August 2009 Archives

Howard walked in through the front door and straight past the couch in the living room.  He was sick of the setbacks and the delays.  He wanted to come up with a plan and start implementing it immediately.  Nap time was over.

He decided right away that he wasn't going to bother building a miniature prototype this time.  The dead potato bug provided plenty proof of concept and besides, the mother of the baby mice had long since snatched them up and moved them to an undisclosed location.

He walked into the bathroom and flushed his pain medication.  He didn't need it now and the allergic reaction could prove problematic.  First off, the task of building his invention and then piloting it would be difficult while afflicted with uncontrollable spasms.  Even if those weren't all debilitating, there was still the issue of how he would be perceived by others.  After reducing a bunch of traffic-impeding, civilly disobedient people to a red smear, TV crews might want to interview him and twitching facial features might give the impression that he was a crazy man.

Howard decided the first thing he needed to do was to figure out what he needed to buy at the onset rather than get blindsided by unexpected costs down the road.  He went onto the internet to check prices on the necessary components and jotted them down in his spiral notepad.

It wasn't a long list but it wasn't cheap either.  Howard had nowhere near enough money in his bank account to buy it all by maxing out his credit cards, he was able to order it online in one go.  Now all he had to do was wait for the delivery of a forklift, two 10-foot prong extenders, a used airplane propeller engine, 20 feet of two-inch diameter steel cable, a blowtorch, and a copy of Welding for Dummies.

In the weeks between purchasing these items and their delivery, Howard busied himself with going through painkiller withdrawal.  In the preceding months, he had managed to build up a considerable physical dependency on them and now it was time to pay the price.  The mild spasms due to his allergy to the drugs had been replaced by violent shaking, irritability, and insomnia.

During his extended periods of sleepiness, Howard kept himself mentally on-message by writing poems that celebrated the importance of his work.  Of all his verse, he found these two lines to be the most inspiring:


Eventually, all of the components arrived and he went to work.  With the combination of the heat of the welding torch and the weight he had put on, Howard dripped pungent sweat as toiled away and the air in the garage where he worked grew heavy and humid with human funk.  Slowly his creation took form and when it was complete, he dubbed it the Megawhack.

Howard's next step was to put his invention through its paces.  The test had to be done during the day.  He tried switching on the propeller engine once at night, which resulted in a noise complaint and a quick-thinking promise to the police to refrain from working on his hovercraft while people were trying to sleep.

So he scheduled his test run one early afternoon.  All of his neighbors would be at work except for Mr. Lulkaas, who was unlikely to complain about what he couldn't hear.

The night before, he had gone shopping for an inflatable love doll to serve as his test subject.  They all looked pretty much the same except for hair color but he ultimately chose the one packaged as "Vicki" because the name reminded him of Vic Morrow, the actor decapitated by a helicopter blade on the set of the "Twilight Zone" movie.  When Howard got home, he sliced Vicki open, filled her body with hamburger meat and chicken giblets, and sewed her back up.

The Megawhack's final exam was now ready to begin.  Howard sat in the driver's seat of the converted forklift.  He clicked a button on a remote control and the garage door opened.  He pushed a button that started the forklift.  The engine roared to life and the vehicle emerged from the garage.  At the front of its attached spear-like prong extenders sat the propeller engine welded into place and two lengths of steel cable dragging behind.

Howard then hit the button to start the propeller engine.  It started turning slowly, pulling the cables in a snaking motion behind it before picking up enough speed for them to spin taut and off the ground from centrifugal force.

Vicki was propped upright at the end of the driveway, tied to an old wooden coat rack that Howard never had much use for before now.  She was one of the cheaper models of love doll and was hardly passable as a flesh-and-blood woman, though her wide-open eyes and mouth gave her a terrified look that lent credibility.  Howard could not decide what to put on her protest sign so in lieu giving her one, he had fitted a latex glove flashing a peace sign over her upraised fingerless hand.

The Megawhack advanced until a spinning cable came in contact with Vicki, effortlessly slicing both her and the coat rack in two.  For Howard, this moment of success vindicated all of his efforts up to now.

The only part of the exercise Howard had not counted on was the mess.  Bits of meat went flying everywhere, including straight back at him.  He multiplied the gore level by a crowd full of people and made a mental note to don rain gear before unleashing his invention on the public. 

It was a fortunate for Howard that Mr. Lulkaas was not outside.  Although the sound would not bother him, the visuals that were about to unfold were another matter entirely.

The question now remaining was when the Megawhack was to make its debut.  Civil disobedience wasn't what it used to be.  The sandals-and-beads crowd liked the new president a lot more than the last one and were therefore far less likely to take to the streets on any given day.  Ultimately, Howard settled on a fundraiser rather than an actual protest.

It was a half marathon for breast-cancer research.  True, it was not going to be a gathering of angry rabble but it would cause significant traffic problems.  Rhea Dyer, the vegan-thin organizer of the event and also one of the top contending runners, seemed genuinely proud of this and interviewed on TV."

"You may want to cycle, walk, or take public transit on half marathon day," she said.  "Of course, this is a good thing to all of the time.  We'll be fighting a disease that destroyed the lives of millions of women and also persuading people not to drive their gas-guzzling SUV's.  It's a win-win situation.  Don't you agree?"

As Howard watched her nod and smile knowingly, he buried his finger deep inside his nostril.  Pulling out a glistening ropey snot, he flicked it at the television screen nailing her image right between the eyes.

"Lady, " he said.  "I have just marked you for death."

And so it was decided.

On the morning of the half marathon, Howard took a moment to admire himself in a full-length mirror before heading out to the garage.  There was not a cloud in the sky but in anticipation of spatter from the Megawhack, he had decked himself out like a Maine fisherman in rain pants, oilskin coat, and a sou'wester hat.

"I am the perfect storm," he said.

The starting line was about mile away from Howard's home.  He timed his departure so he would surprise the runners just as they rounded the first corner of the race route.   Howard knew that you're supposed to give people a chance to disperse before they are met with force. 

Fair enough, but he doesn't want to give them too much of a chance either.  Otherwise, he would never get to experience the full killing potential of his invention.  As in all aspects of law enforcement, a balance has to be struck so Howard decided to let the vehicle's 12 mph maximum speed mitigate the carnage.

As he started the machine and pulled out of the garage, there was one nagging thought on his mind.  Who would be the first to die?  He had assumed that would be Rhea Dire but there was really no way to be sure of that.  He was OK that there is some level of chance that dictates who lives and dies but but thought it was his right to pick the first casualty.  To deny him this was a to concede an element of control to the crowd that needed controlling.  For Howard, this was unacceptable.

A solution to this issue presented itself Mr. Lulkaas, who was out for a stroll moving down the sidewalk away from Howard at an octogenarian's pace.  So instead of driving the Megawhack out to the street, he made a left on the sidewalk to chase the old man down.

The steel cables whipped around without mercy.  As they swept over Mr. Lulkaas' lawn they succeeded where King Herod had failed by obliterating the baby Jesus and everyone else in the plastic nativity scene.  From there, the Megawhack brought destruction to neighboring front yards, blasting picket fences to kindling, violently trimming hedges, and sending dogs and cats scurrying under to quiver and wet themselves.  All the while, Howard kept his invention on course, its target unable to hear and therefore oblivious to the instrument of death closing in on him.

Then one of the cables hit a tree.  I did not cut through the trunk as it might through smaller plants.  Nor did it deflect off the surface as it would with a more solid surface like iron or granite.  It stuck fast in the wood and wasn't going anywhere.  Unfortunately for Howard, the same could not be said for his invention.  Or him.

The slingshot effect shot Howard out of his seat skyward at high velocity.  As he flew over Mr. Lulkaas' head, the elderly man waved at his portly neighbor who was dressed most oddly for such a sunny day.

Howard's trajectory carried him over the high cinder-block wall and onto the freeway on the other side.  Whether he could have survived the impact was quickly rendered irrelevant by oncoming automobiles.  The first tires rolled over him followed by those skidding across his body as panicked drivers stomped their brake pedals.  Cars rear-ended each other.  Traffic snarled.  The CHP was going to have its hands full with this mess.

A quarter mile back, a little boy on his way to Disneyland pounded on his mother's car seat with his fists and complained that they were going to get there late.  She told him to calm down, that the half marathon had caused more traffic problems than anticipated, and that there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it.  Maybe not today, he told himself.  Or tomorrow.  But someday, he'd do plenty about it.  You could count on that.  

The Micebreaker incident had been a learning experience for Howard.  He discovered that some people have no appreciation for innovation.  He also found out that the same person could be a tattletale.

Less than 12 hours after Clyde stormed out of his house, Howard was called in for a one-on-one meeting with the HR manager.  It didn't go well. 

She first gave Howard a lecture on how it was against company policy to utilize Clyde (whom she referred to as an "on-call off-hours resource") for personal business.  Howard wasn't sure exactly how much detail Clyde had divulged but it was enough for her to urge Howard to seek professional help, not only as a condition for his continued employment but also for his mental and emotional well-being.  She gave him the name and number of a local therapist who specialized in treating people who were about to snap.

Howard did not want to get fired and knew he had to act fast.  So on the way to his cubicle, he tossed the piece of paper with the therapist's contact information into a trashcan and then faked a back injury so he could go on permanent disability.

He managed to execute a fall in front of several witnesses that looked plenty painful, mostly because it was.  His zeal in making his accident look authentic left little room for trying to hit the ground ins such a way that he didn't actually hurt himself.  As a result, Howard's impact on the linoleum floor of the break room left him with an assortment of deep bruising, pulled muscles, and pinched nerves.  He might have committed an act but his groans and grimaces in its aftermath were the real deal.

In the months that followed, Howard gradually healed while swearing to doctors, chiropractors, and anyone else who asked that he felt no better.  It was easy enough to believe him.  He looked awful.

Howard had never been all that active but was even less so after his fall.  Most of his physical movement was now confined to tics and spasms he acquired from an allergic reaction to medication he first took for pain and later out of boredom. 

He believed his work as an inventor would resume just as soon as he regained his creative vision, a mental acuity he strove to recapture by watching TV, taking long naps, and gorging himself on any food that could be delivered to his door.

His weight gain had reached the point where his 38" Sansabelt slacks would only zip halfway when he was standing up and barely at all while seated.  His bodily hygiene had declined as he didn't bother showering on days of the week without an "r" in them.

These uneventful days of personal neglect went on until one smelly Wednesday afternoon.   He was lying on the couch, taking a moment to remind himself that if achieving greatness were supposed to be easy, everybody would be doing it and that he must persevere.  Eventually.  Satisfied with his level of commitment, he fell back asleep on the couch with a half-eaten slice of pizza on his chest.

Slumber did not last.  Howard had adapted to shut out the near-constant roar from the nearby freeway as well as the sounds of lawnmowers and the like.  However, this sound was different.  It was a clacking of plastic on plastic that came in short staccato bursts like small-arms fire, and it was very annoying.

Howard grunted and twitched then slowly got up and went outside to have a few choice words with whoever woke him.  It did not take long to find the culprit.  Mr. Lulkaas, Howard's octogenarian next-door neighbor, was using a weed whacker to trim the grass around a nativity scene that had sat in the front yard for over half a year.

Howard knew that Mr. Lulkaas was deaf as a post so he moved into his line of sight to get his attention.  The elderly neighbor was able to read lips so communication was possible.

"Knock it off with the racket, you old coot," was what Howard chose to communicate.

Mr. Lulkaas gave him a puzzled look.  Unfortunately for Howard, much of his recent nervous condition was concentrated in the face.  The resulting symptom made his mouth move a lot more than was necessary to form the words he was saying.  When he spoke, the message came across more or less intact to a listener but to a lip reader, what was received was gibberish.

"You know, you could just put that damn decoration away.  It is a little out of season," Howard added.  This netted another perplexed look from his neighbor so Howard repeated himself while pointing at the nativity scene.

"Ah," said Mr. Lulkaas.  "I believe that the birth of Jesus should bring joy to the world throughout the year."

Howard took a look into the plastic manger that countless birds had used as a toilet and decided that a good way to bring joy to the world would be to have Mr. Lulkaas put to sleep. 

But Howard noticed something else.  Among the cut blades of grass on the lawn was a potato bug that had been neatly sliced in half.  When the weed whacker came in contact with the insect, the spinning nylon cord probably never slowed down.  Its job of clearing a path continued on without a hitch.  It was something to be admired.  And emulated.

He twitched again, winked at Mr Lulkaas a few times (once intentionally and a couple more because he couldn't stop himself), and returned home as fast as his considerable heft would allow.  Howard Witzer had again found his creative vision.  The inventor was back on the job. 

Howard Witzer began work on his invention at a relaxed pace.  The bulk of his efforts, such as they were, was jotting down product requirements on a small notepad he kept with him wherever he went.  These were not technical specifications but rather a list of adjectives he expected the news media to use when it came time for them to report on his magnificent creation.

"Unstoppable," he scribbled while waiting in his car for the fat lady in the crosswalk to inch along past in her power chair.  "Merciless," he wrote when stuck in the supermarket "12 items or less" line behind some guy who was not only purchasing twice that many but insisted on checking that what was on the price tag matched what was on the receipt for every one of them.

Howard would have continued with this strategy indefinitely had it not been for the advent of a disturbing and recurring dream.  In it he was at the controls atop his invention, which looked almost exactly like the photo of an icebreaker he found on Wikipedia except that it had been outfitted with wheels and was scaled down to about the size of a school bus.  There was a crowd assembled down the street.  When ordered to disperse, they stood their ground and began to sing "Free To Be You and Me."  Howard accelerated and drove his creation straight into them.  After the sound of breaking bones upon initial impact, he started to rock violently back and forth as those not panicked or dead grabbed the front and sides of the vehicle and tried to overturn it.  Howard got thrown from his invention and pinned underneath it.  He woke up screaming while being kicked to death by Birkenstocks as angry voices screamed at him to "mellow out."

After experiencing this nightmare a number of times, he started paying attention to what it was trying to tell him.  Maybe he put off worrying about press coverage until he was confident he could build a contraption that would actually work.

Howard reasoned that what made an icebreaker break ice so effectively was the downward smashing blow of the bow caused by the motion of the ocean waves.  He didn't go verify this through any research or stop to consider that one is not liable to experience a lot of wave motion when surrounded by ice on all sides.  His level of certainty was beyond such mundane considerations.

What he needed was a land vehicle capable of the same kind of destructive force.  To come up with a solution, he turned his attention once more to the world of boats.  He thought of the landing craft of D-Day, in particular how they opened at the bow and the ramp would slam down into the shallow water just shy of dry land.

Howard figured that if these vessels had wheels and could drive right up on the beach and beyond, their giant steel fly swatters could be used to flatten Germans, hedgerows, and anything else that got in their way.  Paris would have been liberated by July 4 and the war would be over by Halloween.  In hindsight, it was clear that Dwight Eisenhower was no Howard Witzer.

His invention would be much simpler since there was no requirement that it be able to travel in water.  All that was required was a sturdy vehicle with plenty of horsepower that had its front end accessorized to deliver what he called the "D-Day Smackdown."  He set about the task of creating a prototype that was both fully functional and small enough to demonstrate in the comfort and privacy of his own home.

With this in mind, the design and creation of a prototype was a pretty simple affair.  So after a few short weeks, Howard reached the moment where he was able to stand with his arms crossed and look down at what he created with a profound sense of satisfaction.  Here was a machine that was capable of dealing some real death, albeit to a miniaturized world.

He figured the next step would be to put his invention through a test exercise witness by a friend he could trust.  Unfortunately, there were no such people in Howard's life.  That left Clyde, who may or may not have been trustworthy but could be counted on to be too appalled by Howard's creation to steal the idea and build one of his own.

Clyde had one other quality that made him a suitable choice.  His job was to make sure the staff had network access to the servers, both from the office and remotely, and was on call 24/7.  To make it possible for Clyde to enjoy something resembling a normal life, people were discouraged from calling him between the hours of 10 at night and six in the morning unless it couldn't wait.  Howard had no qualms about calling him at 3:30 am clearly could not wait.  So what if it wasn't work-related.

He showed up at Howard's from door within the hour, expecting to reattach a loose cable or reconfigure a VPN.  What did not expect was to greeted at the door by his coworker wearing an army helmet and aviator sunglasses.

"Clyde, I never liked you," Howard said.  "Be that as it may, I believe in credit where it's due.  And Clyde, you gave me the inspiration to create a machine that will revolutionize law enforcement.  Come with me."

Clyde mumbled something about being gotten out of bed on false pretenses and followed the helmeted man across the cluttered living room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

"What you see here symbolizes what is wrong with the world," Howard said.

Clyde stared at the dirty dishes piled up in the sink.

"No, not that, this," Howard said, pointing to a cluster of pink baby mice in the corner of the room.  "I have a little problem with rodents so I borrowed some offspring from their vermin mother for tonight's demonstration."

Clyde rubbed his eyes and looked at the infant animals, who wriggled and squeaked and whose eyes had not yet opened.

"Oh, they're kind of cute," he said, stifling a yawn.

"No," said Howard.  "They're not cute, not cute at all.  They obstructing traffic and think they have the right to do that because they are protesting.  Look at those picket signs."

Indeed, a few of the mice had toothpicks taped to their bodies with pieces of paper attached to them displaying the messages "USA Bad," "Pot Now," and "End God."  Howard cupped his hand over his mouth and spoke to the rodents as if through a megaphone.

"This is an illegal gathering," he said.  "You are hereby ordered to leave the vicinity immediately or face the consequences."

The mice squirmed a little but otherwise did not budge.

"You can't say I didn't warn them," Howard said to Clyde.  "Anyway, this is where the fun begins.  I've never tested this before so it's going to be exciting for both of us."

He reached into a drawer under the counter, pulled out a remote control, and extended its antenna.  He switched it on and pushed forward the small joystick on top.  There was a whirring noise and a toy pickup truck came out of the cupboard and across the kitchen floor.

Howard went on to talk about why there was a rat trap attached to the front of the little vehicle and why the wooden base of it was facing outward.  He explained that when the trap was triggered by the button on his remote, the swinging metal bar might kill a couple of the baby rodents but the base slamming down would have sufficient surface area to get them all.

"Behold the Micebreaker," he said.

Clyde was awake enough at this point to voice his displeasure.  He called Howard a number of uncharitable names (most preceded by the adjective "sick") and demanded that he put down the remote control immediately.  Howard's attempt to justify himself by pointing out how animals also had be sacrificed in the fight against polio failed to impress his coworker.  Clyde made an abortive attempt to physically take the remote from him but stopped in his tracks when Howard, a larger man, bared his teeth in such a way that showed both a propensity for violence and a disdain for dental floss.

So instead, Clyde snarled on last insult and left.  Howard shrugged, telling himself that in the long run, Clyde's rude departure would do nothing to sully this glorious night.

It turned out that his prediction was not entirely true.  As he rolled the vehicle toward the mice, Clyde's slamming of the front door startled Howard just enough for him to hit the button triggering the trap prematurely.  The wooden base came slamming down and hit the floor just shy of the rodents, producing an equal and opposite reaction of sufficient force to flip the toy truck over backward, leaving it upside down and helpless.

Up to now, Howard had not considered the possibility of failure but now he could think of nothing else.  His head was filled with the equally unattractive prospects of starting over or giving up entirely.  He couldn't even hear Clyde starting his car and driving away.  The only sensory input that registered was the sight of upended tires trying to gain purchase on thin air and the sound of defiant squeaks from unharmed baby mice.