The Importance of a Good Breakfast

10. Where they probably leave this crazy town

After the mob had disappeared down the lane, Mel had quickly crept into the stable, unsure of what she was going to find. A donkey stood at the entrance, feet planted far apart, teeth bared. Mel had never thought of a donkey as a particularly frightening animal. On the other hand, until yesterday, she had never thought of a turtle talking without the aid of radioactive goo. Fortunately, a familiar voice diffused a potentially dangerous situation. “Itsokayfrankenmuleshesa goodguyergirlerwoman.”
“Ruds!” Mel felt relief flood over her. A part of her had been certain that she would never see the amphibian again. Another part of her was annoyed that James’ had been right. A quick survey found the unconscious body of a young man who had tried to make off with the turtle. A pair of hoof prints on his back made it clear what had happened. Probably. Mel still had to ask “Ruds, did you talk this man unconscious?”
Frankenmule snickered as a hurt look settled on Ruds’ face. “ThathurtsMelimplying thatInevershutupI willhaveyouknow thatIammorethanjusta talkingmachinethat Ihaverealfeelings andnowyouvehurtthem.” With that, Ruds pulled his head inside of his shell.
Mel sighed. “Ruds, I’m sorry. It was something that James said earlier. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She looked inside of the shell, but Ruds turned his head away, refusing to meet her eye. “Does it help if I say that we probably would be dead now if it weren’t for you?”
Slowly Ruds poked his head back out of his shell. “Really?” he asked quietly.
Mel nodded. “We probably would have gone back to Gordon and he would have taken the time machine and killed us. Now we’re going to use this thing to get the better of him. Now help me figure out how to run this thing and we can find James…” Her voice trailed off when she remembered James’ plight, being chased by that mob. Hopefully his usual luck didn’t fail him now.

* * * * *

“C’mon feet, don’t fail me now.” James ran, holding his arm where one of the pitchforks had winged him, cutting a long scratch that was bleeding pretty freely now. At least the pain in his arm helped him forget the pain in his leg where a burning pitchfork had singed his leg hair. That was probably going to leave a mark. So far he had done almost two complete circles of the town, being careful to keep them away from the stable where Mel was hopefully preparing the time machine for departure, or readying a mob halting device, or making some lunch. All of this running was making him hungry. And very tired. Another pitchfork grazed his side, just tearing clothing and missing his actual skin, fortunately. “Geez, enough with the pitchforks already!” An axe thudded dully into the ground beside him. Over his shoulder, James yelped out a hurried “Thanks!” as he commanded his feet to carry him faster.
They neared the bakery and James finally had run as much as he could run. He suddenly whirled on his heel and faced the crowd. “Stop!” he yelled, holding up his hands and looking as stern as he could manage. Amazingly, the entire mob screeched to a halt, falling all over each other in an effort to stop. Dozens of eyes stared up at him with curiosity, waiting for him to continue. The fact that this had worked stunned James for a moment, but he recovered quickly.
“I know you must all have a very good reason for chasing me, and believe me, I would love to know what the reason is. However, I think it would be best for everyone if we all paused a moment for sober reflection.” He walked up the steps to stand at the top of the porch in front of the bakery. “My dear people, there is too much hate in this world. We must learn to love each other as surely as the Lord himself loved us. It is not right to take a stranger and make him feel maligned and detested. Does not the Word preach that you should, when asked to go a mile, go two miles instead. Love thy neighbour as thyself. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. And Abraham begat Isaac, Isaac begat Jacob, Jacob begat Judah and so one and so forth. Um…” At this point, James was at a loss for words. Everyone in the mob was looking downcast, though, so he felt fairly confident that he was going to be all right.
“It also says ‘an eye for an eye’, and frankly, you hurt me back there.” The voice came from the back of the mob.
“Ah crap,” said James as he ducked the flaming pitchfork sent his way. He scrambled to his feet and took off running yet again. Well, at least he had managed to get a rest for a moment. He turned a corner and ran down the side of the building, momentarily out of sight of the mob. Just then a hand reached out and pulled him into a side door. James fell to his feet, panicking, certain that he was about to die. The door closed quietly behind him, plunging him into darkness. A moment later the sound of the mob running by could be heard, but that soon faded into the distance.
Suddenly a match was struck and put to a lamp. In the glow from the small flame, James could make out his captor. “Giselle?”
The woman put a finger to her lips and listened at the door. Finally she turned and faced where he was now standing. “You must be careful,” she whispered. “They may be back at any moment.”
James nodded, still confused. “What’s going on, exactly,” he asked hesitantly.
“I could not sit by and watch them tear you limb from limb, James. I don’t know why but I feel that it is very important that you survive. All that is weird in this town can be put right by you, I just know it.” She walked past him to a door at the other end of the room. Quietly she pulled it open and looked inside. Motioning for James to follow her, she entered the next room.
Light spilled from the large front windows, revealing different goods on shelves. It appeared that the clerk for the general store was part of the mob, leaving the store completely deserted. As they reached the front door, James could see that the street was completely empty, and that it was only a short walk to the stable at the end of the street. He turned to Giselle who was standing at the door. “I don’t know how to thank you, but mmft.” His words were muffled as Giselle leaned in and gave James a kiss.
“Now hurry,” she said after they had parted. Opening the door, she pushed him out into the street.
Somehow, the street didn’t seem to be quite stable right at first. James tripped over his feet, looking back at the young woman standing in the doorway. “ ‘Hurry,’ she says after something like that. Crazy woman.” Finally regaining his balance, he made his way to the stable. Just as he made it there, the mob spied him from down the street. With a frustrated howl, they all ran towards him. Slowly he turned to face them.
“This ends here,” he said.
Once again, the mob came to a halt, a mere ten feet away from their prey. Jack (Earl) stepped forward. “You’re right,” he said gruffly. “Somehow you are the cause of all of this town’s problems, and we mean to burn you at the stake for the crime of being a witch.” A few shouts of encouragement came from the back of the mob.
“I’m a guy,” replied James. “Guys can’t be witches.”
This made Earl (Jack) pause. “Um…” Someone leaned in and whispered into his ear, giving James a hard look as he did so. “Ah yes, as my esteemed colleague has pointed out, a male witch is called a warlock. Ergo, you are a warlock.” The man leaned in again. “Or a wizard.” Earl (Jack) looked at him smugly. The other man leaned in and whispered yet again. “Or a magician.” A pause. “Or a conjurer.”
As the man leaned in yet again, James waved him off. “I think I’ve got the point. You think I’m evil, got it. Let’s move on.”
“Right.” The mob took a tentative step forward, preparing to nab James, a little disconcerted by the satisfied smile on the young man’s face.
“I’m not a magician, warlock, wizard, or conjurer,” he said as the low pitched humming sound that he had been hearing from inside of the stable rose in volume. “I’m a time traveller.” With that he turned a leapt straight up, catching the side of the wheel-less wagon that burst through the door of the stable, flying above the head of the mob. With a flash of light, it disappeared, leaving the people standing in shock.
Jimmy ran to the front of the mob and stared at them, wild with fury. “See, I told you something was wrong, but you wouldn’t believe me. I bet that monster comes to eat all of us soon.”
“Shut up Jimmy.”
A few minutes later, as the townspeople fought the fire that a few different errant flaming pitchforks had sparked, they all agreed that it was probably best to never speak of this again.
That night, a dozen cows simply disappeared. The townspeople didn’t speak of that ever again either.

Now that they’ve left, where are they going? Or, perhaps it’s just when are they going? Some of you may wonder why they are going? All of these questions will probably be neatly sidestepped in the next instalment of:
The Importance of a Good Breakfast.
Same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger time, same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger place!

The Importance of a Good Breakfast

10. Where they probably leave this crazy town

After the mob had disappeared down the lane, Mel had quickly crept into the stable, unsure of what she was going to find. A donkey stood at the entrance, feet planted far apart, teeth bared. Mel had never thought of a donkey as a particularly frightening animal. On the other hand, until yesterday, she had never thought of a turtle talking without the aid of radioactive goo. Fortunately, a familiar voice diffused a potentially dangerous situation. “Itsokayfrankenmuleshesa goodguyergirlerwoman.”
“Ruds!” Mel felt relief flood over her. A part of her had been certain that she would never see the amphibian again. Another part of her was annoyed that James’ had been right. A quick survey found the unconscious body of a young man who had tried to make off with the turtle. A pair of hoof prints on his back made it clear what had happened. Probably. Mel still had to ask “Ruds, did you talk this man unconscious?”
Frankenmule snickered as a hurt look settled on Ruds’ face. “ThathurtsMelimplying thatInevershutupI willhaveyouknow thatIammorethanjusta talkingmachinethat Ihaverealfeelings andnowyouvehurtthem.” With that, Ruds pulled his head inside of his shell.
Mel sighed. “Ruds, I’m sorry. It was something that James said earlier. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She looked inside of the shell, but Ruds turned his head away, refusing to meet her eye. “Does it help if I say that we probably would be dead now if it weren’t for you?”
Slowly Ruds poked his head back out of his shell. “Really?” he asked quietly.
Mel nodded. “We probably would have gone back to Gordon and he would have taken the time machine and killed us. Now we’re going to use this thing to get the better of him. Now help me figure out how to run this thing and we can find James…” Her voice trailed off when she remembered James’ plight, being chased by that mob. Hopefully his usual luck didn’t fail him now.

* * * * *

“C’mon feet, don’t fail me now.” James ran, holding his arm where one of the pitchforks had winged him, cutting a long scratch that was bleeding pretty freely now. At least the pain in his arm helped him forget the pain in his leg where a burning pitchfork had singed his leg hair. That was probably going to leave a mark. So far he had done almost two complete circles of the town, being careful to keep them away from the stable where Mel was hopefully preparing the time machine for departure, or readying a mob halting device, or making some lunch. All of this running was making him hungry. And very tired. Another pitchfork grazed his side, just tearing clothing and missing his actual skin, fortunately. “Geez, enough with the pitchforks already!” An axe thudded dully into the ground beside him. Over his shoulder, James yelped out a hurried “Thanks!” as he commanded his feet to carry him faster.
They neared the bakery and James finally had run as much as he could run. He suddenly whirled on his heel and faced the crowd. “Stop!” he yelled, holding up his hands and looking as stern as he could manage. Amazingly, the entire mob screeched to a halt, falling all over each other in an effort to stop. Dozens of eyes stared up at him with curiosity, waiting for him to continue. The fact that this had worked stunned James for a moment, but he recovered quickly.
“I know you must all have a very good reason for chasing me, and believe me, I would love to know what the reason is. However, I think it would be best for everyone if we all paused a moment for sober reflection.” He walked up the steps to stand at the top of the porch in front of the bakery. “My dear people, there is too much hate in this world. We must learn to love each other as surely as the Lord himself loved us. It is not right to take a stranger and make him feel maligned and detested. Does not the Word preach that you should, when asked to go a mile, go two miles instead. Love thy neighbour as thyself. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. And Abraham begat Isaac, Isaac begat Jacob, Jacob begat Judah and so one and so forth. Um…” At this point, James was at a loss for words. Everyone in the mob was looking downcast, though, so he felt fairly confident that he was going to be all right.
“It also says ‘an eye for an eye’, and frankly, you hurt me back there.” The voice came from the back of the mob.
“Ah crap,” said James as he ducked the flaming pitchfork sent his way. He scrambled to his feet and took off running yet again. Well, at least he had managed to get a rest for a moment. He turned a corner and ran down the side of the building, momentarily out of sight of the mob. Just then a hand reached out and pulled him into a side door. James fell to his feet, panicking, certain that he was about to die. The door closed quietly behind him, plunging him into darkness. A moment later the sound of the mob running by could be heard, but that soon faded into the distance.
Suddenly a match was struck and put to a lamp. In the glow from the small flame, James could make out his captor. “Giselle?”
The woman put a finger to her lips and listened at the door. Finally she turned and faced where he was now standing. “You must be careful,” she whispered. “They may be back at any moment.”
James nodded, still confused. “What’s going on, exactly,” he asked hesitantly.
“I could not sit by and watch them tear you limb from limb, James. I don’t know why but I feel that it is very important that you survive. All that is weird in this town can be put right by you, I just know it.” She walked past him to a door at the other end of the room. Quietly she pulled it open and looked inside. Motioning for James to follow her, she entered the next room.
Light spilled from the large front windows, revealing different goods on shelves. It appeared that the clerk for the general store was part of the mob, leaving the store completely deserted. As they reached the front door, James could see that the street was completely empty, and that it was only a short walk to the stable at the end of the street. He turned to Giselle who was standing at the door. “I don’t know how to thank you, but mmft.” His words were muffled as Giselle leaned in and gave James a kiss.
“Now hurry,” she said after they had parted. Opening the door, she pushed him out into the street.
Somehow, the street didn’t seem to be quite stable right at first. James tripped over his feet, looking back at the young woman standing in the doorway. “ ‘Hurry,’ she says after something like that. Crazy woman.” Finally regaining his balance, he made his way to the stable. Just as he made it there, the mob spied him from down the street. With a frustrated howl, they all ran towards him. Slowly he turned to face them.
“This ends here,” he said.
Once again, the mob came to a halt, a mere ten feet away from their prey. Jack (Earl) stepped forward. “You’re right,” he said gruffly. “Somehow you are the cause of all of this town’s problems, and we mean to burn you at the stake for the crime of being a witch.” A few shouts of encouragement came from the back of the mob.
“I’m a guy,” replied James. “Guys can’t be witches.”
This made Earl (Jack) pause. “Um…” Someone leaned in and whispered into his ear, giving James a hard look as he did so. “Ah yes, as my esteemed colleague has pointed out, a male witch is called a warlock. Ergo, you are a warlock.” The man leaned in again. “Or a wizard.” Earl (Jack) looked at him smugly. The other man leaned in and whispered yet again. “Or a magician.” A pause. “Or a conjurer.”
As the man leaned in yet again, James waved him off. “I think I’ve got the point. You think I’m evil, got it. Let’s move on.”
“Right.” The mob took a tentative step forward, preparing to nab James, a little disconcerted by the satisfied smile on the young man’s face.
“I’m not a magician, warlock, wizard, or conjurer,” he said as the low pitched humming sound that he had been hearing from inside of the stable rose in volume. “I’m a time traveller.” With that he turned a leapt straight up, catching the side of the wheel-less wagon that burst through the door of the stable, flying above the head of the mob. With a flash of light, it disappeared, leaving the people standing in shock.
Jimmy ran to the front of the mob and stared at them, wild with fury. “See, I told you something was wrong, but you wouldn’t believe me. I bet that monster comes to eat all of us soon.”
“Shut up Jimmy.”
A few minutes later, as the townspeople fought the fire that a few different errant flaming pitchforks had sparked, they all agreed that it was probably best to never speak of this again.
That night, a dozen cows simply disappeared. The townspeople didn’t speak of that ever again either.

Now that they’ve left, where are they going? Or, perhaps it’s just when are they going? Some of you may wonder why they are going? All of these questions will probably be neatly sidestepped in the next instalment of:
The Importance of a Good Breakfast.
Same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger time, same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger place!

Thunderfunk the Superchicken - Pt 7

7. Better late than never, I suppose

“All I’m saying is if you turn it two degrees to the left, you will increase the performance by seventy percent.” Sergeant Hu rocked back on his heels, looking down at the ship’s engineers where they crouched in front of a pipe that was merely labelled “HOT” (in Japanese, of course). One of them shook his head, sighing heavily.
The chief engineer raised himself to his full height and looked down at Straw. “That IS all you are saying. You haven’t said who you are, or why you are here. You also have neglected to mention what we are turning to the left, and why it matters to us in any way at all.”
With a shrug, Straw turned and walked away. “Try to give some advice, and I just get shot down,” he muttered to himself. “What is this world coming to?” As he walked, he tried to look as though he belonged, which was difficult, considering he was the only white guy on a ship full of Japanese sailors. As he rounded a corner, he nearly ran over a harried looking ensign. Papers went flying everywhere and both men fell to the ground. Quickly bouncing to his feet, Straw reached down and helped gather the papers for the young sailor. It was a rather large stack, and once it was all gathered it nearly toppled again. Taking pity on the young man, Straw grabbed half of the pile. “Don’t want any more spills now, do we son?”
“N-no sir,” replied the ensign. He seemed to be ill at ease at the thought of a man of higher rank actually helping him out. As they walked Straw studied the young man. Extremely thin, the young man seemed to be full of a nervous energy. He was of average height, a couple inches shorter than Straw. They moved quickly through the corridors. As they walked, they talked.
“What’s your name, ensign?” Straw hadn’t noticed a nametag or anything identifying the young man, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“I am ensign Yomato, sir.” He tried to salute, nearly losing all of the papers in his arms once again, though he was puzzled by the bark of laughter that had come from the sergeant.
In reply to the young man’s quizzical look, Straw merely shrugged. “I have spent considerable time in the West, and my grasp of English is rather sophisticated,” he said truthfully enough. “Your name rhymes with the English word for ‘tomato’, a coincidence I found momentarily amusing. Do you have a problem with that?” This last was spoken in a sharper tone of voice.
“N-no sir!” Yomato looked straight ahead, and beads of sweat started to form on his forehead. This was one nervous sailor.
Straw decided it was time to probe a little deeper for information. “So what do you think of this whole mess?”
“Well sir, I think it is an honour to be able to fight for the country.”
Straw could tell immediately that he did not mean what he said. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to the ensign. “I don’t think I believe you.”
A war seemed to play out inside of the young man, his face showing highlights of the battle. Finally, with a hard swallow, Yomato stopped and turned towards Straw. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
With a wave of his hand, Straw motioned for them to continue walking. “Always,” he replied.
“It’s just that…I wish I was on the other fleet. I don’t feel comfortable sailing down south to fight the Australians. It just doesn’t seem right.”
Straw’s mind raced. “Other fleet?” he asked casually.
“Yes sir. The one sailing towards India. I’ve never trusted the Indians, especially since they got nukes, and I would rather see us destroy them than the Aussies.”
Ensign Yomato looked closely at the sergeant, but Straw didn’t notice. He was too busy putting the pieces of the puzzle together. They had assumed that the Japanese were going to fight either the Australians or the Indians, but never had they assumed that both would be targets. This certainly complicated matters. Straw put the papers he was holding on Yomato’s pile and ran down the corridor. Ensign Yomato dropped all of the papers again and cursed. This was a bad day to be an ensign. At least he didn’t have to deal with the giant chicken. That was just creepy.

Thunderfunk the Superchicken

Thunderfunk is running a little behind this week. Please bear with me.

The Importance of a Good Breakfast

9. Good thing mobs have lousy aim

The lives of tumbleweeds are not oft examined. To the casual observer, it would seem that all there is to their lives is tumbling around in the wind, but there is much more to it than that. For instance, young tumbleweeds often have the problem of extreme dizziness as they adjust to the life of tumbling that they have chosen. Also, timing is important. Tumbleweeds have to be able to catch a stray breeze and come across the scene in the tense moment before an important event, when there is silence. Or, at times when a loud, raucous response is expected, they have to team up with a cricket for the combination of cricket in silence followed by a lone tumbleweed swirling across the scene. And then there’s the travel from town to town, which is just torture to a young tumbleweed family. Plus, vacations are pretty boring. When it’s time for a vacation, tumbleweeds deliberately ignore all enticing breezes and stay firmly in one spot, because they are taking a break from tumbling. A few fly (and you should see the profiling that goes on in airport security when you’re a tumbleweed!), but tumbleweed rates aren’t that great, and it’s so hard to get air miles in the desert.
A lone, small tumbleweed worked its way erratically down the dirt road through the middle of town, catching the eye of a young woman standing on the porch in front of the local bakery. Briefly she wondered if something bad was about to happen, but discarded the notion as absurd. Fortunately for her she was correct, because this was a young tumbleweed, merely practicing technique. About ten minutes later, she would miss the tumbleweed signalling trouble. Looking around, she stepped down to the street, straining her eyes in the direction of the stable, hoping to see James come walking down the street. When the finger came down lightly on her shoulder she whirled around with near-blinding speed, swinging for the fences, as they say.
James picked himself up off of the ground, rubbing his face where Mel’s fist had connected solidly. Ever since he had become a time traveller, he had spent more time getting beat upon than he cared to think about.
On the outskirts of town, a tumbleweed sensed her cue.
“Oh my gosh!” Mel was horrified at what she had done. Well, at least a little horrified. Most of her thought it was pretty funny. She reached down and helped James to his feet. Once he was standing and it looked like he was okay, she started to really chew him out. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting here all morning, ready to tell you what has been going on around here before we got here. I can’t believe you would dilly-dally today of all days. Do you realise how important this is? And that I’ve lost Ruds again? This entire town seems to be a loony bin waiting for white coats, with strange things showing up in creepy places. And where did that blasted turtle go? Why don’t you answer me? Plus the baker’s wife really doesn’t like me and she served me some bad bacon and I don’t feel so good.” The only reason she stopped talking at this point was because she ran out of breath.
James leapt into the conversation while he had a chance. “Relax Mel, everything’s going to be fine. I left the stable and headed out of town to get some info, and couldn’t get away until now. Someone mentioned that there have been some weird things in this town, and I’m inclined to agree. I’m mean, we’re here, aren’t we? Anyway, I came back as fast as I could without raising suspicion. This is too important for to get caught because we are hasty.
It would seem that Ruds, whom you say you’ve lost again, was right about the time machine. A wagon mysteriously appeared a few days ago, and that is probably the form that it would take if it was camouflaged, which is what Ruds said that it was.
“As for losing the turtle, I wouldn’t worry about it. My guess is that he simply headed to the wagon to try and protect it. Now, sit down for a moment and take a big breath. You look a little ill.” He helped Mel sit on the step and then stood by, trying to decide what the best course of action would be.
“Protect…?” The question was spoken under her breath as she pondered all that James had said. Finally she could not stand it any longer. “How in the world is a turtle supposed to protect a time machine?”
A shrug. “He could talk them to death.”
Mel smiled at the image, and the truth in that statement. In anything was going to talk someone to death, it was Ruds. Shakily she rose to her feet. “I suppose we should go save the little gabber.” As she walked, her steps became more sure. The pain that had been in her gut was fading quickly. The pain in her neck walked a few steps behind her.
A cacophony of voices reached their ears at the same moment. Thinking quickly, James pulled Mel around the side of a building and they worked their way to the back of the building and crouched at the corner which afforded them a view of the stable. A mob had gathered in front of the stable and was milling about in some confusion. Shouts of “Let’s get them”, “They’re going to pay”, and “When’s lunch” pierced the air. James was excited. An actual mob, and he was seeing it.
“I’ve always wanted to be part of a mob,” he whispered excitedly to Mel.
“Are you crazy?” she hissed. “Mobs are dangerous. Look! That guy has a pitchfork and a torch! And now…he has set the pitchfork…on fire.” With a screech the man threw the pitchfork away from him and the flames were quickly smothered by others in the group. Mel sighed. This place was so weird.
With a gleam in his eye, James rose to his full height. “I’m going to join them.” He could not contain the excitement in his voice. Reckless abandon called him, compelling him to join the huddled mass. “This will be fun.”
As goofy as he was, James was also a very stubborn man, and Mel knew that there was no talking him into changing his mind. “Just be careful,” she whispered, resolving to stay where she was. “This just doesn’t feel right to me. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what.”
As he stepped out of the shade of the building, James spoke over his shoulder. “Quit worrying. It’s going to be fine.”
Three things happened. First, the leader of the mob turned around, causing James’ blood to run cold. It was Earl (Jack), and he did not look happy. Second, the entire mob grew silent and stared hard at James, causing his blood to run cold…er. Thirdly, a tumbleweed rolled through town, right on cue, and completely ignored.
James swallowed, shivering due to his cold blood. “Um…hi?”
“GET HIM!!” The mob surged forward (in the back of his mind, James was interested. He had never seen a crowd surge before), screaming with bloody rage, their eyes wide with fury.
James considered his options. While he considered, his feet chickened out, and he found himself running down the back lane, purposefully ignoring the girly screaming that was coming from his mouth. Good idea feet, he thought as he ran. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that he was losing them. With a sigh, he slowed down just a little bit, but enough that the mob redoubled its efforts to catch him, sensing blood. Hopefully they would concentrate on him and ignore the fact that Mel was currently elsewhere. It wasn’t much fun, he decided, being the fox during hunting season. Well, at least there was no situation so dire that it couldn’t be improved by a few well placed taunts and jibes. Turning on his heels, he ran backwards, yelling at those chasing him. “You call that a mob? I’ve seen better mobs in cemeteries. My grandmother’s could chase down miscreants faster than this, and both of them don’t have their own hips anymore.” The mob grew wilder with each taunt, their ability to reason fading to nil.
Jack (Earl), however, seemed to be keeping his head, at least more than the others. James could tell that something was bothering the farmhand, and he could guess what that thing was. Perhaps a few specific taunts would get his mind off of the missing girl and focussed on him fully. “Hey Earl (Jack),” he yelled, turning to sprint further ahead. “I hear that the last mob you led got lost. Your mother telegrammed me last night and said you were adopted. And ugly.” That last comment did the trick. An evil glint entered Jack’s (Earl’s) eye. With a scream of rage, he threw his pitchfork at James as hard as he could. James’ dove out of the way and came up running as a more pitchforks started falling around him. This probably wasn’t good.
He dashed up a hill, and slowed as he ran down the other side, as did the mob behind him. They all watched as a cow in a tutu worked her way through some complicated tai chi moves. Sensing the presence of the people, the cow suddenly froze, staring as everyone ran by. “Moo?” was the only sound that it made before dashing away.
Wisely, everyone decided it was best to ignore this.
“I sure hope Mel is faring better than I am,” muttered James as he ran. Every day that he missed his Cheerios ended up badly for him. As he dodged another pitchfork, this one on fire, he sighed. Just another day in the life of a time travelling saver of the universe.

Will Ruds be all right? How many pitchforks can one mob carry? Why do I never seem to answer any questions? How is Mel faring? Join us and find out in the next instalment of:
The Importance of a Good Breakfast.
Same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger time, same Schlakenheisermandervorsonovichenburger place!

I'm so cool, I wear my hardhat backwards!

In the ongoing file of getting to know me, I present to you a list of my work history, and whatever else I feel like saying about each job.

1. Flyer Delivery Boy: 1987(?)-1989(?)
Don't really remember the dates, but it was around then. I was pretty young, still in my temper tantrum phase. I remember getting so mad one day that I threw some papers down on the ground in someone's yard and walked away almost crying. I was either mad because the flyers wouldn't fold properly, or I had to pee really badly. The pay was amazing though. I think I made less than $20 every two weeks, but when I was six, that was huge money. Heck, I even had a bank account and everything. And then we had to deliver the phone books as part of the job, and that payed double. I was in candy heaven.

2. Dishwasher/Banquet Worker at Canadian Bible College in Regina: 1996-2001/2002
When I was in high school, my older brother was kind enough to get me a job at Canadian Bible College, working as a dishwasher part-time (he was a cook/dishwasher there at the time) in the school cafeteria. It was an okay job, but by the end I was only doing very ocassional work, turning down jobs as often as I was taking them, which annoyed Scott, who was basically the kitchen manager by that time. There's not much fun in being a dishwasher. Sorry for the grief Scott.

2b. Pizza Delivery for Western Pizza: June 24, 1999
This was the shortest job I ever had - one day. Basically I had a car (that week), and a friend of mine hurt his back and couldn't work, so he called me up and had me work for him. I can't believe they actually let me do that, because I had never worked for them before, and they didn't know me. Basically, the qualification was that I had a car. They called me a week later and asked if I wanted to work again, but by then I had crashed the car, so I had to turn them down.

3. Operation: Cleansweep: April 2000 - July 2000
After my first year of college, my brother Chris, a friend of ours named Crystal, and I went up to Saskatoon and started our very own lawn service company. And we shall talk no more of that.

4. Gas Jockey at Petro-Canada: August 2000 - September 2000
This was a job that I didn't really enjoy very much. I didn't really like most of the people that I worked with, and I don't think the managers liked me very much. I wasn't as fast as some people were, which they really got upset about. It all came to a head one day in mid September when it was really busy. I was doing my best, but apparently it wasn't fast enough. And then, for some reason, pretty much all of the problems that we had that day got pinned on me. When the manager started chewing me out, I snapped at her and walked away, which probably wasn't the best decision I had ever made. It didn't help that I was coming down with a wicked bad sickness (bad enough that I actually went to a doctor a few weeks later, something I've only done two other times since I left high school). The next day I woke up with a fever of 42 Celcius (over 100 Farenheit), and I called in sick, and they were unhappy because I was late before I called because I had happened to write down the wrong starting time. They wanted me to come in anyway, which would have been a bad idea (I was unable to stand for more than about five seconds without almost fainting). Then they fired me the next day, which was cool, cuz I hated the job anyway.

5. Sales Clerk at Agnew Shoes: October 2000 - October 2000
I sold shoes for one month. I only got the job because the store was closing at the end of the month and they needed someone to work until then. I needed a job, so I did that for a month and then moved on.

6. Sales Associate at Toys 'R' Us: December 2000 - December 2000
I was hired for the Christmas rush. To this day, I still hate Christmas music, Raffi, and Sharon, Lois and Bram. Shudder

7. Comic Book Guy at Tramps: January 2001 - August 2001
I worked in a store that sold used books, movies, music, as well as comics, role playing games, and card games, among other things. I was in charge of the comic department, and in many ways this was my dream job. There are days when I look back and wish I was still in that job. I enjoy comics, and this let me keep tabs on all of the stories that I wanted to, plus see the weird little ones that I may have missed (hello Frumpy the Clown). There were some downfalls, such as dealing with the people who's entire lives were based on comics or, even more annoyingly, on Role Playing Games and Card Games (stupid Magic/Pokemon). As a fan of comic books, I not someone who is going to say anything to people for enjoying them, but frankly it always made me worry about people when this was all that they ever talked about, thought about, dreamt about, and anything elsed about. They seemed to have lost touch with reality. I hated that. Other than that, things were good at that job. Unfortunately, there were some personal matters that forced me to resign and find a new job.

8. Janitor at Canadian Bible College: September 2001 - May 2002
This was the best paying job (wage wise) I'd had until my current job. A wopping $7.50 an hour! Wooo! The first month of this job was spent cleaning the bathrooms in the dorms. Eight hours a day cleaning up after college guys. The only reason there was a second month was because I was moved into the school itself, where I cleaned offices and hallways, etc etc. No bathrooms. Or, very few bathrooms, and that was mostly mirrors. This was an okay job, and I liked having keys and codes to the entire building. That's a sense of power right there. It was also probably one of the easiest jobs I've ever had. There was enough to do, but it was pretty slack. But in the end, it just wasn't a job that I enjoyed much.
Interesting side note: Mandy Ralph, the wife of one of my very good friends (Peter Ralph, honourable mention) ended up cleaning the guys' dorm bathrooms after I did (either that year, or the very next year), and all I can say is, I can't believe she lasted as long as she did (the entire year). Actually, I retract that. I can believe it, because she is tougher than I am. But frankly, it was a crappy job, and guys are disgusting. O so disgusting. Mandy, I raise a cup in your honour!

9. Tree Planter: May 2002 - Early June (like, the second) 2002
I am a terrible tree planter. I lost money, got little sleep, and spent most of my time alone. And we shall talk no more of that.

10. Knife seller for Cutco Knives: July 2002 - July 2002
Nine days that I will never forget, without years of therapy or many drugs, both legal and illegal. Essentially, I joined a cult. People were way too chipper all the time. The worst was my second last day. I went to the district conference in Saskatoon (does anything good ever happen for me there?), and it was spooky. We clapped for everything: when someone went up to the front, when they walked down from the front (and if someone came up as someone went down, we clapped for them both seperately), when someone was introduced, when someone said anything positive ("I'm happy" clapclapclapclap "I just killed nine cats, but I used our knives to do it" clapclapclapclap, and so on and so forth), when we were bored. I'm pretty sure there was a chant or two somewhere in there. It's all lost in a haze. The knives themselves were pretty good, but that sort of job is just not my thing. I'm not much of a salesman, and I really don't like using the phone very much. That was basically my entire job, so I decided to give this one a pass.

11. Waiter at Humpty's: August 2002 - October 2002
This was the first restaurant that I worked at, but it wasn't the last. I mostly worked the graveyard shift, which was 11pm-7am. I didn't really mind that, since I am a night person anyway, but it got old fast. Especially since I was going to school for the last couple months of that. I would work all weekend at night, sleep all day, and walk around groggily during the evening. During the week, I would be at school all day, and I spent a great deal of time at or around the school in the evenings too, hanging out with people. The worst was Thanksgiving - I slept through the extended family being over for a big meal, and I had a turkey sandwich before I went to work that night. That was my Thanksgiving. And then I quit.

12. Waiter at Swiss Chalet in Regina: April 2003 - August 2003
This was one of the better jobs I have had. It was good because I really enjoyed the people that I worked with, way more than most jobs. Actually, that place may have been the best place I've worked in regards to that. The work itself was okay, as good as a restaurant can be (which is only okay at the best of times). I always enjoyed getting the tips, but it is a great deal of stress and work for not a great deal of money. But all in all, I was happy where I was. And then I quit. But, I only quit because I was leaving the province, and that commute would have killed me.

13. Waiter at Swiss Chalet in Calgary: September 2003 - April 2004
In direct contrast to Regina, I pretty much didn't like anyone I worked with. There were a few people I liked, but most of them I didn't really like all that much. I never felt like I was part of the group, but never really made the effort. The one manager was the most high strung person I have ever seen. He obsessed about the food getting run out from the kitchen. I know that it is important to get the guests their food, but he would be yelling at people about it even before the food was actually finished cooking. He didn't even care if we all had eight tables and needed to get them all drinks and clear plates and other things, if there was food being cooked, then we had to be running it. Frankly, I'm pretty sure he's had a heart attack by now. One of the other managers was fired for hitting on one of our fifteen year old hostesses. I was happy to leave.

14. Swiss Chalet in Regina: May 2004 - August 2004
I went back to Regina and ended up back at Swiss Chalet. I still enjoyed the people there, and didn't really mind working there. It was a little different, but all in all, it was pretty good. And then I moved back to Calgary.

15. Chili's Texas Bar and Grill in Calgary: January 2005 - October 2005
This is the job that I have held for the longest, at least, full time job. My first three jobs were only ever part time at the most. I didn't mind working here too much for the most part, but by the end it was really tough. Frankly, working in a restaurant loses its charm very quickly. I don't understand how people can do it for as long as they do. The tips aren't that good. I enjoyed the people I worked with, for the most part, but I was also perpetually irritated with many of them. Apparently whining is a requirement for working there, at least by many people. The worst was the cooks who would complain about having to cook food. And many of the people there had a work ethic that was lacking. I don't want to say that I was perfect, because that is completely wrong. But I can say that I tend to work hard, and it bugged me to see people not working hard. By the end, I just didn't care anymore, and it started to affect my work in ways that I noticed, even if no one else did. I really needed to get out of that job. And I did.

16. The Sign Guys in Canada: October 2005 - present (it's been a whole week now)(of which, four days were spent doing nothing because we didn't have any signs to put up)
So far, this is a pretty sweet job. Basically, we go in to Home Depots and put up signs. There are lots of signs that we do, including banners, wall signs, aisle numbers and signs, aisle violators (signs in the middle of the aisles beside whatever the sign is for (example: Beside the hammers is a sign that says 'hammers')), and, umm...more signs. There are more, but since I've only been doing this for a week, I don't really know everything, or even how to describe the various signs and things. But it's been pretty good so far. As of Thursday night, I had worked 30 hours in three days, which is ten hours a day. But I don't mind because I'm enjoying it, even though I'm spending the entire day on my feet, and my arms and legs are sore right now, and I have to get up early (six in the morning sometimes, which is WAY early for me...I've had days in the past month where that would have given me less than an hour of sleep). And, I will get to travel eventually, which is sweet. I've always wanted to travel, and to get paid (well) to do it, that rocks. Also, it's not just Home Depot. One of the guys I work with has being doing signs at the Science Centre, and in the new parkade at the Foothills hospital. Also, because it is a construction zone, I have to wear a hard hat. That amuses me, though I can't really say why. I guess I just don't feel like a hardhat sort of guy.

So those are all the jobs that I have had. From April 2000 to October 2002, I had nine jobs. That's a new job every two months, on average. Since then, I've managed to slow the average to a new job every six months. I hope I last in this job for a while. Or at least I figure out what I'm going to do as a career (although this is a possibility. Who knows).

Now, I gotta get some sleep. Another early morning beckons.

Thunderfunk the Superchicken - Pt 6

6. Things short when sleepy

Straw skulked around the ship, looking inconspicuous whenever anyone else showed their faces around the corridors, but otherwise creeping around in a very suspicious manner. Or he tried to. It was hard to skulk, he found, while carrying the General’s luggage, as well as his own meagre belongings. This big bag was heavy. He glanced down at the suitcase in his left hand and realised that it was his own luggage that was ridiculously oversized. It also didn’t help that the corridors in a ship are rather tight in general. Reaching the General’s quarters he placed his luggage inside and moved across the hall to his own room. Placing his luggage on the bed, he looked around the room, at what little there was to see. It was a small room, with only space for a small bed and a cramped desk. If the desk were any bigger it would probably hit the door, mused Straw. Well, on to business.
The plan was for Thunderfunk, aka General Takanoka, to gather as much information as he could from the Captain of the vessel. Meanwhile, through whatever means he thought necessary, Straw was to find out all he could from the sailors and other sources as he found them. Looking at the mirror hanging on the back of the door, Straw straightened out his uniform, making it look properly dishevelled. If there was one thing he did not want, it was to have a clean and neat uniform when the rest of the crew looked as though they had actually been wearing theirs. With a final tug at his pants, he nodded satisfactorily and headed out in the general direction of the engine room.
“So, tell me General Takanoka, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Captain Sato leaned back in his chair and regarded the large chicken across from him. A cup of tea sat in front of each of them, the steam rising softly into the air.
General Takanoka did not reply at first. Instead, he slowly and deliberately took a sip of his tea. Inwardly he sighed. He hated tea as much as he hated anything. Outwardly, he merely grimaced in a sign of displeasure at the low quality product he had been served, as though he were a tea connoisseur. Immediately Captain Sato was on the defensive. It was not his fault that the tea wasn’t very good. The tea growers had gone on strike, and not a single leaf had been collected until it was almost too late. Now it was all he had to serve. Takanoka grinned, again to himself. He did a great deal of things to himself without ever showing it on the outside. “I have come to oversee this entire operation. And as such, I will need to be brought up to speed with what you have done so far, and the preparations that have been made.”
Captain Sato stiffened in his chair. This was tantamount to a demotion. Probably because he had broken the heart of General Toyama’s daughter. That was a mistake he never should have made.
“I know what you are thinking,” said Takanoka calmly, setting aside his tea, “but you are incorrect. Think of this as not a demotion, but rather as a final test for a very big promotion. If you perform well, then perhaps I will be persuaded to make a few calls on your behalf.” Thunderfunk enjoyed the barely contained hope and glee that ran across Sato’s face. “Now,” he continued, “show me your exact orders, so that I may know how closely you have followed them.”
With a quick salute, Sato hurried to his safe where he retrieved the sailing orders. He handed them over to Thunderfunk, failing to suppress a giggle from escaping the corners of his mouth. Apparently a promotion was eagerly awaited by this particular officer. Boy was he going to feel dumb when he realised that he had been duped by a fowl. But not a common fowl. A much more than common fowl.
As he read the orders, Thunder’s eyebrows raised. “Interesting,” he muttered to himself. “Very interesting.” Of course, what it sounded like was “Mmmff. Mftgtf ftgsefgt.”
Captain Sato raised an eyebrow. Where had the general found that cookie? How very odd.

Some of my favourites part 5

Some of my favourites part 4

Some of my favourites part 3

Some of my favourites part 2