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

walking to church that morning. However, his puzzlement departed upon stepping inside as he was embraced by the cool from the refrigerated air window unit. Sinking upon his sofa, he reached for a cigarette and noticed what looked like a ticket of some sort partially exposed in between the couch arm and cushion. He spent the next few moments attempting to figure out where it came from, instead of just picking it up. His curiosity finally triumphed.

He snatched it up to his face and observed that it was an airline ticket for a flight bound for Stockton, California. He quickly made the correlation while remembering Brother Butts' antics that morning in church, and his frivolous prophecy.

Ira tossed it on the floor and exhaled a rather impressive smoke ring. In the same fleeting moment, someone gently knocked on the door that was still partially open. With his bare feet propped up on the opposite arm of the couch, his filthy shirt opened revealing his gray chest hair sharing the same acreage with some tattoos and warts, he nonchalantly responded, "Yeah, come in," as he reached for a day-old half-filled can of lukewarm beer.

There was no immediate response, so Ira tossed his cigarette butt into his ashtray and swung the door even wider open to reveal a long haired airport shuttle bus driver with a ridiculously joyfull smile. "Time to go, Ira... no time to waste!"

"Who the hell...?"

"Grab your ticket, I'll explain it along the way, come on..." he assured while pulling on Ira's arm, who quickly yanked it back.

"Did Brother Butts put you up to this?!"

"Look, my name is Mike, but that's all my boss wants you to know right now," the shuttle bus driver tried explaining.

Ira was relentless and declared that this was all "a bunch of hogwash!" Mike had no choice, it was getting late, and he was fearful that if he couldn't get Ira to cooperate, he'd lose his paid vacation coming up in the fall. So he caught Stippens's attention by putting his index and middle fingers up to his lips, and gave a startling shrill whistle. To the bewilderment of Ira's usually unimpressed reasoning, the bus swiftly pulled up to where they were arguing, as if it had been remote controlled.

"How the hell...?"

"I wasn't supposed to do that, Ira," Mike scolded. "Now, get in! Your luggage is already packed and in the trunk."

The flight took all of two hours and Ira passed the time away sleeping. A flight attendent had the good pleasure of waking the aged fart factory and snatched his pillow from under his head, after everyone else had left the plane. Ira mouthed a few tame explicit adjectives and pronouns under his breath while his lungs were begging for a cigarette. No sooner had he stepped down the folding staircase when Mike, the shuttle bus driver, pulled up on the runway and rushed to help him with his luggage. "So, Ira, how do you like Stockton so far?"

"How the hell...?"

"Here, let me get that for you..." Mike offered, then whistled toward the bus and the back trunk automatically opened.

"How the hell...?"

"I really wish you'd quit saying that, Ira," Mike nagged as they got inside, and suggested that Stippens not smoke in the van just as he was about to light up.

Ira scowled and threw his cancer-stick out the window and sarcastically remarked, "Yeah, that second hand smoke thing is REAL dangerous... Had an uncle that smoked for 35 years! He decided to switch smoking with his right hand instead of his left, one day. He died of a heart attack two weeks later... Yep, if he'd only just stayed with that first hand, he'd still be around!"

"OK, Ira," Mike responded after loosing his temper. "I wasn't gonna do this, but you're not being very cooperative!" At that instant Ira felt something digging in his pocket. Just as he reached on impulse to see what it was, he witnessed his last pack elevate from out of his pouch. It momentarily hung in mid air, then caught aflame and disintegrated right before his eyes.

"Why the hell did you do that?!" Ira fumed.

"I just figured you'd appreciate that, since you don't have a problem with second hand smoke!" Mike laughed.

"So who's this Elmo Picklewart, anyway, and what's all this got to do with me?" Ira asked as if he had more important things to do.

"Pigglesworth Ira. Once we've arrived he'll fill you in on everything..."
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(Episode 8)
The long two hour drive seemed nonsensical to Stippens since Mike seemed to excert some sort of miraculous physiological ability that could surely get them there a lot faster. "Why couldn't he just blink his eyes, or something," he thought to himself, "and while he's at it, I could use another pack of cigarettes!"

"Smoking is not good for you, Ira," Mike harped, "Don't even ask!"

"How the...!? Oh, forget it!"

The two of them pulled into Los Banos around 3pm local time. Mike spotted a run-down service station, and pulled up right behind it. He cautioned Stippens while covering his lips with his index finger, hinting to him to keep quiet while he lifted a manhole cover among some weeds, then motioned to him to get in first.

They silently crept a ways down a dark underground passage full of rats and snakes, but went about their doings unconcerned as the two crawled through. "OK, I think this is it, Ira! Now, crawl out and knock on the farmhouse door exactly five times!"

Ira didn't understand all the caution Mike advised. Notwithstanding, he did what he was told and waited for a response. After two or three long smoke filled breaths from a well earned cigarette after much arm twisting, Ira looked back at Mike peeking from out of the manhole cover and shrugged his shoulders and turned to head back. Finally, the door whipped open, and a ruffian even more uncouth looking than Stippens himself demanded, "Are you the Squirminator?!"

"Uh, were looking for a Mr. Picklewart..." Ira halfheartedly explained.

"Pigglesworth, Ira!" Mike corrected, while still peeking out without revealing himself.

"Who's your friend?!" Pigglesworth demanded of Ira with a sudden rifle aimed straight at the dimple in his chin.

Mike hum-hawd around but finally crawled out and explained, "Sorry, Mr. Pigglesworth, I'm Mike... you know, the one you've been informed about?"

"You!? You scrawny pathetic looking youngster are Mike? OK, if you're Mike... show me a sign!!!"

Mike had a sudden smirk on his face as he reached real deep into his pants pocket, and miraculously pulled out a 6 foot by 12 foot billboard that read: BABY BARF BURGERS AT A BARGAIN... AT BIG BUFORD'S BUFFALO BARF BURGER BISTRO BAGEL BREAKFAST BAR AND BOOKSTORE!!!
Elmo dropped his gun in awe, "That's a hell of a sign!"

The three pulled into San Luis Obispo shortly before sundown, as a group of reporters were questioning the apocalyptic beast who was soaking up the sun while halfway submerged in the water. "THE GREATEST OF GREATS AFFIRMED THAT NO HARM WILL COME TO THE HUMANS BEING HELD, SO LONG AS THE U.S. GOVERNMENT AGREES TO HAND OVER THE IMPRISONED APATHONIANS. ONLY THEN WILL THE BUG EPIDEMIC STOP, AND I WILL RETREAT BACK INTO THE SEA," the brute announced in his thunderous voice.

"Oh," Pigglesworth spoke up from the crowd, "We're supposed to take YOUR word for it. Why should we? You're a liar from hell, you who calls himself, Sir Elvis Holyfield!!"

"Sir Elvis Holyfield?!?!" Everyone gagged.

The beast did a double take with all ten heads and noticed his arch rival. "OH ME, OH MY, I THINK I'M GONNA DIE... IT'S THE ANTI-BEAST!" Sir Elvis scoffed, "HAST MINE ENEMY COMETH PREPARED TO DO BATTLE TO THE BITTER END?"

"You bet your sweet bippy!" Elmo replied.

Elvis scratched one of his heads and asked, "WHAT'S A BIPPY?"

"I dunno, it was just something they used to say on Laugh-In in the 60's..." Elmo explained.

"OH, I WASN'T ALLOWED TO WATCH THAT, CAUSE MY DAD ALWAYS WANTED TO SEE BONANZA..."

"Well, if you subscribe to the Family Channel..."

Before Elmo had a chance to reach for his latest issue of TV guide, Mike stepped into the picture. "You all can go watch television later, right now it's time for one of you to settle the score!"

"OH," Sir Elvis mused, "I SEE YOU'VE BROUGHT THE ARCHANGEL WITH YOU!"

With that the two prepared for their significant dual to determine whether good or evil would prevail. Elvis quickly whipped out a floating Styrofoam table as Elmo revealed his box of tiddlywinks, and they began a best out of five series. Elvis won the first, but Elmo took the next two. In his humiliation of possibly losing a third match, Sir Elvis swung one of his arms over the table, scattering tiddlywinks everywhere.

"Hey, what did you do that for? That was my best set!" Elmo complained.

"YOU ALWAYS WANT TO PLAY TIDDLYWINKS, I'M READY FOR A REAL BATTLE!" Elvis proclaimed.

"Whatever you say, Sir Elvis," Elmo nodded, "OK Ira, he's all yours!"

Ira stepped foward with an old King James at the same time the beast's eyes caught sight of him, "THE SQUIRMINATOR!? I'VE CHANGED MY MIND, LET'S PLAY ANOTHER ROUND OF TIDDLYWINKS!"

The beast cringed in horror as Stippens flipped back to the middle of the Old Testament. Ira cleared his throat and began his public address: "I will be reading this evening the entire Old Testament book of 1st Chronicles..."

"NO, NOT 1ST CHRONICLES!

The beast nervously laughed, trying to pretend that this was all ridiculous child's play, and began whistling while trying to cover as many ears as possible as Ira began reading: "Adam, Sheth, Enosh, Kenan, Methuselah, Lamech, Noeh, Shem, Ham, and Japheth. The sons of Japeth; Gomer, and Magog, and Madai, and Javan, and Tubal, and Meschech, and Tiras..."

Well into 15 minutes later, Ira continued, "the sons of Levi; Gershon, Kohath, and Merari. And the sons of Kohath; Amram, Izhar, and Hebron, and..." At this point Elvis the beast was squirming just like a bored three year old during church. It was working!

"And Azariah begat Seraiah, and Seraiah begat..." Two hours later, Elvis the beast not only was still squirming, but now going into spasms, and finally came to the point where he couldn't stand it any longer, thrashing all ten of his heads into each other, then vomited out from his mouths his own life; as he shriveled up like a deflating balloon. Ira did it, he literally bored the beast to death!

Archangel Michael drew from his lungs a heavy sigh and deadpanned, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm afraid Elvis has left the building..."

Cameramen, reporters, and spectators all cheered while vigorously and enthusiastically approaching the Squirminator, as he and his two cohorts made a quick dash back for the shuttle bus. People rushed up to the deflated beast to take pictures and someone noted a small round yellow circle with a smiley face in the middle, and the words, "Have A Nice Day!" written under
it on each of the beast's lifeless heads...

This was the mark of the Anti-Beast!

As the President of the United States, I called Mr. Stippens the next day and personally invited him to visit me at the White House. I caught his performance live on television and decided he could play an intricate part toward a solution of the whole Apathonian escapade. He reluctantly agreed after a