Robert Arthur Smith - The Ducks of Doom vol. 3.pdf - Robert Arthur Smith - allforjesus2001

THE DUCKS OF DOOM

Chapters 61-90

A WEEKLY SERIAL

With all of the Boring Bits Left Out

By Robert Arthur Smith

www.duckparade.com

rasmithr@yahoo.com

THE DUCKS OF DOOM was short-listed for the 2002 Independent e-Books award.

CHAPTER 61: THE TWINKLING GOALIE

The bats went into a feeding frenzy, chasing Hank of Ur and his tribe out of the cave in

which they'd taken refuge.

Half-blinded by the savage, squeaking horde, the Camels of the Negev didn't realize

they were surrounded by Philistines until they heard the blare of a ram's horn announcing the

forthcoming slaughter.

The bats dispersed a little, but they didn't wander very far from the flock of camels; they

were just getting a bit of exercise before moving in for dessert.

During the momentary lull, Hank was able to survey the Philistine ranks drawn up around

them.

"Welcome to our world," said Bronze Fillings, their leader. "We're Philistines, mind you."

"More pain and suffering!" grumbled Brubaker.

"Take heart, Brubaker," said Hank. "We'll confuse the Philistines by attacking them.

They won't be expecting that."

"Of course not!" said Brubaker. "That's why they're carrying swords, shields, and

spears--they're NOT expecting a battle."

There was a silence while everyone looked at the Philistines' weapons.

"The bats will follow us when we charge," said Hank. "They won't want to lose track of

their food supply."

"This helps us?" said Brubaker.

"We'll pretend the bats work for us. We'll pretend to summon them."

"Groovy," said Odd Camel. "How do you summon bats?"

"You open a vein," said Brubaker. "Works every time."

Hank eyed Brubaker irritably. There were times he wished he could smite him, but he

always restrained himself. Brubaker was like a weathervane blowing this way and that with

the mood of the camels. When his complaining grew loud and bitter, it was a sure bet the

other camels were restive.

"Ready?" yelled Hank. "On the count of three, we charge the Philistines."

There was a lot of mutinous grumbling and muttering among the camels.

Hank stepped forward like Christopher Plummer at Waterloo.

For a long moment, he was alone, glaring at the Philistines.

This is the nightmare of every great leader. You turn around, and your troops aren't

there--they've punched out for a coffee break, leaving you to charge the machine gun nest all

by yourself.

Fortunately, the camels respected and obeyed Hank. Anyone who had regular chat

sessions with the Supreme Being deserved at least as much respect as a bolt of lightning

zipping down from a black cloud.

Besides, if they didn't move up and support him right away, Sari would remove their

important bits and replace them with Granny Smith apples.

"Attack!" yelled Hank.

The camels charged, yelling their blood-curdling battle cry, WHY ME?.

The Philistines lapsed into stunned silence for a moment; then a large number of them

fell on their backs on the sand, helpless with laughter.

The bats watched in shock and amazement as their dessert went haring off into the

distance.

Then they charged, too.

"TO ME, MY LITTLE FRIENDS!" yelled Hank. "Attack the Philistines. Bite them. Drink

their blood."

Philistine laughter quickly gave way to fear and amazement. Bronze Fillings had to act

quickly, shoring up their courage with an impromptu speech:

"Stand heart not bolder the bravely here many mead halls feasting and crows eat

doomed yes!" he boomed.

"Huh?" said Crystal Boulder, a Philistine general.

"I think he's trying to encourage us," said Granite Humps, another general.

"Run away, run away!" yelled the grunts in the ranks.

But it was too late to run away. The charging camels met the Philistines in a great shock

of spear against spear, sword against sword. The bats didn't know what to make of this at

first, accustomed as they were to a meager diet, however they soon joined in the fun.

In no time, Philistine and camel alike were slashing at the pesky bats, and the air was

filled with curses.

The Philistines, inexperienced as they were with bats and their ilk, thought they'd been

attacked by a bunch of crazed umbrellas.

"These camels have powerful magic," said Big Toe, the chief priest. "They can turn

umbrellas into weapons of mass destruction."

"Those aren't umbrellas," said Bronze Fillings, "They're fresh-air sharks."

The bats, meanwhile, shocked by their reception among the clashing armies, withdrew

to a quiet place and squeaked among themselves.

The Philistines eyed the bats warily. Spooked by this new threat, and bloody from

myriad bites, they were slow to regroup.

"We can't go on like this," said Big Toe. "We must withdraw."

"Never!" said Bronze Fillings. "Heart shall be the feasts many in hall, wailing much those

Valhalla who swords against."

"Would you settle for peace with honor? We could send out a delegation."

"Bold unto the chiefs, drinking much in feast hall."

"Right then," said Big Toe. "I'll find a delegate, shall I?"

The Philistines muttered among themselves.

"I don't like this," said Crystal Boulder. "It's probably going to cost a lot of money."

"Lo, up in the sky," said Granite Humps. "Behold, a twinkling platypus. "It is a sign! We

must negotiate with these powerful foreign devils."

"A platypus? What kind of sign is that? It looks like a big duck to me."

"It's twinkling," said Big Toe.

"It's laughing at us," said Crystal Boulder.

"Oh that's bad! Never trust a laughing god," said Big Toe.

"Their god is a platypus?" said Granite Humps.

"What can you expect?" said Crystal Boulder. "They're foreigners."

"Be careful; don't do anything to cause offense or they'll send in more fresh-air sharks."

"Bold counting coup much we forth wandering frost-hard coast, far mead halls," yelled

Bronze Fillings.

"Right!" said Big Toe. "Have we got any negotiators?"

"Clambake just got back from Assyria," said Crystal Boulder. "He traded five sheep for

a map that shows where Gilgamesh parked his boat when the flood waters receded."

"Hmmm," said Big Toe. "Clambake will do nicely."

Clambake had other ideas, of course, but you don't argue with Bronze Fillings. He was

given a little white flag to wave; then everyone hid behind a pile of rocks while he made his

way into the kill zone.

Hank, watching the approaching Clambake, had no idea what the flag was for, but he

did observe the telltale signs of the noncombatant: knocking knees, rolling eyes, and skin

the color of goat cheese.

He met him alone, at the half-way point.

"How!" said Clambake. "Me Clambake. Big Philistine. Much power.

"Good afternoon," said Hank. "I'm Hank of Ur, leader of the Camels of the Negev, and

I'm on a mission to take possession of the Land of Milk and Honey, from the Nile to the

Euphrates, so that my people can build a mighty nation, as soon as we figure out what a

nation is."

"You speak English?" said Clambake, pleasantly surprised.

"Not by choice. I'll never understand how the ravings of a barbaric tribe of Anglicized

Germanic farmers and soccer fans could become the global language of commerce."

"People adopt it when they seek an escape from reality," said Clambake.

"You want to negotiate?" said Hank.

"Actually we were thinking of calling it a stalemate. Peace with honor and that sort of

thing."

"You're free to withdraw," said Hank.

"Thank you. We want YOU to withdraw too. This is our land, after all. We went to all the

trouble of taking it from the mysterious people who were here before us."

"Really? Who were they?"

"They came from Atlantis. They had all of these bright, shiny gadgets that were

supposed to be powerful weapons. They told us they'd fry us as soon as they found some

batteries. We had to kill them to make them shut up, and after that, we sacrificed their

gadgets to Marvin."

"Wasn't that a bit excessive?" said Hank. "Why didn't you just cut off their thumbs and

big toes?"

"We were on a tight schedule."

"I'm not passing judgment," said Hank. "We camels don't judge people by the abstract

principles of the Justinian code. We prefer case law, which, as you know, is a lethal weapon

based on precedent and random judicial opinions. So you'd better surrender."

"Oh yeah!" said Clambake. "You and whose army?"

Hank motioned to the bats, which were still flitting about in the distance.

"Oh, THAT army," said Clambake. "Right. Okay. We surrender. You win. How do we

stop the bats?"

Hank wasn't prepared for this and hadn't worked out a contingency plan to deal with

total victory. The camels weren't used to victory.

He went back to his tribe to discuss the problem.

By this time, there was a constant drumbeat of wings as the bats argued among

themselves.

"What are we gonna do?" said Brubaker. "The bats are restless."

"We have to make them go away," said Hank. "We have to show the Philistines that we

control them. Any ideas?"

"We could swell up like caymans and hiss at them," said Odd Camel. "It's very effective.

I had this girlfriend once who did it whenever I asked her out for a date."

Everyone looked at Odd Camel for a moment.

"She didn't like me very much," he said.

Brubaker rolled his eyes.

"Enough small talk!" said Thunderbags, the new chief priest. "We can scare the bats

away with preserved foreskins."

"Brilliant!" said Hank. "The ultimate weapon! All right everyone, fork over your preserved

foreskins."

This command produced a certain amount of grumbling.

"But Hank, these are the only trade goods we have left. How will be buy vegetables to

supplement our diet?"

"Consider it a war bond," said Hank. "A grateful nation will salute you. The Philistines

will leave us tribute when they withdraw. We can eat the tribute."

"I wish I knew what a nation was," said Crystal Boulder. "He still hasn't explained it to us.

Is it like a Scottish clan?"

"Clans are real," said Brubaker. "Nations are wishful thinking, based on personality

flaws held to be common within specific geographical areas."

The camels thought about this for awhile, but none of them could figure it out, so they

gave Hank their preserved foreskins.

Hank arranged the collection in a mud-brick salad bowl and set it out for the bats.

The bats eyed this offering suspiciously for awhile, whispering among themselves. Then

a bat by the name of Save Alice, flew a little closer and scrutinized one of the offending

items.

"Run away, run away!" he yelled. "Those are bat corpses, shriveled up and bleached in

the sun. Run while you have the chance!"

The bats needed no second warning; they took off as one, flew back to their cave, and

hid behind a flying saucer.

At this, Clambake's eyes grew as big as doilies. He made his way back to the

Philistines and reported to Bronze Fillings and Big Toe.

"We're doomed!" he said. "These camels have magic foreskins!"

Bronze Fillings shook his head. "Go and see the priest," he said. "You need analysis."

Then, after brief deliberation with Big Toe, he gathered tribute from among the

Philistines, packed it into a number of Tupperware containers, and presented it to Hank.

"It's not much," he said. "Goat cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, olives and cucumbers. I'm

afraid we don't have any salad dressing."

Hank contemplated the tribute wordlessly. This unexpected surrender had presented

him with a new dilemma.

"What do we do now?" said Brubaker. "They weren't supposed to surrender. You guys

were supposed to slaughter them while I witnessed everything for posterity."

"We can still slaughter them," said Thunderbags.

"Must you?" said Bronze Fillings. "It's been a hard day."

"Oh whine, whine, whine!" said Brubaker. "Look at us! I don't have feet any more; I just

have blisters. Tell you what; we won't kill you. We'll just cut off your thumbs and your big toes

so you can't make war no mo'."

"That's not very nice," said Bronze Fillings.

"It's the human condition in a fallen world," said Thunderbags. "Violent aggression is

part of our nature now."

"Aggression is NOT natural to us," said Bronze Fillings. "We learn it from our nannies.

We need it to help us purify our tribe by killing everyone who disagrees with us."

"Where exactly do you get your nannies?" said Brubaker.

"Everyone is violent, not just nannies," said Thunderbags. "Look at weevils, for

example."

"I'd rather not," said Hank.

"Terrifying creatures, weevils," said Brubaker. "They kill each other at the drop of a hat.

And we inherited this evil proclivity. It's biological."

"Speak for yourself!" said Bronze Fillings. "There aren't any weevils in my family.

Besides, weevils don't kill each other."

"Yes they do."

"They're too busy eating and making more weevils. It takes a lot of energy and

self-delusion to make a weevil. Have you ever seen what a weevil looks like? How would

you like to mate with something like that?"

"Weevils don't mate," said Odd Camel. "They just materialize."

"Of course they mate!" said Bronze Fillings. "The randy little beasts do it all the time. It's

absolutely disgusting."

"Listen, Mister Cultural Tradition," said Brubaker, "If you only learn slaughter when your

nanny teaches it to you as part of your cultural kit, what happens if she forgets to teach

you?"

"You learn it from your peers, at soccer matches," said Bronze Fillings.

"Okay, we can live with that," said Hank. "You say nurture, we say nature. Nature, of

course, was manufactured by the Supreme Being. So let's have a truce. We'll make a

disarmament treaty and reduce our weapons stockpiles."

"Listen, we can't do that, Hank," said Thunderbags. "If we disarm first, they'll attack us

and slaughter us."

"We could build a missile shield," said Thunderbags. "We could use very powerful

torches and hold them up all the time, thereby blinding the Philistine spear throwers so they

can't target us."

"In daylight?" said Hank.

"We tell them to postpone their attacks until nightfall," said Odd Camel.

There were snickers of laughter from various warriors; then the two sides got down to

negotiating.

Just then, Demo's Leitmotiv materialized on the sand, all togged-out in his Toronto

Maple Leafs goalie costume.

"Anybody seen any pucks here?" he asked. "I'm filling in for Demo, while he larks about

the countryside, raiding tombs. You can call me Demo's Leitmotiv."

Everyone stared at him.

Bronze Fillings was stupefied. First the bats, now a weirdo who looked like he'd just

stepped out of a Pickard Trilobite of the gods!

Hank had a bad feeling about this....

CHAPTER 62: CHESTER'S QUEST

Big Toe contemplated Demo's Leitmotiv for a long time.

"Are you a sign from the supreme being?" he asked.

"What kind of a sign would that be?" said Brubaker. "We've already agreed to forgo

slaughtering each other, at least until the Reformation. So what does THIS mean? We're

supposed to wear a new kind of helmet and carry a big stick in a bag? We don't even have

bags yet; we have serviceable pouches."

"It's not just any old bag," said Thunderbags. "It has cuneiform script on it. That makes it

official."

"B-A-G-U-E-T-T-E," said Brubaker. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's definitely not the Supreme Being."

"It's not any of our gods," said Bronze Fillings. "Maybe it's a foreign god, from

Aberdeen."

"Dundee, you mean," said Brubaker. "Aberdeen is heartland."

"I wonder what he wants," said Hank.

"You mean you wonder what SHE wants," said Sari. "Women can be mysterious

apparitions too, you know!"

"What kind of a god enjoys being carried around in a paper bag?" said Thunderbags.

"It's not dignified. This proves the superiority of the Supreme Being."

"Good one!" said all of the subordinate Camels-of-the-Negev priests. "That showed

HIM."

"Showed who?" said Bronze Fillings. Then he lapsed into silence, because the goalie

was drawing near.

"Anyone seen any pucks around here?" asked Demo's Leitmotiv.

The camels and the Philistines examined this statement for hidden traps.

Then they tried to figure out what it meant.

"What's a puck?" said Thunderbags.

Robert Arthur Smith - The Ducks of Doom vol. 3.pdf

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