//------------------------------// // Ch. 9: Tale of The Staff Whom God Will Strengthen // Story: Extraterrestrial #51 // by TundraStanza //------------------------------// A/N: Gustaf Zuckermandel Sr. AKA "Big Zeke" (Am I doing it right, Ranakastrasz?) --- Tale of the Staff Whom God Will Strengthen --- Threesday 12:45 PM Old Gas Station Convenience Store The place was about as busy as ever. Which is to say, not at all. Some of last week's customers complained that it looked too old to be a real gas station. Personally, I preferred this old look. It gave the whole structure that rustic charm that the elderly appreciated for whatever reason. Hey, if it was good enough for me, it was good enough for everyone else. So, I was gladly surprised when the bell rang during my personal ‘off duty’ hour. Last month’s issue of the ESPN magazine could wait. “Big Zeke!” hollered the voice. “Yo, Terry, my dawg,” I greeted, “What’s up?” Terry was one of the most fun people I’ve ever met. He didn’t stick to traditional jokes. He timed his lines just right to the point that you’d think he had planned it to be funny. After not seeing him for so many years, I decided to reacquaint him with the usual hand clasp and friendly shoulder punch. “Ow! Careful, I just got that arm bandaged up,” he winced. “My bad, T, my bad,” I retracted while backing up a step. It was then that I noticed a couple of short critters standing nearby. “And who do we have here?” I asked. “Zeke, this is my wife, Arlene,” Terry pointed. “Hello,” said the white one. “And my son, Cier,” Terry continued. “Uh, hi?” said the darker one. He kind of looked like he was a bit shy. I bet any normal folk would be shaking in their boots at the sight of two unusual creatures that sort of resembled little horses. I, on the other hand, was simply curious. “Hoover dam,” I let out a chuckle, “Time’s sure are changing if you can marry other species.” I turned back up to look at Terry, “What’d I miss?” Casually, he answered, “Apparently there’s a worldwide ‘disease’ of sorts that’s been turning people into horses from a cartoon. What was it called again, Cier?” “M-my Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,” Cier quickly stammered before looking away from me again. He seemed embarrassed about his answer. I didn’t know why. Sometimes Li’l Z popped in and watched VHS tapes of his favorite cartoons. There was nothing wrong with grown men escaping into the world of animation from time to time. “Cool, cool,” I said gently with a nod. This ‘disease’ must have been a recent one then. I really couldn’t see Terry and a pony doing… NC-17 material. “So what can I do for you, brother from another mother?” I inquired. "We need to get to New York as soon as possible to aid the potential solution to the situation," Terry answered, "The quickest way there is by flight, but there's just a little issue with the validity of two out of three of our I.D.s." “Yeah, you probably look a lot older than your picture,” I said with a straight face. I didn’t hold it very long because in less than one second, Terry and I were chuckling as much as a couple drunkards. “I think I get ya,” I smiled before heading to the backroom door. I gave it a couple knocks before letting my co-worker what was up. “Yo, Li’l Z! I’ve got two ‘special assignments’ for you!” --- A/N: Gustaf Zuckermandel Jr. AKA “Li’l Z” --- Threesday 12:50 PM My ‘Office’ On the rare occasion that somebody actually asks me what my occupation is, I typically tell them that I’m an artist. That’s not a lie. I have pulled together various works for commissions before. What I usually don’t tell them is what else I do behind the closed curtains. I’m an artificial I.D. specialist. Tired of being you for some reason and want a believable alias? I’m your man. Need to change your birth date on your card? I can do that too. Want to look like a completely different person but can’t afford a plastic surgeon? That’s child’s play. Honestly, these two ‘special assignments’ that Pop gave me were way too easy. Their names and ages weren't changing. They didn't even need convincing makeovers. The only things that were really changing were the photos officially pasted on the cards. Pfft. It was like tossing candy to babies. I had a personal policy of answer all questions, ask none. I was an artist, not a paparazzi reporter. Even though the costumes of these kids tried to provoke my curiosity, I kept my eyes open and mouth shut. This was my work zone, not a chat room. When all was said and done, the little boy and girl admired my results. I didn't need to brag. My work spoke for itself. A picture tells a thousand words. By that count, the Dylans had just received two thousand words. “Color me impressed,” smiled Cier’s costume. How did the animatronics work on that, anyway? “Are you sure this is legal?” asked Arlene from inside her white costume. Time for part one of my policy, I thought. “Strictly speaking, no,” I told her bluntly, “But then, this isn't a very strict practice.” Her front limb lifted as if she was about to say something. Though, the comment seemed to die in her mouth as she switched to rubbing her chin. I began to wonder if I had been wrong about the costume theory and that this was actually her body. Her blinking didn't look mechanical at all. Cier’s was obviously a costume, though. Those straight blue light bulbs for eyeballs were a dead giveaway. “Thank you,” said Arlene. “Sure, sure,” I waved with dismissal, “If you need anything else, be sure to drop by. Pop and I are always open.” “Will do, Li’l Z,” nodded Terry as all three of them made their way out to the front. Now, I thought as I pressed the ‘play’ button on my small television set, Where was I? Animaniacs is the best show ever. --- A/N: Gustaf Zuckermandel Sr. AKA “Big Zeke” --- Fried-Zucchini-Day 12:00 AM Backyard Trailer I heard a lot of groaning from the opposite end of our humble abode. That seemed a bit unusual. Normally, I’m the one doing the groaning and it’s taken care of by nine at night with a quick number two. What was more unusual was how it sounded louder than my son’s snoring usually was. Not to mention, his snoring was never followed by him screaming. With worry, I jumped from the bed and briskly walked over to where I saw the light on. The kitchen light showed what looked like Li’l Z. But, it wasn't until I walked a little closer that I could see what he was so worried about. His right hand looked like a black stump. --- A/N: Gustaf Zuckermandel Jr. AKA “Li’l Z” --- Fried-Zucchini-Day 12:00 AM Trailer Kitchen Area At first, my hand was all numb. Next thing I knew, my whole back felt like it was frying in the sun. But that was impossible, because the sun wasn't even out at this hour. I let out another scream from the burning pain. “Z!” shouted Pop. I looked over at him, but I could barely choke out my words now. “Daddy,” I whispered, “Help… me…” The few colors I could see slowly faded to nothing. ---