Bringing the Giant Down

Predator Press

Nurse Garrison pulls the curtain back with a well-practiced snap, and in my mind’s eye I can clearly see her, clipboard in hand, taking her seat. Doctor Nyarlathotep’s unmistakable tall, thin frame is silhouetted in full view.

“Why are you still in your leisure suit?” says Nurse Garrison with clearly insincere cheer. “We need you to put on the hospital gown as requested.”

“I’m sorry miss,” the man replies. “If I were anything other than polyester, I break out in hives.”

Nurse Garrison audibly scrawls on her clipboard. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Well,” the man pauses, choosing his words. “You know how those Viagra commercials tell you to seek medical attention if you have an erection for more than four hours?”

“Ah,“ says Doctor Nyrlathotep in a thick accent. “When did your erection start?”

“October.”

“Really?”

“October 1991, actually.”

-I hear Nurse Garrison’s pencil tumbling on the linoleum.

“Why would you wait all this time to seek medical help?” asks the doctor.

“Because of my occupation.”

Nurse Garrison flips some pages. “It says here you are a … cruise ship captain?”

“It’s kind of a long story. You know those cruises for single senior citizens?”

“Like Seniors Meet?“ Nurse Garrison offered.

“Precisely,” the man confirmed. “I snuck aboard one -the Sea Nile to be exact- in an effort to find love and happiness.”

“Love and happiness?” says Nurse Garrison. “It says here you’re only in your forties.”

“Yep. I would seek out the most unhealthy and oldest women possible. Triple bypasses, cancer, whatever. Then I would wine them and dine them until properly seduced. Then I would have the ship captain marry us.” I could see the shadow of his hands folding behind his head. “Once geezed up on booze, cocaine, meth, and wild freaky sex, they rarely survived the honeymoon.”

“And you would inherit their fortunes,” Nurse Garrison finished.

“That’s disgusting,” remarked the doctor.

“Well the captain apparently thought so too,” the man continued. “And during the subsequent investigation he found out I was a stowaway.”

Nurse Garrison snorted. “So you were thrown in the brig I would hope.”

“Nah. Seniors -somewhat skittish by nature- tend to be touchy about security issues. The crew of the Sea Nile found the whole situation embarrassing. I was forced to work in the galley to earn my fare until we reached the next port, where I would presumably face charges.”

The doctor seemed incredulous. “So what happened then?”

“Damndest thing,” the man replied. “The whole crew came down with food poisoning.”

“Really,” Nurse Garrison breathed. “I wonder how that happened.”

“Me too. Oddly, as in naval tradition, when a captain is knocked out of commission he is replaced by the first mate. And if the first mate is knocked out …”

“Yes,” Doctor Nyarlathotep nodded. “The succession of command at sea.”

“Well at some point, as the last official member of the crew not afflicted, eventually that succession came all the way down to me.”

I could see the shadow of Doctor Nyarlathotep’s head shaking. “So as the only unpoisoned member of the crew, you became captain.”

“Well, acting captain I suppose. But I did get me one of those cool hats.”

“You were never caught?”

“I assigned a passenger task force of little old ladies to solve the crimes, but they all turned up dead.”

“What did they die of?” the nurse asked.

“Booze, cocaine, meth, and wild freaky sex. It was all very mysterious. My First Mate -Noodlecakes- was concerned-

"Noodlecakes?"

"He is a Yorkshire Terrier, I think.  But anyway, Noodlecakes was concerned the seniors might mutiny.  We decided to, uh, distract them somehow.”

Sensing an uncomfortable pause, the doctor prompted the man. “What did you do then?”

“I started marrying the passengers to each other. Randomly at first, then alphabetically. Soon I had the system pretty refined based on size, race, religion …”

“Oh my God,” Nurse Garrison moaned.

“But it was going really smoothly,” the man insisted. “Except when the already married couples were married to other people. They kept going back to their original spouses! I don’t run a ship of debauched sinners, and have a very strict policy when it comes to adultery on my watch.”

Doctor Nyarlathotep, rubbing his temples, turned to Nurse Garrison and articulated exactly what I was thinking.

“Doesn’t this all sound strangely familiar?”

I could resist no longer. Leaping up from my own hospital bed, I threw the curtain wide on the startled three that I may lay eyes on this singular man, this patient who could be no other than-

“Dad!” I cried.

Bittersweet Symphony

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"So you fell down an elevator shaft," says Nurse Garrison.

"No," I correct. "I jumped down an elevator shaft. Lord Likely wanted to cut the elevator cable so the horses pulling it would be free and the townspeople could go summon help."

Glancing up from her clipboard, she sighs. "Your wife called. She's on her way."

"Thank you for notifying her," I says.

"She's very worried," Nurse Garrison shrugs. Inspecting a tiny scrap of paper through her glasses she adds, "Evidently your 'Driving Into a Lake or Volcano' insurance expired on the 4th."

"Dammit!" I complain. "There goes our Hawaiian vacation. She's going to kill me."

"I thought she was kidding," says the Nurse. Peering over her glasses, she appears strangely incredulous. "You still have a Driver's License?"

"I got better'n that," I says. Flipping open my wallet, I show her my polished badge.

Pushing her glasses back up her nose, Nurse Garrison reads it aloud:

LOBO
Head of Secret Zombie
and Boogeyman Prevention
for Liberty and Justice.

"This has the Presidential Seal," she comments.

"So it should. The SZBPFLJ -as the blissfully unaware public so likes to pronounce it- was commissioned in February of 2002 by President George Bush himself."

"This badge implies you are a Federal Agent. It's got to be a Federal Offense to present it."

"And I never understood that," I agree. "That would never stop zombies or the Boogeyman from trying to impersonate me. George can be very frustrating."

"It says 'Made in Taiwan'."

"Cut me some slack," I reply. "I'm lying as fast as I can."

Lady McDeath

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep puts down his stethoscope.

“So the patient has no issues with drugs or alcohol?”

“No,” replies Terri.

Nurse Garrison peers over her glasses. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m comin’ Elizabeth!” I call loudly from my hospital bed.

“Who the fuck is ‘Elizabeth’?” Terri growls.

“This could be serious,” says the doctor. “One single not properly refrigerated Filet-O-Fish is the equivalent of-“

“Doc,” says Terri. “He has faked his death on this blog thirty times.”

“Word,” nods Nurse Garrison from behind the clipboard.

“Twenty six!” I correct loudly from my hospital bed.

“-but if you think for one second,” Terri continues, “I’m going to let you jack me up on this hospital bill, I’ll stuff that stethoscope so far up your-“

I suddenly sit bolt upright, clutching my heart. “Cancel … my … subscription … to … Highlights ... Ack!”

... and then collapse.

Nurse Garrison lowers her clipboard. "In medical terminology, them's fightin' words."

"Oh please," says Terri. "He only subscribes so the mailman thinks he's smart."

A Thigh for an Eye

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Let me get this straight," says Nurse Garrison, looking up from her clipboard. "You opened your eyes in the bathtub?"

"Check," I says.

"Didn't your mother ever warn you about opening your eyes in the bathtub? Now you're permanently blind."

"Don't we still have Mr Insanity's body encased in carbonite?"

Nurse Garrison sighs. "You've already stolen one of his arms. Now you want his eyes?"

"Stolen is such an ugly word," I says. "I prefer 'harvested'."

"That's ghoulish," she says.

"How about if I trade him?" I says.

"But your eyes don't work."

"I know. I'm offering something of infinitely more value."

"Like what?"

"My cellulite. Every last precious drop of it."

"So you want me to transplant his eyes into you, and your body fat into him in exchange."

"Well, that wouldn't really be very fair. Me and this cellulite go way back. I've lived my whole life under a rigid discipline to cultivate and grow this fantastic and impact-resistant body. My fat is a symbol of my success. I'm very attached to it."

"I can see that," says Nurse Garrison.

"How's his liver?"

"He attempted suicide by overdose on Fuzzy Navels last year, remember?"

"He was very lucky we were able to save his life," I reflect.

"Was he?"

Blister Pack of Lies

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Look," says Nurse Garrison, lowering her clipboard and sighing audibly. "I'm going to have to tell the insurance company something."

"Tell them it's Cobe's fault," I reply simply.

She picks up her pen, and pushed her glasses back over her nose. "Who is Cobe?"

"He's a guy that I sent to straighten out all our operations in Antarctica last year."

"So this is his fault how?"

"Well, he's still in charge of the scheduling and catering of the Company Picnic." I tear up as I stare at the wool mittens over my hands. "He did this on purpose. What kind of sicko schedules a company picnic in November?"

"But it's a clear day, and 72 degrees outside," says Garrison. "I think the guy made some pretty good choices all things considered."

"That's exactly what Cobe would want you to think," I illustrate. "But he scheduled the date and the caterer both."

"So?"

"The caterer came with a clear agenda," I says. "He sets up and starts grilling chicken. I simply asked him from time to time if it was done yet."

Nurse Garrison moaned dubiously. "How many times did you ask him?"

"Thirty four," I says. "Finally he says Sure buddy. It's done now. Knock yourself out. He never tells me that the stuff on the grill is like searing hot."

"So he caused 3rd degree burns on your hands, " she scrawls. "Were you around when he made the potato salad?"

"Yes," I confess. "Why?"

"We'll have to check you for tapeworms too." She pauses. "Colonoscopy?"

"Three weeks ago," I reply, sullen.

"Well you're due," she says, checking a box. "At your age, you can't be too careful. Now why are you wearing those cheap wool mittens?"

"They were Ethan's idea," I says, inspecting them wincing. "But I sterilized my hands in boiling hydrochloric acid first like he told me."

"Ethan told you to sterilize your hands before going to the hospital by boiling them in hydrochloric acid while wearing wool mittens?"

"This happened at last year's picnic. He figured with an HMO, getting my leg pulled would cost essentially the same."

Tearing a bloody strip cautiously from the mitten she remarks, "Is that salted Brillo?"

"Yes. But this year I remembered not to try to grab French fries out of the grease," I proclaim. "I hate that smell."

Down the Rabbit Hole

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Every once in a while, Terri makes me go to visit Doctor Smith.

I don’t really mind doing it. It must be refreshing to occasionally see people as sane as myself, and I consider the subsequent morale boost Doctor Smith enjoys my personal contribution to medical science.

And exhausted from the drive up, I was really hoping he would let me stay for a few days. You can’t beat Doctor Smith's hospitality –she has rooms so comfortable, even the ceilings have rubber on them! And this is clever if you think about it: Doctor Smith can never be sued by a basketball player having bumped his head.

But what I hate about visiting Doctor Smith is the waiting room.

The people in there are freakin' nuts.

“How dare you keep me in here with this frothing hoard of lunatics!” I scream. “This man is wearing a Cubs baseball cap!”

Nurse Garrison glanced down her glasses, over the clipboard. “I don’t suppose you would let me administer a shot, would you?”

“Christ no! I would prefer he was sedated!" I point. "Look! He won't stop staring at me!”

“I mean on you,” replied Nurse Garrison.

What happened next is unclear, because at the sight of the hypodermic I fainted. And -falling off the chair I was standing on- I cracked my skull on a floor.

The waiting room floor, ironically, is utterly devoid of rubber.

With Malice of Thought

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Let me get this straight," says Nurse Garrison, looking out at me over her glasses. "Lindsay Lohan lopped your arm off?"

"Check," I says.

"You realize that your insurance doesn't cover prosthetics."

"I thought you said we had Mr Insanity frozen in a block of carbonite."

"I did," says Nurse Garrison.

"Well, I don't really see him signing anything soon, do you?"

"You're a monster," she replies.

"Fuck off!" I says.

I hate HMOs.

Intensive Carelessness

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Let me get this straight,” says Nurse Garrison, looking out at me over her glasses. “You narrowly escaped being assassinated by the United States Government disguising yourself as a flesh-eating cicada … like the ones that wiped out your entire town?”

“Check,” I says.

“Then,” she says while flipping through pages on her clipboard, “Lindsay Lohan kicked your ass.”

“Lindsay Lohan and four bodyguards kicked my ass,” I corrected.

“That’s funny,” says the nurse. “Because there’s no mention of any bodyguards in the Police Report.”

“Well they were there,” I insist. “They must’ve snuck off. Like ninjas. In fact, yes. Now that I’ve thought about it, all six of those bodyguards were wearing black pajamas.”

“But Lindsay Lohan has issued sworn testimony that she doesn’t employ any bodyguards.”

“Currently.”

“Currently?”

“They could’ve been ninjas from the future. What if Lindsay Lohan, like, meets this creepy weirdo one day? Then she gets the bodyguards.”

“Ninja bodyguards … that can time travel.”

“You know for somebody that took the Hypocritical Oath to ‘Serve and Protect’, I’m starting to think you’re not taking me seriously.”

“Well, I am a little puzzled by some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like, if you escaped millions of carnivorous cicadas by dressing as one, why didn’t you just dress as Lindsay Lohan?”

“Look, just kiss my ass. Okay?”

“Not with that stiletto heel in there. Someone could poke their eye out.”

Bits of Tid

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"-that I'm sent from above. I'm not that innocent! Oops I did it again ... I played with your heart-"

Nurse Garrison lowers her stethoscope.

"You swallowed your iPod again, didn't you?"

"Maybe," I reply.

'Motion in the Ocean'? WTF? It's a Small Penis!

Predator Press

[LOBO]


"What the hell is wrong with you?" demands Ethan, closing my office door. "The whole damn building is complaining that you keep calling and paging."

"I'm having a little trouble dialing," I says.

"Well, get off your ass and go tell Maintenance to fix your phone!"

"I'm having trouble with the doorknob too," I says.

"Why are you sitting like that? "

"Like what?"

"Like you're hiding your hands."

Resigned, I sigh and set my hands on my desk. As I open them slowly, Ethan gasps.

"Jesus Christ!" he says. "What happened?"

"Well, you know that male, eh, 'enhancement' cream we've been selling?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it turns out it works."

"It made your hands freakishly large?"

"Well I hadda apply it somehow."

Ethan pressed the speakerphone button. "Phoebe?"

"Yes sir" she replies.

"Can you send Nurse Garrison to LOBO's office?"

"Um, she stammers. "Actually sir, that might be a bit of a problem. I'm having a little trouble dialing phones this morning."

"Phoebe, why in the world would you use that cream?"

[muffled, soft sobs]

"No girl wants to be a B-Cup forever sir."

Doctor Gudenstont

LOBO -Predator Press

"Hi Doctor!" I feel impelled to wave. She is only three feet away, but through her enormous magnifying glass, her eyeball alone is the size of a football. "Is 'Gudenstont' French?" I ask.

Doctor Gudenstont, alternating blue footballs at me, appears not to hear the question. "Vee shall have to do many, many tests on you," she concludes. "Many very painful tests." Without taking her alternating eyes off of me, she presses a button on the nearby telephone.

"Nurse Garrison?"

"Yes," came the almost instant disembodied reply.

"I vill need lots of needles. A hammer, and a pair of pliers ..." Her gigantic pupil dilates. "And a bone saw," she adds.

"The burlap sack labelled 'LOBO'?"

"Ja."

"Thank you doctor. I have been waiting a long time for this. I'll be right in."

"Hey," I argue with the footballs and disembodied voice. "I am a sculpted, athletic Adonis, and I've put numerous decades of hard work into achieving this body. I'm not falling for whatever insurance insurance scam you are trying to pull here."

Suddenly, Doctor Gudenstont jumped through the window of her own 15th floor examination room! I ran to the shattered window, watching in disbelief as she plunged toward the pavement. Then, a para-sail popped out, and she floated to a nearby waiting helicopter.

"Haben Sie das erreicht, dafür Sie gekommen sind?" The pilot yelled.

"Nein!" Doctor Gudenstont replied.

And as I watched them escape, diminishing over the horizon, I knew my fate was sealed. The die had been cast.

-Doctor Gudenstont is pretty cute for a French chick.

Stay the Hell Away From the Light

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I staggered into the Emergency Room.

"I'm dying," I gasp, collapsing to the floor.

"I thought Security just kicked you out of here," says Nurse Garrison.

"Twithe," I says, weakly fogging the glossy linoleum.

"You have a cold."

"I'm a crawling host for billions of parasitic viruses," I paraphrase. "C'mon, woman. Heal me for God's sake. It's not like I have an HMO."

"Where did you get the hospital gown?"

"I keep a few in the car," I reply. "It might save me a few mortal seconds of begging for medical attention on the hospital floor."

"Go home and rest. Drink some chicken soup."

"Chicken soup? What the hell kind of Voodoo crap is that?" I stand. "Shall I circle the chicken over my head while chanting? Hm? Are you even licensed to practice medicine in the United States? I want to see some credentials, you Hypocratic quack."

"Get a vaporizer," she offers. "You would be amazed how much that soothes."

I was slightly encouraged. "You know," I confess, "I've never actually vaporized anyone before."

With new purpose, I shuffle out in my paper booties. "You'll still be here in an hour, right?"

The Exciting Electrical Elevator Endeavor

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep?" I wheeze weakly into the phone.

"LOBO? How did you get this number?"

"I peeked over Nurse Garrison's shoulder when she was filling out my chart."

The doctor sighed. Setting down his golf clubs, he eased back into the driver's seat of the cart. "She told me you have a sinus infection.”

"Then why do I feel like my brains have expanded, ripped through my skull and seeped out while a gnarly-toed bigfoot splashed around on them?"

"Because you have a sinus infection."

"I blame the boy," I says flatly.

"It's entirely possible. You did mention he was sick last week. You could have picked up what he had."

"Well this was most ill-conceived. He is by far the most expendable of us. I mean he can't get a job or drive a car ... and those tiny soft hands are poorly-suited for building even the most woefully small of colossal effigies of myself!"

The sky darkened suddenly, and the doctor looked up to see black clouds moving in. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the warm smell of rain filled the atmosphere.

“What the hell was that?" I says into the phone. "Where are you?”

“It’s a storm coming in,” replied the doctor. “I’m at the 17th hole of the Cancun Open.”

“What’s your handicap?”

"At the moment, you are. Get some Tylenol," suggested the doctor.

"I can't. I'm still stuck in the elevator."

"I thought you were rescued."

"Well, the elevator started working again. But just as I called the police, the CIA, the FBI, FEMA and Interpol to tell them everything was cool, Lord Likely got on and beat the control panel into slag with his cane.”

“They don’t make these confounded contraptions like they used to,” explained Likely. “And who is this Mandy person?”

“LOBO, I can’t help you from here. Would you please just call the fire department back?”

“They won’t answer,” I says sulkily.

“Tell this medical practitioner to fear not,” says Likely. “I’ve had Botter lay down at the bottom of the shaft and cushion our descent.”

“Will that work?” I ask Likely.

“I don’t know,” says Likely. “That’s why you have to go first. Botter is chocked full of spiky bones and so forth; he will need to be tenderized thoroughly before my Lordliness can attempt such a feat.”

“I’m ready Milord!” cries Botter from far below.

“Doc,” I says into the phone. “What if I jump, and then right before I smack into the ground, I swerve to avoid it?”

Doctor Nyarlathotep rolled his eyes just as the heavy rain began to fall. “It’s worth a try. But wouldn’t you just veer of into the side of the concrete elevator shaft?”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Resigned, I yell down, “Okay Botter, are you ready?”

“Yes Sir.”

To Likely, “And you’re sure he won’t move?”

“Dare he move a muscle, I shall beat him severely about the legs,” says Likely with command.

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”

After a brief moment, I step into oblivion.

“Oh wait sir!” cries Botter. “I forgot your Tylenol in the car!”

Aftermath

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Why do you keep screwing with Lindsay Lohan?" asks Nurse Garrison.

"Thut up!" I says.

"You realize she's pulled your tongue through your keyster, right?"

"Yeth I do, thankth."

The Alabaster Battlemaster

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Discovering I was down to 12 heartbeats an hour, Doctor Nyarlathotep grew concerned and tested my blood.

"Playing Battlefield 2 sixteen hours a day is terrible for your health," he points out. "You need sunlight. I can see the organs pulsing through your skin."

"Really?" I says, squinting under the harsh lighting of the examination room. "I hadn't noticed."

And as always, my blood got an A+ ... clearly showing an intellectual superiority over all the other stupid and inferior bloods.

"-that I'm sent from above. I'm not that innocent! Oops I did it again ... I played with your heart-"

A disbelieving Nurse Garrison lowers her stethoscope.

"You swallowed your iPod again, didn't you?"

"Maybe," I reply.

Larger than Life

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"What the hell is wrong with you?" demands my new boss, slamming the office door. "The whole damn building is complaining that you keep calling and paging."

"I'm having a little trouble dialing," I says.

"Well, get off your ass and go tell Maintenance to fix your phone!"

"I'm having trouble with the doorknob too," I says.

"Why are you sitting like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're hiding your hands."

Resigned, I sigh and set my hands on my desk. As I open them slowly, he gasps.

"Jesus Christ!" he says. "What happened?"

"Well, you know that new, eh, 'male enhancement' cream we sell?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it turns out it works."

"It made your hands freakishly large?"

"Well I hadda apply it somehow."

Spinning my phone around to face him, he presses the front desk button.

"Natalie?"

"Yes sir" she replies.

"Can you send Nurse Garrison to LOBO's office?"

"Um, she stammers. "Actually sir, that might be a bit of a problem. I'm having a little trouble dialing phones this morning."

"Natalie, why in the world would you use that cream?"

[muffled, soft sobs]

"No girl wants to be an A-cup forever sir."

Stat

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"I'm not even going to ask anymore," says Nurse Garrison.

"What?" I yell, cupping my huge hand to my face like a megaphone. "I can't hear your stupid diagnosis if your going to mumble it from way over there."

"I really don't understand the nature of your complaint," she says louder. "Most guys would kill for this problem."

"Yeah." I concede. "But I'm experiencing back problems."

Shanghaied

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“So let me get this straight,” says Nurse Garrison, looking down her glasses. “Due to mortgaging the house and a streak of tawdry material, your wife assaulted you?”

“If you replace the word ‘assaulted’ with the words 'collided a cast-iron skillet with,' you would be 100% correct.”

“She must’ve been pretty mad.”

“I’ll say,” I says through the gauze. “She made bacon and eggs in it first.”

Violated

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I’m dreaming.

Rush Limbaugh is playing golf, and I’m hiding behind a nearby tree --surrounded by water balloons.

I must be careful which balloon I select; this is the opportunity of a lifetime. It must be full enough to make a good splash at this distance, but not so firm as it would burst during the hurl …

“Mr. Curr!” exclaims Nurse Garrison.

Waking slowly, I realize I am holding her breasts.

Mortified, I smacked her.

Catlike Reflexes

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Okay, I’ve escaped the hospital to give you the football picks.

Plus, if I don’t show up for work between now and the 31st, my insurance will run out. I don’t know if you’ve ever been thrown into a dumpster full of biological waste and used hypodermics before, but let me tell you: it’s not pleasant.

The Bears are playing the Packers tonight, and I’m leaning toward the Packers.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not rooting for the Packers. But Brett is a retiring and jazzed veteran seasoned on playing against the Bears; he’s gonna rip into any sloppy playing he sees.

Maybe my Morse code is a little rusty though. I thought I had blinked all this fairly rationaly up on the eleventh floor, but Nurse Garrison seemed to feel like I was rooting for the Soviets. I heard that rubber glove snap, and reflexively leapt out the nearest window.

I hope this doesn't bust my laptop.