Jul 13th, 2003, 09:54 AM
All Geos Must Die
I was driving to work today, about to be late because in front of me, going a whole 22 miles per hour, was a Geo Tracker.
"Geos," I snorted. "Huh. Those pieces of shit?" I glanced at Sephora, my baby, in the mirror and she waved her bottle amiably, so I went on. "They're made of plastic. Remember that car that rear ended us in December? And we got a little crack in our fiberglass, and she had nothing left from the windshield forward? Yeah. That was a Geo Metro. Those cars are junk. They'd lose in a head-on collision with a Pepsi can."
Sephie giggled. I was glad, because I was just getting warmed up with my rant. "I would never own a Geo. I'd rather have a Yugo than a Geo. I wish I could destroy every Geo in Wausau." Then I stopped, and my jaw dropped a bit.
I had just had a great idea.
I dropped Sephie off at day care, and raced back home. I pawed through my gun collection, and chose my laser-sighted sniper rifle, my sawed-off shotgun, my Glock 9-mm, and, just for kicks, my flame thrower. I shoved the whole mess into a large duffle bag, tossed it in the backseat of my car and drove to Fred Mueller Automotive on Grand Ave.-- right where I had had my inspiration.
I found the service ladder easily, since I have been there many times (Jake works there), and I grabbed my bag and climbed up the ladder like a monkey on a stick. I found a perch on the edge of the roof, facing the street, and sat down, indian style, in the gravel. My adreneline was pumping so hard I hardly felt the little rocks jabbing through my jeans. I opened the bag, pulled out my sawed-off, loaded it, and waited.
I didn't have to wait long; Wausau is a hive full of Geo-driving drones. Within five minutes, I saw a Metro puttering down Grand; a slow smile crossed my face as I aimed... careful, careful, Andrea... wait for it... *BLAM!*
The Geo veered off the road and into the Coffee Shack, as its windshield imploded in a spray of boken Safe-T-Glass and flying blood. I didn't know if the driver was down; I didn't care one way or another. I wasn't out to kill PEOPLE, but frankly, if he chose to drive a Geo he deserved it.
The car looked pretty well trashed, but since there wasn't even a scrape on the Coffee Shack, I put a round into what was left of the front end just to be safe. And it was probably just my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard the squeal of dying hamsters as my gunfire passed through the plasticene body of the vehicle. Then I set my gun down carefully and layed flat on my belly, peering over the edge to watch the ensuing chaos of police and ambulances.
Except, I figured out after about fifteen minutes, that it never ensued. There were plenty of rubberneckers, gawking at the mess, and the Coffee Shack guy was poking through the take out window with a spatula, trying to pry the car off the corner of his Shack; but amazingly, either *no one called the cops*, or *the cops just didn't care*!!
Cautiously I sat up. Astonishingly, no gunfire took me down from a hiding place I could not see. No one pointed at me. No one noticed. And still, no police.
"Excellent," I said, awestruck, and reloaded my sawed-off, which I like just because I enjoy the British phrase, "Sod off".
I took out the next two Geos with the Sod Off, one of which rear ended the first one, and the other which actually, somehow, rolled into the car wash. The washing didn't seem to help much; it still looked like crap.
Still no rescue vehicles arrived on scene. Hot diggity! Maybe I wasn't the only one who hated Geos and their owners! Maybe EVERYONE did! Even the Coffee Shack guy was spitting on the first Geo by now; no one had even bothered to check and see if these people were alive.
I decided, since repercussions seemed not to be a worry at this point, that Auld Sod was boring me; I put him back in the bag and climbed down the ladder for some close-up work.
I stood on the street corner and pulled out the sniper rifle. I turned on the laser sighting, and a lazy grin crossed my face; this is one of my favorite guns to use. It was no more than 30 seconds later when the next Geo came along, pulling to a stop at the stoplight. The driver smiled and waved at me as I sighted on his driver's side front tire. I then proceeded to shoot it, and its three ugly friends, out.
The guy behind the wheel-- a fat, balding, greasy looking fellow, totally oblivious to the fact that his car actually weighed less than he did-- blinked and looked confused. He peered at me from behind smudged glasses, and in a tentative voice, called to me, "That wasn't very nice."
How much provocation does a chick with a gun need? I pulled out my Glock and sprinted across the street. Fatty Boobalatty gawked at me as I pressed the barrel of my gun into the flab under his chin, grinning like a madwoman. I actually saw my eyes glowing red, reflected in his glasses.
"Is this neighborly enough for you?" I asked in a very pleasant tone of voice.
"Well, actually, no--" he began, but he never got to finish that statement, because his brains were suddenly glued to the interior of his car-- much improving the decor, I thought.
"Wow, brains really do look like oatmeal," I remarked to no one in particular, giving a very friendly wave to a fellow driving a Buick LeSabre. He waved back and smiled.
Unfortunately, now I heard sirens-- or, to be more specific, one siren. Probably sent just to appease frightened Geo owners; still, I thought it would be prudent to exit the scene. I packed my guns up, in no particular rush, and climbed back into good old Maxwell. It was a bummer, but that's okay.... I had an EVEN BETTER idea now....
I started Maxwell and revved the engine a few times just becase it sounded so much better than a Geo. Hell, my car idling sounds like a Geo revving. Then I drove to Kwik Trip. I put ten dollars in my tank, which brought it to just past a quarter full, and went inside.
I paid for my gas, bought a pack of cigarettes and five gas cans, filled the gas cans, paid for THAT gas, and asked to see a phone book. I pawed through quickly, locating my prey: The local Geo dealership.
I drove like my ass was on fire and my hair was catching; when I arrived at the Geo Dealership I jumped out of my car and popped the trunk, revealing my lovely 5-gallon gas cans, lined up like Jews for the showers in Auschwitz.* I grabbed the first one and started pouring gas on the Geos nearest me. I knew it wouldn't take much; I should have enough to get almost all of the cars in the lot, and the rest would simply melt from proximity.
The salespeople and other employees of the dealership simply watched me with solemn faces. "Boy, I sure am glad I've already got another job lined up," said one, conversationally, to another. "Yeah, well. I liked this job. It was easy. Hardly anyone buys Geos," said a guy who I assmued worked in the detailing department. "Yeah? Well, I think this job sucks. Come work with us mechanics," said a third.
I finished emptying the last can out on what happened to be the last car, providentially enough, and walked back to my car to get my flame thrower. When I got to my car, I looked in astonishment at the first car I had poured the gas on. I mean, I had never poured gasoline on plastic in warm weather before. The body of the car was bubbling and rising in hills and valleys. Excellently cool looking.
I got in my car and moved it across the street. I pulled my flame thrower out of the duffle bag, strapped it on my back, trotted back to the car lot, lit up and fired away, so to speak.
It didn't take long before the rancid stench of melting plastic filled the air. I'd like to say the staff of the dealership at least looked sad, but I would be lying. They just packed up their stuff and left, getting into their cars which were also across the street (probably because they didn't want anyone to see their car next to a Geo).
Once I was sure that not one of the melted hillocks could ever be mistaken for a drivable vehicle, I turned and went back to Maxwell. My face felt hot and slightly swollen, probably from being in such close proximity to such a conflagration, but I was feeling very good about myself. My work for the day was done.
I got into my vehicle and drove straight home, leaving Sephie with the babysitter; I had a feeling I knew what was going to happen next.
How wrong I was.
I pulled into the driveway of our building and parked at an angle, as usual, since my car is so big that if I park straight no one can get past me. I got out of the car casually, taking my own time, and went into the building, trotting up the single flight of stairs to our apartment.
I opened the door, always left unlocked because there are no crazies in our neighborhood. I went inside and went directly to the refrigerator; I did not pass go; I did collect a bag of Kraft Cheese Cubes and a beer.
I moved back into the living room, laid the duffle bag beside the couch, opened my beer, and drank it, while eating the cheese cubes -- it gives the beer a pleasant, sweet taste. I put my feet up on the coffee table and picked up the phone. I dialed Fred Mueller.
When I got Jake on the phone, I said, "I won't be home for dinner. There's TV dinners in the freezer."
"Where are you going?" he asked, the sounds of a detailing department making him raise his voice slightly. I pictured him there, with his finger in his other ear so he could hear me.
"I'll probably be going to jail for a while," I replied.
"Again?" He sighed. "Well, try not to be gone too long. You know I hate taking care of the baby for extended periods of time."
"Right-o." There was a knock at the door. "I gotta go, the police are here." I hung up the phone and called, "Come in."
The door opened cautiously and a policeman stuck his head in. When he saw that I was just sitting there, calmly swigging my second beer, he stepped in all the way, followed by another, younger, cop.
"Ms. Thompson?" the first officer asked in his sternest tone. Ooooh, I was shaking in my boots, let me tell you.
"That's me." I drained the rest of my beer and held out the bag of cheese cubes to the cops. "Would you like some cheese cubes? They make beer taste really good."
They shook their heads, and I shrugged and put the bag on the table. "We need you to come with us, please. We have some things we need to discuss with you."
I shrugged and got up. "Is it the Geo thing? I did it and I'd do it again. The guns are in that bag there. I'm ready to go." Oddly, the cops just shook their heads again, and the younger one actually smiled a little.
"We can discuss this at the station, Ms. Thompson. You may leave the weaponry here."
"Okay." I shrugged again and followed them outside. I climbed into the back of the police car, little old harmless me. "Don't you guys want to pat me down? Read me the Miranda warning?"
The older cop started the car. "We don't think that is necessary at this time." With that, we drove in silence to the police station, little more than half a mile. For my part, it was a puzzled silence. Wausau cops are lazy, but not usually incompetent. Hell, with a good lawyer I was going to get off scot free for this, just because procedure was being so badly breeched by Officers Smiley and Friendly.
We got to the cop shop, and the younger cop, who I'd dubbed Smiley, let me out. He didn't restrain me in any way, or even seem particularly worried about whether I'd follow him. That's right, these guys walked in ahead of me-- and Friendly even held the door. They led me down a short hallway, where they knocked on an office door.
"Come in!" said a deep voice, and Friendly opened the door. He nodded me inside; I went obediently, picking a bit of cheese out of my back teeth, and had a seat.
"Chief, this is Ms. Thompson," said Friendly, before he closed the door. I had no idea at this point where the hell Smiley'd gotten himself off to.
The chief was a large man. No, Jake is a large man. the chief made Jake look like a 98-pound weakling. He stared at me sternly across the desk. I opened my eyes wide, trying for a look of innocence. I had no idea how well it worked, and it hardly seemed to matter since I was willing to admit everything I'd done. In fact, the prospect of going into detail in front of a jury filled me with secret delight.
"Do you know why you're here, Ms. Thompson?" he asked. He had a lot of teeth. I mean, he could probably get into the Guiness book of records for "Teeth - biggest, whitest and largest amount of".
"Yeah. Because I destoyed about a hundred Geos today."
"Make that a hundred and fifty-seven, and you'd be right on the money. You also killed three Geo owners and wounded a third. Do you know why we've brought you here?"
"To arrest me and put me in jail for a thousand years?" I arched an eyebrow because it seemed like a stupid question.
"Actually, no. We have a... proposal for you, Ms. Thompson. We're sick to death of Geos in our city. Crime has been brought to a minimum, but these Geos seem to multiply day by day. They're hazardous, they're a nuisance, and... well, by God, they're just so *ugly*. We were very impressed by your work today... would you like to join us here on the force, Ms. Thompson?"
"Call me Andrea, " I said, grinning.
So that's how I became head of the Special Geo Task Force here in Wausau. I'm recruiting new people every week; maybe you could be next. Because here in Wausau, owning a Geo isn't a crime-- but neither is destroying one.
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thats rather violent. i like it
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