|Halicallahanicon 2012 - An interlude
||[Jul. 23rd, 2012|10:05 pm]
I was just about to explain the most magical part of the journey - about the truly strange wonders that awaited us in Halifax. But... well... I suppose I should tell you about one of the more mundane interludes.|
The problem was the aliens, of course. They're always a problem. I really don't know why - I mean, okay, they don't get portrayed very well in our movies, and other forms of pop culture, but that's no reason to go all "we're destroying the earth" every time they end up with a uranium Pu-36 Explosive Space Modulator! There's other stuff you can do with a uranium Pu-36 Explosive Space Modulator - some of them are quite entertaining, and others, extremely fulfilling. And when you're done, from the remains, you can create a fine table centerpiece, suitable for hiding cakes!
But I digress.
I was pretty sure that we were going to be okay, kightp and I, because we were firmly in Canada now, and the aliens tend to "go native" pretty quickly. Alas, there were some new arrivals and they caused the majority of the problems. It's often that way....
Anyway, the first group rather politely explained that they were planning to take over the earth, and were quite nonplussed when I excused myself to show them something. I picked up the socks I had cleverly remembered to pack, and started juggling them. I asked if they understood what this meant. They shook their heads. As I gently boffed each one in the face with a tightly-balled sock, they still looked puzzled, until I explained that they couldn't continue in their quest. You see, I was now, perforce, an American Action Hero, and surely they understood that the bad guys were always defeated after being give a good sock to the jaw.
They were stunned, of course, but readily conceded. Pat later pointed out what a wonderful, civilized encounter that had been; she and I were frequently delighted by how things can work out so well in such a magical place. We had that experience a lot in Canada, whether it was over a dispute over a seat on a plane, or over a question about the conquest, or utter destruction, of the earth.
But it wasn't over yet. Alas, some of the coarser aliens had formed a skirmish line and one of them pointed out that they had a job to do and no stupid pun was going to keep them from it. I assessed the situation carefully - like any good leader, taking note of my surroundings.... and then, with that information tucked away, I looked the ring leader in the eye - and sniffed, turned my back, and started walking away.
"Come on, Pat. We have an old friend we have to meet. No time to fight with ruffians."
"Hey, wait a minute!" called out the ringleader, which thankfully masked Pat's gasp of surprise at what she noticed - at what she couldn't really help but notice. But she was a real trooper - she kept walking, and even found the right thing to say.
"At least he didn't question your courage... that always ends badly." She had a bit of a tremble in her voice - fear? Or suppressed laughter? I didn't ask, because I didn't have time. But her statement did seem to egg the ringleader on, ironically enough.
"Oh, yeah? It looks to me like the American Action Hero is *CHICKEN*."
Pat will occasionally confess to being slightly colorful in her language, but I can't swear that she actually said "Oh fuck, did he actually say that?!" because I was busy rushing her to cover. See, I keep track of modern warfare, and I knew what was coming. Sure enough, there was a buzzing like that of ten thousand castrated worker bees, culminating in a devastating explosion as a payload of hideous energies from a punitive afterworld impacted directly in the skirmish line, but we'd dived behind a nearby Tim Hortons. Sadly, I must confess, the day's doughnuts did not survive but sometimes grave sacrifices must be made for the survival of all mankind.
"Please... just please tell me that wasn't..." Pat said, but sadly, I had to inform her of the truth - she could see the bees for herself! It was, in fact, a hellfire missile attack, delivered by unmanned drones.
The ringleader stood untouched amidst the devastation, wondering what he said. I confidently stepped out from behind the (thankfully undamaged) Tim Hortons, and shrugged - what did he expect? He still didn't get it. Then he heard it... it's a sound you never forget. The sound of a fully automatic wing-mounted grenade launcher having its safety clicked off by the claw of an angry chicken. Apparently, Billina had decided to come along. To do battle? To join in the celebration? We may never know - but she would not walk past an evil alien bent on destroying her homeworld who uses the word "Chicken!" as an insult!
We never did discuss this, but I think Pat and I agree that Canadian customs, at least, as far less arduous than our little encounter in Ottawa.
Oh, and pernishus? Billina *does* like a nip of Irish once in a while. 'nuff, said, I hope - assuming she finds her way down there.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. So, next, I can get back to our actual arrival in Halifax. But first, I really felt it wasn't fair for me to refuse to explain the real truth about the missing socks.