Political Humor |

This week Madam Trivia, Elm shakes up our on-line political satire novel.

Chapter 6  Welcome to the Tundra

I stared at my dirt bike- the first gasoline powered vehicle I had sat on in years. Gasoline was now like money, no, like gold. If you had a few gallons of gas you would be set for years to come. Since the dollar is essentially useless, bartering is the only way to go. And you can get just about anything you want with gas.

After a moment I revved-up the motor, thankful for that blessed sound. Rushing down this trash-ridden road with a mysterious stranger, could this day get any better?

We drove south for what must have been an hour. It was daylight now, and I had an easier time avoiding the garbage. At least the trash told me that I was on a road. All the concrete and potholes were completely covered by snow.

My stranger suddenly braked and I pulled up beside her. “What’s wrong?” I yelled over the bikes’ motors.

“I see a tree blocking the road up ahead,” she replied. “We’ll have to turn around. I know another way we can go.”

I smirked as irresistibly as I could and said, “No need for that. That’s not much of a tree, more like a few branches. I can have them off the road in no time.”

We slowly rode closer to the blockade of branches and cut off the motors. “You want me to help?” she volunteered.

“Oh, no,” I said, “I do this kind of stuff all the time.” What a liar I am sometimes. The last time I tried to move my bed I pulled a muscle in my back. And those branches looked like a hotel full of furniture to me.

With all the masculinity I could muster, I started to drag those heavy logs across the road. Under my breath I began cursing myself for being the vain guy I turned out to be. Worst of all, even in this icy world where man and woman often fight to the death for rancid table scraps, I couldn’t bring myself to ask that young woman for help. I wanted to show her what a real man would do back when life didn’t suck so much. When a woman needed help, the guy would rescue her.

I tried to make casual conversation since we were not being distracted by people trying to kill us. “So, you, um, never did tell me your name.”

“Do you need to know so badly?” she asked in an irritated voice.

“No, but it would be nice to know the name of the last person I may ever see, alive that is.”

She seemed to soften a bit as she stared at me. “Cynthia.”

“OK, Cynthia, that sounds better to me than ‘hey you’.” She continued to stare, which made me uncomfortable, but it also gave me the hope that she was just as interested in me as I in her. “Where exactly are we trying to get to? This place you‘re taking me must have a name, right?”

“It won’t be long. Another hour or so and we should be there.”

“Cynthia,” I said, “I have the distinct feeling that you are avoiding my question.”

She smiled a smile not seen in ages. A smile more mysterious and enigmatic than even the Mona Lisa’s. “And you would be correct,” she answered. I was about to respond when she raised her finger to her lips and “shh” came from her vocal cords.

“What?” I said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Glaring at me with fierce eyes, “Shut up, God damn it!” she snapped. “I hear something.”

I stopped what I was doing and listened. Yes, I did hear a stomping sound. “Probably just a skunk or fox,” I whispered confidently. That’s when I was proved dead wrong

A massive polar bear had emerged from the wood line. Back when we were under a “global warming” threat, polar bears were the stars of every environmental group. There cute faces and teddy bear features were a gold mine. Environmental agencies began clever propaganda stating that the polar bears were dying at astronomical rates, due to decreasing arctic ice. They are one of the reasons why gasoline powered cars were ostracized.

This bear standing before me was probably a descendant of the ones that broke out of the zoo so many years ago. Now he and his arctic pals had all the ice and snow they wanted.

This giant raised up over nine feet in the air. It also looked as if this polar bear was doing just fine in the hunting and eating category. He began emitting a low, bottomless growl that shook me to the bone. It seemed as if this guy was nothing like a teddy bear after all.

Then I heard a blast and watched Goliath tumble to the snow covered ground. Red blood oozed out of a hole the size of a quarter in its chest. Turning, I watched Cynthia carefully walking up to the polar bear’s body; her gun still firmly embedded in her hands. We stood side by side, staring at that bear.

“It’s breathing a little,” I remarked after a minute of silence.

Another blast of gunpowder echoed through the landscape. She looked me hard in the eyes and said, “Not anymore.”

If you want to get in on the writing fun, head over to Mild Max to get the details.