The Trouble With Bricks 4

Chapter Four – Adventures on the Great River of Lard


         As soon as they left the outskirts of the carnival, the travelers caught immediate sight of the Great River of Lard. Actually, they could smell the Great River of Lard a few feet before they could see it. Suzie was the first to catch its pungent odor.
         “Oh, man,” she exclaimed, “what is that funky smell?”
         And suddenly they topped the ridge and could see the source of the smell. The Great River of Lard spread out before them like a massive wound in the armpit of the land. Actually, it wasn’t made up of lard, but of bacon grease, while huge clumps of lard, floating like giant icebergs, spotted the river’s canvas.
         “Where did all this bacon grease and lard come from?” Suzie asked.
         Frank reared himself up, like a grandpa about to explain, for the third time today, the same joke that wasn’t funny the first two times. “Well now, that is a tale. Some say that the giant raccoons that live among the Chickpea Mountains have an abnormal yearning for bacon. They eat it night and day, day and night, and sometimes on the weekends. Well, obviously, all that bacon grease and extra fat has to flow somewhere, so it flows out of the mountains and becomes this giant river. Of course, that story’s just made up.”
         “Oi, that’s right, guv’nor,” cut in Flippy. “Me mum spun a different tale, she did. Whenever me or me brothers would do something bad, like tell a lie or not eat salad with the proper fork, she’d tell us that all bad meat dogs are sent to the lair of the meat-eating Sasquatches. They’d fry you in your own juices, and you didn’t want that. No, sir. And they’d eat you right quick and all they’d leave was your bacon grease and any stray clumps of lard you’d happen to drop. Then they’d throw that in the river and wait for the next unruly meat dog to come their way.”
         “That’s terrible,” said Suzie. “Your mom told you that if you weren’t good, she’d let somebody eat you?”
         “In a way, guv’nor, in a way. I don’t know about terrible though. I mean, she could have just hit us in the head with a stick or kicked us. Ah, dear old mum. Good times.”
         “Yeah, anyway, as I was saying,” continued Frank, “it doesn’t really matter where the thing came from. We’ll have to cross it to get to the other side.”
         The other side was a distant line, several miles away.
         “So, how do we cross it?” Cleotus questioned, like a well-seasoned questioner.
         “Well,” started Frank, “I reckon I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to jump from clump to clump of lard.”
         “But that grease looks like it’s really hot,” observed Suzie. “If we fall in, won’t we be killed instantly?”
         “I don’t know about instantly, guv’nor. I mean, I wouldn’t be killed. And I’m pretty sure the colon would be okay.”
         “Well, good for you.” Suzie added. “So, the colon and the meat dog make it across but everyone else is fried? That’s just great.”
         “Come on, Sis,” replied Cleotus, joyfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
         It was at that moment that the group heard a loud thumping noise echoing from the direction of the circus, like the footsteps of Godzilla or maybe King Kong. It was getting nearer and occasionally, they could hear loud meowing noises. They looked at each other, slightly terrified.
         “Okay, Frank,” questioned Suzie, “What is that?”
         “I really don’t know. And, if it helps, I just wet myself.” Frank replied.
         “I don’t think it helps anyone that you wet yourself, Frank.” Suzie answered.
         The thumping noise grew louder until, just over the ridge behind them popped up the head, or heads of a gigantic two headed cat.
         “Aiyee,” yelled Frank, as he took off at a run towards the edge of the river. “It’s Barry and Mr. Fluffkins!”
         Everyone else was a step behind Frank.
         Barry and Mr. Fluffkins was one of Bricks most insane creations. Barry, the head on the right, was a grey tabby that could speak, well, yell really. The head on the right was just as enormous, but couldn’t speak, unless you count cat-speak and most people don’t.          That head was Mr. Fluffkins, a Siamese. It was extremely inconvenient to Barry that he shared a body with a regular cat. After all, the conversation was pretty much one sided and if Mr. Fluffkins got bored, he usually started licking himself.
         “There you are, me hearties,” cried Barry, in a booming falsetto. For some reason, Barry had the voice of a pirate on helium. It was a Bricks thing. “I’ll avast ye landlubbers and boil your bodies in oil from the mizenmast.” Okay, so maybe it was okay that only one of the heads spoke.
         Frank, meanwhile, had already scrambled aboard one of the floating clumps of lard and was riding his new lard ship out into the middle of the river. Frank’s Colon and Flippy had jumped aboard another, smaller clump, along with Suzie.
         Only Cleotus remained on the shore as Barry and Mr. Fluffkins approached. He had attempted to jump on one of the floating clumps of lard, but had quickly over extended himself and slipped back off. His shoe had fallen into the boiling bacon grease and been consumed with a heavy plop, fizz, and galumph.
         Barry and Mr. Fluffkins drew closer. “Aargh, ye sun-drenched potato wagon.” As a pirate, Barry left a lot to be desired. “Why, I’ll skin ye alive and haul ye off to sea. Aargh.”
         Cleotus, looking back, noticed that Barry and Mr. Fluffkins were only a few yards away from him, so he took a mighty leap, smacked into the side of a clump of lard and bounced back to shore.
         Suzie yelled from her lump. “Cleotus! Jump! Jump for your life!”
         “I’m trying!” Cleotus screamed.
         But it was too late. Before Cleotus could even rise off the ground to attempt another run at a clump of lard, the great right paw of the two headed cat swept him up and plopped him into the mouth of Mr. Fluffkins.
         Frank’s Colon was secretly please. “All right.” It whispered.
         Suzie, however, was horrified. “Cleotus! Noooooo! You let him go, you big bad two headed kitty!”
         “No!” Barry answered. And, with that, the giant two-headed cat clumped away back up the ridge, from whence it came.
         Suzie fell to her knees in grief. “Oh, great. Now what am I supposed to tell mom and dad?”
         “You could tell them he got eaten by a two-headed cat,” ventured Frank’s Colon .
         “How’s about this one, guv’nor.” Flippy offered. “You could say he was captured by aliens. Now that’d be a right smart approach.”
         Suzie could not so easily be consoled. “You’re both no help.”
         They rode their lard boats in silence for a while, each remembering Cleotus in their own special way. Suzie recalled the times she had bounced baby Cleotus on her knee and then, for fun, had dropped him onto the floor. When the screaming began, Suzie had told her mother that Cleotus was just being fussy.
         Frank, for his part, was remembering the first time he had set eyes on Cleotus. Cleotus had been barreling into his tent and was eating all of his food, like a runaway bear cub or some sort of land shark. Ah, good memories.
         Flippy was recalling the time when Cleotus had let him down off the shelf and saved him from another five years of boredom. Well, there wasn’t much there, but they were still memories.
         And Frank’s Colon was playing a game of Canasta with Frank’s business cards.
         Suzie was yanked from her revelry of her brother by a warning from Frank. “Um, I think we may have a problem.”
         Suzie looked over at Frank and immediately noticed the problem. They were not drifting anywhere nearer to the other side of the shore. Instead, the clumps of lard were floating down stream.
         “Hey Frank?” She questioned.
         “I know,” answered Frank. “I guess I didn’t think about how we were going to get across. I was just trying to get away from the big mean cat. Okay, gotta think. What if we just jump from clump to clump and try to make our way across that way?”
         Seeing no other option, they began slowly leaping from lard clump to lard clump. After a few such leaps, Suzie stopped to re-assess the situation. Oddly enough, they were still the same distance from the shore.
         “Frank, this doesn’t seem to be working.” She said.
         “I realize this,” screamed Frank.
         Suddenly, Suzie noticed a fairly thick stick, covered with thick bumps, bobbing slightly out of the grease. As she peered closer, two of the bumps on the stick opened to reveal a pair of eyes. And a large bump underneath the eyes opened as well to reveal a mouth.
         “What are you looking at, Bub?” The stick asked.
         “What are you?” Suzie asked.
         “Why I’m a French fry, ain’t I? Sheesh.”
         Quickly, Suzie conceived an idea in the wilderness that was her brain. “Frank, grab one of the floating French fries and use it as a paddle.”
         Frank obeyed as Suzie reached down and grabbed the French fry closest to her.
         “Hey lady, get your mitts off me.” The French fry crowed, like a blue jay.
         Suzie ignored the fry and proceeded to use it as a paddle to push her lard boat closer to the opposite shore.
         As she paddled, the French fry raged on. “Look lady, this is some kind of abuse. You can’t just pick up a poor innocent French fry,. Straight out of his beloved bacon grease and use it to propel yourself and your lard chunk along like a raft. I got feelings, you know. This is unsanitary, I tells ya.”
         “Quiet guv’nor,” said Flippy, “or I’ll bite your bleeding head off.”
         For good measure, Frank’s Colon stepped forward and kicked the French fry violently.
         “Ow,” complained the French fry, “you’re damaging my crunchy over-coating, you miserable excuse for a colon. And you, girl with the big head, watch how you handle me. I ain’t exactly made from corrugated steel, you know. This is pure potato, baby. Nothing but the finest.”
         As if to prove the French fry right, Suzie gave a mighty push and the French fry snapped in half.
         “Oh, that’s just great,” complained the fry. “Look at that. The Amazon doesn’t know her own strength. Well, good job on breaking me. What do you do for an encore, kill innocent…”
         Suzie tossed the broken French fry out into the grease and hurriedly grabbed for another one, which also spoke a lot.
         “Oh yeah, that’s just great, lady.” The other French fry complained, like an overworked veterinarian. “Didn’t have enough fun killing my brother, so you’d thought you’d start on me next, huh? Wonderful.”
         Suzie looked toward the opposite shore and saw that she was finally making progress. Frank wasn’t doing badly either as his lard chunk was only a few yards ahead of hers.
         The French fry continued on as Suzie labored to move closer to the far shore. “Hey, how about, after you’re done, you can feed me to the dog made of meat. Would that satisfy your primal urges, lady?”
         “I’ll eat it,” offered Frank’s Colon .
         “Oh, yeah,” agreed the French fry. “That’ll work. Just put me right into the walking stomach. Oh, that’s a grand idea.”
         Frank’s Colon walked and stabbed the French fry in the eye with its index finger. “I’m a colon, you twit.”
         “Owee!” The French fry cried out. “That walking stomach poked my eye out. I’m calling my lawyer. I’ll sue, I tell you. I’m gonna sue you so bad.  Oh, you’re gonna…”
         Suzie intentionally broke this French fry in half and grabbed down for another one. As she reached down to the bacony, greasy mess for another paddle, her eyes happened to focus on the lard chunk they were riding and she noticed something buried deep within.
         “Hey, Flippy, Frank’s Colon ,” she said, “I think there’s something in this chunk of lard.”
         The other two gazed intently into the amber, white mess that they were riding on and could faintly make out the shape of some large, hairy being stuck in the dead center of the mass.
         “Hey, Frank,” Suzie called out, “I think there’s something in the middle of this chunk of lard we’re riding on.”
         “It’s probably nothing,” answered Frank. “Maybe just one of those hard, crunchy pieces.”
         Suzie looked down before answering. “But it’s shaped kind of like a man.”
         Frank was not so easily daunted. “So, hard, crunchy pieces can be shaped like men. I guess.”
         Suzie thought for a moment, which was unusual for Suzie, before coming to a decision. “Flippy, this may sound like a disgusting request, but could you dig down and see what that thing is?”
         “Righty-o, guv’nor,” replied the meat dog, “I’ll do you one better, I will. I’ll eat me way down.”
         Ooh, I didn’t need to hear that, thought Suzie, as Flippy began to chew his way through the lard. Frank’s Colon , upon seeing the meat dog begin to chew through the fat, decided to casually stroll toward the far side of the lard ship so it could be noisily sick.
After a moment of slurping and chewing, Flippy broke through to the center where a great tuft of hair stood out. From deep within the bulk of the lard came a muffled, yet annoyed voice.
         “Hey man, get the dog off me or the Colon gets it.”
         Suzie knelt down to hear better as Flippy casually jumped out of the hole it had created. “Do you need help,” Suzie yelled.
         “No,” came the muffled reply, “I enjoy being stuck in lard. You just keep paddling.”
         Suzie thought for a moment before responding. “Are you being sarcastic?”
         “Of course,” came the reply, “but not about the dog. Keep it away.”
         “Not a problem, guv’nor.” Flippy replied, lying on its back and letting its extended belly flop in the breeze. “Why I’m so full of lard right now, I could just about bust a gut or two.”
         Frank’s Colon , which had just returned from the far side of the lard, left again…quickly.
         Suzie reached down into the bacon grease and grabbed another floating French fry, which she used to dig out whatever was trapped within the lard. The French fry, of course, complained a lot and was being such a nuisance that, as soon as the digging was through, Suzie tossed it to Flippy just for fun.
         Slowly, like a turtle crawling out from underneath a giant pile of tapioca, a large, hairy, half-ape, half man thing crawled out of the hole. It had a large grin on its face.
         “Hey man, that was great. I’ve been trapped in that lard forever. Name’s Melvin. Melvin the Sasquatch. I owe you, big time. Man, it feels so good to get out of that lard and really stretch my arms. Yes sir.”
         At the mention of the word “Sasquatch”, Flippy gave a little yelp and ran to hide behind Frank’s Colon , which had just returned from another vomit fest. Frank deftly turned his foot and managed to trip the meat dog, sending it sprawling.
         Flippy, full on his belly, and laying on the lard, looked up at the Sasquatch like an after dinner mint would look at a mouth. “Oh, please guv’nor. Don’t eat me. I’ll be a good meat dog, I will.”
         Melvin peered questioningly at the meat dog, before turning to Suzie. “What’s his problem?”
         “Oh, he thinks you’re going to eat him if he’s been a bad meat dog. See, his mother told him that all bad meat dogs get eaten by the Sasquatches that live in the Chickpea Mountains and that that’s where the bacon grease and lard chunks in this river come from.”
         Melvin looked incredulously at Flippy. “Man, that’s just crazy. Sounds like something your mom came up with just to scare you into being good.”
Satisfied, Suzie turned away to look for another French fry. When her back was turned, Melvin pointed quickly at Flippy and then toward his open mouth as if to say, “You just wait till I get the chance and you’ll be riding the back of my throat down to my lower intestine in no time.”
         Flippy yelped and dashed away to the far side of the lard chunk with its sausage tail tucked between its sausage legs.
         Smiling, Melvin approached Suzie, who had finally grabbed a French fry and was attempting to propel the chunk.
         “Say there, little missy, what are we trying to do?”
         “We’re trying to get to the other side,” wheezed Suzie, like a lifelong asthmatic. “Maybe you could do something.”
         “Yeah, maybe,” agreed Melvin. Quickly, he reached into the bacony deep, grabbed three French fries and started paddling, pushing the lard chunk along at an alarming rate. Everyone was happy, except for the three French fries, which began to complain in unison.
         “Oh man,” they cried, “You’re killing us. I can feel the strain starting to spread. I’ll break for sure. Listen, hairy, hands off.”
         Melvin, for the most part ignored them. Soon, they were on the far side of the shore where they jumped off gladly. Frank’s Colon bent down and kissed the dirt, vowing to never travel by lard ship again. For good measure, Melvin broke all of the French fries in half and threw them back into the river.
         As soon as Frank arrived, they all had a short celebration, which involved playing limbo with the French fries and eating pieces of Flippy.
*                     *                     *                     *                     *                     *

         Now, just so you’re not too worried and can’t sleep at night and have to cry to your mama, I’ll tell you a little secret about Cleotus. The secret is that he wasn’t dead.
See, Barry and Mr. Fluffkins was a real cat, and a real big cat at that. But the two headed-cat, while being a very effective dark minion, was also a portable jail cell. Once swallowed, Cleotus rode around amidst the stomach juices and acids, all of which didn’t really harm him. It would take a lot more than simple stomach juices and acid to put a dent in Cleotus. You’d need some serious firepower for that.
         Once inside Barry and Mr. Fluffkins, Cleotus was soon transported to the kingdom of the evil jazz musician Bricks. Now someone who knew a thing or two about geography might question how Barry and Mr. Fluffkins could possibly be going toward the kingdom of Bricks when it was in the other direction. And that’s a fine question. It’s perfectly legitimate.
         Well, the answer is that Bricks, who was as evil a jazz musician as you could hope to find, had in his possession certain magical artifacts that enabled his minions to travel outside of the usual modes of travel. For instance, the Circus of Everlasting Boredom, which seemed to be in three places at once was actually in three places at once. It had something to do with ripping a grandma-sized hole in the space-time continuum, and then twisting it around until it was roughly the shape of a log. It’s all very complicated and you probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.
         Well, Bricks also had a magical device for Barry and Mr. Fluffkins, that enabled the two-headed cat to travel vast distances. This device basically looked like a toilet plunger covered in rhinestones. As you could tell by the description of these devices, Phil the mad scientist was involved in this somehow.
Suffice to say, about the same time that Suzie and the rest stepped off the lard chunk and onto dry land, Cleotus was riding the rails of the space-time continuum, like a well-seasoned motor oil.