Tuesday, April 29, 2008

XX. 4/29/08

The men and women before her stared in anticipation. She saw those from her precinct along with scores of unfamiliar warriors. Even Chief Kalel joined, and sported a smashingly trendy new cape.

"I see my countrymen, poultrymen, who have come to battle the Porks!" she yelled. "You gather behind me, Grimironie Von Farmer!"

A tangy D.C.D.A from a foreign precinct shouted, "You're not Grimironie Von Farmer! She's ten feet tall and has a better rack!" The crowd murmured in agreement.

"Aye!" Grimironie commanded, ""She's ten feet tall with a better rack!" She drove Mongoose back and forth in front of the masses. "And she shoots microwaves through her eyes! And marinade out of her arse!"

The crowd fell silent. Three coughed and shook his head "no." "That just didn't sound right." He said. She nodded in understanding.

"So anyways," she continued, "I am Grimironie Von Farmer! And I say, they can take our cul-de-sacs, they can take our commercial airtime, but they Can't Take Our Poultry!"

The army before her stomped and screamed. She was a hit! Cool.

"Grim!" Crispy barked. She turned around. The ugliest, stinkiest horde of Porks had assembled across the field. Far behind them, atop the hill was a familiar figure upon a gleaming ATV: Snake B. Bauer. "They're sending a messenger to give their terms!"

Grimironie turned on Mongoose and sped to the center of the field. Two Porks rode to meet her with a meatpacking parchment. The taller of the Porks ceremoniously unwrapped the parchment from a slab of bacon, and dropped the bacon onto the grass.

"Bauer's terms." The Pork scoffed. "Remove all of your chicken farmers from Wisconsin. He will grant you a right to all states from Georgia to Baja California southward, provided that no D.C.D.A.'s venture into his territory..."

Grimironie circled the Porks as the tall one read.

"Sign a contract which binds all of your cereal rights, and agree to purchase all chickenfeed from Pigsy Porkster." The Pork trembled under Grimironie's forceful stare.

"You can tell Bauer to sell his mama to a vanity press for all I care. I'll give you my conditions... tell Bauer to turn tail and run now, or I'll have you all encased in the world's largest can of Spam, and put you on display for the delight of all the school children in the United States of America, so that they can laugh and frolic at your demise!"

The Porks grunted, "It's your funeral!"

"I'm not done yet!" Grimironie continued, "And tell Bauer that I'll wax him from head to toe, and take out billboards across the country proclaiming that he's lost all of his testosterone!"

The taller Pork snorted, "You're fricassee! Up you're's"

"I'll show you what you get for bad spelling," Grimironie whispered as she sped back to her men.

"Kate Thornton!" She yelled, "Take your snipers and flee! Circle around behind the Porks, and hold the high ground behind them!"

Kate winked, "Niiice."

"Let them see you flee!" Grimironie instructed.

"Yeah, well, you can't miss it, can you?" Kate said. "Look, we're fleeing everyone! Didja notice that? Ray Charles would see it if he were still here. Fleeing. Fleeing. Here we go." Her voice diminished as she left. "Still fleeing now! Obvious to everyone..."

What a gal!

"D.C.D.A.'s!" Grimironie yelled, "Don't shoot until you can smell their trichinosis!"

Her army coughed and laughed.

"What the heck; shoot when they're in range!"

"No kidding," said Haskins.

The army prepared for the onslaught. A thousand basters cocked in unison.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

XIX. 4/22/08

Three rose from the hot spring. He flicked back his hair, and the droplets of water glistened like crystals against the sunrise.

"Hiya kids, har har," Crispy laughed. Grimironie jumped. She hadn't even heard his ATV approach.

"What are you doing out in the field?" she asked, "I thought you gave up overtime."

Three walked over in his bathrobe and squatted on a rock. Crispy coughed. "Yeah, well, ducklin', I got a little inside info. Word on the street is, well..."

"Yes?"

"Bauer's been recruitin'. He's buildin' an army they say."

"Who says?"

"Aye, there, yanno, I got my sources. You just watch yourself."

"Give me a little more. I can't do much with that."

"It's an army of Porks. Tha's what I hear."

Grimironie's jaw dropped. Her years of paranoia had come to fruition, and she had been right all along. "Oscar Mayer!" she cursed.

"Worse," Crispy said. "Think bigger."

* * * * * * * *

The crack of the whip urged the men onwards until the grand oak creaked and uprooted. They pushed the fallen tree into a pit where it smoldered. A score of pigs turned on rotisseries above the burning trees: food for the men.

Bauer stood above the sty and watched the form within the mire writhe and struggle. As it rose from the dung, it looked more like a man. Bauer slapped his hand upon the being's face, leaving his mark. The mark was clear; it identified his minion. Each minion bore the same mark: Pigsy Porkster. The Pork rose and glowered. Bauer smiled.

* * * * * * * * *

Grimironie and Three doubled surveillance and shortened their trips. She took seismographs each hour, and Three set up booby-traps around their camp each night.

He climbed into her tent. "If this ends badly," Three said and paused poignantly, "I just want you to know, you can count on me until the end. The very end. The last, final end, for example, if you or I die, I'll be fighting. I'll baste until the last clove is gone. You know what I'm saying? The End. Fine'. Caput. Un gats. No more."

"Okay," she said. She got the point. "But let's not plan on that." Three smiled. She continued, "Tell me about your marinades."

"Now we're talking business," he grinned. "I want to first say a few words about extra-virgin olive oil..." He relayed his innermost seasoning secrets into the wee hours. When she closed her eyes, a few hours before sun-up, she knew that she had found a real partner, someone who knew when to use fennel, and when to opt for thyme.

Her plan just might work.

* * * * * * * * *

They pushed on into the wilds of Wisconsin. Occasionally, locals would emerge from their quaint ranches and wave. Now and then, they'd see a D.C.D.A. flag raised alongside a Packers flag in someone's front yard. The people were behind her, at least in a secondary fan incarnation, and that was enough.

They turned into a large field, and twenty-plus choppers descended. Grimironie swallowed hard, but saw Crispy's private helicopter and regained her composure. Gristle's chopper landed nearest to them. She and Three stood upright, shoulders back, and did their best to look intelligent, yet hip.

"Your samples have rendered some interesting results," Gristle said, staring meaningfully into their eyes. He handed Grimironie a spreadsheet. It showed that gas prices were certain to go up, and that the chickenfeed had been laced with Wellbutrin.

"Should I turn in Mongoose for a green ATV?" she asked.

"That can come in time," Gristle instructed. "What you need to find out is why Poultreus is calming the Death Chickens."

Indeed. Excel never failed.

D.C.D.A.'s from her base and afar assembled in a line, and the choppers took off. She saw Maestro, clad in a chic Hawaiian shirt and Ray-bans. He approached her with a Hawaiian surfer boy. She nodded. The surfer spoke: "I've brought an army from My Island. We're willing to fight with the famed Grimironie Von Farmer, and kill the Porks." Maestro nodded his approval.

"Will you fight my enemies? Why should I believe in your allegiance?"

"Ha!" he laughed. And looked towards the sky. "Did you hear that, Pele? She asks for my allegiance!" He turned back towards her. "The lava flows south, and you hate agent scams. That is enough for me. Besides, I've seen you on cable. I can tell you're good people."

Three gave her a quizzical glance.

"All right then," she said, "if you say so." She knew it was lame, but she had a really bad cramp and wanted to get moving again. She jumped on Mongoose and drove back and forth in front of the hundreds of D.C.D.A.'s and surfers who had come from afar.