In Persuasion Nation (16 page)

"We've simply got to get some of those FunGeese!" says
Doris.

"Plus a grill, and some marination trays," says Chaz Wayne.
"That way, I can have some of my slutty porn stars cook
something funky for our summer party while wearing next to
nothing."

"And meanwhile I'll think of some funny things to write in those
thingies," says Doris.

"I hope I can invite some of my dog friends?" says Buddy.

"Do your dog friends have butts?" says Chaz Wayne.

"Does
it matter?" says Buddy. "Can I only invite them if they
have butts?"

"I'm just wondering in terms of what I should cook," says
Chaz Wayne. "If they have no butts, I'll make something more
easily digestible."

"Some of them have butts, yes, says Buddy in a hurt but resigned
tone.

Then we hear the familiar music that indicates the backyard has
morphed, and see that the familiar Carrigan backyard is now the
familiar Carrigan backyard again, only better. The lawn is lush and
green, the garden thick with roses, adjacent to the oil pit for Orgy
Night is a swimming pool with a floating wet bar, adjacent to
the pool is an attractive grouping of FunGeese! with tantalizingly
blank DryErase cartoon balloons.

We see from the joyful way Doris and Chaz Wayne lead the other guests
into the yard, and from the happy summerparty swell of the
music, that this party is just beginning, and also, that it's time
for a commercial.

Back at the Carrigans', Brad floats weightlessly in the bland gray
space.

Floating nearby is Wampum, Chief Wayne's former horse. Brad remembers
Wampum from the episode where, while they were all inside playing
cards, Wampum tried to sit in the hammock and brought it
crashing down.

"He used to ride me up and down the prairie," mumbles
Wampum. "Digging his bare feet into my side, praising my
loyalty."

Brad knows this is too complicated. He knows that if Wampum insists
on thinking in such complicated terms, he will soon devolve into a
shapeless blob, and will, if he ever gets another chance, come back
as someone other than Wampum. One must, Brad knows, struggle
single-mindedly to retain one's memory of one's former identity
throughout the long period in the gray space, if one wants to
come back as oneself.

"Brad brad brad," says Brad.

"I used to eat hay, I believe," says Wampum. "Hay or
corn. Or beans? Some sort of grain product, possibly? At least I
think I did. Oh darn. Oh jeez."

Wampum falls silent, gradually assuming a less horselike form. Soon
he is just a horse-sized blob. Then he is a ponysized blob, then
an inert dog-sized blob incapable of speech.

"Brad brad brad," says Brad.

Then his mind drifts. He can't help it. He thinks of the Belstonians,
how frightened they must be, sealed in large plastic bags at the
police station. He thinks of poor little Doug, probably even now
starving to death sunburned on the familiar Carrigan roof.

The poor things, he thinks. The poor, poor things. I should have done
more. I should have started earlier. I could have seen it all as part
of me.

Brad looks down. His feet are now two mini-blobs attached to two
rod-shaped blobs that seconds ago were his legs, in his khakis.

He is going, he realizes.

He is going, and will not be coming back as Brad.

He must try at least to retain this feeling of pity. If he can,
whoever he becomes will inherit this feeling, and be driven to act on
it, and will not, as Brad now sees he has done, waste his life on
accumulation, trivia, self-protection, and vanity.

He tries to say his name, but has, apparently, forgotten his name.

"Poor things," he says, because these are now the only
words he knows.

A man and a woman sit in a field of daisies.

"Forever?" he says.

"Forever," she says, and they kiss.

A
giant Twinkie runs past, trailed by perhaps two hundred young women.

The
woman leaps to her feet and runs to catch up with the Twinkie.

"The
sweetest thing in the world," the voiceover says, "just got
sweeter."

The
man sits sadly in the field of daisies. Luckily, a giant Ding-Dong
runs past, trailed by perhaps two hundred young men.

The
man leaps to his feet and runs to catch up with the Ding-Dong.

"But not to worry," the voiceover says. "There's more
than enough sweetness to go around!"

The Ding-Dong puts his arm around the young man, and the young man
smiles up at the Ding-Dong, and the DingDong bends down and
gives the young man a kiss on the head.

A hip-looking teen watches an elderly woman hobble across the street
on a walker.

"Grammy's here!" he shouts.

He puts some MacAttack Mac&Cheese in the microwave and dons
headphones and takes out a video game so he won't be bored during the
forty seconds it takes his lunch to cook. A truck comes around the
corner and hits Grammy, sending her flying over the roof into the
backyard, where luckily she lands on a trampoline. Unluckily, she
bounces back over the roof, into the front yard, landing in a
rosebush.

"Timmy," Grammy says feebly. "Call 911."

Just then the bell on the microwave dings.

We see from the look on his face that Timmy is conflicted.

"Timmy dear," Grammy says. "For God's sake. It's me.
Your Grammy, dear."

Timmy comes to his senses, takes his MacAttack Mac&Cheese from
the microwave, and sits languorously eating it while listening
to his headphones while playing his video game.

"Sometimes you just gotta have your MacAttack," the
voiceover says.

Grammy scowls in the bush. We see that she is a grouchy old unhip hag
who probably wouldn't have even been cool enough to let Timmy have
his MacAttack, but would likely have forced him to eat some unhip
old-person gruel or fruit.

Then fortunately Grammy's head drops back, and she is dead.

An orange and a Slap-of-Wack bar sit on a counter.

"I have vitamin C," says the orange.

"So do I," says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"I have natural fiber," says the orange.

"So do I," says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"You do?" says the orange.

"Are you calling me a liar?" says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"Oh
no," says the orange politely. "I was just under the
impression, from reading your label? That you are mostly
comprised of artificial colors, an innovative edible plastic
product, plus high-fructose corn syrup. So I guess I'm not quite sure where the fiber comes in."

"Slap
it up your Wack!" shouts the Slap-of-Wack bar, and sails across
the counter, jutting one pointy edge into the orange.

"Oh God," the orange says in pain.

"You've got an unsightly gash," says the Slap-of-Wack bar.
"Do I have an unsightly gash? I think not. My packaging is
intact, weakling."

"I have zero calories of fat," says the orange weakly.

"So do I," says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"How
can that possibly be the case?" says the orange in frustration.
"You are comprised of eighty percent high-fructose corn syrup."

"Slap it up your Wack!" shouts the Slap-of-Wack bar, and
sails across the counter and digs its edge into the orange over and
over, sending the orange off the counter and into the garbage can,
where it is leered at by a perverted-looking chicken carcass and two
evil empty cans of soda.

"Now you have zero of zero of zero," says the Slap-ofWack
bar.

"The Slap-of-Wack bar," says the voiceover. "For when
you're feeling Wacky!"

Two best friends look at their penises under sophisticated
microscopes.

"You call this Elongated?" says one man.

"Jim, I gained four inches," says the other. "Perhaps
you should try my brand."

"What is your brand, Kevin?" says the other.

"My brand is, I hang a brick from my penis and stand for hours
at the edge of the Grand Canyon," says Kevin.

"Okay Kevin," says Jim. "You've been my dearest friend
since kindergarten. I'll give it a try."

Then
we see Jim standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, brick hanging
from his penis, while Kevin tiptoes toward Jim's car, and a voiceover
says:
Pontiac Sophisto: So sophisticated, it might just make you
trick your best friend into dangling a brick from his penis!

While Jim is distracted by the pain of the brick on his penis,
Kevin squeals away in Jim's Sophisto. As Jim spins around to look,
his penis rips off and plummets into the Grand Canyon. Jim smiles
wryly, acknowledging Kevin's trick but also Kevin's good taste in
cars, then starts down into the Grand Canyon, to retrieve and,
hopefully, reattach his penis.

A young man leaving a nursing home gives his ancient grandmother and
grandfather what might be a final hug.

"My advice, son?" says the grandfather. "Find yourself
a woman like this one.'

Turning to go, tears in his eyes, the young man drops his car keys.
As he picks them up, a bag of Doritos falls out of his pocket.

The grandmother and grandfather race in fast-motion for the bag of
Doritos, kicking, gouging, and biting each other. The grandfather
finally wins with a hard elbow to the grandmother's throat,
which knocks her unconscious.

"Grandpa, what are you doing?" the young man says. "It's
just a bag of Doritos."

"
Just
a bag of Doritos?" says the grandfather.

"You speak lies, scum," says the grandmother, regaining
consciousness. Then the grandmother and grandfather nod to the
Doritos bag, which rams into the young man, who falls to the floor
and is kicked repeatedly by his grandparents.

"Grandma, Grandpa, please, stop!" the young man says.

Hearing herself called Grandma, the grandmother hesitates. The
Doritos bag scowls at her. The grandfather kicks her in the stomach,
and she falls to the floor.

"Who do you think you are?" the young man screams at the
Doritos bag. "Do you believe yourself to be some sort of god?
You're a bag of corn chips, with tons of salt and about nine coloring
agents! That's all! That's all you are!"

The Doritos bag takes a huge sword from behind the back of its bag
and decapitates the young man.

"Now what do you have to say?" says the grandmother.

"Nothing," says the young man's head.

"Do you love Doritos more than anything?" says the bag of
Doritos.

The young man's head hesitates.

The Doritos bag cleaves the head in two.

The
grandfather, prompted by the bag of Doritos, kicks one half of the
head into the street, where it is run over by a Doritos truck and
reduced to mush. On the other, unmushed, half of a head, one eyebrow
goes up in sudden fear.

"Care for a Dorito?" says the grandfather.

"Yes," the remaining half a head says.

"Yes please?" says the grandfather.

"Yes please," says the remaining half a head.

"Yes please, it is sweeter to me than the most profound nectar?"
says the grandfather.

"Yes please, it is sweeter to me than the most profound nectar,"
says the remaining half a head.

"Fat chance," says the grandfather. "You're not good
enough for even a tiny fragment of a Dorito!"

Then he kicks the remaining half a head into the street, alongside
the mush, and the Doritos truck backs up over the second half of
head, reducing it to a second pile of mush.

"Do you still believe that Doritos is merely a bag of corn
chips, with a ton of salt and about nine coloring agents?" the
grandfather screams at the two piles of mush.

The piles of mush are too frightened to answer.

The bag of Doritos and the grandfather and the grandmother walk
off, stepping comically over the two mushes with exaggeratedly high
steps, as if revulsed.

They are escaping from the old folks' home, going to live in the land
of Doritos, which is not in Mexico, exactly, but is very much like
Mexico.

The grandfather and grandmother and the bag of Doritos can now see
the land of Doritos in the near distance, beautiful and arid.
Everywhere they look are bags of Doritos, working industriously.

Suddenly their path is blocked by the two piles of mush.

"What
the?" says the grandfather who loves Doritos. Suddenly the piles
of mush are joined by Grammy—the woman who died in a bush,
neglected by her grandson Timmy, having been hit by a truck.

Then Grammy and the piles of mush are joined by the orange
violated by the Slap-of-Wack bar.

Then Grammy and the piles of mush and the orange are joined by Jim
the penisless man, who is still limping a little, and occasionally
gaping down incredulously into his pants.

"Get out of our way," says the bag of Doritos.

"We're
trying to get home, to our sacred land of Doritos," says the
grandmother who loves Doritos.

Just
then the man briefly involved with the gigantic Ding Dong comes
running up and joins Grammy, the mush piles, the orange, and Jim the
penisless man.

"Sorry I'm late," he says.

"Actually?" says the orange, with a hint of bravado.
"You're right on time."

The grandfather, the grandmother, and the bag of Doritos see that
they are badly outnumbered.

Luckily, at that moment they are joined by the giant DingDong,
the Slap-of-Wack bar, Timmy, grandson of Grammy (even now eating from
a container of MacAttack Mac& Cheese), and Kevin, the man who
tricked Jim out of his penis.

"We don't get it," says the grandmother who loves Doritos.
"What's your problem?"

"You took our dignity," says the orange.

"You took my fiancée," says the man briefly involved
with the Ding-Dong.

"You took my penis," says Jim.

"You split my head in half, then reduced both halves to piles of
mush, completely betraying the grandchild/grandparent
relationship," says one pile of mush.