JESSE AND JAMES’ TRUMPED UP CONVERSATION.

  

On a sunny serene day, with a charm of hummingbirds dancing in the air, buzzing bees sipping nectar through a meadow of flowers, and the doting wind exhaling the sweet scent of evergreen across the park, a young man slumped under a tree in the shadowy edges of the park.   Sluggish in appearance, with a handkerchief in his hand, the young man sat slumped over a large boulder with his head facing down.  If misery loves company, this young man was, at the very least, acquainted with misery.  Another young man, named James, observing this melancholic display and feeling a sense of kindredness, slowly walked up to this young man.  The below, captures their conversation.

 

James:  What’s your name young man?

 

Jesse:  My name is Jesse.  Jesse Morón.

 

James:  Nice to meet you Jesse.  My name is James Dimwiddie.  Is something troubling you?  

 

Jesse:   Yes, something is bothering me? 

 

James:   What’s bothering you?

 

Jesse:   The presidential election was stolen.

 

James: Stolen.  Really? Who stole the election?

 

Jesse:  The democrats stole the election for Biden. 

 

James:  Really, in all the states? 

 

Jesse:   No, only in the five swing states which Trump lost.  Then, they hid their collusion against Trump by intentionally losing several seats in the house and senate. 

 

James:  Fascinating.  So, the Democrats stole the election in one direction, and only in five swing states  Trump lost, whilst contemporaneously aborting wins in the house and senate. 

 

Jesse:   Precisely!

 

James: Wow.  This must have been a very sophisticated plan involving mainly high ranking officials of the democratic party.

 

Jesse:   No, actually the majority of the conspirators are low level workers.

 

James: Low level workers?

 

Jesse:   Yes, it appears low level workers like drivers and ballot counters carried out this deviant scheme almost exclusively?

 

James: How many of them were there?

 

Jesse:   The details are unclear.  We estimate anywhere from hundreds to thousands across these five swing states.  

 

James:  How did these low level workers hide their deviant scheme.

 

Jesse:   They didn’t.  They accomplished it in bright daylight. 

 

James: In bright daylight you say.  Well, I suppose it does make sense for them to throw their lives away.  I’d imagine several of them have been caught by now.

 

Jesse:    No, we haven’t caught anyone yet.  Not a single one.  They’re like ninjas. 

 

James:  We haven’t caught anyone? Then how do we know they stole the election?

 

Jesse:  We do.

 

James:  How?

 

Jesse:   We just do!

 

James:  Yes, that makes sense. You seem pretty adamant.  And, I’ve always been taught that adamancy and evidence are kind of the same thing. 

 

Jesse:   Exactly!  Plus President Trump says the democrats stole the election and that there was                                                                                 _            massive fraud.  So it must be true! 

 

James:  I agree. Trump represents the barometer of truth.  Everything he says is true.  Mexico will build and pay for our border wall any day from now.  Trump should file a lawsuit about this election forthwith!

 

Jesse:  He did.

 

James:  Oh, good. How is his lawsuit going?

 

Jesse:   They aren’t going too well.

 

James: They?  What. They????  Just how many lawsuits has he filed?

 

Jesse:    Honestly, I lost track at fifty.

 

James:  Fifty!  Fifty lawsuits?!!  Well, I suppose lawsuits are like caroling: the more the merrier.

 

Jesse:  Yes, fifty lawsuits at the very least.  Well, not just Trump, some of his allies also filed lawsuits. Allies like certain electors, a state here and there, certain voters, etc.  They are all working diligently to get this fraudulent election overturned on.  And, yes, the more the merrier.

 

James: Well, we will surely win in court then?  

 

Jesse:   Yes, we will.  Although, we’re losing so far.

 

James:  Losing?  How many cases have we lost?

 

Jesse:  All of them.

 

James:  All of them!  We’ve lost fifty lawsuits!

 

Jesse:  Yes, fifty, at the very least.

 

James:  Have we been close to winning any of them?

 

Jesse:  No, the majority of cases have been outright rejected within days, sometimes within hours.

 

James:  Rejected within days?  Well, these must all be liberal and radical left judges then, right?

 

Jesse:  You would think so, but no; many of them are conservative judges, even judges which Trump appointed himself?

 

James:  What?! Trump’s own appointees are throwing out his lawsuits?

 

Jesse:  Yes, all of them, and quite quickly I might add.  

 

James:  How can the courts sanction fraud in an election?

 

Jesse:  Woah.  Woah.  Woah.  You should be careful with that word you use there, “fraud.”  That word is tricky.  I think it’s ok if me and you say it, and I think its ok if the President and his allies tell us it occurred, but I don’t think it’s a word or theory that the President should use in his lawsuits.  

 

James:  Well, why do you say that?

 

Jesse:  Simple, the President’s election lawsuits don’t use that word.

 

James:  You’re kidding??!!!

 

Jesse:  No, in fact, in one of the cases, Trump’s primary lawyer.  Eh, I forget his name, the one who sweats hair spray.

 

James:  Oh, you mean Rudy Giuliani?

 

Jesse:  Yes, him.  Thanks.  Yes, in one of the cases, Rudy Giuliani told the judge, and I quote, “this is not a fraud case.”

 

James:  Wait, so Trump and his primary lawyers tell us, the public, that fraud occurred but don’t say the same thing in court.

 

Jesse:   Oh no, they wouldn’t dare say it in court.  They don’t even like using the word “fraud” and “court” in the same sentence. 

 

James:  Oh ok.  Of course.  That makes sense.  Why would they, right?  What about his allies?  Are they telling the court fraud occurred.

 

Jesse:  Yes, some of them are doing so, some of the time.  And they submitted affidavits too.

 

James:  Wow, affidavits.  And they still lost?!

 

Jesse:   Yes, well apparently the courts are saying their cases are all based on speculation and conjecture rather than evidence.  Apparently, in one of the cases, the closest thing to alleging fraud in the affidavit was a statement saying, “I believe some of these workers were changing votes that had been cast for Trump to Biden.”

 

James:  Wow!  That’s crazy!  I thought beliefs WERE evidence!

 

Jesse:   Exactly, they are!  Santa Clause existed until I stopped believing in him. 

 

James:  Yes, well you better believe in him again soon given the upcoming holidays.  

 

Jesse:  Yes, I plan to believe in Santa again.  I will ask him for a gift in the form of overturning this election to make Trump the winner.

 

James:  You shouldn’t need to do all that.  We should take this fight to the Supreme Court.  We have six republican justices and, of those six, three are Trump appointees, so we can’t lose.  We just need to get this to the Supreme Court!

 

Jesse:  No can do.  We lost already.

 

James: We already lost in the Supreme Court?! 

 

Jesse:  Yes, unanimously.  

 

James:  Wow!  How could the Supreme Court allow this frau…..wait, they did allege fraud to the Supreme Court, right?

 

Jesse:  No, of course not.  Don’t be silly.  I told you, they don’t even like writing—I won’t even say that word—let’s just call that word “it” anywhere near the court.  The case to the Supreme Court was about voter irregularity tantamount to unconstitutionality in the swing states which Trump lost due to those states not complying with their own laws.  

 

James: Wow, that sounds deep.

 

Jesse:  Yes, it is. Voter irregularity is very deep.  We’ve left the shallow end of the pool my friend.

 

James:  Wow.  Oh ok, what is the irregularity?

 

Jesse:  Easy.  The irregularity is that Trump received less votes than Biden.

 

James:  Wait, didn’t almost every single poll, including conservative polls, predict that Biden would win the popular vote, i.e., that he would receive more votes than Trump?

 

Jesse:  Yes, they did!  And, get this, when the final votes were tallied, he did receive more votes! 

 

James:  That doesn’t sound right to me.  If all the polls predicted Biden would win the popular vote, then surely that means he should have lost the popular vote, right. 

 

Jesse:  Exactly!  It doesn’t make sense.  The fraud…err…voter irregularity speaks for itself.

 

James:  Damn these ninja low-level workers.  I wish I could can catch one of them to prove our speculation about massive voter fraud. 

 

Jesse:  You don’t need to.  Don’t forget, my friend.  Our belief and speculation is all the evidence you need!

 

James:  You’re right, I almost forgot that very thing.  Which states should I believe voter irregularity occurred in for Trump to win?  I want to make sure I’m believing correctly to make it so.  

 

Jesse:  You must believe voter irregularity occurred in Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Arizona, and Michigan.  

 

James:  Aren’t Georgia and Arizona generally Republican states.

 

Jesse:  Yes, they are.  They both have Republican governors, and Georgia also has a Republican Secretary of State.

 

James:  Wow, these ninja low-level ballot workers really are something to manage to infiltrate two of our strongholds undetectably in broad daylight.  Are you sure these low level workers aren’t CIA or something.  I mean, this is like beyond James Bond level stuff.  

 

Jesse:  Well, they didn’t infiltrate Georgia or Arizona on their own.  The Republicans governors and secretary of states were in on it too.

 

James:  The Republican governors and secretaries of state were in on it too you say.  Hmm.  How do you know?

 

Jesse:   I know because I believe it.

 

James:  Oh, you believe it.  You should have lead off with that.  Then it must be true! 

 

Jesse:  Yes, in some ways its even deeper than that.  I really take that phrase from Rene Descartes, “I think therefore I am,” to heart.  Whatever I think must be true.

 

James:  Wow, yes, I forgot about that phrase, “I think, therefore I am.”  Yes, whatever you think must be true!

 

Jesse:  Precisely, my friend.  How can you not believe what you think?  It’s so obvious.  It’s like two plus two equals five. 

 

James: Yes, yes, yes, well…wait a minute.  I thought two plus two equals four.

 

Jesse:  Does it?  Well, that doesn’t matter.  All that matters is what you believe!

 

James: Oh yes, of course.  How could I have been so obtuse.

 

Jesse:  Yes, you need to expand your imagination a bit more my friend if you are really going to believe that Trump actually won this election.  You need to be more like me.  For instance, I believe that a bunch of dead people voted and that these dead votes are what changed the outcome of the election.

 

James:  Fascinating.  Did dead people actually vote?

 

Jesse:  Surely, in a nation of 340 million people, of course at least one ballot of an otherwise dead person must have been cast here and there possibly.

 

James:  True, there have probably been dead people voting here and there in America since 1776.  What would make this 2020 election any different.   

 

Jesse:  Precisely!

 

James:  Is there any evidence that these dead people voted exclusively for Biden or that even a majority of them voted for Biden?

 

Jesse:  Yes, of course there is evidence.  It’s simple.  I believe that they did.  

 

James:  Wow!  That’s amazing.  Then of course they did!

 

James: And, is there any evidence that these dead votes weren’t somehow caught along the way?

 

Jesse:  Again, yes, it is what I believe!

 

James:  Incredible!  And is there any evidence that this sea, well probably more like an ocean, of dead people, who of course voted exclusively for Biden, did so in sufficient number to overturn the votes in even one, let alone in all five of these swing states?

 

Jesse:  Yes and Yes!  I believe that they did!  So, they must have. 

 

James:  Wow!  Thank you!  That’s all I needed to hear.  Any other evidence I should know about?

 

Jesse:   Yes, as long as I have an imagination, and I have a great one, then there will always be evidence!

 

James:  Wow, I wish I had imagination like yours!  What else have you imagined?

 

Jesse:  You should grab your popcorn for this one.  Well, I imagine that this company named Dominion, which was founded in Canada in 2002 and makes voting machines and software, conspired with communists from across the globe, even dead communists like Hugo Chavez, so that the Dominion voting machines in these five swing states—and these five swing states exclusively—electronically switched Trump votes to Biden votes using an algorithm.  

 

James:  Wow!  Amazing!  You do have quite the imagination!  Wait, electronic?  I thought there were paper ballots. 

 

Jesse:  There are paper ballots, but these Dominion Voting Machines count and electronically tabulate the paper ballots.  

 

James:  Got it. These commies sure are duplicitous.  Lucky for us, this should be easily verifiable.  Since electronic tabulations distort the paper ballots,  the actual paper ballots won’t match the electronic tabulations.  We simply need to do hand counts of the paper ballots!  We’ll catch these jokers red handed. 

 

Jesse:    No.  No, there is no need.  The paper ballots and the Dominion voting tabulations match to a tee.

 

James: What?  Really???!!!

 

Jesse:   Yes, multiple recounts have been done, including a hand recount of over five million votes in Georgia, and they match each and every time.

 

James: Oh, well, if the hand recounts match the electronic voting tabulations, wouldn’t that mean that the Dominion algorithm stuff and changing votes theory is a bunch of hogwash.

 

Jesse:  Not if I don’t believe it to be hogwash. 

 

James:  Wow, yes, then it can’t be hogwash.  It must be true!  

 

Jesse:  Exactly!  Don’t let a little thing like logic hold you back my friend.  

 

James:  I’m sorry.  Yes, you’re right.

 

Jesse:    Right.  Eschew logic.  For instance, like they’re trying to say that Trump only led in some of these swing states on election night because these swing states counted in person votes first, which favored Trump, before counting mail in ballots, which weighed heavily for Biden.

 

James:  Well, that makes logical sense.  I recall Trump telling Republicans not to use mail in ballots.  So,  I suppose that could be the reason.  

 

Jesse:  No!  No!  No!  Haven’t you been listening at all?!!  You’re letting logic hold you back again.  Logic is not your friend.  Logic is like the terminator:  It can’t be bartered with.  It can’t be reasoned with.  And, it absolutely will not stop, until you are dead or, at the very least, your dreams are dead.  Therefore, the best thing to do is to choose reject logic and believe the illogical.

 

James: Thank you!  Yes, that would certainly make me feel better.

 

Jesse:   Yes, whenever reason and logic pops up about this election,  just disregard it if you don’t like what it means or otherwise implicates.  Just keep saying fraud and voter irregularity.  Keep on saying it and saying it until you believe it.

 

James: Yes!  Yes!  If I keep on saying it, then I’ll have to believe it.  Otherwise, I’ll sound like moron.  Obviously, I don’t want to sound like a moron.  And, since I don’t want to sound like a moron, then I should disregard any thoughts that suggest my thinking is moronic.  Therefore, my thinking must the opposite of moronic.  My thinking must be true.  Which means, whatever these obviously radical left outsiders say contrary to my non-moronic thinking, regardless of how logical or reasonable, it must be rejected.  I should just keep saying and believing voter irregularity and voter fraud cost Trump the election!

 

Jesse:  By George, I think you’ve got it!  And, here I almost thought we were going to need to have a discussion about the pitfalls of that dreadful word “accountability.”

 

James: No, no need to even think about accountability.  

 

Jesse:  Good.  I hate how that word makes me feel.  But, yeah, that about sums it up my friend.  I’m sitting here all frustrated because less and less of the world is believing what I’m thinking.  It’s so obvious the democrats fraudulently stole the election.  But the rest of the world is letting logic and reason get in the way.  They think if Trump really believed fraud occurred then he would have alleged it in his lawsuits.  They think that all of the judges, including Republican judges and Trump’s own appointees, rejecting his 50+ lawsuits means there is and was likely no evidence of massive voter fraud or voter irregularity.  They think that the polls predicting Biden would win the popular vote mean that it makes sense that Biden won the popular vote; and that I shouldn’t draw a negative inference from him winning the popular vote.  They think that multiple hand recounts where the paper ballot voting tally matched with Dominion’s voting numbers means that there was likely no algorithm in Dominion’s voting machines or software which switched Trump votes to Biden.  They think it is highly unlikely that a massive voter conspiracy the likes of which the world has never seen, such as here, involving hundreds if not thousands of low level workers across multiple swing states, workers who presumably never even knew each other, could occur in broad daylight without any any of these workers being caught, without any of these workers’ plans being intercepted, without any coordination amongst these workers, and without any paper or electronic trail whatsoever.  They think it is unlikely that Trump could overturn one, let alone all five of the swing states, particularly where he losing by tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of votes and where he keeps losing recount after recount.  I can keep going on and on.  They even think the fact that Trump’s attorney general says that he has found no evidence of voter fraud or irregularity sufficient to overturn the election means that I should stop believing Trump lost the election due to massive voter fraud and irregularity…as though my belief isn’t enough evidence as it is.  Suffice to say, now, it is beginning to look like Biden may actually be sworn in on January the 20th.

 

James:  That’s terrible.  Devastating.  Well, I believe in what you think, is there some way I can help.

 

Jesse:   Yes, there is actually.  And since you believe, then I know it will be so.

 

James:  Yes, yes,  I believe, tell me.

 

Jesse:    Thanks.  Yes, I’ve thought about this long and hard, and I don’t see any other way around it.  But, could you use your wish to Santa Clause to get this election overturned.  The thought of me having to use my Santa wish on this election makes me sad.  

 

James:  Why does it make you sad?

 

Jesse:    Well, other than from parents or being born privileged or with a silver spoon,  I don’t think it’s appropriate to expect handouts from anyone, even Santa Clause, for things that you cannot achieve on your own merit.  The idea of asking for charity from Santa irks me.    

 

James:  Ahh, yes.  That is tricky, isn’t it.  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.  I’ll just choose to believe it is appropriate to expect handouts.

 

Jesse:  That’s some good thinking!  We fraudulent election proponents do come in all shapes and sizes don't we, so it does make sense for you to think that.

 

James: Yes, of course.  Like you said, things make sense when we want them to make sense.  I’ll ask Santa for the wish and keep our man Trump in office as he lawfully ought to be.  No need to worry. 

 

Jesse:  Thank you! Democracy is saved! 2021 here we come! 

 

With glee spreading across his face, Jesse leapt from the boulder in frabjous delight.  James echoed his excitement and they both chortled with joy.  All concerns about the horrors of a Joe Biden presidency subsided as the melodic chirping and buzzing of the birds and bees slowly matched the cadence of jingle bells.  For when one has sown the seeds of abject belief irrespective of evidence into the deepest crevices of his bosom, he can live happily choosing to believe whatever he wants.

 

                     The End. 

 

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Mathias and the City of Laniece

The trumpets blared like a galactic symphony as the crowd gathered to hear the syllables and diction of the annual spelling bee. On this simmering, sunny day when the temperatures extended into the nineties, thousands of people from the town of Laniece eagerly stood, dripping with sweat and perspiration, to hear children of all ages try to spell as though they were scurrying children eagerly waiting for a gift from St. Nicholas. As many of the town individuals listened to the horns that signaled the spelling bee would soon commence, one man stayed at home. This man sat on the left side of his black couch in the left corner of the room on the left side of his tattered mansion. The man’s name was Mathias, and his furrowed forehead, drooping glasses, and hair so disheveled that it looked like it had not seen a brush or comb in years belied the assumption that he was up to something. As he sat in the left corner, the darkness swallowed him. The only light was from his pearly white teeth and they seemed to glow in the shadows. They glowed in the shadows because they were smiling. They were smiling because after months of diligence, during which his frame had become ghostlike, pale and thin, Mathias had completed his life’s work. He was smiling because Mathias was going to destroy Laniece.

            Mathias had lived in Laniece his whole life. As a boy, Mathias participated in a spelling bee and was asked to spell Laniece. He spelled it with the utmost calmness and confidence a smile spreading across his face when he had finished, but, to Mathias’s horror, he had misspelled the name. The crowd at the spelling bee was aghast; one lady fell out of her chair and one man nearly choked on the food he was eating. The judge blankly stared at Mathias, gave the correct spelling, and told Mathias that the prizes of candy and toys would be denied to him. Mathias’s face turned pale and from that day his hatred of Laniece began to grow and fester. He hated its tranquility and how the sun seemed to smile on it. He hated its clean streets and exuberant people. He hated the white picket fences and the white houses. He hated that there was rarely a fight or news to be heard. He hated that kids could play in the streets all night, and wives and husbands seldom quarreled. He most of all hated that Laniece was spelled with an “i” instead of two “ee”s.

            As he stood up, his bones creaked like a door that hadn’t been opened in years, and he slowly dragged himself up the winding staircase and pushed his wood double doors open to enter out into the sun. An aroma that to most would have been beautiful, but to Mathias was despicable filled the air. He walked over to his black garden hose, and let it run on it max power. Mathias had planned this day of destruction for, seemingly, decades and now it was to be the dawn of his decadence. The sun beat on his wiry frame, and Mathias embraced the beating by wearing all black from his black pointed shoes to black sunglasses. His desire to destroy Laniece was burning brighter than his searing skin. He reached in his pocket to begin Plan One of his master operation. The streets were newly clean, the cement smooth and paved with barely a crack along its sidewalk structure. To the left of the sidewalk, the grass was trim and the smell of evergreen consumed the air. With a sense of exhilaration, Mathias reached his wiry hands into his pocket, grabbed something, and, holding it in-between his clenched fist, raised his hand into the air. He stood in this position for what must have been a long time because a couple on the other side of the street stopped and stared at him. While that couple was stopping and staring at him, a woman who had placed her freshly baked apple pie out the window to cool down also stood and watched. Lastly, a toddler scurrying across the sidewalk on his scooter stopped just steps in front of Mathias and gazed up at his clenched fist in amazement. Mathias had his audience, and, with the smile of his pearly whites, opened his hand.

            It dropped slowly. The wind seemed to catch it and carry it. It turned circles in the air. It landed with grace and elegance on the sidewalk. Mathias kept his hands open and flexed up, his smile extending so far across his face that it looked as though his lips were trying to decapitate his head. The toddler jumped back in shock, and Mathias knew the other gatherers were just as astonished. The couple quickly walked away from him occasionally looking back to make sure that their eyes did not deceive them, and the women with the pie scampered back inside leaving the pie to the bluebirds and squirrels that were around. As the object lay on the floor, the toddler dug deep in his childlike vernacular to utter the phrase: “don’t you know it’s wrong to litter?!” 

            “Yes, I do…I doo…..I doooo.” His words echoed cantankerously as he raced away past the boy. His heart beat as fast as a humming bird’s wings. He felt like he was floating.  Mathias had done the unthinkable. He had crudely dirtied the immaculate street with a gum wrapper that had been in his pocket. With that little move, the streets of Laniece had been tainted; its destruction was inevitable.

Mathias, still in high spirits, set out on his next mission. He peered around looking, his neck turning like an owl causing his leathery skin to wrinkle. He spotted a crowd of people, and he began to walk their way. He tried to approach them quietly, but the hard soles of his black shoes betrayed him, and one of the women turned around to speak to him as he stridently streaked their way.

“What are you doing my good sir?” she asked inquisitively. Her face contorted in confusion. Mathias’s face contorted as well. He pursed his lips together and his head shook as he readied himself. He knew this part of his plan would be very trying and exhausting. A member of the crowd, a young petite lady with a white dress, hid behind an older gentleman cowering in fear as she and the rest of the crowd stared at Mathias. Mathias could not see their stares; his focus remained on the second part of his plan. His cheeks puffed and his face began to turn red as he heavily pushed the words from his orifice.

            “You ole rotten scallywag! Of course I’m not fine!” he exclaimed exhaustedly. The words took all the energy from him; he took in a large gasp of air.

            “Sir, are you okay?” one of the gentlemen in the crowd said, “You are quite red, and you were standing in the oddest of positions for such a long time. I’m….”

            “Of course I’m fine you mucus less snail! You’re all a bunch of fools.” He smiled as he saw one of the people walk away; their feelings must have been hurt. “Curses to all of you and curses upon curses to this cursed city!”

            Before any of their aloof and bewildered faces could say anything more, Mathias spit on the floor in front of them and, once again, scampered off. Mathias stopped his running as he entered an alley. He felt a homely tranquility as he entered the dark shadows by a garbage post.  Mathias enjoyed the darkness, and even the smell of garbage was much more pleasing than evergreen. Ever since he had misspelled Laniece, the shadows had been a comfort. A comfort to hide from the oppressive people who tried to teach him the correct spelling and wondered how he could have spelled the beloved city’s name wrong. He reached into his mouth and felt a chip on his tooth which occurred as he dashed away from the crowd. A sharp pain shot through his body causing him to wreath in agony, his arms flailing and feet kicking; the chipping of the tooth put a lot of pressure on his gums. All the pain was worth it. Like an infectious disease, Mathias had ruined the crowd’s day with his foul words. The members in the crowd would spread this infectious disease by ruining the days of others. The city of Laniece would soon be plagued by cantankerousness.  A joyous tear trickled from his left eye and onto his black shirt. Mathias pulled out a napkin from his pocket to wipe away the tear. He held out his hand again to litter the napkin on the floor, but decided that he had already done enough harm in the hours he had been out. He placed the napkin back in his pocket, and headed back out into the sunny streets of Laniece.

            As he exited the shadows, Laniece already began to feel different. The city was quiet from people going to the spelling bee, but Mathias could tell his plan was working. Filled with a sense of accomplishment, he set out to fully fulfill his formula and see the effects come into fruition. The next part of his plan was a bit more daring, but Mathias was determined to do it. He gazed up at the street; McMillan drive was the busiest street in all of Laniece. Mathias had carefully parked his car there in the wee hours of the night only days earlier. Cars zoomed by. Red cars, blue cars, white cars, SUVs’ of all colors, trucks, motorcycles, bicycles, tricycles, and even unicycles whizzed by. Mathias looked up at the sky and smiled his chipped smile. He walked over to his black dusty sedan with sagging tires, and opened the car door.  The interior looked like a dungeon, but the cooking leather seats made it seem more like a dark oven as Mathias sat down. He turned the car on, signaled his left blinker, and drove onto McMillan Drive. He drove slowly, the kind of slowness that one hates on a bustling highway. Glancing through his cracked rearview mirror, he could see the automobiles behind him accumulate like fleas on a helpless dog. The drivers behind him were at his whim, their honks like water to one who has trekked tumultuous miles; Mathias was parched.

            “What the….excuse me old man go faster please. I’m in a rush to the spelling bee,” one of the drivers yelled. Instead of going faster, Mathias brought his car to a screeching halt and put it in park. He parked his car in the middle of the busiest intersection in all of Laniece. Cars from all directions seemed to swarm his car like hyenas. As a result, he buried himself in his car, and turned the cassette tape to the max; Beethoven’s 5^th symphony. The path to destruction was not to be easy. The light turned green on all angles, but nobody could go. The city of Laniece was in disarray. Honks so profusely filled the air, that not even the arias of Beethoven could mask them. His eyes closed, and he took in a deep breath. He let go of the steering wheel, folded his hands on his lap, and leaned back on his seat.

            “Sir, you are causing vehicles to not be able to move as fast as they would like to. In all my years I have never seen such a thing. Vehicles not being able to go as fast as they would like and people being delayed from their destination” a man holding a flashlight aimed at Mathias with a badge on his chest shouted.

            “I’m well aware of the traffic I am causing. I shall not move my car,” Mathias said with the indignant voice of a bedraggled mind. The policeman tried to get Mathias to move from his car, but Mathias would not. The traffic he had caused was the culmination of his destruction of Laniece, and he sat his black shoes, black pants, black shirt, and chipped teeth in that car like an emperor who had vanquished all his opposition. The police officer was not sure what to do with Mathias. In all his years, no one had ever caused what Mathias called traffic. Onlookers watched, one of them, a lady who had been in the crowd that Mathias verbally assaulted told the officer to be careful because she believed Mathias to be deranged because he had called her and the crowd scallywags and had been foul mouthed. Onlookers from across the street, the couple from earlier who had witnessed Mathias littering, attested to his dirtying of the street with a gum wrapper. The honks from the car horns ceased as news began to spread down the line of vehicles of what deeds Mathias had done. The gasps that filled the air were louder than all the honks of horns.

            “Sir,” the policeman said hesitantly. “I believe I need to take you into…custody.” The words awkwardly rolled off his tongue. In the one hundred plus year history of Laniece no policeman had ever taken someone into custody. The policeman’s name was Robert the IV. He was the fourth successive Robert to be a policeman following in the footsteps of his pappy, grand pappy, and great grand pappy. He was also the sole officer of Laniece. Laniece was a beautiful city from the grand oak tree in central city surrounded by marble step ways, to the museum with dinosaur fossils, to the zoo only a few blocks from museum with lions, tigers, bears, and orangutans. The theater was only a few blocks from the zoo which was only a few blocks from central hall with its large marble white pillars; central hall was to be the scene of the spelling bee. Laniece and its inhabitants, until Mathias’s actions today, had never inhaled the toxins of littering, bad-mouthing, or traffic.  

            “How does one take a person into custody?” Mathias asked the police officer who seemed just as confused as Mathias.

            “I’m not quite sure, sir. Let me take you to the spelling bee and we’ll figure out what to do after.”

            Mathias’s heart jumped, and he glanced at his watch. It had been fifty-four years three hundred sixty two day seventeen hours fifteen minutes forty five seconds and three milliseconds since he had misspelled the name of the city that he hated so much. The policeman, Robert, opened the passenger door for Mathias and Mathias entered. Before they departed, the policeman reminded Mathias to buckle his seatbelt, an act Mathias had become accustomed to not doing in defiance. The radio was silent and Mathias could sense the policeman’s nervousness by the sweat coming down his forehead. Mathias turned on the radio, and leaned back in his seat. He had caused such a stir in Laniece today. The people of Laniece were in disarray over the deeds he had done, and before his garden hose would drown them all away, he would enter central hall where his hatred had begun. Onlookers stared as the police car drove the strange man, who had caused such a great deal of traffic, away. They then went their own routes as a tow company towed Mathias’s car away.

            Mathias sat in the back of the police car as it zoomed down the street. The seat was surprisingly comfortable. Yet, its comfort belied the fact that he was going to a very uncomfortable place. Sweat seeped down his skin as thoughts of his boyish past crept into his mind like a cat pouncing on a mouse. He had been so confident when he had spelled Laniece. As a boy he had always been so kind to Laniece. He had painted its picket fences white. He had cut the grass for it to make it clean and smell like evergreen. He had passed out the daily newspaper on his bike for the city. And, how did the city repay him. It repaid him by allowing him to misspell its name, embarrassingly lose the spelling bee, and the prize he desired so much. 

            The officer peered back at Mathias with a blank stare, and motioned for Mathias to get out of the car. Mathias, weakly, stepped out of the car; his foot nearly collapsing on the first step. He was at central hall. The police officer told him that he didn’t know what to do with him, but he didn’t want to miss or let Mathias miss the annual spelling bee.

            The simmering sunny day had transformed into a cool calm night.  Central hall was lively as the individuals who were in the storm of traffic rushed in as the trumpet horns sounded. The spelling bee was to begin. Mathias stood like a rock amongst a herd of wildebeests as the citizens of Laniece poured into central hall. Mathias’s heart beat faster and faster as he heard the intercom tell the action that was taking place on stage.

            “Spell Laniece.” The spelling bee at Laniece was a one word spelling bee. The participants would all be asked to spell one word, and the word was always ‘Laniece.’ Mathias walked up the red carpeted stairs and across the long hallway to the main entrance room of the central hall. There were twenty-five participants on stage. The spelling bee consisted of just one round and one word. If the contestants got it right, which they always did, then the crowd would applaud them and they would win the prize of a year’s worth chocolate candy and any toy that they desired. In the history of Laniece, Mathias was the only contestant to ever misspell Laniece. There were banners across the city and in Central hall of Laniece and he had still misspelled it. He had practiced spelling Laniece forward and backwards for four days and he had still misspelled it. His mom was named after Laniece and he had written the name on her vanilla cake only days prior and he had still misspelled it. Mathias clenched his hand into a fist.

            “Laniece….L-A-N-I-E-C-E” one of the girls on the stage said as the crowd uproariously cheered.

            “Correct, one of the judges said. Next.”

            Mathias watched as each participant said the correct name of the city to the crowd’s delight. The crowd’s cheers seemed to push his old body to the stage. He began his methodical descent down the stairs and up to the stage. The audience watched him move by. By this time, the whole city knew the horrendous deeds that he had done. The only sound that could be heard was his pants sloshing against one another as Mathias approached the stage. The spotlight was on him as he stepped up on the wooden stage. The audience was silent. The children on the stage stood with their knees shaking. One of the boys peed in his pants and ran off the stage. Mathias readied his vocal chords.

            “Laniece…..L-A-N.” Mathias stopped. He had a hunch to use two e’s next, but knew where that hunch had gotten him to last time. The audience kept their stare on him. Mathias closed his weary eyes allowing the wrinkles on his forehead to briefly smoothen, and he slicked back his disheveled hair in attempts to remember. He looked years younger. So much younger that there were whispers in the crowd that he was the infamous contestant to misspell Laniece never to be heard from again almost 60 years earlier. “I-E-C-E” Mathias finished the word and waited.

            The audience clapped, perhaps, one or two at first and then and then hundreds of claps resonated in the auditorium. The light shined heavily on Mathias and he embraced it like napalm. Mathias was volatile; a sense he had not felt since he was a boy. He had correctly spelled Laniece as the audience blankly stared at the man who had littered, was foul mouthed, and caused traffic. A year supply of chocolate and any toy he desired would now be available to an old man whose desire for such things passed long ago. Mathias took off his black shoes and walked over to Robert who was sitting in the front row. The crowd kept on clapping and cheering. Mathias raised his decrepit skinny hand in the air and waved to the crowd. After all he had done, the audience still cheered.

            “What’s your name old man,” Robert asked.

            “My name is Mathias”

            “His name is Mathias!” Robert bellowed as the crowd cheered ever louder and chanted his name from the toddler who saw him littering to the lady with the pie in the window to the woman in the crowd who had hid behind the gentleman in the crowd. They all cheered Mathias. The cheers gave Mathias’s stiff joints fluidity and he walked upwards and out of the building with a childlike quickness. Robert followed Mathias out Central hall, and he entered Robert’s car off the red carpet like a celebrity.

            Robert then entered into the police car, and Mathias pointed him driven the direction of his house his black glasses adding to his celebrity look. He told the car to stop at an area marked with caution tape; the scene of the littering. To the officer’s amazement, Mathias stepped out of the car and picked up the gum wrapper. He then asked the officer to tell the city and its people that he was sorry, and that he would walk the rest of the way home. As Mathias walked down the familiar road home, he glanced at the water hose. It was still on, but instead of the Noah like flood that he projected in its stead were a muddy grass lawn and a stream extending into the sewer. Mathias turned off the hose and plodded his way into house and was greeted by the familiar aroma of cobwebs and old furniture. He sat on the right side of the first couch he saw in his house, and turned on the fire lamp. The house needed cleaning to match the other houses of the street. It had been fifty-four years three hundred sixty two day nineteen hours eleven minutes eight seconds and twenty milliseconds since he hated Laniece. Now, that hatred was a mere flicker and evergreen of air was appealing once more. The city of Laniece lived on and Mathias was living in it.