Aboard My Train Of Thought - Scott C. Endsley (best ereader for pdf and epub txt) 📗

the thousands who disappeared into the clouds the night before, while I paced the floor of the oval office. My new Vice President, Ross Parole, was doing an outstanding job of getting on my nerves as he paced in the opposite direction all the while humming, "The Yellow Rose Of Texas." I wasn't so sure our alliance was going to work. On his first day of employment he informed me that for the betterment of the country I should let him wield the big stick of policy making. I refused.

"Mr President, I gotta darn tootin' idee as to what we ort to do. Since all these people are now kaput, we could balance the budget by freezing all their assets, then liquidate all that cash into a trust fund, and..."

"Go get me some coffee, Mr. Vice President," I growled while stomping on a rather large bug. This all consuming enigma was to be the biggest challenge to my presidency thus far. All across the United States at least 35 thousand people had been reported missing in one night. There was panic in the big cities as thousands sought refuge in the thick forests and countryside from what most thought was the wrath of God. I had to repose the people's fears with not a minute to waste, so I hurriedly addressed a group of reporters in the rose garden. "Today we face a grim situation. We have no clue as to any explanation for this large-scale national security situation. But I as your President promise to put all my efforts in gear to quickly resolve the issue, and have put the National Guard on alert. The safety of the American people is my main concern. I'm inviting all heads of state around the globe to join us in a co-operative effort to find a solution."

My speech did little but exacerbate the situation as some, who hadn't been aware of the situation, now also feared for their own safety. The news media just reported the news and didn't attempt to explain or express any theories. For once, they realized the moral obligation of keeping everyone calm.

As the week went by, more than 100 thousand people all over the country were witnessed ascending into the heavens like shooting stars. I finally had to call out the National Guard to deal with the hysteria, but was reluctant to bestow upon them full authority. All interstates were blocked off and all citizens ordered to stay at home, but the fear grew in intensity as some fanatical religious groups rejoiced in the happenings, and convinced quite a few non-believers of the biblical relevance of the circumstances. Churches were running out of room, and infidels begged the religious community to pray to their God to save them.

The Pastor at The First United Church Of Prosperity, Dr. Screamer, begged for calm from his emotional flock. He encouraged everyone to remain objective, and was encouraged that at least one important member of his church, Ira Stippens, had some sense.
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(Episode 4)
A groggy Stippens awoke from his slumber a morning after he burned the midnight oil researching the writings of Albert Einstein and Isaac Asimov; hoping to find anything that might explain physiologically the reasons for the daily disappearances. He clumsily threw back his cover and knocked over a stack of books on the foot of the bed. "Well hell, be that way!" he grumbled.

In spite of Ira's religious conversion 30 years ago, he was not an alarmist... but weighed everything with a grain of salt before he'd give a reaction. Here was a man who had been through a bitter divorce, war, poverty.... and above all, two deadly tornados both in one afternoon. It happened in 1975, when one April, an F4 was spotted on the ground four miles south of Dunghill, traveling north. Ira was bagging groceries that afternoon when the sky became frightningly black and the sirens blew. No one in the grocery store had any time to get to safety, much less think. The tornado had already destroyed the high school, courthouse, and three fourths of the homes in Dunghill when it finally lifted and dissipated back into the clouds. It was fortunate that there were no fatalities. But, there wasn't much time for anyone to rejoice, as another tornado, this time an F5, roared into town while everyone dodged for cover again while praying. The twister stayed on the ground of the small community for an astonishing 35 minutes. The populous was sure this was going to be it. There would be nothing left of the town. However when it was all over, the township was astonished to discover that the storm had completely rebuilt the courthouse, the high school, furnished homes with new siding, hauled all the debris of the former storm to the city dump, erected a beautiful fountain in the middle of the town square, transfered a totally intact Goodyear rubber and tire manufacturing plant all the way from Little Rock into the once dying business district of town; and even delivered groceries to the local shut-ins!.. But even that spectacular incident failed to raise the eyebrows of laid-back Ira Stippens. Nevertheless his calm would today for the first time be put to the test.

Ira dragged his feet in approaching the cockroach infested kitchen and reached into the refrigerator to grab a carton of buttermilk, which he would pour on top of his bran flakes.
As he reached in his t-shirt shoulder pocket for a smoke this particular morning, he noticed a rather large junebug making what would be its fateful final destination. Ira took great pleasure in squashing him with a three day old sock covering his left foot, before slipping on his shoes... again without changing his woollies. He wondered why his cigarette tasted so foul until he slipped on his bifocals and noticed he'd lit the filtered end. Nearly stumbling over a hugh accumulation of dirty clothes, he then returned to the bedroom with his breakfast bowl of bran and a warm glass of prune juice.

He reached up to his bedside black-and-white, and searched for something thought provoking to watch, then laid back down after tuning in on a courtroom TV drama:

"Has the jury reached a decision yet?" The judge asked.

"Yes we have, Your Honor... the bagel sandwiches were awfully dry yesterday, so everyone agrees on pizza today!" The jury foreman answered while salivating.

"Very well, this court is now adjourned for an hour recess, I get the swings!!!"


We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin. Now here is NBS news reporter, Peter Waylon Jennings, in New York!

Thanks Joe... NBS news has just received word from a White House source that Vice President Ross Parole has been missing since last evening. The President is urging calm, and says he's fully confident that Mr Parole... (Click!)


Ira quickly turned the television off, mumbled a quick prayer, then grabbed his double barrel shotgun from the wall, and darted out the door at an impressive speed for someone in his seasoned physical state. "Come get me, you cowards!" he yelled, just as Brother Name-It-Claim-It came strolling up, wondering what the heck was going on.

"Brother Stippens, what'r you doin'?!" Name-It scolded inquisitively, all the while carrying what looked like a large roll of raffle tickets.

"There aint no way in hell they're gonna get me!" Stippens defied.

"Watch your language, Brother Stippens! I just dropped by to offer you some 'rapture tickets'... they're only a hundred bucks each, and if you purchase one now, I can guarantee you an early departure!" the shrewd elder offered.

Ira had a real hard time holding back his disgust. "You no good... you'd probably sell your soul if someone offered the right price!"

Ira had real contempt for the likes of Brother Name-It, who more than once had been caught with his hand in the church collection plate. He also almost caused a church-split over the biblical consent of having a kitchen built next to the sanctuary. But the silliest antic of all was when Brother Name-It demanded Pastor Screamer resign because he failed to agree on a revelation he'd been given, that concerning their belly buttons, Adam and Eve both had outies instead of innies. Ira disdained the troublemaker at best.

As elder Name-It was trying to talk Stippens into buying a rapture ticket in his polished Amway-like presentation, he then realized the immediate unforeseen weightlessness of his own body, as he swiftly began rising from where he was standing. "Praise the Lord, Ira; I'm going to my glory, at last!"

"Not if I can help it," Stippens declared, lifting his gun toward the sky while shooting wildly in all directions. The words "Cut it out, Ira!" sternly reverberated across the forenoon sky, as Name-It rapidly climbed upward in gleeful anticipation of his new heavenly home.

Stippens rushed back inside to retrieve some shotgun shells. While reloading, he felt something cold and prickly on his shoulder and frantically wiped it off. "Man, these junebugs are really big this year," he spoke aloud to himself.

Once more he felt something crawling-- this time on his head. He tried unsuccessfully to pluck it off, but it wouldn't budge for being tangled in his hair. So he stooped his upper body downward and aimed his rifle in reverse (barely over his head) and pulled the trigger, narrowly missing his scalp, but successfully shooting down the chandelier he'd been wanting to take down for many years anyway. In a panic, here fired in all directions as he kicked open the front door to escape.
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(Episode 5)
Elsewhere, our new friend, Ravi Ohlee, the transcendental tambourine man who had been sucked into outer space, discovered himself in a cylinder shaped room with a wall of red velvet that was well illuminated, though no visible artificial source of light such as a lamp could be found. The sound of grinding metal startled his ears at the same time the ceiling overhead slid open, and a giant bloodshot hazel colored eyeball, that was as wide as the ceiling itself, seemed to be studying him.

Ravi assumed the great eye to be divine and prostrated himself in awe. "Oh great Krishna, at last I enter your kingdom. I have read the Bhagavad-Gita many times. I've refrained from eating flesh... and I have..um, pretty much led a celibate life!"

The eye followed him around the cramped room as he began banging his tambourine, and singing a hideous version of that monotonous Hare Krishna song that anyone (who's ever been to an airport) could recognize with no effort. The ceiling sealed shut momentarily, then opened again, and an oversized nose pinned Ravi to the floor as it began sniffing him. Ravi began to have second thoughts about the divinity of the situation. He reared back and clobbered the intruding snout in self-defense.

Abruptly, an immense mouth with horrid breath entered upon the scene. "Hey, why did you go and hit my friend Nose like that?! Huh? What?" Mouth asked. "I can't hear you, I'll have to go get Ear... if I can pull him away from his Bose Radio."

Following a series of other tests, Ravi was scooped up through the ceiling with some kind of mechanical shovel, and dumped in a large room among a diversity of other people who turned to study him like a book. "Surely this isn't nirvana," he surmised.

A rather frantic middle aged woman rushed to his side and begged to know, "Are you God?"
"Aren't we all?" Ravi gleefully responded.

Her face turned pallid as she turned away shrieking, "Oh my God, we're all in hell!!"

The 100 thousand or so claustrophobics banged