June 2nd, 2010. In a cloudless, high-noon showdown, pitted against the same snake-eyed snipers that have been slithering around the dry grasslands of Chavez Ravine for the last two days, the Traffic Town reserves put together an astonishingly accurate recreation of the previous, tedious battle. So, the guns stayed quiet well into the late afternoon.
The home reservists, with their ammo depot depleted, were unable to sequester an unsolicited advance from the cold-blooded, tail-chasing, reptile regiment, so the Darger regulars were called back into action. Notable exception should be taken of the new recruit, No.59, who was ultimately called on to lead the troops late in the scuffle; he finished off the Arizona enlistees with commanding diplomacy and patience.
With the wide-eyed, straight-shooter fighting to keep the tiring Darger army on the heels of the foreign raiders, the war-storied veteran, No.9, finally deposited a well-timed mortar to secure another victory, sweeping the last snakes from the city.
W is for reptilia mortius triplicatus
May 9th, 2010. "There's too much traffic. We're not going to get back for another twenty-five minutes."
I moaned. I wished, now, that I had taken a different route. But, I had wanted to stay within range of the weakened, FM broadcast, so I bypassed the stereotypical, metro-business route for a more centralized, less discriminating commute.
"At least we won." said Karen. Karen always tried to say nice, positive things when she rode with me in the car. I don't know what she said in the car when I wasn't there. Maybe she said nice, positive things whether I was there or wasn't. She was , after all, a nice and positive person. And if she wasn't saying anything nice, maybe she wasn't saying anything at all?
Then she said, "They're heading west."
"They're heading south." I corrected her.
"Really? I thought they fought hard today. You were listening. The radio doesn't lie." she said.
"Yes it does." I responded. "But, I'm talking about the traffic. It's spilling out towards the landfill. I should have taken the freeway."
"Oh." she said. "Is the landfill full?"
She was lost. "Yes. They're headed west." I tried to tell her.
But Karen was confused. "But you just said the landfill was south. Is there another landfill?" she asked.
"They're heading out to the desert." I continued.
"This all used to be a desert. Do you think any of these hills are old landfills? Filled with trash?" she wondered.
"God makes the mountains, Karen. God doesn't make trash. People make trash." I reminded her.
Suddenly, Little Karen's big mouth interrupted from the back seat. "God made the people and his people made the trash." she said.
Ignoring the outburst from the third party passenger, I concluded, "God doesn't make trash, Karen. Cleanliness is godliness. Trash is forbidden in Heaven. It's in the Bible."
I turned up the radio. The tiny voice of the famed broadcaster had just reported that mobilized artillery units from Traffic Town were massing in the dry, desert battlegrounds near the Arizona border.
Then Big Karen dropped an incendiary bomb. "God makes trashy people. I hope General Glory pulverizes those dirty snakes!" she hissed.
W is for Mom.
April 14th, 2010 . The sweet glaze of Tuesday's home-brewed success and celebration spill-over had spoiled over by the break of following day, and the Authorities sent in the LAPDogs, who rounded up hundreds of Darger placards, day-drunkards, and enough blood and alcohol to fuel the Darger's war party for another 5 hour marathon of extended bloodsport when Wednesday's cocktail hour fighting broke out. The entire garrison was on the aggravated assault throughout the night, and they were able to beat back the hit-and-run attacks from the diamond-skinned reptile army but for the final late night raid that ended in loss.
Once again, the Dargers were done in by the futile ballistics efforts uniquely confined to the Sniper units. The once heralded hatchet man, Number 58, marshaled his first 3 charges of the skirmish with the elite coordination of a forged champion. Then, he lost electromagnetic control of his avoidance reaction, and his Distant Early Warning ( or DEW ) Line malfunctioned. Or something. Whatever it was- it seemed to have the same evaporating effect on the entire Rifle corps, as the arms depot was unable to hold, block, fend, or even keep at arm's length the parched, snake invaders. In the pitched battle for Chavez Ravine, who will take command and certainty of the battle mound in tonight's drive to rid Traffic Town of evil serpentine? L is for apparatus belli apertif!
