The Day of the Anvil

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Chapter 3

April 1, 2001, 11:15pm

"I don’t believe this is happening!" Guru Al said. "It’s kind of like that episode of Star Trek, when Captain Kirk had to fight Dr Spock to the death when Spock was horny and looking for a mate . . ."

"I don’t think I recall . . ." Igor said.

"But now, it’s me fighting Gamblor – fortunately not to the death – but if I lose this Buddy gets my soul, Gamblor’s body and soul and also A.F.O.C.’s soul."

"High stakes." Igor said.

"Yeah, and if I win . . ." Guru Al paused. "Hey Buddy! What do I get if I win?"

Gamblor turned to him. "You get to keep you soul and so does this vessel and the Coyote man." Buddy answered.

"What?! Is that all?" Guru Al spat. "How about if I win, you remain as my servant in the netherworld?"

Gamblor scratched his chin. "This seems fair . . . Ok, what the hay!" the spirit said in it’s cheerful American accent.

Guru Al stood in one corner of the brightly lit, red and blue boxing ring. He was armed with a small, hand garden shovel in one hand a thick piece of wood in the other. He wore two garbage can lids, one on his chest and one on his back, a piece of rope attaching the two over his shoulders. He sat in a chair in his corner, the blue one. Behind him stood Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote, Gorf, Kitty, Igor and NTM, hanging through the ropes of the ring, insistently offering him drinks of water. NTM massaged his shoulders roughly. "Are you pumped man, you ready to roll?"

"No…" Guru Al muttered weakly.

Gamblor was on the opposing side, his eyes gleaming. He was clad in a neat black and white suit and armed with a pitchfork and a small red electric guitar. A shield of electricity surrounded his body. Behind him stood a team of three deceased celebrities, including Curly from the Three Stooges, Stanley Kubrik and Sherry Lewis, the puppeteer behind that loveable sock, Lambchops.

The ring was in the centre of the yFalminican City Entertainment complex, the crowd approximately fifteen thousand in number, hollered wildly.

"Why do I have to be the one doing this?" Guru Al wailed, glaring at Sherry Lewis. "I am sick of waiting. Let’s just get this over with!" He surveyed the crowd, finding that many people held signs which had such suggestions written on them as "Skewer Al" and "Death to the Guru". Igor held the water bottle out to him. "And no more water!" Al screamed. "Do you want me to get bloat?!?"

"I think it is a really great thing you are doing for Coyote, Al," Kitty praised the Guru. "I know he values you as a very close friend, and I am sure he will be forever grateful!"

Al nodded, not entirely convinced.

"Boy is this going to be good to watch!" NTM said

"Hey! I could get seriously injured. My soul could be taken!"

"Oh please! We have been in worse situations than this I think!" Nine Turning Mirrors remarked.

"Igor! You take my place!" Al suggested. "Oh please, marvellous strong Igor!" Al said, stroking the woman’s muscular arm as she leaned in between the ropes.

"Get real. I like my soul where it is!" Igor spat. "How ‘bout some water?" Al pushed the proffered bottle aside and stood.

Al whimpered to himself as I stood between the two combatants, a microphone dropping from the ceiling. "Welcome!" I said, my voice echoing throughout the complex. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen . . . ladies and gentlemen . . . to the fight. . . the fight . . . . fight . . . of the century . . . the century . . . century!" The crowd burst into a mad roar. "Ok, the rules . . . rules . . . are as follows . . . as follows. The fight is over . . . over . . ." I paused. "Hey could someone get this sound system working, this echo is really pissing me off!" I received little assistance and signalled for the microphone to be raised back up. Instead I shouted to the crowd. "The fight is over when one of the opponents capitulates. Time is allowed by each side to re-evaluate tactics. This must be done in less than three minutes and there must be no more than two breaks every ten minutes. No supernatural powers may be used in the fight . . ."

"Darn!" Buddy said, the electricity that spun around him fading.

I waited for the crowd to fall into silence again. "In the red corner, we have the yFalminican senator, the vessel of Gamblor, weighing 148 pounds, currently possessed by Buddy!" The audience bellowed in response. Gamblor stood and shook his fists in the air. I marked the arrogance of the gesture and thought how much that was like the real Gamblor. "In the blue corner we have the vice President General of yFalminica, weighing 174 pounds, great leader of the Baptist church . . ."

"It’s the Divine Church of Fred Basset, you heathen!" Guru Al screamed at me.

"… Guru Al!" The crowd let out a short, lazy burst, before quickly settling, and then erupting into a storm of cheers when I said, "Ok, let’s get this show on the road!" I signalled for the two competitors to approach each other.

Guru Al tentatively stepped toward his opponent, garden shovel held straight out to hinder a frontal attack. He clutched the piece of wood above his head menacingly, his arm trembling with fear.

Gamblor held his ground for a few moments before he lunged forward at Al with the pitchfork. Guru Al dodged the prod of the fork and swung his stick around at Gamblor’s head, narrowly missing. "Argh!" Buddy screamed from within, immediately striking with the pitchfork, wounding Al’s thigh.

"Arr–eeeeeee!" Al shrieked in pain, swinging the wood around so that it struck the front of Gamblor’s neck and he began gasping.

While the vessel was impaired, Guru Al poked him with the shovel and repeatedly belted Gamblor’s torso. Gamblor struggled to breathe, crumpling to the ground under Al’s frenzied blows.

"Aha! Take that, and that! And this is for eating my lunch!" Al yelled. Gamblor floundered on the ground and in desperation, unsure of where his aim was placed, Buddy brought the electric guitar around quickly so that it hit the back of Guru Al’s legs with tremendous speed and he fell over backwards. "Argh!" Guru Al yelled as he hit the ground, instantly falling beneath a barrage of relentless hits with the guitar and jabs with the pitchfork.

Just as Guru Al’s arm was stabbed with the prongs of the fork, NTM piped up. "Time out!" he yelled. I looked at him as he ran out onto the battlefield.

"Err… stop the battle!" I yelled as Nine Turning Mirrors reached Guru Al.

The vessel, aka Gamblor, ceased his bombardment and returned to his side, and entered into immediate counselling with his comrades. Igor, Gorf, Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote and NTM crowded around Guru Al, holding him up as he struggled to sit.

"I have an idea." Nine Turning Mirrors said. "We ask for one of us to go in as a substitute for you, and we allow the other team to also bring in a substitute."

"Sounds good to me." Guru Al whined in a high-pitched, deranged voice. "But first, when shall we tell them about Scruffy? Let’s just say he went to a nice farm!"

"Ah, yeah sure." Igor agreed uneasily. "We’ll do that later. I will go in as your substitute!"

Guru Al showed his obvious approval by vomiting on his garbage can lid. "How very noble of you!" Gorf said, pride twinkling in his eyes. "I am thure that Guru Al will alwayth apprethiate this motht gallant gethture, Igor!"

"Sure, whatever Lispy…" Igor said, pushing Gorf out of the way. "Let’s fight!"

"Cemented park dish generation day." AFOC shouted.

"Ah, Mr. Loco . . ." NTM began. "We announce our proposal to send in a substitute for the fight."

"Yes?" I asked, already having overheard their conversation.

"Me!" Igor shouted proudly.

"Very well, would the opposition like to nominate a substitute?" I inquired.

Gamblor nodded, conferred with the other team members and eventually, Curly stepped forward.

"Come on then, big boy!" Igor exclaimed, clenching her teeth and snarling wildly. Curly approached her, baring his teeth and glaring menacingly. "Show me what you’ve got."

Curly came to within two metres of Igor, and she confidently and swiftly stepped forward and brought her leg high into the air, affecting a powerful kick, that missed its target of Curly’s head as he ducked. He quickly jumped up and tweeked Igor’s nose, and whooped wildly in a Three Stooges-like way. "Whoo-woop woop woop woop!"

"Stay still so I can beat you." Igor growled.

The fight continued like this, a few kicks and punches meeting their intended targets, but mostly it was a display of rapid misses and nose tweeking. It was a dreadful slapstick demonstration, with little gain for either side, although deliciously funny to the audience.

"Time!" Gorf yelled. "Time, I thay!" he cried, running between the opponents and having his head beaten with a small stool, which Curly swung around. The crowd laughed in appreciation. "Ow!" Gorf wailed. "I think he dented my head!" Kitty ran to aid her husband, cradling his bruised head in her lap.

"Why did you call time?" Igor asked. I approached and posed the same question.

"Thith ith going nowhere!" Gorf spluttered, standing. "I propothe a fight between mythelf and Sherry Lewith!" Gorf lisped, glowering in the deceased puppeteer’s general direction.

Sherry glanced up at Gorf shyly and lifted her hand, exposing a small, white woollen sock with eyes glued on to it. The woman suddenly adopted a childlike voice and began to speak through the hand puppet, displaying excellent skills of ventriloquism.

"Ok, Mr. You want to mess with Lambchops?!"

Gorf glared at Lewis’ hand.

It is at this point that I plead with you to allow me the most obscene and deliberate form of poetic licence. I have knowledge of the following scene and I would like to present it in the form of a flashback, being aware that as Gorf stared at Sherry Lewis, he was thinking of a time, many years ago…

Mist swirled through Gorf’s mind and a graphic and all too real image in his head was generated by the sight of Sherry Lewis. It was Tiennaman Square, Beijing, 1988. Gorf could see those tanks now, bearing down menacingly on the students as they protested.

Gorf waved at the oncoming tank, screaming out lisped abuse. He ran through the frantic crowd of students, waving their banners.

"You Commie bathtardth!" Gorf yelled, noticing that a particular tank had been focusing its advance on him. It came ever closer, yet Gorf stood his ground, refusing to move. The tank gradually slowed and came to a complete stop just three metres in front of Gorf. Then, when he least expected it, the tank took off again and caught him in its path. His body crumpled beneath the tracks of the tank and was twisted in all kinds of horrific and unnatural ways. When the tank had rolled over Gorf, it headed for more students, but as it did, the small head of a white sock puppet popped up from within the tank. It looked back at Gorf’s twisted wreck of a body.

"I told you I would get you!" Lambchops screamed menacingly.

Gorf groaned, in agony, blood seeping from all possible places, from orifices he had previously not known to exist. He was sure that he didn’t have a pelvis anymore. He struggled to crawl to safety, muttering his hatred of Lambchops. . .

"Up you get now, Gorfy." Igor said encouragingly, holding her hand out to Gorf, who lay twitching on the ground.

"La-lamb ch-chop…" he stuttered. "The tankth!"

"Yeah, alright, we understand." Guru Al said supportively. He briskly turned to Igor as Running-Creek-Drowns-Kittens assisted Gorf in climbing through the ropes on the side of the boxing ring. "What the hell is that all about?"

"I don’t know, but it was a bit of an anticlimax. I was expecting a really heated battle. I guess someone else will have to kick Sherry Lewis’ arse now."

"Ooh, give me a try!" Nine Turning Mirrors squealed.

"Mint cloud swishy problem duck!" Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote exclaimed.

"What’s that old man?" NTM inquired.

"Lint seed effluent dandruff!" Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote pointed to himself and indicated Stanley Kubrik.

"I think he wants to have a go." Al interpreted.

"You think you can take Kubrik?" Igor asked.

AFOC smiled confidently, grinning enigmatically. "Massage pizza soap Kevin Bacon."

"OK, are we ready to go people?" I asked, approaching Coyote’s team.

"AFOC says he wants to fight Stanley Kubrik." Guru Al said.

"Oh, well go ahead then. We have had two breaks close together, so there can’t be another one for seven minutes."

"Good!" NTM cried. "AFOC, do you think you can kick Kubrik’s arse in seven minutes?" Coyote smiled slyly, flexed his muscles.

Igor smiled approvingly at his biceps. "Get out there big boy and make us proud! Do you want some water?" she added as he climbed through the ropes.

Guru Al, Nine Turning Mirrors and Igor stood beside the ring, cheering as Coyote stood face to face with Stanley Kubrik. Meanwhile, as Kitty stroked his head, Gorf’s mind swirled.

It was Cairo, 1974. Gorf had been one of the chief archaeologists at an important dig, excavating a shrine of the Egyptian god Anubis.

The small brush carefully flicked away at the sand and dirt surrounding a small stone sculpture of the Jackal Anubis. Gorf eyed the artefact with curiosity. "Bathalt, eight thouthand yearth old I would thay." He uttered, looking to his darkly tanned German assistant. "What would you thay, Benny?"

"Yes sir, is yes like Anubis much oldness has." Benny ejaculated in his Bavarian accent. "I think it is much like the mustard of the times sir."

Gorf nodded curtly, unsure of what the hell Benny was talking about. He carefully placed the ornament on a piece of cloth beside him. "I shall be known world wide for thith dig, Benny." Gorf declared proudly.

"Not on my shift!" a small voice said from behind. Gorf spun around to find Lambchops, incidentally on the hand of Sherry Lewis. "This is my dig now, Lispy!" Sherry Lewis was seated rather comfortably in a silk-cushioned litter, carried by four particularly muscular Arab men. Both her and Lambchops wore veils over their faces.

"But… " Gorf stuttered. "I have authority here! What are you doing on my excavation thite. Thith ith my thite! And I would athk you to kindly leave." Gorf huffed indignantly. "You have no right to be here."

"Wrong, boyo!" Lambchops spat. "The museum wants you to go look at some Mayan temple in South America. I am in charge now!"

"Wh-what?!" Gorf stumbled over his words. "B-but, I have been here for a year."

"Well that’s the way the cookie crumbles!" Lambchops said and thereupon began cackling wildly.

Gorf seethed with anger, the dust blowing wildly around him, the sinking Egyptian sun highlighting his frame as he turned around and began to walk slowly away from his dig.

"And that is a massive hit for Coyote!" I called out enthusiastically. "We only have three minutes left before Stanley Kubrik has the right to call time out."

"Dodge him, Kubrik!" Buddy yelled. "Just hold out for now, and then we will be able to have a break.

Coyote pranced around Stanley Kubrik, the deceased director’s face battered badly. "Glue bone wishlist gramaphone ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’" Coyote spat, swinging a brutal punch into Kubrik’s chest, and then following it with a hit to the stomach and then another to the head. Kubrik collapsed.

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5," I counted, Stanley Kubrik struggled to get up, his legs slipping from beneath him. "6, 7, 8, 9 . . ." Amazingly the director stood. I signalled for the fight to continue.

Coyote delivered an instant, powerful blow to Kubrik’s head, once again the director fell. "And that’s for ‘Eye’s Wide Shut’!" Coyote screamed as I reached the count of ten.

"AFOC! You make sense!" Guru Al called, slapping his companion on the back.

"Oh my God! This is weird! I can say things now and people understand!" the young champion of the ring enthused. Igor threw her arms around him and gave him a rather passionate kiss.

"Steady on there!" Gamblor said, joining his friends once more.

"Bastard!" NTM screamed, beating Gamblor over the head with a broom.

"Hey! It’s me! I am not possessed anymore!" Gamblor squealed.

"Well, just as well!" Guru Al yelled. "That doesn’t excuse you for eating my lunch."

As Kitty hugged her brother a short, skinny man with short, curly, dark brown hair approached the celebrating party. He was neatly dressed in a black suit and had a red electric guitar slung over his shoulder. "Well you won, so Coyote you may have your untortured soul back."

"Who are you?" Coyote asked.

"I am Buddy, I was the one who made all those anvils fall on your head, remember?"

"Buddy Holly?" Igor inquired, astonished.

"Yeah that’s right. Well I have to return to the fourth circle of Hell, and take these guys back with me."

"OK man, catch ya later." Coyote said. "Just don’t do that possessing thing again, it kind of hurt with the anvils and all."

"Yeah sure, no problem." Buddy Holly thereupon made an about-turn and walked off toward Stanley Kubrik, Curly and Sherry Lewis, who was currently warding off a bitter attack from Gorf.

"I will kill you!" Gorf screamed, pulling on the sock puppet. "Lambchopth, you will rue the day you ever crothed me!"

"Oy, Gorf, let it go, she is going to hell anyway, we have to go eat!" Gamblor yelled. Gorf reluctantly released the puppet and he, Kitty Coyote, Gamblor, Guru Al, Igor, Nine Turning Mirrors and I left the Entertainment Complex.

"You know what?" Gamblor said. "I think it’s time to rock Chile’s world again. We haven’t had noise complaints from them for ages!"

"Yeah, rock on!" NTM yelled.

A giant party ensued, featuring some of the loudest and most head-pounding music I have ever heard. As mentioned before, forty people went missing at the party, and Chile did make a noise complaint. A drunken session was held in NTM’s office, in which he, Gamblor and Guru Al messed around with legislation.

Everyone generally celebrated wildly, especially Coyote.

And then?

Well from then on Coyote went by that name only and the reference to the anvil was dismissed. He makes sense now; absolute, astounding sense. He has proven to be a rather remarkably intelligent man. His life hasn’t changed that much. He still is a man of few words.

I returned to my more mundane activities, including mixing up a potion to increase Gamblor Silk’s ‘staying power’. I was greatly satisfied at having aided Coyote so successfully, even though it took a great many years.

It had been the day that Coyote found his freedom, when he was freed from the spirits that tormented him. It was his day, the day of the Anvil.

The rest… well that’s about all that has happened up till now…

April 30, 2001

"I will be back later, sweetheart!" Kitty said affectionately, kissing Gorf on the cheek.

Gorf pouted, returning the kiss with added passion. "Have fun thopping honey! I will mith you!"

"And I will mith, I mean miss, you my darling! I won’t be long. You just have a relaxing afternoon and I might bring you back a surprise.

Kitty departed, and Gorf nibbled daintily on a grape. He sank back into his chair, absorbed completely within the comfort that the soft upholstery offered. He lazily reached for the remote control on the table beside him and switched on the stereo. As the time progressed he sank further into relaxation, the melodies of the Backstreet Boys lilting through his aural passages (as much as the music of the Backstreet Boys could lilt). He held his eyes shut, murmuring as he approached sleep. "Kitty… oh my Kitty." he said softly.

Only a few minutes passed as he dozed peacefully, unaware of the door quietly opening. "You thee, you thee the good I do," Gorf mumbled in his slumber. "I am brave too, Kitty…" He continued his siesta, oblivious to the movement within his lougeroom. Something stirred between his grand piano and the bookcase on the wall. Gorf napped quietly until the invading presence carelessly knocked over a vase of tulips, the ornament smashing on the floor, awaking the slumbering thespian.

Gorf shot out of his chair with a start. "What?!" He surveyed the room and at first saw nothing. He marked the shattered vase on the floor, but could see no cause of the incident. "Who ith there?"

Suddenly a small figure flew at him, brandishing a knife. He was knocked to the floor. On his chest sat Lambchops, holding the knife with sheer menace. "I’m back!" the puppet screamed. "And this time I want revenge!"

"No!!!" Gorf screamed as he was impaled approximately four times with the sharp implement and smashed over the head with a bulky music box.

When he came to, Gorf cringed with pain. This whole immortality thing had its downside. He groggily stood and scanned the room. He saw no sign of the puppet in the dim interior. Gorf slowly grabbed at the small lamp on the table beside the chair, brandishing it with fear. He touched the base and the lamp turned on, lighting the room.

"Heaventh to Murgatroid!" Gorf exclaimed. The walls were smeared with his own blood it seemed. And with it was written this:

"The day of the Reds shall come. The Communists shall again have power!"

"I mutht tell the otherth!" Gorf screamed, running from his house. "The Commieth!" he screamed. "They are coming!"

STAY TUNED!!

Back to the Anvil Index             Go to Chapter:  1  2

27/08/2000 18:13