2.Ø2
Argust 15, 2124, 3:48pm
Clutching a wad of lecture notes Muddle unlocked his office door and nudged it open. The office, furnished in tasteful hardwood, was deplorably overstuffed with straggling heaps of junk--or what Muddle preferred to describe as valuable historical artifacts. Despite the best efforts of a first-rate ventilation system, a musty-attic smell pervaded the room.
After tossing the lecture notes on his desk Muddle plopped into a chair, unlocked a secure side drawer and shuffled through its contents: a multitude of brownish prescription bottles. Sifting through the containers Muddle eventually located a bottle in which a few tablets rattled. He wrestled with its cap. When the cap wouldn’t budge Muddle scrutinized the label to see if the bottle was, in fact, worth opening.
Snick...
A bank of fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead.
“Hey, Max, it might help if you had some light.” Muddle turned to discover Angellica’s bright eyes peeping around his door. She inquired, “Mind if I come in?”
“No. Not at all, Gellie, come right in.” Muddle waved toward a wingback chair that was occupied by a teetering stack of newspapers. “Don’t mind the papers, Gellie. I’m just going to recycle them.”
Angellica rolled her eyes and tipped the papers to the floor before flouncing sideways into the wingback. “So...” Angellica gushed, “What did you make of that whole ‘MAGA, MAGA, MAGA’ thing?”
“Ugh..." Muddle winced as his headache spiked, "It was like a bad dream.”
“Like a bad dream? Is that all you have to say, Max?” Angellica swung her feet to the floor and scooted her chair closer to Muddle’s, “C’mon, Max! You can do better than that. I mean...” She slapped Muddle’s knee, “Do you think Blowhard’s MAGA mania could have anything to do with that dopey theory of yours?” Gellie threw back her head and roared with laughter, “Wouldn’t that be hilarious, Max? I mean, you could finally say that your crackpot theory isn’t the dumbest thing since self-igniting matches.”
“Wha-…!” Muddle clutched a hand to his heart, “Crackpot theory…!?!”
Before Muddle could say any more, there was a heavy knock on his door, “BANG! BANG! BANG!”
Muddle and Gellie exchanged looks.
The visitor knocked again with greater urgency, “BANG!! BANG!! BANG!!” and then inquired, “Hello? Is anyone in there?” The voice, though growly and bear-like, also bore a note of good cheer, “Ahoy! I seek an audience with Professor Maxwell Muddle. Is this his place of work?” The visitor pounded again—this time nearly hard enough to bash the door off its hinges, “BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG!!!””
Fearing that the visitor’s door-knocking might soon bring the roof down, Muddle sang out, “Uhh, hello? Whom, may I ask, is calling?”
“Ah, good!” The cheery voice boomed, “Er...If it’s not too much trouble, professor, would you mind opening the door?”
Muddle cringed, “Well, I...don’t usually open the door to strangers. Especially strangers who sound like bears. I hope you understand.”
“Ah, yes.” The thundering voice conceded, “I get that a lot. To put your mind at ease, professor, I can assure you that I am not a bear. Also, I have been given a password that should convince you of my good intentions. Would you like to hear it?”
A password? Muddle glanced at Gellie. She shrugged, “Either way, you don’t have to open the door, Max.”
Seeing the sense in Gellie’s feedback, Muddle shouted to the caller, “Okay, my good man. Please tell me your password.”
“Ah, good…just...one moment...” There was a short pause followed by a sequence of growly grunts and groans. The next thing Muddle heard was the creepy sound of a bear panting beneath his door. The visitor puffed, “...I do apologize, professor, but my visit must remain a closely-guarded secret. Would you mind if I whispered the password into your ear?”
“Oh...ugh!” Muddle recoiled at the thought of a grizzly bear nuzzling his ear. Instead, he threw caution to the wind and, in spite of a frownie face from Gellie, opened his office door. To Muddle’s lasting surprise, he found a huge viking lying horizontally in the hallway.
The viking beamed, “Professor Muddle! We meet at last. I am Thud, the God of Thunder.” The viking tried to hug Muddle, but was thwarted by the Lilliputian doorframe. Following the failed hug, Thud inquired, “Professor, would you mind if I entered your office?
“Oh…” Muddle fell back a step and compared the viking’s shoulders to the doorway, “Sure, Thud. If you can squeeze through, be my guest.”
“Ha-ha! Not to worry professor.” Thud paused to direct a smile at Gellie, “As you might guess, I encounter this problem a lot, so…” The viking wheezed, “...I get plenty of practice.”
Thud was wearing a Minnesota Vikings jersey. As he wriggled through the doorway, the thunder god’s labors were accompanied by the sound of shredding fabric. By the time he finished, Thud's jersey was in tatters.
Once inside Muddle’s office, Thud sat cross-legged to keep his head below the ceiling tiles. Assessing the sorry state of his jersey, Thud addressed Gellie, “Dear lady, would you care for a souvenir?”
“Excuse me?” Gellie blinked.
“My jersey.” Thud indicated his demolished shirt, “Women find me irresistible and they are ecstatic whenever I remove my clothing, so....” Thud whisked the jersey over his head, “...I am always happy to oblige.” Every muscle in Thud’s torso rippled like corded steel.
“Ach! No, please!” Gellie averted her eyes, “Look, Thud, that’s kind of you, but I have a boyfriend, and he may not be a Norse god, but…” Gellie’s eyes gleamed at the thought of her beau’s antique slide rule collection, “...he’s my guy.”
“Nonsense!” Ignoring everything Gellie had just said, the viking balled up his shirt and tossed it to her, “I am Thud, the God of Thunder. No woman can resist me. You see?” Thud struck a pose and gazed rapturously at himself.
Gellie frowned at the jersey and, when Thud wasn’t looking, tossed it aside. Sensing the opportunity, Gellie made a beeline for the door, “It’s been a pleasure gentlemen, but I’ve got to go.”
“Wha-at?” Muddle’s voice cracked, “Aw, come on Gellie. Can’t you stay? I mean…” He gestured toward Thud, “Please!!”
“Professor?” Thud stopped flexing long enough to interpose, “I believe your associate is correct. It would be best to keep our conversation private.”
“See, Max?” Gellie suppressed a giggle, “You don’t want me eavesdropping on your man-cave bidniss, do ya’?” Gellie managed to get one foot out the door before Muddle bounded across the room and caught her by the shoulder.
Panting into Gellie’s ear, Muddle pleaded, “Gellie, I...I really wish you would stay.”
Deaf to his request, Gellie waved farewell to Thud, “See ya’ later, big guy. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Dear lady,” Thud blew a kiss, “The pleasure has been all mine.”
Gellie pretended to catch Thud’s kiss and then, as Muddle pressed close, wiped her hand on his shirt.
“Gellie, please!” Muddle whined, “You can’t leave me alone with this guy!”
“Max,” Gellie jabbed a finger into his chest, “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that only blippets after Uranus Blowhole arrives…?”
“Blowhard,” Muddle corrected.
“Who cares?” Gellie retorted, “Think, Max! There’s gotta be some connection...” She thrust Muddle back into his office, “...and it’s your job to figure out what it is.”
As Muddle stumbled backward, Thud snagged him by the shirt collar, “Gotcha, professor!” Hoisting Muddle like a prize fish, Thud beamed, “Guess who won the Asgardian fishing contest three years running?”
"Hah!" Gellie admired Thud's trophy, “See ya’ later, Max! Oh, and, Thud…?” She winked, “...not if I see you first, pal!” Without awaiting a reply, Gellie vanished like a Republican on tax day.
Meanwhile...
Shillary Claptrap was scribbling memos when a column of purple light erupted in the Oval Office. Out stepped Uranus Blowhard. The blob had traded his battle armor for an ill-fitting business suit.
“So, if it isn’t Crooked Shillary,” Blowhard sneered, “Still up to no good, I’ll bet.”
“Ha!” Claptrap countered, “The scummy pot badmouths the kettle.” She raked a reproachful eye over the blob, “You don’t have the necessary clearance for Oval Office visits, Blowhard, so I suggest you clear out.”
“Necessary clearance? Ha!” Blowhard plopped down on a settee, “Did you have the necessary clearance for that email server of yours?”
“Very funny.” Claptrap glowered, “You play dirty, Blowhard. I’ll give you that.”
“Speaking of which…” Blowhard snapped his fingers and his sidekick, Igor Lutin, popped out of another purple transport beam, “...Igor has reviewed the vote tallies from your so-called…” He twiddled his fingers, “...popular election. And, as I suspected, Igor has discovered a number of alarming irregularities…”
“Da!” The little weasel chimed in, “I spot chitting mile 'vay.”
“Chitting?” Claptrap rounded, “Don’t be ridiculous. I crushed Dimbulb Tramp by three million votes.”
“So? You admit it!” Uranus swatted Lutin’s arm, “See? I told you we would catch her out, didn’t I?”
“Da.” Lutin acceded, "Yoo zay, zhe zay.”
“What are you babbling about?” Claptrap ticked off a few of her unprecedented electoral achievements, “I am the first woman to be elected US President, the Amerrican people love me and I am sending thank-you cards to everyone who helped Shillary ‘The Hotrod!’ Claptrap pull off such an historic victory.”
“The people love you?! Don’t make me laugh!” Blowhard scoffed, “There’s no way you could get that many votes without cheating.”
“How dare you?” Claptrap was aghast, “I won the election fair and square.”
“That’s a lie!” Blowhard pointed at a stack of documents that Lutin was carrying, “You only won because millions of illegal aliens stuffed ballot boxes for you.”
“Hogwash!” Claptrap steamed, “Let me see that report.”
“Nyet! Nyet!” Lutin tucked the documents behind his back.
“Not so fast, Shillary,” The blob struggled to his feet, “Igor and I have just had a meeting with the Supreme Court. We all agreed that you are as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.”
“But…” President Claptrap appealed to the heavens, “...the Supreme Court has no jurisdiction…”
“Put a cork in it!” Blowhard barked, “Everyone agrees that my scheme is vastly preferable to having you in the White House.”
Claptrap was thunderstruck, “...your scheme?”
Blowhard whipped an envelope out of an inner pocket and slapped it on Claptrap’s desk, “Read it and weep, Shillary…” The blob savored each word like a bacon-wrapped weenie, “Yuhh fi-yuhhed!”