In which Democracy is vindicated and our story concludes.
with PG Holyfield and Tee Morris
So we were trapped inside a Mexican restaurant, held captive by a vengeful Mayan God of Truck (truck horn playing La Cucaracha) or Thunder (booming thunder) depending on how you care to look at it.
PG — And you’ve sure got a lot of those. [NOTE: ? what does that mean?] Me, I’m a simple man. I tried to call the cops.
Not very sporting.
PG — Nope. But it is easy. Or at least I thought it was. Cellphones didn’t work. No bars. And the restaurant line.
(this phone has been disconnected message)
So we planned and plotted and generally put up with Finchy. Who was an idiot.
FINCHY — Maybe we could light the restaurant on fire! Then the fire department could come and rescue us.”
The bartender, up to this point our firmest friend and staunchest ally. “Miguel, mas por favor. Mas”(Blender noise) Gave Finchy a hard look and reached under the bar for something. I quickly reassured Miguel that Finchy was an idiot and we would allow no harm to come to the restaurant — or more importantly, the bar.
Finchy — “Well we can’t just wait here until the end of time.”
PG — Why not? It’s only 2012? I spent longer than that in college.
Patrick — Shut up Finchy, we’ve got to think.
And then the fates forced our hand. Miguel came over, and very politely told us that it was last call. Ultimo and that he must close in 20 minutes.
PG and I locked eyes. We knew what had to be done. There was no other way. We were outmatched by bloodthirsty mystic forces beyond our control. Maybe there was no honor here. After all, only survivors can wear medals.
PG — Yeah, and I never liked the guy. He cheated at golf.
But that’s not a sin is it?
PG — Yes. Yes it is.
Finchy, Finchy I said, we’ve taken a vote. And we’ve decided it’s time for you to go out there.
FINCHY – But, but that’s not fair, there’s two of you and only one of me!
Patrick — Well, it’s not a perfect system, but I think we’ve got a pretty good democracy.
PG — Works for me.
Patrick — so bottoms up, brave Finchy and out the door.
I’d like to say he agreed and faced his end like a hero.
(Sounds of us beating Finchy. Him sobbing and screaming like a little girl.)
But eventually, we dragged his unconscious body out into the parking lot.
PG — It was such a struggle, we didn’t notice that the Truck was no longer there.
Patrick — How stupid did we look? Standing in the middle of an empty Mexican Restaurant parking lot, with our friend bound in duct tape and gagged with a bar towel.
PG — I was beginning to think that we had made a mistake.
(Finchy wakes up and starts screaming through the gag.)
Patrick — And then the lightning flashed. And we saw the truck at the far end of the parking lot.
(Truck starts up. Shrieking of tires.)
PG — I ran.
Patrick — I fled in mortal terror. I was so afraid, I’m still not sure why I didn’t soil myself. In fact, I was so scared I’m not sure why my entrails weren’t trailing behind me like weather balloons.
PG — I just ran.
Patrick — but when we made it to the front door of the restaurant, it was locked. The bartender had turned on us.
PG — I usually takes until the morning after to realize the bartender isn’t your friend.
Patrick — In terror I turned back to the the truck. It accelerated towards Finchy without even a thought of slowing. I winced in anticipation of the crunching noise as the truck drove over him. But instead there was silence.
PG — Even though we didn’t hear it, the truck stopped.
Against our better judgment we walked over to see what had happened to Finchy.
PG — Flinchy
Flinchy. [realizes he has been fooled] What?
PG — Gotcha.
Finchy wasn’t on the ground any
PG — But then we saw him.
PG — We see Finchy being carried up the steps of the temple.
Patrick — the airbrushed temple on the side of the truck. He was in the mural. What a brush with eldrich magic.
PG — Eldrich? This had nothing to do with Fey magic.
It was a metaphor.
PG — it was weird.
Patrick — and then the truck was gone.
PG — The one in the mural?
PG — Yeah.
And the thunderstorm had vanished.
PG — It was over. We got in the car and went home.
Patrick — We thought it was over. But the guilt of what we had done was just starting to take root in the bitter place of our souls.
PG — Not really.
Patrick — You don’t feel bad.
PG — Nope.
Patrick — Well, I don’t feel that bad. I mean, it was us or him right? Forces beyond our control and everything, right?
PG — Yeah, maybe. I just didn’t like him.
Patrick — And that’s the story.
PG — yup. All true.
Patrick — And the truck is still out there somewhere. The Mexican Show truck of doom. Haunting the highways of the night.
PG — whatever.
( Theme music )