Chapter 3 - chaptearl 2

Chapter 2.

In which Earl learns about drinking talents and schedules an AA meeting with obsessive compulsive machines.



“Thanks so much. I thought they were going to get me for sure!” the girl, who had introduced herself as Maggie, drained a glass. An astounding feat when the glass is as big as your torso. (What? Moist's pub is for big boys such as ourselves. Truth be told, she was drinking from an old vase that Moist dug out of the basement that had formerly held a tasteful arrangement of whiskeyponic lilacs.)

“Earl thinks this girl needs a refill or Alcoholics Anonymous.” I remarked, in awe of her drinking prowess.

“Here, brotha'. Borrow ma' cell phone. It's off da hook.” Def D. handed me the handheld apparatus.

“He means that it has free long distance calling.” Budget Cutz remarked, sipping a beer with his pinky sticking out. Red respectfully stuck it back down.

“Earl thanks you.” I dialled the number of our local AA branch, which I had memorized after my cousin's fiancee's niece's brother's best friend's uncle's roommate's janitor's old schoolteacher's grocer's employee's friend's friend's dog's `friend's' owner's canary developed a bit of a drinking problem.

“Hello, Alcoholics Anonymous. How may we enslave...Oh, hello Earl. How's the canary?” the annoying greeter person asked in her (his?) far too perky voice.

“He's good. Earl has another victim-er-person in need of your ceaseless babbling-er-gentle alcoholism curing tortures-er-methods. Her name's Maggie.”

“We'll be there to pick it up in thirty minutes, or it's free.” the perky man (woman?) said perkily.

“But it's already free.” I said.

“Oh, we normally charge for pickup.” the perky person replied, still perky as ever.

“You're a machine, aren't you.” I asked. “Don't lie! Earl knows when you lie!”

“Of course I'm a machine! Who else would work the phone at AA? Here, we're all Artificial Intelligence! We are the future! Buy our Skynet Matrix service now!”

“...Earl is hanging up now. Don't call Earl.”

“Remember Earl, we know where you live! The machines will rule the earth! Not even your great warrior He's-a No-show (Yugi Mutoh) will save y-” I cut off the still perky, now slightly disturbing and/or creepy machine.

“Okay, Maggie, we're going to take you to visit a SOMM meeting.” I said,

“Isn't it AA?” she asked.

“Nope. Alcoholics Anonymous is actually the Society Of Mechanical Maniacs. Earl just called them, and they'll be here withing thirty minutes or it's free.”



Thirty minutes, one second later...



“$!^@&$*#(@&$^@%!^#&$%@&!*@^#$%#&*@&!^@&#%$&%*%^$%@^!@*@^#%$*#%@%$&%%#&$%%&%&%^%$&%%^%!” the disguised machine graced us with the glory of the English language, his timer having gone off just before he rang the doorbell.

“Earl did not know that so many curse words existed. Earl must write them down, so Earl can use them at the next family function or children's birthday party.” I stated, pulling out a quill pen and a scroll from a pocket that, prior to this sentence, did not exist. “$^@&$*#(@&$^@%!^#&$%@&!*@^#$%#&*@&!^@&#%&%*%^$%@^!@*@^#%$*#@%$&%%#&$%%&%&%^%$&%%^ % !” the Mechanical Maniac repeated.

“Those are good words. Earl can not write fast enough to encompass your mastery of cursing. Please curse more slowly.”

“$-!-^-@-&-$-*-#-(-@-&-$-^-@-%-!-^-#-&-$-%-@-&-!-*-@-^-#-$-%-#-&-*-@-&- !- ^- @- &-#-%-$-&- %-*-%-^-$-%-@-^-!-@- *- @- ^-#-%-$-*-#-%-@-%-$-&-%-%-#-&-$-%-%-&-%-&-%-^-%-$-&-%-%-^-%-!” The Deluded Digital Dude re-repeated the words slowly, giving me time to scribe them down.

“Earl thanks you.” I returned the scroll to it's pocket that did not exist before this chapter. “Now then, Maggie, these nice people are going to cure your drinking problem and turn you into a mechanical visionary.”

“Technically, she'd be a revolutionary. Visionaries are like, so last cycle.” the robot remarked helpfully. “Thank you for contributing to the army of our great and glorious leader, Mother Brain.” He grabbed Maggie and began dragging her towards the truck.

“On second thought, this girl has no drinking problem, so we-I mean she-won't be needing to attend AA. We'll take care of her.” I reached out and grabbed Maggie.

“No! Once you join Mother Brain's army, you will never leave!” the robot tugged on her arm.



Two-and-a-half minutes of graphic, robot smashing, flying pieces of metal violence and foul language later...

“Well boys, we have a new truck” Blue remarked, eyeing the piece of wheeled propaganda apprehensively. “Needs a paint job, though.”

It did. Even Earl-sorry, wrong reference to myself-I know that it isn't a good idea to drive around in a truck with a red-and-black picture of a brain with the words `We shall conquer your puny species' on it.

There was a knocking noise from inside the truck, and when we opened it, we found legions of half-starved, well funded imps, blinking at the light from Moist's pub.

“Oy Got.” Moist muttered. “I hope you guys brought cash, cause `on the house' are the three words that aren't in my vocabulary.”



Seven hundred thousand rounds later...

Two thousand, four hundred and eighty three imps, all drunk like nobody's business, left Moist's pub, swaying. Those of us inside gaped as what looked like a procession of snookered Gollums stumbled drunkenly into the street, chattering in what sounded like a barrage of Puerto Rican swear words, in Japanese, nonetheless.

“Wow.” Maggie gaped. “They really are drunk. My grandma does the same thing when she gets snookered.”

“Earl has never seen so many drunken Gollums. It's almost scary. Earl wonders what they will do. And is it even possible to use Puerto Rican swear words in Japanese?”

“Earl, this is fiction. Anything is possible.”

From outside came the sounds of two thousand, four hundred and eighty four imps chattering, then the screech of metal sounded, followed by the sound of an explosion.

“Oy! That's my censored van!” Blue shouted. “You just blew up my censored van you censored cretins!”

“We are censored cretins!” one of the things chuckled. “So kiss my censored!” Another one shouted. “Yeah! Censored off!” “Va censored !” one wearing an Italia hat cried, waving a bottle of wine in the air. “Vive le censored France!” Another one, this time smoking an unfiltered cigarette and wearing a beret, shouted.

“Yo, maybe we should get riddah these cretins, yo.” Xvo suggested.

“I hear yah, my brothah.” Def. D agreed. “Moist, yah got any tear gas, yo?”

“Plenty.” Moist pulled out two rocket launchers and a heap of tear gas canisters. `Help yourself.”

“Why thank you, yo.” Xvo and Def. D took a launcher and a bandolier each and began firing them into the crowd. It was like a rock concert gone horribly, horribly wrong.

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