Dick Wiener Must Die: A Story Of Redemption

3. DOWNTOWN BROWN GOES TO TOILET TOWN

Duke Brown had really done it now.  The gurgling sound coming from the porcelain bowl confirmed it. Clogged. Again.

Worst of all, Duke hadn't clogged his own toilet, an industrial strength C.R.A.P. Trough 4000 from C.R.A.P. Management, Inc. and the finest toilet available for residential use. No, he'd clogged up the old Porcelain Express Low Flow in the Buttford, New Jersey, apartment of his girlfriend, Madge.

Madge Mongo was her full name. She was neither friendly nor attractive, but Duke was drawn to her strongly for reasons even he couldn't understand, perhaps supernatural. Her usual scent was that of bile and Marlboro Lights. Her usual temperament was that of a frothing, arena bull pushed to gore a helpless matador.

Madge Mongo had warned Duke Brown not to clog that toilet again, but Duke, a voracious foodie, had given into temptation and consumed a two-by-four block of cheddar cheese the night before. The resulting carnage had rendered Madge Mongo's only Porcelain Express inoperable and had rendered her apartment a figurative "exclusion zone," the term used by scientists to describe a nuclear fallout area.

Confined in the small apartment, Duke was panicking, and when Duke panicked, he sweated, and when he sweated, he built up B.O. Due to a genetic defect, he excreted B.O. at an almost inhuman rate when under stress. If Duke didn't control his excretions, in thirty minutes' time he'd look like he'd been living in a landfill for the last month, and he'd smell worse.

"Think, Duke. Think!" he said to himself. He had time, he realized.

It was eight thirty in the morning. Madge wouldn't be home from work until five in the evening. Maybe he could replace the toilet with an identical model and Madge wouldn't notice. It was worth a shot.

Duke hastily wiped his anus, pulled up his pants and called in sick to work. Then he grabbed his keys and sprinted down the stairs from the fourth floor apartment to his waiting 1997 Jeep Wrangler 4x4 parked on the curb outside Madge's apartment. A few seconds later, Duke peeled out, leaving skid marks on the pavement as big as the ones in his underpants.

One problem. Rush hour traffic. A living hell for Duke Brown whose purple Jeep Wrangler was quickly snarled in it.

"Dag nabbit!" said Duke as he punched the dashboard of his Jeep.

Soon Duke realized this was no ordinary rush hour traffic. Over the roof of the SUV in front of him, he could see what looked like small children and elderly people hurtling through the air. He heard a loud crash and then an equally voluminous boom. Then, he saw smoke billowing into the sky just ahead. Soon, sirens were wailing all around.

After ten minutes of sitting still, an impatient Duke Brown decided to get out of his car and see what all the fuss was about.

When he arrived at the scene of the accident, after walking past dozens of rows of stationary cars and trucks containing very frustrated motorists, Duke saw the horror of the Dick Wiener-caused pileup. Duke wasn't one for bystanding, so he trotted straight into the scene of the carnage. To his right, he quickly recognized the worst of the accident was inside the smoldering wreckage of the old-folks home. He charged recklessly inside, but thick smoke and dust clouded his vision. Duke could feel the deadly heat of the flames nearby, but he could not see them as he stumbled in opaque darkness, feeling around blindly in the hope he might find a survivor before he incinerated himself, but he could find nothing. Soon, the air became too thick with choking, toxic smoke.

He started coughing uncontrollably, violently. He was gasping for breath. His eyes burned. He was panicking again. Sweat dripped down his face. I can't die in an old-folks home, Duke thought to himself, but there was no way out of this black, suffocating vortex of death. Duke cursed himself for his recklessness. Then, out of the darkness, like a guardian angel, came the voice of Pat Sajak.

"The category is... Around the House," said Sajak's disembodied voice.

Duke, dizzy from lack of oxygen, followed the sounds of Sajak, entranced by their melodic tones.

Seconds felt like hours as Duke Brown, his eyes watering, crawled on his hands and knees through the ash and soot. Finally, he saw the light— and crashed headfirst into it. He had collided with a TV screen. Duke Brown was now face-to-face with Pat Sajak and covered in hideous smelling B.O.

"R-S-T-L-N-E," said Sajak.

Duke pushed the TV aside and emerged from a thick cloud of smoke into what looked like an apartment. He heard a muffled groan. It was coming from inside a mangled Chrysler station wagon overturned and smashed halfway through the wall on the far side. He wasted no time scurrying to the wrecked machine and ripping open the door to find a disheveled, tweed-ensconced academic type soaked in blood and motor oil pinned under the driver's seat. Didn't see that one coming, thought Duke, as he stared at the unconscious body of Professor Wesley Waxworks.

Duke then noticed the station wagon was rapidly becoming engulfed in flames. Its wood paneling was serving as tinder to the expanding blaze. In another moment, the entire vehicle would burn like a forest fire.

"Oh no, the wood," exclaimed Duke.

He quickly hunched down and grabbed Professor Wesley Waxworks under the armpits, pulling as hard as he could on the old man's dead weight. He heard a loud fart explode out of Waxworks' trousers, but he kept pulling. Duke freed Waxworks from the wreckage just as flames consumed the Chrysler.

Duke was dragging the professor across the oil-soaked pavement when Wesley Waxworks regained consciousness and muttered something Duke didn't catch.

"Stay calm, I'm dragging you to safety," said Duke.

The professor seemed distressed. He contorted his facial muscles in disgust, as if he had just smelled his own anus. He started coughing and gagging as Duke gently placed his battered body on the sidewalk. The coughing and gagging went on for some time until the professor finally got himself under control and sighed deeply. Then, suddenly, he seemed to relax.

"You'll be okay now," said Duke. "My name's Duke Brown, but my friends call me 'Downtown Brown.'"

Downtown Brown reached out his hand. The professor hesitated, flaring his nostrils at the stank, but soon realized he had no choice. He shook the grimy, dirt-blackened appendage and winced.

"Professor Wesley Waxworks. Physics department. Johns Crotchkins University," he muttered. "I fear if I don't retire to a toilet post-haste, I'll surely crap my pants."

Toilet? You and me both, thought Downtown Brown.

"You're in luck, professor. I'm on my way to Toilet Town," said Downtown Brown as he shook the ashes from his sweaty hair. "I've gotta buy a new toilet by five o'clock today or Madge Mongo is gonna go ballistic. And that would be bad," he added.

Professor Waxworks rubbed his temples as he sat up on the sidewalk. "Madge... Mongo? What the devil--"

"It's a long story professor. Just get in the Jeep. I'll explain on the way," said Downtown Brown, grabbing the professor under the armpits again and dragging him farther down the sidewalk. Professor Waxworks was astonished at the young man's physical strength as he pulled him effortlessly along the long line of traffic adjacent to the crash.

"But I meant a toilet at someplace more akin to a hospit—" the professor began.

Professor Waxworks was cut off mid sentence as Downtown Brown grasped him under his left haunch and hoisted him into the passenger seat of the Jeep Wrangler. In the process of lifting, Downtown Brown's shirt had been pulled up above his armpit. Waxworks immediately let out a tremendous bellow of agony. "What on Earth is that vile smell?!" screamed the professor.

"I have a condition," said Downtown Brown sheepishly as he climbed into the driver's seat and pulled his shirt down. "I have B.O."

Downtown Brown shifted the Jeep into gear and said, "Don't worry, professor, we'll get you to a toilet," as the ominous sound of gurgling bowels pierced the dewy morning air. The professor's anus was ready to blow.

[End of free preview.]

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