Rudy Can’t Fail
W. Dipper
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 E. Reeder
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Chapter 1:
How Rudy Had An Epiphany At The Buzzard’s Roost & Found Out Something About Himself & What That Led To
One glorious afternoon on the first of April several years ago, with America just getting started on another War and everyone demonstrating their patriotism in the most enthusiastic ways, a simple American citizen by the name of Rudy J. Swingle happened to be down at his favorite watering hole, The Buzzard’s Roost, innocently starting on a third pint of his favorite hoppy ale. A television screen behind the bar was turned onto a news show and there was a lot of talk about the economy being “depressed” and “sluggish” and even “slumping,” “staggering,” and “spluttering.” The chattering heads on the show were giving the President a lot of flak for not being more of a booster for it, which, as they rightly pointed out, was one of the primary duties of his elected office.
“That’s right,” Rudy said to the man sitting next to him who was passed out with his head resting on an open newspaper on the bartop, a small pool of drool forming on a crossword puzzle he’d been working on regarding the pious Christian lives of the Founding Fathers. “That’s right,” Rudy continued undeterred, “the country’s at War again after all, and when you’re at War it’s never good to have economic problems and half-hearted remarks about it from the Commander in Chief on top of everything else. Not that I know any better, but it seems to me that the President’s job is to cheer on America no matter what’s happening.”
Suddenly the words “U.S. consumer indicators” flashed through the air, and though Rudy had heard those words many times before without ever giving them the slightest thought, this time something clicked. Other words followed: “two-thirds of U.S. economy dependent on consumer spending,” “individual consumption is vital engine of economy,” “consumer trends drive nation’s health,” and so on. Perhaps it was the context they were phrased in, or maybe at that particular moment Rudy’s mind was as fertile as a newly plowed field in the spring and so receptive to them. At any rate, what can only be described as an epiphany occurred to him then—and like all great epiphanies that have happened to people throughout time, Rudy suddenly found himself sitting wide-eyed in a new world. He was still in The Buzzard’s Roost of course, but now the machinations of the whole civilized world, that is to say the economic world, always a profound and obscure mystery to him, was made clear as an unmuddied stream.
“Happy horses!” he realized with surprise, “we live in a consumer culture!” Corollaries to this startling new idea ricocheted through his mind like a mighty pinball shot—when people buy more things, companies sell more things, and the more people buy, the more companies sell, and the more companies sell, the more production rises, and the more production rises, the more people work, and the more people work, the more money they have to buy the things they need to buy to keep the economy going so that everyone can keep working and consuming over and over again and on and on in a perfect cycle—also, things must be made to fall apart, so that people have to keep replacing them, and, more importantly, for the economy to keep growing, people need to buy more and more things, newer and more improved things, faster and faster all the time! And thus the need for government institutions to monitor consumer activity and guide and nurture the economy, and for big corporations to control the media and let fly a relentless barrage of titillating advertising to coerce and bamboozle people to feel that they really need to buy more things! The whole artifice and simple structure of it suddenly lay bare-naked before Rudy’s wondering eyes and his mouth watered at the sight. But then another thought began to take shape in his mind, and with growing anxiety Rudy saw that this great economic scheme had a downside too, and that was the grim inexorable truth that if this rabid consumption by American consumers were ever to cease, it would kill the economy and spell the doom of America—and all of her proud history and glorious promise would fade forever from the face of the earth.
That’s when it dawned on Rudy that he was an enemy of the state—right then, while safely ensconced at The Buzzard’s Roost with his third pint to his lips, to be precise—for the simple reason that he never bought anything! Not a thing! And by not doing so, he was undermining the nation’s economy, putting America in danger, and therefore committing treason! He was stunned. He set his pint down and looked cautiously about at the other patrons. “God help me,” he thought, “it’s come to this at last has it—I’m a traitor to my own country! But can it really be true?”
He carefully reviewed in his mind the logic behind this startling discovery but alas! it all seemed ironclad—he lived in a spacious teepee he’d put together out of fir poles that he’d cut and dragged out of the forest and covered with a skin of old paint-spattered canvas drop-cloths that he’d come across at the dump and sewed together using fishing line recovered from the shrubbery down by the river; he’d set the whole thing up years ago on an abandoned piece of property outside of town, behind a screening grove of tall evergreen trees, and heated it by wood fires during the cold months; a little ways off he’d dug a hole and built a little outhouse over it for the discharge of his bodily needs; in the summer he cleaned up in the river, and in the winter he bathed outdoors in a 50-gallon drum filled with water and heated over a fire; his clothes and bedding he got from the town free-box or as gifts, and he never dined out either, preferring his own simple home-cooked meals and the privacy of his own table; fresh water came from a nearby spring and most of the food he ate came from a vegetable garden he’d put in and a greenhouse he’d rigged up nearby; there were also orphaned chickens that he’d adopted and built a little coop for who contributed eggs; seasonal runs of steelhead and salmon still came up the nearby river, and the forest behind the property offered wild edibles year round in the form of acorns, berries, mushrooms, and assorted greens; his neighbors supplied him with homemade breads and pies in trade for a little labor, there was honey from transient beekeepers that passed through needing a hand, and there were plenty of fruit and nut orchards close by to help himself to in season; if he ever had anywhere to go, he either traveled by foot, an old bicycle, or, during the warmer months, by paddling an inner tube up and down the river; he had no dependents, not even pets, except for Pinky, an albino cat that came with the property, but she was feral and lived more or less off of a healthy population of field mice so that he’d never had to buy her any food; and finally, he had no hobbies to speak of, except for birdwatching, and all he needed for that was his eyes and ears and an innate fascination for colorful flying things. In fact, the only thing Rudy required money for was buying pints down at The Buzzard’s Roost, and he got that easily enough collecting the cans and bottles strewn about the roadsides and returning them for their deposits.
And so with dismay, Rudy concluded that the only contribution he could see that he was making as a consumer to his culture and his country was by buying pints down at The Buzzard’s Roost, and although that was considerable, it was mostly during Happy Hour, and sometimes in trade for swabbing out their beer cooler. He shook his head ruefully, “So it’s true after all, I’m totally off the grid, off the map, below radar, out of touch, out of tune, out of step, and out of the loop. In a word, I’m frugal, and while this may have been a virtue in the past, I can see that it’s certainly unpatriotic now. We’re at War again and it’s time for every man to pull his weight around, and I’m not! In fact, America’s economy is suffering by my very own hand, and so whether I like it or not I’ve got to face the music and admit that I’ve been an aid to the Enemy and a traitor to my own country!”
His reaction to this terrible truth was to buy another pint, full price, specifically to stave off the awful sense of guilt that was coming over him, and to immediately help the economy in the only way he could think of at the moment. “This one’s for the good ol’ USA!” Rudy fervently explained to the bartender, who merely responded “whatever,” in that worldly air that the bartenders of The Buzzard’s Roost are so famous for. Rudy picked his fresh pint off the bar, took it out the back door, and sat on a log by the burbling creek out there to calm himself and mull things over a bit more.
An early spring sun was shining in a clear blue sky, spreading warmth over the bright green grass, and suddenly Rudy felt the keen thrill of the season rising up from his loins like sap. But even this did little to assuage the pangs of his conscience, for just then another horrifying recollection stumbled into his mind, flooding him with another wave of shame, “Happy horses! I can’t even remember the last time I paid any taxes!” He quickly sat up and looked around, half expecting Federal agents to be there ready to nab him. His guilt was so overwhelming he almost wished they were there, for he wouldn’t resist—he felt like a no-good, low-rent, slack-jawed, yellow-bellied, lily-livered scoundrel justly deserving arrest, torture, and a long stretch of hard time in a lightless prison. But instead there was only a small group of college students sitting at a nearby picnic table laughing in the sun. How Rudy envied them, so young and happy and intoxicated, with nary a care in the world.
He looked back at the cheerfully burbling creek and still he was miserable, and the more he thought about his ignoble past, the more truly wretched he became. There was no escaping it. He could see the truth now for what it was. “If everyone lived like me,” he thought remorsefully, “off the fat of the land so to speak, this great country of ours would have foundered long ago! Oh, why didn’t I see all this before? The life I’m living is a lie, worse, it’s un-American!” It was a terribly bitter pill for Rudy to swallow, but swallow it he did, kicking himself all the way.
As the sun began to set over the far ridge in a spectacular display of color, Rudy sighed, for it meant nothing to him now that he was a confirmed traitor. Finally, with a lopsided and lumpy moon rising in the east, he staggered home past joyful clusters of blooming daffodils to his teepee with a heavy heart. Mourning doves cooed softly from the trees above and Rudy listened to them for a moment as he despondently ate a handful of bean sprouts from the greenhouse, and then he went straight to bed early in his fireless teepee.
Chapter 2:
How Rudy Climbed A Hill & How He Rediscovered His Patriotism & His Love For America
In the morning Rudy woke up refreshed, and as usual lay there awhile in his teepee listening to the birds outside and enjoying the pattern of sunlight and shadows on the canvas walls. He’d completely forgotten the whole episode of the night before and his mind was as peaceful and tranquil as ever. By and by, he wrapped himself in a blanket and stepped outside through the flap, and my! what a beautiful morning it was, the whole world seeming as fresh and new as the day of its mythical creation. He sat on the earth in the sun for a while warming himself and watching the birds flit about in the trees and bushes. It was breeding time again and his feathered friends were busy building nests, courting mates with melodious songs, and defending their territories with chits and chirps and excited squawks. The chickens and Pinky the Cat came to visit, and as the day continued on at its unhurried pace, Rudy went about a few chores, and then decided to spend the afternoon hiking up the hill behind the property.
It was a good steep hike and when Rudy got to the top he wiped the sweat from his brow and took in the view of the distant snow-covered mountain range to the south and the town far below, spread out like a little toy village at his feet. “There’s the post office and there’s the library,” he said to himself, “and there’s the bank building, and there’s the good ol’ Buzzard’s Roost, and there’s the town square with the rusty cannon, and there’s the old white courthouse built by the pioneers with Old Glory waving over it—” Suddenly Rudy sucked in his breath and clasped his head in his hands as in a rush it all came back—the revelation he’d had about America’s economy and the critical role individual consumers have to national security, the discovery of the heinous treason of his lifestyle, and finally the crushing guilt and shame that went along with it. Again he was overcome by despair and immediately he threw himself down upon the fragile blooming wildflowers of the hill.
But this time he did not beat himself up for long. “Sure,” he reasoned, sitting up and wiping the smashed lilies and buttercups from his breast, “upon reflection my pastoral life is intolerable, useless to the greater good, disloyal, treasonous, damnable, without merit whatsoever, but no! Enough of that! Am I not from a long line of fighting patriots? Haven’t the men in my family been drafted for generations to fight for their country and only seldom shirked their duty and ran off to the hills? Didn’t my own father get wounded fighting the Nazis during World War II, irregardless of the fact that the wound was inflicted by Elmer Potlicker, a librarian from Chicago who fondly reminisced about Al Capone’s brothels and who accidentally stabbed my father in the rear end with his bayonet while they were sharing a foxhole together during the Battle of the Bulge?
“And hadn’t my great-great-grandfather on my father’s mother’s father’s side, been a hero for the Confederate Army in the Civil War, which was one heck of a war to be in back then if you were an American after all, and in fact, wasn’t there even a town named after him in Arkansas now, Beasleyville, which I hope to visit someday? Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! I will visit and pay my respects, but besides that, fighting for my country’s surely in my blood, there can be no doubt of it! It’s not my fault that an unlucky period of peace messed up my chance of winning honor and glory on the battlefield! No, that was completely beyond my control! There was the War for Grenada of course, but that was over almost before it began, and most of the action there was fishing in the lagoons with grenades—at least according to what that ex-MP who arrested drunken GI’s there told me one day when he strayed through The Buzzard’s Roost. And then there was Operation Just Cause in Panama and the First Persian Gulf War! Well, who saw those coming? And both of them were over and done with before I could even find them on the map! It’s a matter of timing is what it is. If the President would only let everybody know ahead of time when he was going to have a War, it’d be so much easier to show up for it!
“Well then,” Rudy went on, talking to himself with swelling conviction, “and don’t I love my country? Yes again! Absolutely. Baseball, apple pie, and Chevrolet! In fact, when I see on TV down at The Buzzard’s Roost how people live in other countries, I wonder how they can even stand to live there! We as Americans would never put up with all that—crooked and scandalous politicians, bogus elections, intolerant religious fanatics, state executions, failing health and education systems, environmental devastation, government-run propaganda machines and censorship, elitist classes, racism, nationalism, militarism, imperialism, exploitation of the poor and weak, civil unrest and thuggish riot police, vast prison systems, leaders running around in little military outfits, as well as rampant corruption from police stations to military barracks to houses of government and corporate boardrooms—and funny cars and bad roads to boot! Good gracious yes, I love my country—the land of the free and the home of the brave, where democracy and justice unswervingly rule the day! Yes, there’s no doubt about that either! America loves me and I love America!”
And looking down on the Stars and Stripes waving atop that old courthouse built by pioneer hands, Rudy felt a stirring in his breast and heard a clarion call from on high. Right then and there on that lonely hilltop, he swore to himself and everything American that one way or another he’d set things right—he’d done his country a grievous injury, and he would atone for it. Taking a last look at the flag, Rudy stiffened his back and saluted, and then marched right down that hill to The Buzzard’s Roost, Happy Hour or no, for he had important things to think over.
Chapter 3:
How Rudy Struggled To Redeem Himself & What He Found In His Mailbox
Three pints of his favorite hoppy ale later though and Rudy still hadn’t figured anything out. He bought another pint and took it out back to sit on the log and get some fresh air. He found a cigarette butt in a coffee-can ashtray and lit it, coughing aloud as he said through a puff of smoke, “something’s got to give, and it’s got to give soon!” Rudy knew, of course, that he needed to spend money—the problem was that he’d never been very good at getting money. He knew too that his normal method of acquiring funds by collecting littered cans and bottles for their deposits wouldn’t be sufficient in this case—it would take him forever that way to get the amount of money he felt necessary for his first spending binge. He thought of finding a job, but had to admit he had no experience at that sort of thing, and besides he didn’t feel that was ambitious enough. Robbing banks was equal to his enthusiasm, but he felt it was too risky, plus he didn’t have much experience in that field either.
One thing was for sure though, he couldn’t go on living under this black cloud—it was either find a way to rectify the situation, or leave the country he so loved in shame. But Rudy couldn’t do that—frankly, it wasn’t too safe to be an American abroad then, even for a traitor—and besides he wasn’t a quitter, at least not yet. Exasperated, he looked skyward and saw the flashing red gorget of a Rufous hummingbird singing its sharp, chippity song from the top of a tree. Another one flew by and then the one that had been singing took off after him like a miniature feathered missile. “Now there are some aggressive little bastards,” Rudy thought, “get an Air Force of a few thousand trained Rufous hummingbirds fighting for us and our Wars would be over like that! Our enemies would run from battle at the very sight! Ah, but this is getting me nowhere!”
As the sun began to set, Rudy finished the pint and walked back to his teepee still in a quandary. At the gate he absently stopped to check the mailbox and pulled out some letters. As usual, most of them were addressed to the absent landowner, a Mr. Phillip Smethwick, whom Rudy had never met, but there was one letter with his name on it that he glanced at—“ah, just another piece of junk mail!” he said aloud. He ripped it in half and stuffed it in his pocket with the rest and went back through the gathering darkness to his teepee. There was a chill in the air and he grabbed an armload of wood off a nearby stack and went through the flap and began to start a small fire using the mail as tinder.
Now, there is something about the universe that fits well inside a teepee, and that night was no different. Despite his recent troubles, Rudy felt calm and restful watching the flames grow and dance. “I’ve come a long way,” he thought reflectively, “I’ve discovered the beauty and power of America’s economic system, as well as its terrible vulnerability, and I’ve realized the treachery of my carefree lifestyle and resolved to mend my ways.” He chided himself for his impatience, saying aloud, “easy now, all good things in all good time!” Little did he know just how soon that would be.
For as Rudy threw in the last pieces of the mail and the fire licked at them, he saw a symbol, a logo…in a flash he thrust his hand in the flames and rescued the now singed and ripped halves of the junk mail he’d been sent. He carefully pulled parts of a letter out of the envelope pieces, put them together, and read the words. It was a letter from Unibank—something about being chosen for a special award—a pre-approved Zirconium Card—he eagerly read ahead—all he had to do was fill out the simple application and send it in—“designed for people who want, and deserve, the very best of everything! Why wait? Your card is ready to send! C’mon! Live a little! Initial credit line of $10,000!”
“WHAT?” Rudy cried, jumping up. He read it through again more carefully, scrutinizing it word by word in the firelight. “Yes, it all seems to be true!” he said to himself excitedly, “fill out the form, send it in, and Unibank will send me a Zirconium Credit Card worth $10,000!” He laughed looking into the fire and a thousand ideas burst in his mind like Fourth of July fireworks. “Ah! I’m blessed! A transgressed despairing patriot at his wits’ end thrown a lifeline back into the mix—a black sheep brought back into the fold—a prodigal son no less! Oh, what a great country!” he added proudly. “Only in America would such a thing be possible! And what a beautiful arrangement—patriotic banks giving money to patriotic citizens so that the nation’s economy can keep surging ahead and America can remain strong during this difficult time! Wonderful! Sheer genius!”
Despite his excitement, Rudy managed to find some duct tape and he carefully reconstructed the application and return envelope with it. Then he filled out the form with the stub of a pencil, and sealed it up in the envelope. “There, I’m done,” he said with a weary but satisfied smile. “I’ve been given my ticket to salvation and tomorrow I’ll mail it off on its way!” Exhausted, his heart flush with gratitude, Rudy lay down in his blankets and watched the smoke and little embers from the fire rise up and pass through the smokehole toward the stars and soon he was snoring away.
Chapter 4:
How Rudy Met The Mailman & Got His Start & How The President Helped Him Decide What To Do
The next week was the longest of Rudy’s life. He was on ‘pins and needles,’ awaiting the mailman each day, like when he’d been a little kid waiting for the water monkeys he’d ordered from the back of a comic book to arrive. Day in, day out, the mailman passed by, until finally one rain-sodden afternoon Rudy saw him stop his little jeep at the mailbox and he ran over to him. The mailman was short and stout with bushy eyebrows and heavy jowls and when he turned and saw Rudy standing there behind him he jumped and then barked gruffly, “don’t ever sneak up on me like that! I’m a highly trained Federal Officer and there’s no telling how I might react!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mailman, sir—”
“—save it bub, sorry’s for losers, now are you Rudy J. Swingle or not?”
“Yes, yes! I’m Rudy J. Swingle! Do you have a letter for me?” Rudy asked anxiously.
“Hold on a second bub, you live here?” the mailman countered suspiciously. He smelled like whiskey and cocking back his pith helmet with his thumb he glared up at Rudy with bloodshot eyes.
Rudy sweated, for here was the moment of truth at last. He lied, “yes sir, Mr. Mailman, I’m kind of caretaking for the place until the owner decides what to do with it.”
“No skin off my nose what the hell you do here, bub,” the mailman said, looking off through the rain at the property. A faint wisp of smoke from Rudy’s campfire curled up into the air from behind the grove of trees. His eyes snapped back to Rudy and he demanded, “You ain’t no filthy terrorist are you?”
As you can imagine this really pushed Rudy’s button and he answered proudly, “No sir! I was born an American and I’ll die an American—red-white-and-blue runs in my veins, true through, thank you very much, sir!” And then he gave him the Pledge of Allegiance to top it off.
When Rudy finished, the mailman wiped a tear away with the cuff of his uniform, and then smiled and hitched up his pants. With a wink and a nod he said, “You’ll be alright Rudy, I just gotta check you know, us mailmen are on the front lines now and we can’t be too careful.”
“I understand, sir,” Rudy said sympathetically.
“Just remember, united we stand, bub,” the mailman said, “and you let me know if you ever see anything suspicious around here, you hear? Oh, and here’s your letter.”
Rudy snatched it from him and the mailman sped off in his postal jeep. He stood there for a moment in the rain with a drip down his back and the letter in his hand, his heart racing wildly, and then he ran back to the teepee. As the flap fell closed behind him, Rudy stood up and looked at the letter and saw that it was an important looking letter from Unibank. He could barely get himself to open it, for all of his dreams hinged on what lay inside. He looked at it, felt it—and then he knew—he could feel the plastic card inside like all the hope in the world.
Rudy ripped the envelope apart and there it was—a slick new Zirconium card, worth $10,000 and with his very own name, Rudy J. Swingle, embossed right there in the corner in shiny silver letters! “Happy horses!” he cried ecstatically, “this is even better than when I got those water monkeys so long ago! Alright then, it’s time to go to work!” He quickly lay down to take a nap thinking, “My first purchase has to be something special, something uniquely American, a bold statement of my passionate feelings for my country, and a shot in the arm for the economy! Unfortunately, I don’t have much experience as a consumer, but then again everybody knows you can’t catch a fish unless you’re line’s wet, so I guess I’ll just have to jump in feet first and start swimming.” He drifted off to sleep with this thought, and when he woke up later he still didn’t have any idea of how he should begin and so decided to retire to The Buzzard’s Roost to think things over some more.
After several pints he was still on square one though, and had to face the fact that he was out of his element. “It’s true,” he reflected, “that years ago my folks gave me a credit card for my eighteenth birthday and joyfully urged me to ‘join the party!’ but alas, I’d only time to charge a bicycle tire, a birdfeeder, and a Frisbee on it before losing it with my wallet one day while floating down the river on my inner tube. And since then I just haven’t had much consumer experience, except for buying pints, and drinking $10,000 in pints would be an enormous task and likely take too long to help the economy in the quick daring way I want to! Well, I can see clearly enough that I’m in a pickle, over a barrel, and stumped to boot—but maybe being a good consumer is like riding a bicycle—once you fall off you just have to get back in the saddle and start pedaling, and so that’s just what I’ll have to do!”
As Rudy sat there musing on this, Fate once again came swinging through the doors of The Buzzard’s Roost, this time in the form of the President of the United States of America who suddenly materialized on the TV screen behind the bar. It was Earth Day and Homeland Security had just raised the Terrorist Threat Level to Hot Pink, urging all Americans to “keep to their party plans,” and the President was at Cape Canaveral for the launching of two rockets—one to Mars to look for signs of life and the other to put into space another spy satellite to “make the Earth more secure from its enemies.” The President stood there in a flight jacket looking at the camera like a deer caught in the headlights and using all of his presidential power to courageously exhort his fellow citizens to spend their money confidently—“relax, everythin’s fine! Go on, get out there an’ celebrate the birthday of our great Earth by takin’ a vacation, goin’ somewhere, an’ enjoyin’ yourself! Heck, I am an’ it’s fun! Ya know what, I got an idea, why don’t ya go on down to Orlando an’ see Dinkyworld! I been there myself an’ I tell ya, it’s a super fun place! Lotta fun rides an’ some swell food! Don’t let the terrists beat us on our own turf! Get on out there America, travel, shop, an’ have some fun! Happy Birthday Earth an’ God bless ya for it!”
The chills went right through Rudy. Here was a direct call to action from his Commander in Chief himself—and act Rudy did. He finished his pint in two gulps and ran out the door and around the corner to a travel agency and booked a trip with his Zirconium Card to Dinkyworld in Orlando, that great Mecca of the patriotic American consumer and the self-proclaimed Funnest Place on Earth.
Chapter 5:
Who Rudy Found In His Teepee; How They Spent The Evening; And How Rudy Explained Everything
As Rudy returned home later that evening, he saw his teepee aglow and his heart jumped. He snuck up the last few paces and peeked in the flap and saw his girlfriend Terra there stirring a pot of lentil beans over a nice hot fire. “Ah, my lovely Terra,” he said to himself, “coming and going like the wind!”
Rudy entered with a somersault through the flap and announced exuberantly, “Baby! Dinkyworld! You want to go?”
She shrieked, nearly upsetting the lentils into the fire. “Goddamn it Rudy! You scared me to death!”
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, baby!” he said grabbing and hugging her, stroking her back to soothe her, “I was just so excited to see you, and…and Dinkyworld, that’s all.”
“What? hey Rudy—” and then Rudy kissed her and then she kissed back. It had been a while.
“So where you been?” she finally asked.
“Oh Terra,” he said, “my mind and I have been in and out and all over the world! I understand things now that I never did before!”
She blushed and giggled and hugged Rudy, proud of him. “That can wait,” she whispered with a hot rush of breath in his ear, “what I want now is you!”
Now there’s nothing like making love in a teepee, with the fire and shadows dancing, and that night was no different. Finally though, they lay there holding one another in the firelight. The lentils burbled like magma. Rudy stroked her dreadlocks and she purred against him.
Suddenly he sat up, remembering, “Hey! like I said, baby! Dinkyworld!—you want to go?”
“What? Oh, Dinkyworld? What are you talking about lover?”
“Dinkyworld! In Orlando! Florida! The Grapefruit State! C’mon baby, it’ll be great—the President said we should go!”
“Ha-ha! Stop it Rudy, you’re completely crazy!”
She grabbed him and kissed him and he came to life again. They rolled about under the blankets, making love once more as the fire hissed and cracked. It was good and finally when it was over, they rolled up cigarettes and lay together smoking and looking at the fire. Her face was flushed and beautiful with that post-coital glow—little beads of sweat caught on the curl of her upper lip. A soft wind blew, rustling the skin of the teepee.
“Hey, so what’s up with the ‘God bless America!’ thing?” she asked Rudy with a curious smile.
“What do you mean?”
“Right when you were—you know—you moaned out ‘God Bless America’—that’s new to me.”
“Oh…I don’t know…Oh! yes!—listen, like I was trying to tell you, I’ve gotten some stuff down, I mean I’ve figured some things out since I last saw you!”
And then Rudy told her all that had passed—his epiphany at The Buzzard’s Roost, his horror at discovering the treasonous lifestyle he was living, his solemn oath upon the hilltop, how he got his Zirconium Card, and his plan at redemption. She laughed and thought he was making it all up to amuse her, but then Rudy showed her the card—the Zirconium Card—and his airplane tickets for Orlando. “Come with me baby,” he urged excitedly, “we’ll be Freedom Fighters together!”
“Wow,” Terra said with a kind of puzzled smile. “I’m beginning to think you’re serious and that it was a bad idea coming over here tonight. You’re a Gemini and your moon is way off right now—”
“—No, c’mon, it’ll be great! Listen baby, don’t you see! It’s like I’m Noah or somebody, like I’ve been up on a mountaintop talking with a burning bush and now I see how it all is!”
“Yeah, OK crazy man, so what do you see?”
“Well, it’s like this,” Rudy explained, “like the wizard said in that movie with the little people with the hairy feet, we can’t choose the time we’re born in—and I’m thinking we can’t choose where either! Honey, like it says on all the bumper stickers and shopping bags these days, I’m proud to be an American! I mean chances are we could have been born in India, or Tibet, or Saudi Arabia, or Africa, or Japan, or Jerusalem, or Jamaica, or Italy, or Brazil, or Texas, or some other equally depraved and godless land. But no, we were born here, you and I baby, and that’s something to be proud of. We could have been born anywhere, but we weren’t, we’re Americans and it’s our duty to be proud of that! Our ancestors fled the persecution and oppression of the Old World and came here to this New World paradise with good intentions, the Bible, smallpox, and slaves, ambitiously freed it from the native savages and other wildlife, cleared the land and paved it over, cut all the forests down to build cities that unfortunately burned to ashes, and handily pulped whatever trees were left into newsprint and toilet paper so we could happily read about our nation’s bustling economy while wiping our bottoms in comfort! In our eager and industrious pursuit of happiness, we innocently turned the rivers of the east into open sewers that caught fire and accidentally poisoned the air and land with billowing clouds of toxic chemicals! And here in the west, we dammed all the free-flowing rivers and flooded majestic canyons so we could live the good life in desert wastelands floating in swimming pools, playing golf, and washing our cars! We invented electricity to liberate us from the horrors of darkness, the automobile to free us from the tyranny of horses, radio and television to keep us in touch with the world, and credit cards, telephones, computers, and the wireless Internet to allow us to shop from anywhere at the touch of a button! We created the Gatling gun and the Atom and Hydrogen bombs in our noble quest for peace and security, and built the glories of Las Vegas, the Astro-Dome, the Mall of America, and Dinkyworld to satisfy our endless and urgent need for entertainment! Don’t you see? Our history is one great shining arc of progress and it demands our respect! It’s where we come from and who we are—we’re Americans, and whether we like it or not, now it’s our turn to do our part to fight the godless oppression of the rest of the world that our ancestors came here to escape! Now, for better or worse, it’s our duty as Leaders of the Free World to march on!”
“You’re talking crazy Rudy! Seriously, you’re beginning to freak me out! Did something land on you? Did you fall on your head or something?”
“No baby—and listen to me, if we want this great and proud history of ours to continue, we’ve got to all pull together and participate in the economy! It’s our sacred duty! And I see now, with painful clarity, that I’ve been shirking mine! To make up for that I’ve got to spend, and spend, and SPEND, by any means necessary!”
“But wait a second honey,” Terra argued, “I thought your whole trip was sustainability, I thought that’s what you were all about! It’s sexy Rudy, it’s what really turns me on about you!”
“Yeah well, I’ve learned the hard way that sustainability is the Enemy, the cursed ideology of a new communism, and it’s completely anti-American!”
“Rudy, c’mon listen to yourself! I love you because you’re not like anyone else I know, you’re so different, so self-sufficient and self-reliant!”
Rudy flinched, her words striking and burning him like fiery darts from the devil himself. He took a deep breath and, rallying himself, tried to explain it to her again. “Terra, Terra, Terra…times change, don’t you see that self-sufficiency and self-reliance have become the twin evils of the modern age? They’re completely against the American Dream. For too long I’ve wandered blind, trying to make it on my own, believing in the freedom of independence and going my own way, beholden to no one, as it were. But now the shoe’s on the other foot, the veil’s been pulled from my eyes, and I see the Big Picture at last! With freedom comes duty and responsibility, and with independence comes a dependence upon the benevolent government that allows it! Don’t you see? Living the way I’ve been doing doesn’t do anyone any good anymore—”
“—but you found this place, you fixed it up to all that it is now! How can you just turn your back on it?”
“By turning my heart toward my country,” Rudy replied firmly, “independence is out, a relic of the past—it’s passe!”
“What the hell is passe?”
“I don’t know, it’s something people say—”
“—Jesus Christ, Rudy!”
“Anyway, forget about passe! The point is it’s over! Read the papers! Everything and everybody’s dependent on the government, from the oil and timber industries to livestock, fashion, and pharmaceuticals! Bankers, farmers, lawyers, librarians, zookeepers, internet dating services, doctors, dentists, bus drivers, cooks, construction workers, landscapers, carneys, plastic surgeons, screen writers, real estate developers, dietitians, hot air balloon enthusiasts, movie stars, Pakistan, Israel, and South Korea, insurance companies, professional athletes, janitors, hair stylists, talk radio hosts, dog catchers, used car salesmen, homeless people, teachers, school kids—everything and everybody’s subsidized! All to keep things going!”
“So?”
“So now with this Zirconium Card, I’m subsidized! It’s like I’ve been drafted for America’s sake!”
But poor Terra couldn’t see it. She was young and idealistic, impassioned especially by a strong dislike of her upbringing by her “wealthy Republican asshole” parents.
“But don’t you see that it’s all just crazy?” she implored. “It’s like most Americans are stupid hamsters on some out-of-control treadmill in a giant Habbittrail! Where is it getting anybody and where will it all end?”
Rudy waved her off with his hand and said resolutely, “Who cares? The point is we’ve got to keep going! Now more than ever! Honey, there’s a War going on!”
“Augh! Yes! The War! Another War, one after another! Rudy, I don’t believe you! Hundreds of innocent people a day are being killed by our bombs—women and children!”
“That’s not my fault! Listen, if the rest of the world would just understand that everything we do is in their best interests, we’d never have to go to war with them! We’re just trying to defend our way of life after all—”
“—That’s just it! It’s our way of life that’s responsible for all these Wars! It’s because of the way everybody lives here that American kids have to go get shot and blown up shooting at people they don’t even know!”
“What are you talking about? Our way of life is the envy of the world!” Rudy said proudly. “Everyone wants to live like we do—free to guzzle up as much as they can! They’re just jealous because we’re the most powerful nation on earth and so have the right to take the world’s resources and do whatever we want with them, and they can’t! And that’s why our young people get the glory and honor of fighting on battlefields around the world, and what I’m saying is that while they’re busy doing that, it’s up to the rest of us to do what we can here, like being freedom fighting tourists at Dinkyworld!”
“Holy shit! You’re really freaking me out now, Rudy! You did fall on your head! You must of! I can’t believe this! Jesus, why don’t you just get a buzz cut and crop your beard down to a goatee like the rest of the drones while you’re at it!”
“That’s a great idea Terra!” Rudy said enthusiastically, pawing at his tangled hair. “I never thought of how unpatriotic I must look! No wonder the mailman thought I was a terrorist!”
“What?! The mailman? Terrorists? Your hair? You can’t be serious! Ohhh!” she yelled frustrated and stamped her foot, causing a little cloud of dust to rise up from the bare earth floor. She stood there and glared at Rudy and he could feel the back of his skull heating up. He didn’t say a word.
After a while though, in the quiet of the teepee and the firelight, Terra’s anger dimmed. Finally she said sadly, “Oh Rudy, you’ve changed—you’re a different person from the one I love, and you’re going somewhere I can’t follow—”
“—Dinkyworld? It’s open to everyone, baby!”
“No!” she cried, “you don’t understand—”
“—Listen, baby, I do understand! Don’t you see that I love America, now more than ever! And America’s in terrible trouble Terra, our economy is reeling and staggering down the street! Yes, and I can help it, America that is! I have a purpose, a duty, where I saw none before—and I love you too and want you to come to Dinkyworld with me, will you?”
“Never Rudy—I’m sorry—I have to go—”
And she left Rudy alone in his teepee with the burbling lentils. He was hungry after the sex and the argument and her beans really hit the spot. “Well,” Rudy thought as he relaxed afterward, rubbing his belly and belching by the fire, “I guess it was just too much for her to take in all at once. She’s a good girl though and she’ll see the light one day—but happy horses! she should know you can’t keep a good man down, especially when he’s a born-again patriot with a country to save!” Overwhelmed by this gallant notion, Rudy’s eyelids grew heavy and with a mighty yawn he popped his jaws, sighed deeply, and then rolled over onto his side. He curled up in his blankets and listened for a moment to the treefrogs croaking rhythmically down by the spring and then he was away, drifting off to sleep, murmuring, “Dinkyworld…America…hold on…I’m coming!”
Chapter 6:
How Rudy Prepared For His Trip To Dinkyworld & What The Mailman Brought Him This Time
Rudy woke up the next morning nearly bursting with a strong new sense of duty. His chest swelled to think of the important day ahead of him, for it was finally time to rise to the challenge, prove his mettle, and serve his country—one way or another. His plane to Orlando wasn’t until that afternoon, so Rudy’s first order of business was to follow up on Terra’s suggestion and get cleaned up. He walked into town to find a barber and at first was a little worried because he’d never been to a barber before and wasn’t sure how to find one. Once again Providence shined on Rudy though, as walking about town he noticed a spinning red-white-and-blue striped pole fastened to the side of a building and was drawn to it as a moth to flame. Mesmerized, he watched it turn round and round when all of a sudden a man came out of the adjacent door and called back inside, “Thanks for the haircut Ted, see you in a few weeks, and good luck to you and the boys in the Sing-Off!”
Rudy looked in the plate glass window and saw an older white-haired man in an apron wave back at the man and then begin sweeping up the floor around a strange-looking upholstered chair. Without thinking twice, he left the spinning pole and marched inside.
“Whoa there!” the barber hollered when he saw Rudy walk in. His eyes were open wide and he was holding up the broom as if to fend off a blow. After a moment he lowered his hands and said, “Good God Almighty, you nearly gave me a coronary walking in here like that! What kind of beast is you anyhow? Bigfoot himself, dang it if you ain’t! Sweet Jesus, look at all that hair! I haven’t seen such a rat’s nest since the ’60’s! Well, c’mon, out with it! Speak if you can, whatever you be!”
“Excuse me sir,” Rudy answered simply, “I was just watching that beautiful red-white-and-blue pole spinning around and around outside, and, well, then I overheard what the man who just left here said, and I guess maybe you’re a barber, and if you are, I’d like to get a shave and a haircut if you please.”
“Well the hairy devil can talk after all!” the barber exclaimed, looking at Rudy and shaking his head. “My God boy, if that’s what you is, you’re one hell of a mess for sure! You’re talking about a mighty big job there too—I’d have to charge you same as I used to for shearing sheep on McGrath’s ranch in Australia, and that’s by the bushel!”
“Oh, I’ll pay whatever you want,” Rudy said proudly, “I’ve got a Zirconium Card!”
“Is that so? Well then Mr. Natural, you got some particular idea what you want to look like when I’m done—that is if I can do it?”
“Something patriotic, sir,” Rudy answered earnestly. “I was told by my girlfriend Terra that a buzz cut and a goatee was the look I needed.”
“Well, that’s a very popular style these days, though whether it’s patriotic or not I can’t rightly say. Here, take off your coat and have a seat. Sweet Jesus boy, take a good look at yourself, you’ll plum ruin my good clippers with all that hair! I suppose it’d be just plain stupid of me to ask if you’ve ever heard of a comb? Forget it, now hold on a minute and I’ll dig up my shears and we’ll find out who’s underneath all that.”
An hour later the barber was exhausted but finished, and Rudy could barely recognize himself in the mirror. He was surprised to find that his eyes were blue, and that his face was pale and freckled and rather round and simple. It was a little unnerving to see himself like that after so long, like he was looking at some naked stranger who he kind of remembered from somewhere, but he smiled back at himself and thought of America and Dinkyworld and immediately felt better. He put his coat back on and thanked the barber for helping him find himself all over again, and then handed him his Zirconium Card. The barber didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips together in a look of weary resolve and ran the card and then began to sweep up the enormous pile of hair from the floor. After a moment he stopped and looked up at Rudy who was still standing there and said, “You’ve certainly been a challenge boy, a barber’s nightmare if you want to know the truth. I believe I’ve been tested as even the 4-H Club never imagined, and I’m worn to the bone.” He put the Closed sign up in the window and glanced outside and then remembered something and muttered, “Oh damn! I’m going to have to give Stan a ring now and call off our quartet practice tonight, and with the Sing-Off only a week away…” He shook his head and then looked back at Rudy and said, “OK boy, now get the hell out of here and don’t ever come back looking like that again or I’ll use my weed whacker on you, and that’s no joke.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Barber sir,” Rudy said, “I’ll try to keep on top of things a little better from now on. But now I’m off to Dinkyworld to help save America! United we stand!”
“What?”
But Rudy was already gone, leaving the bells above the door jangling behind him. His balance was a little off with all the weight of his hair gone, but he managed to make it back to his teepee in one piece. He changed into his best clothes, which were still rather raggedy and smelled of wood smoke, but they’d have to do until he got to Dinkyworld where he hoped to buy some new ones. With that exciting prospect flitting through his head, Rudy noticed the mailman pulling up to the mailbox and ran over to him. When the mailman turned around and saw Rudy standing there behind him, he jumped again and nearly lost the pith helmet from his head.
“Dammit! I thought I told you never to sneak up on me like that!” he barked angrily, and then squinting his eyes he quickly went on the attack, “Hey! Who’re you? And what’ve you done with Rudy? C’mon! Out with it!”
Rudy noticed the mailman’s hand playing with the pepper spray cartridge on his belt, and hastily said, “It’s me Mr. Mailman! Rudy! Rudy J. Swingle! Right here, sir! In the flesh and blood! I just got a shave and a haircut, that’s all.”
The mailman was visibly shaken, with a look on his face like a dog that’s been tricked too many times, but after a moment of stunned scrutiny he rapidly recovered his bearing and gave Rudy a crooked smile, “Well, hey Rudy, I knew all along it was you, you just look a little different that’s all—goddamnit though! Don’t go sneaking up on me like that again, especially with a new face and all! I told you about the stress us mailmen are under these days!” He took a pint of whiskey from his pocket and had a guzzle and thrust it back in.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mailman—” Rudy began sympathetically.
“—and don’t give me that Mr. Mailman crap!” the mailman said gruffly through a cloud of bourbon fumes, “you call me Hazelrig from now on, you hear!”
“Yes, sir—um, Hazelrig—I’m sorry about running up to you like that, it’s just that I’m so excited! I’m about to catch a plane to Dinkyworld!”
“What? Oh, well that’s great Rudy, Dinkyworld, huh? Jesus Christ…” His voice trailed off, and then he looked back at Rudy with a big smile warming up his plump and haggard face, and he said in a jovial tone, “Hey, you clean up pretty good now Rudy, you get back from Dinkyworld and I might just have to invite you over to the boardinghouse to try some of Mama O’Grady’s fried chicken! How’s that sound? Hah hah! Best goddamn fried chicken in Dingleberry County or I’m a pig’s uncle! Hah hah! Well alright Rudy, here’s some mail for you—you have a good trip now you hear, and remember, united we stand, bub!”
“Yes, sir,” Rudy said grabbing the three letters the mailman offered, and then standing straight he saluted and said, “thank you Hazelrig, I’ll make us all proud!”
The mailman squinted at Rudy again with a quick look of suspicion and then shaking his head and chuckling, he shook a stubby finger at Rudy, settled himself into his jeep, and sped off.
Rudy watched him go and then glanced at the letters that Hazelrig had given him. His eyes grew bigger and bigger as he realized what they were and a mighty tingle went all through his body and then he gave a wild whooping yell and jumped in the air and clicked his heels together. For right there in his flapping hands he held pre-approved applications for three more credit cards—a Plutonium Card from U.S. Creditbank, a Uranium Card from Usury-R-Us Trust, and a FreedomMaster Deluxe Card from EliteLiberty Bank.
Now Rudy had never been much of a believer in fate before, but to get these applications on top of everything else that’d been happening gave him the feeling that he was beginning to get the hang of it. “Happy horses!” he exclaimed in wonder, “this is fantastic! Surely there’s a pattern here—surely this is all happening for some super special reason!” It felt to Rudy then as if some great invisible hand was guiding him down the unrolling carpet of his destiny and all he had to do was stay in step. Charging back to his teepee with the applications, he filled them out with a pencil stub, ran back to the mailbox and jammed them inside, put the flag up to alert Hazelrig, and then hiked out to the airport with great eager bounding strides.
Chapter 7:
What Happened To Rudy At The Airport & How He Got Up In The Air
Rudy hadn’t been out to the airport in years. As a child he used to ride his bike out there and pass through a hole in the security fence to watch the planes land and take off, and his father would come and find him there and watch the planes with him. To Rudy’s father, airplanes were fascinating wonders of engineering and the greatest symbol of his generation’s progress, even if he could never quite understand how something so big and heavy could ever get off the ground and fly through the air. To young Rudy though, the planes were something else—giant, shiny, enchanted, soaring birds that made thunderous, earsplitting sounds and that people took care of like pets.
And so as Rudy now approached the airport his mind buzzed with all kinds of imaginings. He’d never been on an airplane before, but he’d seen people getting on and off of them and he’d seen them flying up high in the sky leaving white trails behind, and the thought that he was about to get on one and leave the earth like that thrilled him from head to toe. He was so excited about it that when he got to the airport he ambled right through the same old tear in the fence that he’d used years before and approached the nearest plane across the tarmac with swinging steps and a tuneless whistle.
“Is this the plane going to Dinkyworld?” he asked a balding red-faced man with a blonde mustache sitting on a baggage carrier near the plane.
“What? Hey! How’d you get out here?” the man demanded angrily. “You’re not supposed to be out here! Dammit! This is a secure area! Now you come along with me and don’t try any funny stuff!”
“OK,” Rudy replied cheerfully, “and don’t worry, I can never remember any funny stuff, except the joke about the sleeping bull.”
“That’s great—sleeping bull, huh, how’s that one go?”
“Well, OK, but you asked for it—so what do you call a sleeping bull?”
The man thought for a moment and then said, “I give up.”
“A bull-dozer!” Rudy said, laughing.
“A bulldozer, huh? That’s not bad, but I’d call it a lazy goddamn hamburger!” the man snapped, and with that he whisked Rudy into the terminal and placed him in the hands of the Transportation Security Administration officials.
Because it was a small airport, there were only two officials on duty that afternoon—a fat, middle-aged woman who wore small eyeglasses squeezed onto her chubby face, and a boyish-looking young man whose uniform was two sizes too big for him. Though they both carried the same rank, the lady, because of her age and bulk, naturally assumed the tone and posture of the young man’s superior, which he in turn refused to recognize and, by his own diligent devotion to the details of the ever-changing procedural guidelines issued by the Department of Homeland Security, hoped to demonstrate to one and all that he was really the one in charge.