Just then, George heard the sound of heavy shoes - not the soft-soled, quiet sneakers like the doctors and nurses wore, but a utilitarian, clomping tread. He listened closer and could also hear the click and scrabble of canine feet, and the jangle of a chain leash.
"It's the police, and they've brought their rabid, child-eating attack dogs!" whispered the Marvelous Man. He turned his mad, twinkling eyes on George.
"Grab your clothes, boy - you'll have to go out the window."
George did as he was told. The Marvelous man put the curly wig back on again and straightened the skirt of his smock so that it (mostly) covered up his hairy legs, and once again he was the mild-mannered Nurse Velma. He cranked open the window and stepped aside to make room for George.
"Gadzooks!" said George. "We must be 10 stories up!"
"Watch your language." chided "Nurse Velma" primly. "Hook the Boomerang on to the telephone cable, then you can slide down it like a zip line - stupid."
George sat tenuously on the window sill. The microcosmic world below him made his head spin.
"You never told me what to do about the Boomerang." he said.
"There's only on thing you can do. As long as the Boomerang belongs to you, it will return to you as its rightful master. In order to get rid of it, you will have to transfer the ownership to someone else."
"But that's cruel!" objected George.
"Eh." said the Marvelous Man. "I'm not in the business of value judgment. But listen, there's more: you can't just give the Amazing Boomerang away. Someone has to buy it from you - it doesn't matter how little or how much - as long as they pay for it. If you can sell it, kid, you can be rid of it."
George wanted to ask more, but the police were just around the corner. Without looking down, he hooked the Boomerang over the cable, grasped it in both hands, and held on tight. He heard the window snap closed behind him, and he looked back in time to see Nurse Velma give him a little wave and a hideous, orange-lipped smile that was perhaps meant to be encouraging.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 8
As if in answer to some dreadful, heathen summons, an insidious scraping noise began in the corner of the room. A familiar, blue and yellow object, like a plastic demon, was making its way across the hospital floor with gruesome resolve. George went sick as he noticed that there were little speckles of gore on its tip. With movements something like a zombie and something like a sucker-fish, it conveyed itself up the bedpost, across the sheets, and into George's hand.
"Yes George - it will keep on following you. It always returns to its owner. Sometimes, you get more than you bargained for. Take me, for instance - anybody would take me for a coy, docile lady nurse, when in reality, I am neither a lady nor a nurse, and though marvelous, certainly not coy or docile!"
Nurse Velma, who apparently turned out not to be Nurse Velma at all, rose the chair and pulled off his wig to reveal a head that was nearly bald, with erratic tufts of white hair sprouting the top like a scraggy, un-mowed lawn.
"Who are you?" asked George.
"My name is not important." said the strange man. "The only thing you need to know is that I am--” he made a grand flourish” -- absolutely Marvelous. And I have made a marvelous (albeit deadly) invention, which you now hold in your hands. Know this, young George: the police may catch you, and lock in an icebox with bats and keep you on broccoli and water for the next 10 years. Yes, they may force you to volunteer in their sadistic police-dog training practices, and call it "community service". They will, admittedly, be likely to hang you by your thumbs and leave your feet exposed to the legendary, flesh-eating prison rats. But George - the Boomerang will kill you."
"I just won't use it anymore!" said George, "I'll - I'll take it home and put it in my sock drawer, in the very back corner! I'll lock it up where it can't hurt anyone!"
"George, George, George, George, George. Don't you see, you dear little imbecile, that that really won't do? Already, the Amazing Boomerang is securing its hold on you - a bond that began from the moment you pulled it out of the box, when it was so brand-new and eager to channel your rage, your thirst for vengeance. You see, it feeds on you, George - feeds on every memory that knocks around in that round, unshapely head of yours, of the injustices you have known. Your stolen lunch-money - your long, sad history of swirlies - every taunt, every insult, every day that you've been called 'bug-eyes', 'weenie-wimp', or 'soy-boy'. Haven't you felt the madness take you, George? It's only the beginning. But the Amazing Boomerang knows the Golden Rule: 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth ... ' "
"That's not the Golden Rule!"
"Never mind that now! The point of it is: Revenge, that sweetest of forbidden fruits, is not without a cost."
"But what can I do?" asked poor George.
"Yes George - it will keep on following you. It always returns to its owner. Sometimes, you get more than you bargained for. Take me, for instance - anybody would take me for a coy, docile lady nurse, when in reality, I am neither a lady nor a nurse, and though marvelous, certainly not coy or docile!"
Nurse Velma, who apparently turned out not to be Nurse Velma at all, rose the chair and pulled off his wig to reveal a head that was nearly bald, with erratic tufts of white hair sprouting the top like a scraggy, un-mowed lawn.
"Who are you?" asked George.
"My name is not important." said the strange man. "The only thing you need to know is that I am--” he made a grand flourish” -- absolutely Marvelous. And I have made a marvelous (albeit deadly) invention, which you now hold in your hands. Know this, young George: the police may catch you, and lock in an icebox with bats and keep you on broccoli and water for the next 10 years. Yes, they may force you to volunteer in their sadistic police-dog training practices, and call it "community service". They will, admittedly, be likely to hang you by your thumbs and leave your feet exposed to the legendary, flesh-eating prison rats. But George - the Boomerang will kill you."
"I just won't use it anymore!" said George, "I'll - I'll take it home and put it in my sock drawer, in the very back corner! I'll lock it up where it can't hurt anyone!"
"George, George, George, George, George. Don't you see, you dear little imbecile, that that really won't do? Already, the Amazing Boomerang is securing its hold on you - a bond that began from the moment you pulled it out of the box, when it was so brand-new and eager to channel your rage, your thirst for vengeance. You see, it feeds on you, George - feeds on every memory that knocks around in that round, unshapely head of yours, of the injustices you have known. Your stolen lunch-money - your long, sad history of swirlies - every taunt, every insult, every day that you've been called 'bug-eyes', 'weenie-wimp', or 'soy-boy'. Haven't you felt the madness take you, George? It's only the beginning. But the Amazing Boomerang knows the Golden Rule: 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth ... ' "
"That's not the Golden Rule!"
"Never mind that now! The point of it is: Revenge, that sweetest of forbidden fruits, is not without a cost."
"But what can I do?" asked poor George.
Monday, June 28, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 7
George went green from the inside out.
"Wh-what did the police want?" He asked.
Velma turned her owlish, pea-green eyes fully on him and gave him a slow, ghoulish smile.
"They're coming to take you away, sonny-boy."
"What?! No! They can't do that! I'm just a kid - I'm only in the 4th grade!"
"Oh, they've got places for you, little laddie. Not places your mommy and dad would tell you about, no sir."
"I won't go!"
Nurse Velma pulled up a metal chair which scraped and screeched awfully as she dragged it across the floor. She turned it backwards and straddled it, crossing her arms over the back-rest. George noticed that her legs were covered with dark, wooly, hair.
"Listen George - "her voice came out deep and raspy, " - the cops are bad news for you all right, but it's not the cops you should be worrying about."
George had opened his mouth to either ask "How do you know my name?", or "Why don't you wear dark nylons to cover your wooly legs?", but he forgot these questions under this stunning communication.
"What should I be worried about?" he asked in a quivery voice.
Nurse Velma leaned in close and her eyes got so big that George thought she could have swallowed up the room with them.
"The Boomerang, George - the Boomerang."
"Wh-what did the police want?" He asked.
Velma turned her owlish, pea-green eyes fully on him and gave him a slow, ghoulish smile.
"They're coming to take you away, sonny-boy."
"What?! No! They can't do that! I'm just a kid - I'm only in the 4th grade!"
"Oh, they've got places for you, little laddie. Not places your mommy and dad would tell you about, no sir."
"I won't go!"
Nurse Velma pulled up a metal chair which scraped and screeched awfully as she dragged it across the floor. She turned it backwards and straddled it, crossing her arms over the back-rest. George noticed that her legs were covered with dark, wooly, hair.
"Listen George - "her voice came out deep and raspy, " - the cops are bad news for you all right, but it's not the cops you should be worrying about."
George had opened his mouth to either ask "How do you know my name?", or "Why don't you wear dark nylons to cover your wooly legs?", but he forgot these questions under this stunning communication.
"What should I be worried about?" he asked in a quivery voice.
Nurse Velma leaned in close and her eyes got so big that George thought she could have swallowed up the room with them.
"The Boomerang, George - the Boomerang."
Sunday, June 27, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 6
George woke with a gentle throbbing behind his temples, and a syrupy, lethargic feeling of contentment. All was warm as a bubble bath. He was aware of a dim yellow light above him, and a surrounding whiteness that reminded him of pictures of heaven in his Sunday-School take-home papers. Maybe he was in heaven. Battling between his curiosity to know if he had really passed into the next world, and his absolute satisfaction with not moving a muscle and going back to delicious sleep, he lolled his head to the left.
All comfort fled. No mild seraph met his gaze, but the vision of Mr. Mack the bus driver, laid out not ten feet from him, eyes closed and jowls sagging over the edge of the bed. George read the legend of a bright purple welt across his wide forehead. George was convinced now that even if he had died, this could not be heaven. He sat up in bed, his head swimming.
“Ooooooh, don’t sit up, honey!”
A substantial nurse in immaculate white scrubs and brilliant orange lipstick came in. Her name tag read “Velma”.
“Well, you’re a chipper little thing, aren’t you?” said Velma. “I didn’t expect you awake for another hour. Do you have any pain?” She prodded his forehead solicitously, and George winced. He put his hand up to it and realized that he had a pulsating lump that must have been the twin to Mr. Mack’s.
“I can give you another shot.” Velma smiled winsomely as she brandished an unfriendly-looking needle in front of his face.
“N – no, I don’t have any pain.” Said George. “What happened? Where am I?”
“Horace Hopkins Hospital. You took quite a knock to the noggin, young mister. Nearly knocked you to next Tuesday, I’ve heard.”
The memory of the boomerang and the bus came back to George with a snap.
Beside him, George heard the noise of Mr. Mack’s sheets rustling. He turned around. Mr. Mack’s eyes were still closed, and he appeared to be still asleep, but it was obvious that he, too, would be waking up soon. Did he know what had hit him, and who had thrown it? Wait – the Boomerang! It was gone! George realized that he hadn’t seen it since he woke up in the hospital.
The phone beside his bed jangled, jarring him from his thoughts. Before George had time to decide if he was supposed to answer it or not, Velma leaned forward and picked it up, holding the sickly green receiver to her ear.
“Horace Hopkins Hospital, room 223, this is nurse Velma speaking.” Said Velma.
George could hear a voice on the other end, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.
“Oh yes, he’s here.” Said Velma. “He is juuuuust fine, ma’am. Just took a little tumble and he looks a little peaky, but he’ll be rippin’ around again in no time. Yes, you can stop by and pick him up any time.”
Velma hung the phone up on again, and then pulled out her clip-board. Apparently she didn’t intend to talk to George anymore.
Mr. Mack turned over in his bed, pulling his blankets around him.
“Who was that?” asked George, nonchalantly.
Velma turned her horn-rimmed glasses at him.
“That? Oh, that was Officer Tower, from the police.”
All comfort fled. No mild seraph met his gaze, but the vision of Mr. Mack the bus driver, laid out not ten feet from him, eyes closed and jowls sagging over the edge of the bed. George read the legend of a bright purple welt across his wide forehead. George was convinced now that even if he had died, this could not be heaven. He sat up in bed, his head swimming.
“Ooooooh, don’t sit up, honey!”
A substantial nurse in immaculate white scrubs and brilliant orange lipstick came in. Her name tag read “Velma”.
“Well, you’re a chipper little thing, aren’t you?” said Velma. “I didn’t expect you awake for another hour. Do you have any pain?” She prodded his forehead solicitously, and George winced. He put his hand up to it and realized that he had a pulsating lump that must have been the twin to Mr. Mack’s.
“I can give you another shot.” Velma smiled winsomely as she brandished an unfriendly-looking needle in front of his face.
“N – no, I don’t have any pain.” Said George. “What happened? Where am I?”
“Horace Hopkins Hospital. You took quite a knock to the noggin, young mister. Nearly knocked you to next Tuesday, I’ve heard.”
The memory of the boomerang and the bus came back to George with a snap.
Beside him, George heard the noise of Mr. Mack’s sheets rustling. He turned around. Mr. Mack’s eyes were still closed, and he appeared to be still asleep, but it was obvious that he, too, would be waking up soon. Did he know what had hit him, and who had thrown it? Wait – the Boomerang! It was gone! George realized that he hadn’t seen it since he woke up in the hospital.
The phone beside his bed jangled, jarring him from his thoughts. Before George had time to decide if he was supposed to answer it or not, Velma leaned forward and picked it up, holding the sickly green receiver to her ear.
“Horace Hopkins Hospital, room 223, this is nurse Velma speaking.” Said Velma.
George could hear a voice on the other end, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.
“Oh yes, he’s here.” Said Velma. “He is juuuuust fine, ma’am. Just took a little tumble and he looks a little peaky, but he’ll be rippin’ around again in no time. Yes, you can stop by and pick him up any time.”
Velma hung the phone up on again, and then pulled out her clip-board. Apparently she didn’t intend to talk to George anymore.
Mr. Mack turned over in his bed, pulling his blankets around him.
“Who was that?” asked George, nonchalantly.
Velma turned her horn-rimmed glasses at him.
“That? Oh, that was Officer Tower, from the police.”
Saturday, June 26, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 5
George took the package up to his room. He didn’t know what else to do with it.
“I’ll have to re-send it, of course.” He thought.
Gingerly, He un-bound the bedraggled box and opened the lid. Inside laid the Amazing Boomerang, as bright and resplendent as of old, undiminished by the ardors of its twisted voyage.
In spite of himself, a warm rush of memory came over George as he recalled the day he had thrown it for the first time. Revenge had been brief, but oh, so intoxicatingly sweet. Shaking his head to clear it, he turned to look for a suitable box to re-package the dubious gadget. A sturdy shoe-box eventually presented itself under the bed.
“This ought to do the trick.” said George.
He went back to the open package. The box was empty.
The packing peanuts still showed the faint, curved outline of the vanished boomerang, but this was the only trace of the box’s former contents. George had no time to panic before he heard his mother’s voice again, hollering grimly from downstairs:
“George Winston Howard, you get down here right now or you’ll miss the bus, and if I have to drive you to school, young man, you’ll be sorrier than a …”
George didn’t bother to listen to the conclusion of the impassioned monologue, but performed one feverish search for the missing boomerang. It was no good. The cursed thing was gone; it was simply nowhere.
“Maybe… maybe it really is gone. Maybe everything will be all right now.” George thought.
There was no time to consider any other possibility. He zipped his back-pack and ran down the stairs and out the door.
The bus driver was an ornery, grimace-eyed, be-jowled gentleman named “Mr. Mack” who, on principle, never looked at any student except through his enormous rear-view mirror.
“ ‘S matter, kid – “ he growled sarcastically, “Think your were goin’ to night school? Go sit in the back.”
George stared down the countless rows of benches. He could see that the very back seat was empty. But in the second-to-last row, the grisly spectacle of none other than Porky Pete and his churlish cohorts loomed before his horrified eyes.
“They can’t hurt me when there’s a grown-up.” He reminded himself. Glancing behind, he saw the menacing eyes of Mr. Mack the bus driver.
“Scoot, kid.” said Mr. Mack. George scooted.
George saw the gleam of unholy delight as he passed Porky Pete, but he did not see the lumpish foot that shot out from behind the bench just before he reached his seat. Down went George and George’s books, in a mushroom cloud of lined paper and sharpened pencils.
“Ooof.” Said George, and picked himself up off the floor. He looked back. He could see Mr. Mack’s surly, hooded eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“Heh” grunted Mr. Mack.
Something inside George snapped. Suddenly he knew that he hated Mr. Mack. He hated him more than Porky Pete and the whole gang combined. Then George looked and saw a most surprising thing: there, entangled in the mess of books and papers, falling half-way out of his back-pack, was his boomerang.
A strange madness took him, and his hand seemed to move without being told what to do. He was holding the boomerang – his arm was cranking back now – a snap of the wrist – the boomerang leapt into glorious flight on wings made of fury.
The moment seemed to happen in slow motion to George, but in reality, it all happened so quickly that Mr. Mack never knew, and still does not know, what hit him. He had just time to turn his head before the boomerang met with his skull. Mr. Mack’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over the big steering wheel. The boomerang adjusted its direction neatly, and barreled home with a horrifying intensity. George tried to duck, but the faithful boomerang slavishly altered its course just as he did so, like a miniature heat-seeking missile, and poor George found no escape. Fireworks erupted in his head like it was the 4th of July, then everything was black.
“I’ll have to re-send it, of course.” He thought.
Gingerly, He un-bound the bedraggled box and opened the lid. Inside laid the Amazing Boomerang, as bright and resplendent as of old, undiminished by the ardors of its twisted voyage.
In spite of himself, a warm rush of memory came over George as he recalled the day he had thrown it for the first time. Revenge had been brief, but oh, so intoxicatingly sweet. Shaking his head to clear it, he turned to look for a suitable box to re-package the dubious gadget. A sturdy shoe-box eventually presented itself under the bed.
“This ought to do the trick.” said George.
He went back to the open package. The box was empty.
The packing peanuts still showed the faint, curved outline of the vanished boomerang, but this was the only trace of the box’s former contents. George had no time to panic before he heard his mother’s voice again, hollering grimly from downstairs:
“George Winston Howard, you get down here right now or you’ll miss the bus, and if I have to drive you to school, young man, you’ll be sorrier than a …”
George didn’t bother to listen to the conclusion of the impassioned monologue, but performed one feverish search for the missing boomerang. It was no good. The cursed thing was gone; it was simply nowhere.
“Maybe… maybe it really is gone. Maybe everything will be all right now.” George thought.
There was no time to consider any other possibility. He zipped his back-pack and ran down the stairs and out the door.
The bus driver was an ornery, grimace-eyed, be-jowled gentleman named “Mr. Mack” who, on principle, never looked at any student except through his enormous rear-view mirror.
“ ‘S matter, kid – “ he growled sarcastically, “Think your were goin’ to night school? Go sit in the back.”
George stared down the countless rows of benches. He could see that the very back seat was empty. But in the second-to-last row, the grisly spectacle of none other than Porky Pete and his churlish cohorts loomed before his horrified eyes.
“They can’t hurt me when there’s a grown-up.” He reminded himself. Glancing behind, he saw the menacing eyes of Mr. Mack the bus driver.
“Scoot, kid.” said Mr. Mack. George scooted.
George saw the gleam of unholy delight as he passed Porky Pete, but he did not see the lumpish foot that shot out from behind the bench just before he reached his seat. Down went George and George’s books, in a mushroom cloud of lined paper and sharpened pencils.
“Ooof.” Said George, and picked himself up off the floor. He looked back. He could see Mr. Mack’s surly, hooded eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“Heh” grunted Mr. Mack.
Something inside George snapped. Suddenly he knew that he hated Mr. Mack. He hated him more than Porky Pete and the whole gang combined. Then George looked and saw a most surprising thing: there, entangled in the mess of books and papers, falling half-way out of his back-pack, was his boomerang.
A strange madness took him, and his hand seemed to move without being told what to do. He was holding the boomerang – his arm was cranking back now – a snap of the wrist – the boomerang leapt into glorious flight on wings made of fury.
The moment seemed to happen in slow motion to George, but in reality, it all happened so quickly that Mr. Mack never knew, and still does not know, what hit him. He had just time to turn his head before the boomerang met with his skull. Mr. Mack’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over the big steering wheel. The boomerang adjusted its direction neatly, and barreled home with a horrifying intensity. George tried to duck, but the faithful boomerang slavishly altered its course just as he did so, like a miniature heat-seeking missile, and poor George found no escape. Fireworks erupted in his head like it was the 4th of July, then everything was black.
Friday, June 25, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 4
For a while, Porky Pete and his gang stopped bothering George. But before long, news got out that he didn’t have his Amazing Boomerang anymore, and the thin veil of fear that had so briefly covered him dissolved like a summer puddle.
“Not so tough without your boom-boom, eh Georgy?” Jeered Porky and his posse.
“It’s called a ‘boom – er – ang’.” George corrected them, as they dunked his head in the toilet.
For two weeks, George went to school, got pounded, and had his head put down the toilet. For two weeks, he paid a tributary of precious lunch-money, and subsisted on the revolting gleanings of his classmates’ lunches. Porky Pete’s gang had declared him a marked man, and the rest of the student body respectfully withdrew to leave them to their prey.
On Friday morning, something truly mysterious happened; something not even remotely expected. George remembered for many years afterwards that it was a Friday, that most unlucky of days. It started off normally enough; George was sitting at the kitchen table, somberly spooning Froot Loops and soy milk in to his mouth, wondering what new devices of torture Porky and his gang may have invented within the past 16 hours.
“George!” he heard his mother call from the front hall-way. “What in tarnation is this doin’ on my front porch?”
George felt a funny, shivery feeling go up his spine, then down again, and a ticklish, constrict-y feeling in his throat. Swallowing his Froot Loops like a lump of sawdust, he went to the front door where his mother stood.
There it lay, that cardboard specter …. A medium-sized box, worn with marks of travel but still addressed in an oh-too-familiar school-boy hand, to: “Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets Mail Order.”
George’s mother (fearless woman, she!) picked up the box with her own hands and inspected it.
“That’s funny.” She said, “There’s no ‘return to sender’ stamp.”
George saw that this was true. By what dark, postal arts had the ghostly thing come back to him?
“Well, for heaven’s sake get it off my porch.” Said his mother, absolutely oblivious to the cryptic significance of this moment.
“It looks like it’s been to Brazil and back.”
“Not so tough without your boom-boom, eh Georgy?” Jeered Porky and his posse.
“It’s called a ‘boom – er – ang’.” George corrected them, as they dunked his head in the toilet.
For two weeks, George went to school, got pounded, and had his head put down the toilet. For two weeks, he paid a tributary of precious lunch-money, and subsisted on the revolting gleanings of his classmates’ lunches. Porky Pete’s gang had declared him a marked man, and the rest of the student body respectfully withdrew to leave them to their prey.
On Friday morning, something truly mysterious happened; something not even remotely expected. George remembered for many years afterwards that it was a Friday, that most unlucky of days. It started off normally enough; George was sitting at the kitchen table, somberly spooning Froot Loops and soy milk in to his mouth, wondering what new devices of torture Porky and his gang may have invented within the past 16 hours.
“George!” he heard his mother call from the front hall-way. “What in tarnation is this doin’ on my front porch?”
George felt a funny, shivery feeling go up his spine, then down again, and a ticklish, constrict-y feeling in his throat. Swallowing his Froot Loops like a lump of sawdust, he went to the front door where his mother stood.
There it lay, that cardboard specter …. A medium-sized box, worn with marks of travel but still addressed in an oh-too-familiar school-boy hand, to: “Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets Mail Order.”
George’s mother (fearless woman, she!) picked up the box with her own hands and inspected it.
“That’s funny.” She said, “There’s no ‘return to sender’ stamp.”
George saw that this was true. By what dark, postal arts had the ghostly thing come back to him?
“Well, for heaven’s sake get it off my porch.” Said his mother, absolutely oblivious to the cryptic significance of this moment.
“It looks like it’s been to Brazil and back.”
Thursday, June 24, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 3
That day after school, George ransacked his room to find the mail-order catalogue. On the dog-eared back page, he found a number in the corner so miniscule that you could barely see it, under the equally diminutive words “Customer Care”. Squinting, he dialed the number, which rang for several minutes before being picked up. A nervous female voice sounded on the other line.
“Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets Mail Order, this is Lucille. How can I serve you today?”
“Yeah, I bought this ‘Amazing Boomerang’ and it’s a dud, I want a new one.”
There was a long pause, followed by a cough, a shuffle, and another long pause.
“Would you like to place an order?” said the voice, irrelevantly.
“No, my boomerang, I want a new one!”
“Please, I can’t hear you when you’re shouting like that….”
“I just want to send in my boomerang and get one that works right, this thing is busted! Here’s the item number …”
“I know the item number.” Said Lucille, with a resigned sigh.
“I’m sorry, we don’t carry that item anymore. It’s been discontinued.”
“Awwwww man…. You don’t have any?”
“No, I’m sorry we don’t.” Lucille’s voice was growing successively more squeaky with each sentence.
“Well all right, all right. I’ll just send it back and get my money back. I spent 3 weeks of allowance on the stupid thing.”
“Um … yes. Yes, why don’t you do that. Just send it to us, and we will refund the money when we receive it.”
George hung up the phone in disgust without even saying “Good-bye”. “What a rip-off.” He thought, as he packaged up the boomerang. He trudged 3 blocks to the mailbox at the end of the street and dropped the package in.
“So long, ‘Amazing Boomerang’.” He said. “Goodbye and good riddance. I guess I’ll have to get my revenge some other way.”
“Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets Mail Order, this is Lucille. How can I serve you today?”
“Yeah, I bought this ‘Amazing Boomerang’ and it’s a dud, I want a new one.”
There was a long pause, followed by a cough, a shuffle, and another long pause.
“Would you like to place an order?” said the voice, irrelevantly.
“No, my boomerang, I want a new one!”
“Please, I can’t hear you when you’re shouting like that….”
“I just want to send in my boomerang and get one that works right, this thing is busted! Here’s the item number …”
“I know the item number.” Said Lucille, with a resigned sigh.
“I’m sorry, we don’t carry that item anymore. It’s been discontinued.”
“Awwwww man…. You don’t have any?”
“No, I’m sorry we don’t.” Lucille’s voice was growing successively more squeaky with each sentence.
“Well all right, all right. I’ll just send it back and get my money back. I spent 3 weeks of allowance on the stupid thing.”
“Um … yes. Yes, why don’t you do that. Just send it to us, and we will refund the money when we receive it.”
George hung up the phone in disgust without even saying “Good-bye”. “What a rip-off.” He thought, as he packaged up the boomerang. He trudged 3 blocks to the mailbox at the end of the street and dropped the package in.
“So long, ‘Amazing Boomerang’.” He said. “Goodbye and good riddance. I guess I’ll have to get my revenge some other way.”
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang - 2
George spent the next two weeks running home from school every day to see if his amazing boomerang had come in the mail yet. When the other kids stuffed him in the lockers, he simply smiled knowingly to himself as he imagined their terror at the powers of his secret weapon. When they beat him up and poured his soy milk down his nose, he only renewed his energies in imagining their impending doom.
Finally, after what seemed years of waiting, the long-expected day arrived. George’s mother told him when he came home, that a package had arrived for him. George rushed into the kitchen, where a medium-sized cardboard box sat upon the table. Sure enough, the type-written address label spelled out “George Winston Howard”. Across the top, a message had been written by hand in black magic marker: “HANDLE WITH CARE!!”. It was underlined 3 times with bold, urgent slashes.
“Oh. Boy.” Thought George, and he snatched up the box and raced to his room. He laid it on his floor, and unwrapped it with the all the reverence of Christmas morning. The Amazing Boomerang lay there, as bright, beautiful and lethal as it had appeared in the mail-order catalogue. Nestled into the packing peanuts, a small, folded piece of paper laid. It said: “To you, the owner of the Amazing Boomerang”.
George pushed his wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose and unfolded the message.
“Dear Owner of the Amazing Boomerang,
Greetings to you and congratulations on this unique purchase. With your new Amazing Boomerang, you hold the power of retribution in the palm of your hand. But beware; not all things are as they seem. Use this weapon wisely, and do not underestimate its powers. Good day and good luck to you, from
The Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets Mail-Order Co.”
That night, George slept with the Amazing Boomerang under his pillow. He dreamed pleasant dreams of his Amazing Boomerang. In the morning, he packed his back-pack with his books, his paper, his pencils, and his Amazing Boomerang.
“Hey look, fellas!” said Porky Pete. Porky Pete was the leader of the school bullies, a piggy fellow with eyes like a gingerbread man; tiny, black and soulless.
“Here comes the freakazoid!”
“Yeah, the freakazoid!” said Porky Pete’s gang.
“Let’s see if the freakazoid wants a swirly!” Said Porky Pete. He pounded his hammy fists together and showed his jagged teeth.
“Not so fast, boys.” Said George suavely, just like the action heroes on television. In one smooth motion (he had practiced this before bed the night before), he un-slung his back-pack, undid the zipper, and pulled out the Amazing Boomerang.
Like magic, the boomerang sailed from the tips of his fingers and flew, spinning so fast that it was a blaze of yellow and blue, across the crowded hallway. Over the heads of the astounded school-children, who all turned with their mouths agape as it passed. Past Mr. Jorkins, the disgruntled math teacher, who didn’t even look up. Its flight was true and sure, and George hopped with glee as it connected with Porky’s skull with a *crack*. The Amazing Boomerang did not stop there – after it had knocked Porky Pete down, it circled around and whacked the rest of the gang, leaving them howling in rage and pain on the hallway floor.
“Ow –WEE it gots me in the eye, boss!”
“What a wallop – call an amb’lance!”
“Oh mommy! Oh mommy! Oh make it stop!”
These plaintive cries landed on the George’s ears like a triumphal chorus, and he soaked in the moment with all due contentment. Then came a fantastically horrible thing for George. The boomerang, having wreaked its promised havoc, turned smartly, and flew, with the same deadly accuracy and speed, straight at George, and before you could say “Mail-Order Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets”, it was square between his eyes, with all the force of an express train. George did a double-backwards-flip and landed in a belly-flop, his glasses skittering across the grubby tile floor.
“Ughhhh… what gives?!” he groaned, as he picked himself off and stumbled to find his glasses. George hesitantly reached down to pick the Amazing Boomerang up off the floor.
“Cheap thing’s defective.” He thought with disgust. He put it back in his backpack and trudged off to the nurse’s office.
Finally, after what seemed years of waiting, the long-expected day arrived. George’s mother told him when he came home, that a package had arrived for him. George rushed into the kitchen, where a medium-sized cardboard box sat upon the table. Sure enough, the type-written address label spelled out “George Winston Howard”. Across the top, a message had been written by hand in black magic marker: “HANDLE WITH CARE!!”. It was underlined 3 times with bold, urgent slashes.
“Oh. Boy.” Thought George, and he snatched up the box and raced to his room. He laid it on his floor, and unwrapped it with the all the reverence of Christmas morning. The Amazing Boomerang lay there, as bright, beautiful and lethal as it had appeared in the mail-order catalogue. Nestled into the packing peanuts, a small, folded piece of paper laid. It said: “To you, the owner of the Amazing Boomerang”.
George pushed his wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose and unfolded the message.
“Dear Owner of the Amazing Boomerang,
Greetings to you and congratulations on this unique purchase. With your new Amazing Boomerang, you hold the power of retribution in the palm of your hand. But beware; not all things are as they seem. Use this weapon wisely, and do not underestimate its powers. Good day and good luck to you, from
The Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets Mail-Order Co.”
That night, George slept with the Amazing Boomerang under his pillow. He dreamed pleasant dreams of his Amazing Boomerang. In the morning, he packed his back-pack with his books, his paper, his pencils, and his Amazing Boomerang.
“Hey look, fellas!” said Porky Pete. Porky Pete was the leader of the school bullies, a piggy fellow with eyes like a gingerbread man; tiny, black and soulless.
“Here comes the freakazoid!”
“Yeah, the freakazoid!” said Porky Pete’s gang.
“Let’s see if the freakazoid wants a swirly!” Said Porky Pete. He pounded his hammy fists together and showed his jagged teeth.
“Not so fast, boys.” Said George suavely, just like the action heroes on television. In one smooth motion (he had practiced this before bed the night before), he un-slung his back-pack, undid the zipper, and pulled out the Amazing Boomerang.
Like magic, the boomerang sailed from the tips of his fingers and flew, spinning so fast that it was a blaze of yellow and blue, across the crowded hallway. Over the heads of the astounded school-children, who all turned with their mouths agape as it passed. Past Mr. Jorkins, the disgruntled math teacher, who didn’t even look up. Its flight was true and sure, and George hopped with glee as it connected with Porky’s skull with a *crack*. The Amazing Boomerang did not stop there – after it had knocked Porky Pete down, it circled around and whacked the rest of the gang, leaving them howling in rage and pain on the hallway floor.
“Ow –WEE it gots me in the eye, boss!”
“What a wallop – call an amb’lance!”
“Oh mommy! Oh mommy! Oh make it stop!”
These plaintive cries landed on the George’s ears like a triumphal chorus, and he soaked in the moment with all due contentment. Then came a fantastically horrible thing for George. The boomerang, having wreaked its promised havoc, turned smartly, and flew, with the same deadly accuracy and speed, straight at George, and before you could say “Mail-Order Marvelous Tricks & Gadgets”, it was square between his eyes, with all the force of an express train. George did a double-backwards-flip and landed in a belly-flop, his glasses skittering across the grubby tile floor.
“Ughhhh… what gives?!” he groaned, as he picked himself off and stumbled to find his glasses. George hesitantly reached down to pick the Amazing Boomerang up off the floor.
“Cheap thing’s defective.” He thought with disgust. He put it back in his backpack and trudged off to the nurse’s office.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
George and the Amazing Boomerang
Once there was a small kind of boy named George. George was one of those unfortunate types who was poor at sports, wore glasses, and had to drink lactose-free milk.
“There goes George, that lactose-intolerant freak!” All the other boys at school would say. Then they would stuff him in the locker and stick things through the slats.
Poor George spent many lonely class periods cramped into the dark lockers, tearfully plotting his sweet revenge.
The answer came one day as he was perusing through one of his mother’s mail-order catalogues.
“The Amazing Boooooooooooooomerang!!” The colorful ad read. In the picture, an excited and extremely cool-looking boy just George’s age was throwing a blue and yellow boomerang that looked like it was about to fly out of the magazine.
George’s eyes grew wide as he read:
“The amazing boomerang has magical powers that will make it return to the hand of its master no matter how far they throw it. Its sure-fire aiming mechanism will guarantee a direct hit to whatever (or whoever) you throw it at. This little beauty is a must for the little man who wants to even his odds.”
“That’s it!” cried George, and he immediately ran upstairs, broke up his piggy bank, and sent $14.95 along with the mail-order form.
“There goes George, that lactose-intolerant freak!” All the other boys at school would say. Then they would stuff him in the locker and stick things through the slats.
Poor George spent many lonely class periods cramped into the dark lockers, tearfully plotting his sweet revenge.
The answer came one day as he was perusing through one of his mother’s mail-order catalogues.
“The Amazing Boooooooooooooomerang!!” The colorful ad read. In the picture, an excited and extremely cool-looking boy just George’s age was throwing a blue and yellow boomerang that looked like it was about to fly out of the magazine.
George’s eyes grew wide as he read:
“The amazing boomerang has magical powers that will make it return to the hand of its master no matter how far they throw it. Its sure-fire aiming mechanism will guarantee a direct hit to whatever (or whoever) you throw it at. This little beauty is a must for the little man who wants to even his odds.”
“That’s it!” cried George, and he immediately ran upstairs, broke up his piggy bank, and sent $14.95 along with the mail-order form.
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