him.

Seconds later, realizing where he was, he uttered a terrified squawk and leaped out

again.

"Did you see a monster in there?" said Neville maliciously.

"No one believes I'm plagued by monsters!" said Cohen. "You'll all be sorry when they

start breeding."

"Coming soon to a closet near you!" said Jerry.

"I can't think what it wanted with erasers," said Gracie. "Scottish monsters prefer

haggis."

"Perhaps it was hoping to rub something out," said Neville.

"Oh you!" Gracie patted him on the arm.

Flames of jealousy shot up Cohen's spine, scorching it. He glared at Neville with murder

in his eye. How dare that puffed-up tractor tire stand next to MY girl, he thought.

Then a sudden, ghastly sound broke into his reverie. It was the janitor listening to

popular music again.

"Do you want to rip my T-shirt?" yelled a hideous voice.

"Oh listen to that, Neville!" said Gracie. "They're playing OUR song."

Cohen couldn't believe his ears. That was THEIR song?

"Do you want to rip my T-shirt?" screamed the singer.

The two lovebirds smiled tenderly at each other.

Cohen felt sick. His eyes turned green and little puffs of green smoke billowed out of his

ears.

"Calm down, big beak," said Jerry. "She ain't the only fish in the ocean."

"She's the only fish for me," said Cohen.

At that moment, Sweet Gas trundled in from the hall, where he'd been examining a slab

of granite some careless student had dropped.

"What's this about a monster?" he said.

"Took you long enough," said Digger. "What have you been doing?"

"Looking for a bowel. I thought I saw one running down the hall, but it was only a teacher

fleeing a horde of parents."

"Oh that was Gollywogs," said Cohen, brightening up. Anything bad that happened to

Gollywogs was richly deserved. "He's in charge of the school play. Some of the parents are

a little aggressive about getting more stage time for their children. Personally, I think closet

monsters are far more dangerous than mere parents."

Gracie looked at him in surprise. "Really?" she said. "How long have you been

teaching!"

"The monster's gone," said Edwardian. "Gracie killed it."

"I don't suppose it had a bowel, did it?" said Sweet Gas.

"It evaporated," said Cohen, eyeing Sweet Gas nervously and hoping against hope the

big rock pile wasn't planning on enrolling in one of his classes.

"You don't hide in closets, do you?" he said.

"Why should I do that?" said Sweet Gas. "Do you keep bowels in your closet?"

"I generally keep them in here," said Cohen, patting his abdomen.

Sweet Gas peered into the closet. "You never know," he said. "People are forgetful;

they misplace things all the time."

"They misplace their bowels?" said Cohen.

"It's been known to happen," said Sweet Gas. "People are so stressed out these days!"

Cohen gazed in morbid fascination as Sweet Gas trekked deeper into the closet. Who

was going to win this one? The monster, or the pocket mountain? At the very least, there'd

be a rock slide of epic proportions, and perhaps a chilling scream, or a bellow of rage, or...

Cohen covered his eyes.

Then he heard a low, rumbling noise--the unmistakable sound of a troll in seventh

heaven--and he peeked through his fingers.

Sweet Gas had found a plastic model of the organs of a sheep.

"Do you mind if I investigate this?" he said, holding it close to his chest in case Cohen

tried to take it away from him.

"You might as well," sighed Cohen. "My students never look at anything that smacks of

education. I'm glad someone will benefit from it."

"A bowel won't help you," said Neville. "After years of careful research, I've come to the

conclusion that nothing is beneficial."

"You're telling me!" said Chester. "I've been wearing this false beak for ages, and what

have I got to show for it? I ask you!"

"What I MEANT," said Neville testily, "is that NOTHING, meaning the total absence of

SOMETHING, is, in fact beneficial."

"Nothing is better than something?" said Chester. "You must be a politician."

"What, precisely, does this have to do with a plastic model of a sheep's intestine?" said

Cohen.

"Well, the intestine IS hollow," said Sweet Gas.

"Until you've eaten something," said Cohen. "Then it fills up rather quickly."

"What a horrible thing to do to an intestine!" said Sweet Gas. "You should cherish it and

read bedtime stories to it during the long nights, to help it fall asleep."

"So THAT'S how you do it!" said Edwardian. "My old auntie always said the only way to

put a restless bowel to sleep is to drown it in Scotch."

"I don't approve of medicating bowels," said Cohen.

"Anyway," said Neville testily, "Nothing is profitable."

"I could have told you that," said Chester. "I tried selling electronic books once, and--"

"I'm surrounded by capitalists," muttered Digger. "Nothing is real unless you can make

money out of it!"

"What I mean to say," said Neville frostily, "is that you can make money out of nothing.

You can package it in Self-Help kits for people who want to get ahead in life."

"Or they could just worship parrots," said Chester.

"What's so special about nothing?" said Cohen sarcastically. "You can't even see it

unless it's part of a donut."

"Precisely," said Neville, beaming. "Obviously you're a heron of genius, Cohen; you

have an intuitive grasp of Irregular physics."

Cohen's opinion of Neville pivoted on a dime. He beamed back at the big pear,

modestly.

"I've seen lots of donut holes," boasted Chester.

"I've got a plastic sheep's bowel," said Sweet Gas.

"But THIS donut hole is special," said Neville. "It's the foundation of the universe."

"Ha, ha, ha!" said Digger. "The foundation of the universe is a donut hole? And you

capitalists want to sell it!"

"They can't have my plastic bowel," said Sweet Gas.

"No wonder my poetry disappears so quickly," said Edwardian. "People lose track of it

while they're gobbling donuts."

"This is no time for trivial digressions," said Chester irritably. "I'm very upset; I've just

learned that all of this busy, crowded world is merely the filling around a donut hole! All of

these blackboards, pictures of clowns, bits of old pizza and scraps of art are little more than

window dressing."

"Strange but true," said Neville, puffing out his chest.

Cohen glanced furtively at the closet in case Darkest Nothing was closing in on him;

then he stepped into a chalk circle.

"There aren't any monsters in this big donut hole are there?" he said.

"Not as such," said Neville.

"I'd be safe inside a donut hole," Cohen said dreamily. I'd never have to sleep with one

eye open again.

"Who invented this super hole?" said Edwardian. "He must have been a loony."

"The Supreme Being invented it," said Neville, quickly stepping away from the Smiting

Zone.

"Why would he want a hole?" said Edwardian.

"For the god who has everything," said Jerry.

"Isn't it obvious!" said Neville. "You can't have something without nothing."

"Yes you can!" said Edwardian. "If you take the hole out of the donut, you've got a bun."

"Not a very nice one, surely!" said Chester. "You bite into it expecting a nice hole in the

middle, and all you get is more fat and cholesterol."

"No theology in the classroom, please," said Cohen. "You'll start a religious war. Many

people will be burnt at the stake and tortured to death."

"For eating donut holes," muttered Digger. "First they take away the proletariat's donuts,

then they burn us at the stake for trying to eat the holes."

Cohen ignored him and peered into the closet to make sure there weren't any

theologians hiding in the shadows.

"We're all doomed, don't you know!" said Merlin. "Dr. Wacker knows all about the donut

hole. He's planning on stealing it."

"It's invisible," said Neville. "You need special 3D glasses to see it."

"I should think you'd need more than three dimensions," said Chester.

"These glasses are powered by MacroHard Angst," said Neville. "They crash when you

find something interesting."

"Does he want the hole with or without the donut?" said Edwardian.

"He can't have my plastic bowel," said Sweet Gas.

"I knew it!" said Digger. "First the capitalists leave you with nothing, then they take

THAT away too."

"We'd better stop this villain before he destroys all of Tockworld, said Neville.

"My hero!" said Gracie, patting Neville on the tractor tire again.

"First things first," said Merlin. "We have to finish bringing up Arthur so that he can

destroy Van Von in a corporate battle and regain control of the Underworld for Disser. The

boy needs a proper education."

"The gloves are off!" said Digger.

"What sort of a curriculum did you have in mind?" said Cohen.

"Business intimidation, sleight of hand and advanced conjuring, I should think," said

Neville.

"If it's education you want, you've come to the right place," said Cohen.

"You can teach him all of this?" said Neville.

"Oh we don't actually teach anything here--we don't need to. We just provide the proper

learning environment and make sure our students don't send each other into parallel

worlds."

"But surely the foundations of knowledge are important," said Gracie. "You have to

teach them SOMETHING. You can't cook a haggis without a recipe."

"My, my!" said Jerry. "Competence rears its attractive head."

"Be quiet!" said Cohen, smiling all around to show that, in spite of appearances, he

wasn't the one who had spoken. "Anyway, we summed up all of the wisdom of past ages

and printed it in a teeny-tiny book. I'm sure you've seen it on countertops in bookstores and

gift shops."

"So you're the ones responsible for those evil little books!" said Edwardian. "'Selections

from Dickens', 'Happy Thoughts for a Happy Day': that sort of thing."

"Yes, well...to an extent," said Cohen. "Anyway, each child gets one copy and is

expected to read all twenty pages before graduating."

"Gosh!" said Edwardian.

"Some of us toil in the mines for the sweat of our brows," said Digger.

"How very biblical!" said Cohen.

"Be that as it may," said Merlin, "Do you think you can educate Arthur and his chums in

such a way as to foster ruthless competitive behavior?"

"Of course!" said Cohen. "This is the art department! You only have to look at our

graduates!"

"I see what you mean," said Neville.

"Be careful what you wish for, though. Arthur may go beyond the limits you have set for

him."

These words cast a pall over the happy band. As one, they made their way out onto the

playground to check on Arthur and his chums.

They found their young charges in the sandbox, busily assembling various bits and

pieces of wrecked equipment into something bizarre and frightening.

"What are they doing?" gasped Edwardian.

"They seem to be building a carnival," said Neville.

"It's a pocket carnival," said Cohen. "I've read about this kind of thing in horror comics.

There's The House of Endless Car Commercials, the Tunnel of Spam, and the Pavilion of

Telemarketers."

"Brilliant!" said Merlin. "They'll take on Van Von with brutal competition."

"I don't see how...." said Neville.

"Do you see the sign out front?" said Cohen.

"The one that says, 'It's Not Our Fault'?," said Neville.

"No, the one that says, 'Carnival of Lies, franchises available; enquire within.'"

"Diabolical!" said Edwardian. "I never knew you could do that with machinery."

"Capitalism without a mask," said Digger.

"They're not using my bowel in one of their rides," said Sweet Gas.

"You did want him to learn something about commerce," said Cohen. "This is fiendish.

They don't have the capital to take on Van Von alone. But hundreds of franchise owners

could do it. It would be death by a thousand cuts."

"They'll never get insurance," said Gracie. "One tiny scratch on a child's finger and the

parents will sue."

"That's part of the attraction," said Cohen. "People come to these things to get rid of

inconvenient family members."

Gracie and Neville inspected the wobbly rides.

"If this carnival is so good, won't it bankrupt the Underworld?" said Edwardian.

"Disser's no dummy," said Merlin, "As soon as he sees how the flames are burning, he'll

do a corporate merger. It's called synergy; it'll give him a presence in the World."

"Doesn't he already have one?" said Neville.

"You're thinking of Old Nick, the corruptor," said Merlin. "I wouldn't bandy his name

about, if I were you; he's liable to come and tempt you with something."

There was a silence. Cohen stepped into a chalk circle.

Gracie had a bad feeling about this....

CHAPTER 122:TROJAN HAGGIS

Cohen's first official act as Arthur's teacher was to explain the meaning of art to him.

"Creation is the easy part," he said. "Anyone can make a work of art! The hard part is

creating a demand. Today we are going to learn about the most important aspects of

art--publicity, commoditization, and brand management. Shall we begin--"

"Will it never end!" muttered Digger. "Have the capitalist armadillos invaded even the

sacred precincts of the muses!"

"I don't think armadillos are any more avaricious than the next fellow," said Neville.

The children ignored this little spat. They sat quietly in a glade on the bosky campus as

Cohen explained marketing plans.

Meanwhile, in another part of the wasteland, Hank of Just Ur stopped at the very edge of

Robert Arthur Smith - The Ducks of Doom vol. 5.pdf

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