"I bet you were the kid in high school that got picked on and got his ass beat everyday. You have a smartass, military jargon, Jar Head Bullet Catcher comment for anyone that dissagrees with you or wants to post thier opinion. REMF (I used it again.. do something about it.)" Forces of Evil ™ Part Two
The Troll IncidentKyle leaned forward and scrutinized the soft radiance of the display in front of him. He knew there was something wrong, knew that he was being watched, but wasn’t sure exactly how. The technology to watch people through their laptop screens had been developed back in the early 90’s according to the latest issue of
Internet Conspiracy Theorist Weekly and he was nearly certain it had been uploaded to his machine by the Forces of Evil ™ within the last few weeks.
His best defense was to act as if he had no clue. No problem there… The caterwauling of Ashlee Simpson in the background faded away as the last track on the CD ended. As the sonic environment returned to it’s natural and nonlethal state, several roaches, which had been cowering tremulously under a pizza box during the audio obscenity, shook themselves and returned whatever roachly activities they had pursued earlier.
Meanwhile, back in the rusty folding chair facing the laptop, Kyle was nervously flipping through an issue of Bi-boy Magazine. He felt a little embarrassed, but had decided that to change his reading habits abruptly could possibly tip off the Forces of Evil ™ that he was aware of their privacy invasion. He cursed Anamericansoldier under his breath. It was probably his fault, like everything else. Stupid REMF. Who knew what evil connections he had in the dark underworld of the American Military Juggernaut? Sitting on his ass all day while heroes like Kyle’s brother Kevin were out doing heroic things in heroic ways. Someday Kevin would realize the truth and bring his heroic abilities and superpowers to the side of
Le Resistance.
He still couldn’t understand the palpable feeling of being watched, until he felt the warm breath of Evil on his cheek. A low malicious whisper sent chills through his frail frame. "You asked for it Sweetie…" He frantically tried to leap from his seat toward the door, and made it about an inch before a sock full of nickles thudded into his temple. As he slid out of the chair, the last thing he heard was that voice… "Careful what you ask for…"
The throbbing of his head barely allowed him to open his eyes as he struggled to regain consciousness. The lights were dimmed and he could make out a sinister form seated on his bed. Kyle began to writhe and twist his arms behind his back, straining against the cords on his wrists. "Don’t waste your time Mr Silver," The phantom adjusted itself to a more comfortable position and knocked a few pizza boxes off the end of the bed. "I was a Boy Scout. I am an expert with knots. I am also very good at starting fires, making ornate leather keychains, and helping little old ladies cross busy intersections… but that’s beside the point."
"It’s rare that I have to take direct action like this, Mr Silver. I spend most of my nights unscrewing the tops of salt shakers and unplugging the alarm clocks of ambitious liberal businessmen to make them late for work." A drop of nervous sweat rolled into Kyle’s right eye. "But I requested this mission, Mr Silver."
"Normally my dark masters wouldn’t even notice an insignificant turd like yourself. Your hysterical rantings actually help our cause by embarrassing the more intelligent and perceptive liberals." Kyle started to voice an indignant protest, but was silenced by a sudden jolt of electricity surging through his neck. As Kyle shuddered and bounced in the metal chair, a dark stain appeared on his filthy pajama bottoms. "Oh yes, Mr Silver, you guessed it. That is the Barkmaster 3500. My Golden Retriever is probably waking up the neighborhood right now, but I figured it would be worth it to borrow it from him tonight."
"Anyway, as I was saying, I’ve been a very productive operative for the (ominous music here) Forces of Evil ™ lately. They indulged me with this assignment on the condition that I do no permanent damage to your person." A long moment of thick silence descended in the room. "You may now speak if have something to say in your defense before we begin, Mr Silver." Jolted by the implications of the word ‘begin’, Kyle began to blither and fret, incoherently ranting about freedom of speech and his Constitutional Rights.
"Mr Silver, you absolutely are free to speak your mind about any subject you desire, and the Government itself will still take care of you, regardless of how many times you lie, accuse, and whine. You have failed to grasp the reality of the situation you are in. You’re not here because you spoke out against the Government, you’re here because you insulted me and dared me to do something about it. My dark masters have essentially given me the night off to take care of some … personal affairs, Mr Silver."
Freedom of Speech is guaranteed by the Constitution for a very good reason, Mr. Silver. On the other hand, Freedom of Speech does not mean Freedom from Consequences. Large parts of our society have freed themselves from any restraint whatsoever. They assume that the very same Government they despise so much will protect them from the results of ignorant and willfully stupid actions. They are convinced that in this litigious society, they can continue to poke junkyard dogs with a stick and fear of a legal proceeding will keep the dog from taking a large bite out of their rear end."
"Mr Silver," The figure slowly rose to his feet and began to pull items from a small sack on the bed. "I am that large dog. And Mr. Silver, I have been released from the chain for the night. Mr. Silver, dogs do not fear the law, they only react to stimuli as dogs have since they were created."
Kyle’s mouth fell open as he caught a glimpse of the items now stacked on the desk next to his laptop. "You wouldn’t." He tried again, unsuccessfully to free himself. "You can’t do that."
"Mr Silver, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this… but in the end, it’s for your own good." The figure reached up to Kyle’s stack of music and grabbed a handful of discs. He began to sort through them one by one. "Crap… crap… hmm… I’ve always been a big fan of Rage Against the Machine… I’ll be keeping this one… crap… crap…" Each ‘crap’ was followed by a wince from Kyle as the CD in question was dropped to the floor and ground under the bootheel of darkness. Slowly more worthy CDs were collected with nods of approval and seized by the agent. "Dropkick Murphys… Flogging Molly… good stuff. But how can you have Flogging Molly in the same stack as Ashlee Simpson? What you need is some consistency in your life Mr. Silver. Don’t buy music just because it spent that day on the tips of all the cool tongues. Search for quality, Mr. Silver, not the flavor of the day. The better CDs mixed in with all of the one-disc-wonders seems almost accidental. You’ve been selecting CDs based on what’s cool and not what is good. Your denial of anything mainstream hints at an underlying, desperate, and frankly pathetic, need for validation as someone special. It also seems to suggest that you aren’t satisfied unless you feel smarter, or farther ahead of the curve musically, than everybody else. I would bet that the same applies to your social views. If mainstream society were, God forbid, firmly rooted on the far left… I would bet you could get in touch with your conservative side quickly."
"But it’s late, Mr. Silver, and we must get on with it." Kyle began to whimper as the tray opened on his 25 disc CD changer. "Let’s start out with an old favorite of mine. How does a little Lynnrd Skynnrd sound?"
As disc after disc was fed into the machine, the genres changed but the theme remained the same; good music that had outworn it’s welcome on the college campuses and in the trendiest of clubs. An immersion in music for it’s own sake rather than as an instrument of validation.
Kyle’s scream of protest was cut off as a pair of boxer shorts (of dubious cleanliness) was shoved into his mouth and taped over. "We don’t want to wake anybody up Mr. Silver. Now hold still while I apply these to your eyelids."
As the door closed silently behind the old Soldier, Kyle desperately tried to close his eyes to shut out the horror. The tape around his head strained as he tried to turn away, but nothing he tried kept away the images burning into his brain as he watched the opening scenes of
Iron Eagle 2 play across his screen.
