Sunday, March 13, 2011
At precisely eight o'clock this morning, David Boyer, the notorious Vincennes, Indiana plagiarist poured himself a cup of fresh coffee, put his tin foil hat on his head and turned the TV on as he sat down to compose a trial list of imaginary ailments to excuse his crimes. He was in the middle of descibing his baffling allergy to Doritos as a medically documented cause of wanton plagiary, when a TV news flash caught his attention.
The astounding announcement that Gort, the most famous alien policeman of all time, was coming to Vincennes, Indiana to deliver to him an ultimatum so terrified the prevaricating plagiarist that he literally crawled across his kitchen table to get a closer look at the picture. Fear squeezed Boyer's heart and slowed his pulse to near Yogi levels.
Dean Koontz, he thought. Somebody must have told him that I ripped off Dean Koontz. They love Dean Koontz. Gort will lock me up in an asteroid until I turn into a mummy.
With his still nicotine stained fingers, Boyer turned up the volume.
"So," the announcer was asking the giant alien policeman, "is it true that you're walking to deliver a message to David Boyer on the first of April?"
"Gort, Klatu, Barada, Nikto, Boyer," said Gort.
"Is that all you know how to say?" asked the announcer.
The TV screen flashed bright red like a ruby on fire, and when the eerie radiance faded the announcer had disappeared and the visor that looked like Gort's alien eyebrows pulsed with a palpable anger as though it were ready to shoot out another terrible disintegration ray.
"Gort, Klatu, Barada, Nikto, Boyer," Gort said again.
Somebody must have told him I ripped off Clive Barker, too, thought Boyer.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Gort, Klatu, Barada Boyer
YouTube viewers were held spellbound by the sight of history's most famous blind police alien- known affectionately as "Gort"- walking across Lake Michigan toward Vincennes, Indiana to deliver the notorious plagiarist David Boyer a message from the InterGalactic Council of Federated Planets.
Lady Gaga was heard to say, "Love that hat."
In fact, according to Dr. T. Foil, of the University of Vincennes, the hat serves a utilitarian function acting as a collecting transceiver to absorb the bright yellow rays emitted from his "tie" (perhaps a cleverly disguised alien device that our poor human minds only interpret as a tie) so that Gort's alien brain can interpret the signals and provide him with the coordinates of his position so he doesn't get lost.
"I don't go with that metaphor thing," said Dr. Foil. "Sure the great plagiarist is also known as 'Tin Foil Dave,' so it could be interpreted by people with a literature degree that its really symbolic of homage to Mr. Boyer, but that thing on Gort's head looks more as though it was either constructed from the residual matter scatter of an exploding supernova or shiny matter from a supercollider."
He paused, shoved a Q-Tip in his ear, and added, "Did you ever notice how often we scientists use the word super?"
A large crowd of reporters gathered on the shoreline to await Gort's arrival. The brisk wind of earlier morning had died down, but nervous tension filled the air. Imagine, we would be the first humans to pose questions to the great Gort.
"How do you suppose he does it?" a perky cub reporter asked me.
"Hovercraft shoes," I said. "Only way to walk on water. Got to use good batteries though."
"Not that," she laughed. "I mean how can he find his way across the galaxy when he's blind?"
It was a good point, of course. I'd worn blind-guy glasses in a bar once to pick up co-eds, but after the first hour of dark shades and tapping a cane to find my way around, I started believing I was blind, so I had to quit and pretend I was rich instead.
"I got a better question," I said.
That got her attention. She pulled a red curl back behind her ear and asked me what it was.
"Ever wonder what he's going to tell the plagiarist? Word is he's got a warning for Boyer."
"Do you know something that I don't?"
I knew I had her. She wasn't going to let me alone until told her what I knew.
The crowd was starting to get noisy. Gort was only twenty feet away from the shoreline, walking on water like he was born to, his dark sunglasses aiming straight at us.
The entire City Council of Vincennes, IN had driven up to be here to witness the last leg of the alien top cop's pilgrimage. They were carrying signs that read, "We don't know anyone named Boyer."
The redhead poked me in the ribs. "So what's Gort going to tell him?"
"Ask me in four weeks," I said.
"Why four weeks?"
"I'll tell you on April first."
And I'll tell the rest of you on April 1st, too.