Saturday, April 1, 2017



When Marlon first became Catman around the time he was twenty, I remember, he was already sort of famous for being the one dude you wouldn't want to mess with. He pulled knives on grown men when he was thirteen and they all backed off because they knew he was right and they didn't want to get hurt. Marlon was the champion arm wrestler when he was in grade school. By the time he was twenty he had a costume made up all ready to wear because he'd seen Douglas Fairbanks in that first Zorro movie on several occasions and he was pretty well far gone by then.

That first night he wore the special mask he'd constructed, when he became in his own mind Catman completely, oh yeah, he did some damage. You used to see groups of giants, some twelve-footers, come loping out of caves by the dozen. On his first night out in full superhero gear what he did to the giants was more or less amusing. But after awhile it got to where it wasn't even funny anymore.

For a lot of years Marlon worked hard keeping his crime-fighting true self under extremely tight, rigid control. Marz and I agreed he was doing pretty damn well until the request.

It wasn't like he needed the excuse.

We had met beneath the mountains, as is our wont, where monolithic marvels deep within the land abound, giant wonders from vastly distant ancient times that say strange things to me while Marz moves them with his mind. We took a bull down there with us one time--long story--and sure enough, Catman hunted it down in the black labyrinthine tunnels and punched the bull to death with his fists. Like Sonny Corleone at the toll gate. Not to make a big thing of it, fact is, we've never fit in anywhere at any time, and the populace as not been overly kind letting us know it. So when we're holding in our otherworldly hands forbidden Tesla technology, on account he's Catman's dad, and he left us neat stuff, having always been at odds with the world--well, the immediate community around us, anyway--for us to be interrupted in the middle of our busy schedule, thank you very much, with heart-wrenching entreaties for protection takes equal parts chutzpah and just plain dumb.

The three women stood framed in the curve of the stone archway confidently staring as though on a poster. I knew we never should have shown the girlfriends the way.

Dialogue ensued, except I can't remember what. It went, wait. Was there any? Well, those moments do elude me, but I clearly remember having to go to the bathroom.

"Mar-vin!" Herricane KyDD called out my name with a pouty tone that amounted to a stamp of the foot. She likes to say she spells her name with double Ds because of her big boobs. She also likes to stamp her foot. InDeeD, loves it. Though not half as much I love watching her. Herricane looks like a goddess of whatever quality a person could pick. Exceptional features, striking soulful eyes, a penetrative stare, classic Greek athletic build with a cocky twist in her hips and high, proud shoulders.

To listen to her meant I had to stop listening to the giant stone head which I had tuned into. Using my antennae, I gave her the mental image of a clip from 1939's The Wizard of Oz where the big head says for Dorothy to come forward.

In dropping the thought I also picked up the reason why our women had united to surprise us with this unprecedented unscheduled shit. She expects this, but goes ahead and tells me anyway.

"The whole town sent us down," Herricane said, absentmindedly caressing my antennae. Which look like antlers. "We're supposed to ask you guys for help."

"You probably know my antennae are comprised mostly of erectile tissue?"

"Of course I do, ya big galoot..."


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