by Horia Hulea
Chapter 2
Evening follows day and Bob is staring curiously outside the window. But this time there are no more visitors, no more bored parents with their sugar-rushed kids, no more bunny teens trying to impress bunny chicks by taunting the placid bear aliens. It's long past closing time and the corridors are empty.
If the corridors are empty, then, what is he staring at? Some imaginary bunny with whom he's playing the staring game?
Let's look in the direction of his look and follow it in a straight line and . . . we curiously land across the alley right below Mark's window.
Where there is a panel.
A panel with writings and drawings. A panel that when the bunnies press it, little movies of maps and stars and other stuff begin playing.
And there is another panel also under Mentoid Joe's window. But that window is too far away, and Bob can't make out the writing.
"Dude! Look! Look!"
Dude is enjoying his sleep. Not even remotely interested in the ramblings of Bob.
"Every window has something written outside. We have it too! I saw the Fat Rabbit pointing at it!"
Bob presses his face against the window and then goes to the left.
Then wide turn to the right.
Then left. Then right again.
The squeaky sounds of Bob's focused face against the window match very closely those made by wiper blades swiping a windshield. And Bob tries to look for the best angle from which he can read the description posted below their window. But the writing is too low! And too small!
"It's there, Dude! It's there! It says everything we need to know! Like, our purpose! Like, where we come from! Like, all the answers to our questions!"
Dude: "Maybe to your questions, because I don't have any."
From outside, the homo-sapiens Bob with his face pressed completely against the window looks like an idiot who struggles to give birth to triplets.
Just a few fingers under his eye, one can see clearly the last sentence of the species summary: "All in all, Humans are the most idiotic sapient species ever encountered. Ever! Historically, spatially, culturally, existentially . . . EVER!"
Dude tries to look interested. But in fact he is hunting with his mouth for the drinking straw. He's not using his hands, since he's too lazy for that. And that tricky bastard of a straw seems to always go to the other side of the glass every time he moves his mouth around. You would expect that with all this technology around, the aliens could at least come up with an intelligent straw that doesn’t run around the glass edge like a clueless fly.
"And what does it say?"
"Don't know man, can’t reach."
"What do you think it says?"
"Huh?"
"Come on, you must have a theory worked out. What do you think it says?"
"That we are, like, this incredibly smart and capable people"
"That is exactly what I was thinking too . . ."
Bob is too busy to sense the sarcasm. Instead, he is having an interior conversation.
"Think, think, think! I saw the Fat Rabbit walking in and out of Mentoid Joe's window. But we can't do that. The little bunnies can't either. It's like the window knows who to let through!"
And then it dawned on him!
Maybe, just maybe, if he can get the Fat Rabbit inside, kill it, skin it, make a fur coat of his skin, then . . . he will be able to walk through the windows!
"But how do I get him in? Oh, I know! I know! Rabbits love carrots, so I will just put a pile of carrots near the window, and he won't be able to resist it! He will have to get in!"
That is a very smart plan, Bob! I bet the Fat Rabbit will never ever see what's coming!
"You're thinking of making a fur coat of the fat rabbit's skin, aren't you?" Bob heard Dude saying in the back.
"????"
"You know that you can simply make the fur coat."
"Make . . . fur coat?"
"How do you think you have your clothes, Bob?"
"I thought I had them when I got here."
Dude face palms.
And then he mumbles something. But still, it is not worth ruining his beauty sleep by getting up from the hammock to smack Bob on the head.
Little side note: I don't know why, but I haven't seen Dude out of the hammock. I mean, I see Bob going around and doing stuff (never smart stuff), but Dude simply seems to be pinned to that hammock. Like he is some kind of exotic fungus growing on the textile. I just wonder: Does he ever take a shit or a pee? Have you ever seen him taking one? Because I haven't.
"No, Bob. You can call your clothes. Like you can call the food, or the weather, or any other stuff you want. You just say the magic word and bing! There you have it!"
Bob looks as if struck by lightning.
"You can call stuff? And how come I didn't know that?"
Face palm on Dude's face is now so hard you can hear the echo.
"You should have known, Bobbbb! You're here since forevvvver!"
And here is Bob discovering that he can ask for stuff and stuff just appears.
"Motorcycle!" and out of the blue a brand new motorcycle appears with a bing! sound and lands in front of him. Eyes wide in wonder and smile stretched beyond the physical limits of the mouth.
And for one hour we are forced to stop the narrative plot because Bob can't get enough of riding that motorcycle.
Hey Bob, you were in the middle of something, remember? You had an escape plan? With a fur coat? Going in and out? You had a . . .
"Iron Man suit!"
And the bing! sound is heard again followed by . . . you guessed . . . an Iron Man suit.
I bet no one thought of that. Now, that I think of it, I wanted an Iron Man suit myself, but since Bob thought of it first, I have to look at him flying loops in the air and walking upside down in the air and doing the moonwalk . . . in the air (show off!).
How did he fit in it, since that belly of his can't even fit in his pants? I guess it is a customized Iron Man suit.
I say let's just fast forward a couple of hours, because waiting on Bob to continue with his "master plan" won't happen very soon.
A couple of hours later, Bob is fighting with laser swords against Darth Vader.
On the beach.
Under the palm trees.
Near a half-asleep Dude who asks them to turn the whooshing sound a little lower.
Ok, then let's fast forward some more.
Bob is running naked chased by a pack of hungry nymphos.
Fast forward some more.
Bob is skiing . . . in the sand . . . pulled by a giant sand worm . . . which is steered by a monkey . . . that is playing a piano? (The piano does fit on the back of the sand worm.)
Ok, I'm done.
I'll skip to the next day.