/short story – surreal comedy/
Written by Dany Tanner
The meeting was a total bummer. After Mr. Robinson ran out of the room, Bobby plopped into his solid-gold spray-painted RIG (Really Important Guy) swivel chair and began to bawl. One by one, his advisors collected their belongings and skulked off. On the table in front of him was a massive clay sculpture of an obelisk: the one in front of St. Peter’s in Rome. Apparently, someone had turned the heater up too high because the clay had softened and had started to sag. If Bobby had any strength left, he would strike the thing and throw it at the glass wall, but he was too lazy to move his fingers today. He sat and sucked his thumb, trying to figure out what to do next.
The gong gonged a ‘gongous’ number of times.
“Whaaaat? Again?! Who is it?” Bobby sobbed.
No one answered, but the gong rang again. This time it roared in a special Parisian Chic pattern, accompanied by hand slams upon the thick steel-painted balsa wood door. Two pounds of the hand on the door, one gong. This was done exactly four times, then a woman’s voice chimed in with lyrics from the ancient, legendary Queen:
“Buddy, you’re a boy, make a big noise
Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday
You got mud on your face, you big disgrace
Kicking your can all over the place, singin’,
We Will, We Will Rock You, Dry Pants Foreeeveerr!”
The female voice fell silent abruptly just seconds after her fragile hand smashed through the massive balsa portal. Looking over the table in disbelief, Bobby could see the gigantic hole in the door and two perfect legs standing outside. During the next ten seconds, the rest of the wall was removed, too. The beautiful eyes of Obe Dreipantz shone through the opening.
“Hey, Peeetrooofff, my dear Wet Pants World leader!” the woman sang happily, waving. Putting caution aside, she reached her hand back through and opened the door (or the rest of it) from the inside. The handsome steel-colored aperture had had enough of such treatment and promptly fell off its hinges.
“October! Miss Dry Pants!” sighed Bobby, still in shock. “How could you do this to me?”
“I figured this way we’d get a chance to meet each other again,” she said and smiled. “I liked your brave style on TV. If we can unite your Wetness and my Dry Power, we might conquer the world. By that, I mean creating a new political party, in Russia.”
“You smashed my business already… isn’t that enough?” whined Bobby. “What party?”
“Ohh, poo-poo,” answered Obe while she eyed Bobby’s surprised and wary face. “I ruined the life you thought you desired. I just wanted you to see who the real Boss is. And I wanted you to learn the lesson: you can’t play with the big girls.”
October Dreipantz sat on the table and spotted the papers Mr. Robinson left there.
“Forget the papers, Bobby. How you never told me that your last name was Petrov… mmm, any connection with Putin?” the visitor asked slowly.
“Because I have a great plan for you. Or us! Step one: sauna. Step two: registration of our political party in Russia. Step three…”
“STOP! Wait! I don’t want to know. I can agree only with step one. I’m willing to repeat step one a necessary number of times! And I don’t think it’s possible to register a party in Russia if I don’t speak Russian.” Bobby looked not only puzzled but scared.
“There’re only three requirements. First: a candidate should be at least 35 years old. Done! Second: should have been a resident of Russia for at least 25 years.”
“Ha ha! I’ve never been there. I’m not even Russian…” Bobby laughed nervously.
“Done! Here is your passport, Nikolai Petrov.” Obe carefully placed a small red book in Bobby’s pocket and continued. “Third: you shouldn’t have foreign citizenship or residence permit in a foreign country. Done! Aren’t you happy now?”
A vicious cycle of shakiness swallowed up Bobby’s body.
“After you’ll register our party, United Pants of Growth, we can put this sad chapter of crazy WETNESS behind us and work on building something more important, Mister Future President,” the woman explained.
Bobby did not fail to notice that Obe Dreipantz looked at the melted sculpture and smiled while she said this. He leaned forward and suddenly pushed Obe to the thick wall of glass. “I’d love to try that, Miss Dry Pants Prime Minister!”
To be continued…
Never heard about Obe Dry Pants? Read here
Comments are closed.