Stephen Randel - Trail of the Chupacabra

Back in his office, Avery packed his roller bag, fanny pack, and ice chest for the upcoming journey. He wanted to be sure he wouldn’t run out of Mountain Dew. More importantly, he hoped he would have sufficient time on the trip to continue his critical correspondence. He’d been quite aggravated lately, even more than usual. His “hit list” of targets destined to receive a rambling, scathing petition was at an all-time high. He was hot. It made his blood boil. He needed to get a few letters sent off immediately, before STRAC-BOM arrived, in order to cool down. If nothing else, Avery was persistent, kind of like a bad rash. He wanted to start his epic road trip feeling good about himself, and the best way for Avery to feel better about himself was to annoy someone else. He figured he’d be up all night anyway. So he typed away.

To: Subscription Department

Wicked Gamer Illustrated

Dear Whoever,

I’m writing you today to kindly ask you to politely, comfortably, and conveniently bend over and stick your head up your ass. I’ve been a loyal subscriber to your somewhat entertaining, mildly informative, but mostly advertising-ridden rag for over twenty years. I was probably your first customer. I remember when I used to have to walk thirteen blocks to a rundown smoke shop to buy your periodical before you actually started mailing it out. I remember when your crappy magazine came with rusty staples and warped pages. I remember when it came with full-color advertisements for dehydrated Sea Monkeys on the back pages. Trust me, I’ve ordered them. Horrible pets. No sense of obedience. Taste horrible. Anyway, I’VE PAID MY SUBSCRIPTION! But, given your recent correspondence, you apparently don’t know that. Why do you insist on bombarding my mailbox with countless renewal letters marked URGENT — THIS IS YOUR LAST ISSUE? Really? Seriously? At the bottom of your last letter, or, more precisely, your latest threat, it clearly states that my subscription runs until February of next year. Why would I renew now? Are you financially insolvent? If so, what’s the point? If you go bankrupt, will my subscription be transferred to another magazine? Newsweek , maybe? Good God, I hope not. Their coverage of first-person shooters (FPS) and role-playing games (RPG) is pathetic. And no, I don’t want to buy a gift subscription! Who am I going to give it to? Some anonymous kid in Tokyo with a pithy Internet handle who shot me in the back of the head after a marathon twelve-hour online session? The little jackass! And another thing that pisses me off, why the hell does the issue that shows up in my mailbox in August state very clearly on the front of the magazine that it’s your October issue? Naturally, I assume as the writers of a video game magazine you smoke a lot of pot, but it’s supposed to slow you down, not speed you up. At least, that’s what I’m told. I eagerly await your next edition.

P.S. — Please bring back the Sea Monkeys.

In the desert, a pack moved. But it didn’t move in unison. Some animals strayed behind, yipping and dancing in the moonlight. Some fanned out to the side, sniffing the night air. But always, no matter where they were, they all paid attention to the large beast at the front of the pack. He was hungry. His stride was long and purposeful. He owned the pack. One look from him, and the others would cower and then obediently follow.

The big animal paused in the dry sand. He raised his muzzle and smelled the air. Others behind him began to stir and whine. One growl from him, and they stopped. He looked back at his pack. He was the alpha. They wouldn’t move if he didn’t want them to. The big animal loped off into the distant moonlight. He covered the ground effortlessly with his long stride. When he disappeared from view, the rest of the pack paced back and forth anxiously.

Soon he returned. In his jaws was the carcass of an animal. Domesticated. It was weak and nearly dead, but not totally dead. It would serve the pack well. The big animal stood guard as his pack ate. The goat died quickly. His pack was sated. As the clouds parted and the moon peeked through, he howled.

“A goddamn school bus!” the General screamed as he pounded the steering wheel of the bus cruising along the road toward Austin. “Yellow? Are you completely insane, Fire Team Leader Charlie? What were you thinking?”

“It’s big.” The Fire Team Leader ducked his head.

“It’s cowardly yellow!”

“It fits all the men. It was all we could find.”

“It stands out like an oil derrick on a putting green!”

“It’s asymmetrical counter-camouflage, sir,” Fire Team Leader Charlie replied. “It kind of mingles in, you know? General, have you ever seen a school bus get a parking ticket?” The Team Leader winked at Private Zulu.

“Are you trying to make a point?” the General asked.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Then what is it?’

“No one will notice us.”

“Unless they notice we’re not kids,” Fire Team Leader Bravo chimed in.

“Yeah, we should get some kids!” Private Foxtrot added enthusiastically. The bus went silent.

“Idiot,” the General mumbled. “How far are we from Austin?”

“About thirty miles, General,” replied Fire Team Leader Alpha.

“General,” Private Tango said. “I need to eat something.”

“Break open some rations.”

“We didn’t bring any.” The shy private ducked his head.

“What? No rations! We’re going on an invasion. No rations…what the…why we’ll never…goddammit!” The General slammed down on the brakes. The long bus snaked back and forth on the highway before pulling over to the side of the road. “You jackasses!” he screamed as his pudgy face turned even redder than normal. “No rations?”

“We’re broke,” Fire Team Leader Alpha said as he picked his nose.

“Bust ass,” Private Foxtrot added.

“We’re so broke, the bank asked for their calendar back,” Private Zulu chimed in, picking his nose as well.

“If we even had paper plates, we’d have to wash them,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said.

“We’re not broke, men,” the General said, encouraging his men, “just severely bent. But not for long, mind you. Paying customers live just that way.” The General pointed down the road toward Austin. “And all the lost gold of Mexico!”

“Lost gold?” Private Foxtrot asked.

“Of course.”

“Who lost it?” Fire Team Leader Bravo inquired.

“Probably some Mexicans.” The General put the bus back in gear and prepared to pull back on the road. “They tend to misplace things — identification documents, peace treaties, precious metals. Private Tango, reach inside my rucksack and grab that book.”

“This one, sir?” Private Tango held up a dog-eared copy of The Complete Moron’s Guide to Lost Gold of the Americas .

“Exactly. It’s got a whole chapter on Mexico. Whatever we find, we keep. Now settle down, men — we’ll be in Austin in no time.” The General pulled back onto the road, narrowly missing a passing semi with its air horn blaring.

To: International Astronomical Union

Paris, France

Dear Complaint Department:

Something has annoyed me for quite some time, and I need to get it off my chest. Why in the hell did your organization downgrade Pluto from a planet to a dwarf planet? Dwarf planet? Seriously? I’m very pissed off, and, as the owner of my own astronomical object, which I’m sure you’re aware of, I know a lot about this stuff. I’ve reread your new definition for planets in our solar system several times. Pluto does orbit the sun! Pluto does have significant mass to achieve a round shape! The only thing that could possibly disqualify the poor rocky ice ball is that it doesn’t dominate the neighborhood around its orbit. I understand that its largest moon, Charon, is basically half the size of Pluto, but come on. It seems to me that you’re simply discriminating against a planet because one of its moons has a fat ass. That’s just cruel. There’s no room in science for bullies. Carl Sagan would be ashamed of you. And what does dominating its orbit have to do with anything, anyway? Rhode Island doesn’t dominate its surrounding area. We don’t just rename it Eastern Connecticut or classify it as a dwarf state, do we? Come to think of it, Connecticut doesn’t exactly dominate its neighborhood, either. New York could kick the crap out of both Rhode Island and Connecticut with Long Island tied behind its back. Plus, I spent an inordinate amount of time in grade school memorizing the order of the planets. What a waste of time now. You’ve even ruined my superbly fabulous planetary mnemonic for reciting their sequence. My Vicious Evil Monster Jumped Sally Underneath the Neighbors’ Porch. Get it? Mercury, Venus, Earth, etc. Without Pluto, it just doesn’t make sense anymore. Neighbors’ what? It could be anything. It’s so frustrating. I just don’t know why you did this to Pluto. Is this some kind of anti-American thing? Clyde Tombaugh, who discovered Pluto in 1930, was an American. In fact, he was the only American to ever discover a planet in our solar system. Now we’ve got no one on the scoreboard. I’ve noticed the International Astronomical Union is headquartered in Paris, France. Is this a jealousy thing? Does this have anything to do with the recent lack of success of French cyclists in the Tour de France, not to mention the whole Lance Armstrong thing? There’s no room in science for bigotry. Speaking of which: What the hell is up with the label dwarf planet, anyway? Shouldn’t it be “little person” planet? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of complaints from the vertically challenged over that one. Get with the program, you cheese-eating French xenophobes. And why you decided to pick on Pluto in the first place is beyond me. Pluto, or Hades, as he is known in some circles, is the ruler of the underworld. Not someone to take lightly, and definitely not someone to piss off. Just keep this in mind: Pluto resembles a large asteroid composed of rock and ice. What happens when asteroids get ticked off? They smash into things! I have enough on my plate already. I don’t have time for the President to summon me to the White House in order to meet with his advisors and mastermind a brilliant last-minute strategy to save the earth from a rogue dwarf planet — sorry, I meant a rogue “little person” planet — hell bent on crashing into the Earth and unleashing a new ice age just because you don’t think it deserves to be considered a planet anymore!