by Bryan Mosier
“Yep” says Justin, the anticipation building in his voice as Alex begins thumbing frantically through the pages of the magazine as if looking for one specific item.
“The centerfold…” he adds as he finally finds the object of his desire.
Holding up the magazine horizontally so as to allow the folded pages of the magazine insert to gently fall out to reveal what he and the other two boys had been waiting anxiously for the last month to see. Seeing the image emblazoned across those delicate pages, it’s too much for the boys to contain their excitement. In unanimous glee the boys revel in their find with a chorus of giggling schoolboy excitement.
“And you know what the best part is?” asks Bryan.
“What?” asks Alex in anticipation.
“There’s plenty of copies for all of us!” he yells as he pulls his other hand from behind his back, clutching a stack of identical magazines.
Overjoyed with excitement the boys resume their juvenile revelry with a chorus of raucous celebration.
Suddenly from around the corner comes a tornado of flaming orange and drab green highlighted with a flash of gold as Darla, Carla and Helga come rushing to the boys’ location. Seeing the girls the boys react on instinct, shoving their treasure behind their backs much like a small child, fearing a reproachful scold from a parent after having stolen a cookie before dinner.
“What’s going on, what’s the matter” asks Darla, her voice filled with anxiety. “Is there a stumble bum?” Seeing the sheepish look on the faces of the three boys Darla quickly feels the apprehension leave her body and quietly asks,“What is going on? Why were you making so much noise?”
“Oh nothing, we were…we were just picking on Justin again. You know. Gay. Ha…ha..?”
“Then why was he laughing? What do you guys have behind your backs?” asks Darla, a curious look on her face.
“Um..we…we were just looking at these…um…these magazines is all” explains Alex as he reveals his hidden treasure to the girls.
“Magazines?” asks Carla, turning to Helga to share a confused look.
“What’s so special about a magazine” asks Darla, dumbfounded as to why one would make the boys behave in such a way. “You guys aren’t looking at porn are you?”
“Pshuh. No!” comes the embarrassed group response.
“Yeah, who looks at porn in print anymore anyway? That’s what the internet is for” says Bryan immediately feeling an overwhelming sense of embarrassment having made that acknowledgment in front of a group of girls. “I’m gonnashut up now.”
“Can I see it then?” asks Darla. Holding her hand out she takes the treasure from Alex and holds it up so the other girls can see. “Rasslefest? What is a Rasslefest?” she asks, looking to Carla and Helga for clarification but getting only confused looks in response.
Seeing the girl’s confusion, Alex begins to explain with gleeful enthusiasm. “Rasslefestis only the best, most awesome magazine covering the business of professional wrestling today. They cover every major wrestling circuit and franchise and even some of the foreign stuff coming out of Mexico and Japan.”
“Professional wrestling? Isn’t that stuff fake?” asks Carla.
Seizing on the moment to enlighten the uninitiated into the intricacies and dynamics of the inner workings of the modern professional wrestling industry Justin jumps in. “While it is understood that the winners and losers of any given contest is generally a predetermined reality, the true nature of modern professional wrestling can best be compared that of improvisational theater. While the major plot points are a given, how the participants choose to arrive at these conclusions is completely dependent on the fluidity of the actions and subsequent reactions that take place in the moment. And to call it fake would be unfair and disrespectful of the physical sacrifice that these athletic performers make for the entertainment of the masses as many often suffer debilitating, sometimes career ending injuries. While admittedly not a sport in the same vein as other sports like football or basketball, professional wrestling does have its own prescribed rules and protocols that have been built on years of tradition passed down from generation to generation of performers. Finally, when you add in the creative performance and character development aspects in which the performers deliver scripted lines developing intricate plots that are then brought to a climactic crescendo upon the hallowed canvas covered stage of the squared circle, the argument can be made that professional wrestling is the grander of athletic endeavors for it incorporates both physical prowess and artistic performances into a holistically entertaining, some might argue, artistic experience. Truthfully, it is almost Shakespearian in itsdramatic complexity.”
As she listens to Justin’s analytical dissertation of the merits of professional wrestling as an art form, she casually thumbs through the pages of the magazine until finally coming to what she realizes is the true object of the boys’ excitement. Holding up the magazine to carefully unfold the pages from itscenter to show Carla and Helga, she turns the magazine back to the boys and says“and how does this nearlynaked lady fit into the“art” of pro wrestling.
Seeing the image on the page, the boys are once again momentarily lost in their own individual fantasy worlds in which each has somehow won her heart to become the chosen consort of the beauty gracing the glossy pages. As they stare at the curvaceous blonde figure sprawled across the three panels of glossy paper glory their eyes take in every detail. From the undulating waves of her long flowing golden locks to her luscious crimson red lips she is the image of Photoshopped perfection. Her athletic, sculpted body with skin a deep shade of bronze broken only by the sweeping lines of red, white and blue as a tattoo of an American flag being trailed along the curves of her hips by a fierce eyed bald eagle travels under the thinnest of strings, only to continue down her muscular upper thigh. Looking over the centerfold, she is the image of every virile heterosexualmales’ feminine ideal. Dressed being an overstatement with what fabric there is barely covering her PG13 areas, the tiny bikini she wears is decorated with a patriotic theme of red, white and blue stripes accented with the occasional, strategically placed gold star. The only addition to the“costume” worn by this buxom blonde bombshell is the glittery, sparkling blue mask framing her deep cerulean eyes, somehow magically affixed to her face in the absence of any visible strings to hold it in place. In unison the boys, oblivious to the drool threatening to spill from the corners of their mouths, softly voice the name of this, the object of their fantasies.
“Enola Gay”
“Who is Enola Gay” asks Darla.
Snapping back to reality, Bryan is the first to respond. “Enola Gay is simply the hottest of the hottest hottiesin all of pro wrestling.”
“So she’s a wrestler?”
“Well, yes and no. She does wrestle but hermain job is as valet to the Atomic Bombers.”
“The Atomic Bombers? Who are they?” asks Darla.
“The Atomic Bombers are simply the most awesome tag team combination to hit pro wrestling since Hawk and Animal decided to strap on a pair of spikey shoulder pads is who!” comes the overzealous declaration from an energized Bryan.
The Atomic Bombers are a team. See” says Alex as he takes the magazine from Darla and frantically flips through the pages until stopping on a two page spread feature. Smattered among the assorted headings, captions and comic book inspired onomatopoeia are images of the aforementioned Enola Gay with two similarly patriotically garbed men. Pointing to the larger of the two, his massive body covered nearly from head to toe in red, white and blue American flag motifs, Alex continues“That there is Fat man. He is the leader of the Bombers.” Moving the end of his index finger over to the image of the markedly smaller yet much more athletically toned other gentleman dressedin what looks like nothing more than an American flag speedo and boots,“and that there is Little Boy. He’s the hot head of the group.”
“Fat Man…Little Boy…and Enola Gay” says Darla, identifying each individual as she moves h
er own finger across the page. “The Atomic Bombers. Really?”
“What?” asks Alex, confused by the questioning tone in Darla’s voice.
“I mean, this is Shakespearian. Looksto me it’s more like Saturday morning cartoonian.”
Seeing the familiar derisive smirks starting to form on the faces of the three girls, knowing that their persuasive arguments have fallen on deaf ears Alex concedes. Taking the magazine back from Darla and stowing it in his back pocket he offers in defeated, surrender “Forget about it. You just wouldn’t understand” he says, the defeat in his tone clearly evident, sending a twinge of shame through Darla for having mocked something that he clearly has an interest in. “Come on, let’s go get Brandon and Melody and see what else we can find.
Chapter 15
Making their way back to the pharmacy counter, the group collectively begins to take stock of what they have found. Bryan and Justin, having explored the seasonal department located just off from the pharmacy, managed to find a few more large barbecue forks along with some long, butane lighters and a bag of charcoal briquettes. Carla, Darla and Helga, empty arm loads of personal care products including shampoos, tooth brushes, soaps, and lotionsonto the counter. Seeing the questioning look on the boys faces Carla simply offers“What?” Brandon and Melody having found some bandages, anti-itch creams and over-the-counter anti-histamines, along with a couple bottles of rubbing alcohol seem to have been the most practical in their quest for supplies. Alex, helping Brandon and Melody with their bounty admits that all in all the group has managed to put together a respectable stock pile of medications and first aid supplies. “From what I see here” offers Justin,“this should reasonably take care of all manner of minor ailments including infection, inflammation, nausea, constipation and other assorted gastrointestinal problems” ending with an approving nod.
“We got everything covered, pretty much, except for pain relief.” We found a couple bottles of Ibuprofen but that’s it” concedes Alex.
“Well, we’ll just have to make sure no one gets hurt” says Darla in an attempt to reassure everyone.
Piling their findings in a cart the group starts to make their way to the back of the store. Walking past an assortment of small electrical appliances scattered about the shelves and floor, they find themselves at an aisle that apparently used to house outdoor equipment. The counter, having been made of glass to showcase those items that needed to be locked away, lay in a shattered mess. The glass, having been broken by looters to get to the objects inside, is strewn all over the floor, the case empty only for the labels that revealed the items that used to be inside. The same can be said for the large display standing behind the counter that used to house an assortment of firearms including the fairly mundane hunting rifles popular with the local deer hunters as well as a variety of shotguns, all of which were now missing along with the horde of ammo that used to fill the shelves. Looking around the adjacent aisles the group manages to scavenge a few pieces of camping equipment including a propane powered lantern and a few tanks of gas to run it. Brandon was particularly excited to find several boxes worth of shotgun shells that had apparently been spilled on the floor and, in the apparent confusion of the looting were deemed insignificant enough to leave. Along with this he was also happy to find a few large boxes of bb’s though without any bb gunsto shoot them, the rest of the group wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted them.
Having decided that their time could be better spent looking elsewhere, the group decides that they should make their way through the rest of the store. Following the preplanned path set forth by the store’s designers, they make their way down the aisle, passing by the auto parts department. Walking passed one aisle Brandon suddenly bolts away.“Where the hell are you going?” growls Alex in a hushed yet angry tone. Ignoring his brothers chiding, Brandon gets to the end of the aisle and makes a hard left. Out of site for only a few moments, he suddenly comes running back with an armload of tall, blue canisters. “What are you doing? What is that stuff?” asks Alex. Dropping the canisters into one of the cartsBrandon lifts one up for his brother to see. Looking at the small white and red label on the canister, Alex can clearly see the word“Propane” printed across the label. “Those looters may have gotten most of the stuff back in the hunting department but they forgot to check the tools section. I remember dad trying to loosen the lug nuts on his old Chevy by heating them up with one of these little propane torches.” Looking at his brother, amazed by how much the little twerp knows and ashamed that he didn’t realize how much Brandon had grown up, he pats him on the shoulder and says“Good job little bro.”
“Come on, there are some big tarps back there too that we might be able to use also.”
Having retrieved the tarps along with some elastic bungee cords, the group comes to the end of the long aisle where it intersects with the main concourse that traverses the length of the store along its back portion. Looking down the aisle they can see that it leads them past several departments including the toy department, the cheap ass furniture department, the kids clothing department, electronics and finally culminating at the grocery section at the far end of the massive store. This aisle, like all of the others is littered with merchandise, discarded as unworthy by the looters that had ransacked the store. The scene, an illustration of mankind’s ability to sink to it basest, immoral state would be enough to sadden even the staunchest idealist, but this isn’t what tugs at the hearts of the group of would be adventurers / post-apocalyptic survivors. The image of mankind’s fall into anarchy is but a backdrop for the scene that sends a feeling of both pity and fear through the hearts and minds of the group. Slowly stumbling down the aisle, about half way down the length of the passage way, a lonely, solitary figure calmly hobbles and stutters along, pushing an empty shopping cart. The figure, short and stocky being a polite description of his physique, his head bobbing back and forth, ambling from side to side as he walks. The light streaming in from the skylights overhead glistens on the stringy matt of oily hair that hangs over his face and shoulders down to the small of his back. His face is covered in a dark, scraggly beard filled with dark, gelatinous chunks seemingly soaked in a thick dark red fluid. Wearing a pair of dingy brown cargo pants and the distinctive blue All-Mart employee vest over a grungy white tee shirt with the words“Get in the house Carl” displayed across the front but barely legible under the red stains created by the dripping red liquid from his face. Finally, as if still hanging on to some sense of identity before the end came, dangly ever so gently from the edge of his vest is a small blue and white name tag announcing to the world, “Hi, my name is Larry”.
With a look of shock and grief coming over their faces, its Bryan who puts to words what the boys are all feeling,“Oh no, not Fat Larry.”
“You guys knew that one?” asks Darla
“THAT ONE” with a tone of anger over the implied dehumanization of their longtimefriend,“was one of the best dudes you’d ever meet.”
“Yeah, he was the coolest. He would always give us his employee discount when we came to get a new game or some Magic cards”
“Why is he pushing the cart?” asks Melody.
“I don’t know, maybe they hang on to a little bit of memory from what they did before they got turned into half assed Hannibal Lecters.”
“Yeah, that is pretty much all he did around here. He never could get the hang of running the cash register and he was too fat to climb the ladders to stock the shelves so they just had him walk around putting stuff back on shelves that people were too lazy to put back.”
“Well, what should we do with him?”
“Whatdayamean?” asks Bryan.
“We can’t just leave him like this. We gotta…you know” says Alex as he makes a gesture that could either be interpreted as someone swinging a weapon to hit someone over the head, or someone making a feeble attempt at casting a fishing line.
“We can’t kill Larry, he was our bud!”
“Well we can’t leave
him like this?”
While Bryan and Alex continue their debate, they fail to notice that Brandon has, yet again, disappeared from the group. Carla being the first to take notice of the youngster’s absence she looks to Melody who simple gestures for her to look down the aisle. There, skulking behind a large, unsurprisingly pristine DVD display advertising the release of his latest action flick, a life size display of Dwayne, the Rock, Johnson provides cover for Brandon as he stalks the pathetic creature that was their beloved friend.
“Uh guys, you better look at this.”
“What?”
“Look” says Darla, pointing in the direction where Brandon has concealed himself.
Looking down the aisle they see Brandon, kneeling next to the display as he slowly unsheathes his sword, making sure to do it ever so quietly as the thing formerly known as Larry stands on the other side, mere inches away.
“What the hell is he doing?”
“Oh crap, I think he’s going to…”
As the thing that was Larry lurches forward, Brandon counters the movement by circling around the back side of the display, slowly bringing his sword over his head with both hands firmly grasping the hilt. Taking a deep breath Brandon steels himself for the job that must be done. Looking at the back of Larry’s head, trying to forget the person that he was, Brandon is startled when the figure suddenly stops and starts to turn. Momentarily frozen, not knowing what to do, Brandon again takes a deep breath and prepares to bring the sword down on his victim. As the thing that was once Larry turns he suddenly stops and with a grungy, filth covered hand slowly reaches out for a copy of the DVDthat still fills the many shelves of the display. Then, to the shock and amazement of everyone watching, a small, high pitched voice calmly declares“Worst….Movie….Ever.”
Cocking his head sideways and looking past Larry to the likewise stunned group Brandon is at a loss.
“Did he just talk?” asks Bryan