Wednesday, February 25, 2009

The Power of 7

It wasn't until those darn aliens liquidized Ol' Granny and her farm that we seriously thought we should do something about the green lil' pests. They’d destroyed our crops an' cattle an' woods for the fun, an' like the generous folk we were--are, 'scuse me, we let 'em get away with it all. But hoo-boy, Ol' Granny was another matter!

'course, what can one dingy little town do against extra-terrest'ral aliens? That was the question runnin' through our minds, an' we came up with the answer.

So May'r Scottsflick (3 years runnin' seed spittin' winner) says, "Now, y'all see we gotta do somethin' 'bout those critters, an' we're gonna get 'em back real well fer Granny's sake!" He stops for a moment 'cause of the hootin' and hollerin'. Then he clears his throat an continues. "So I say we gotta hire some real, purfesshun'l fighters who'll beat 'em up real bad fer us!"

'Course, motivated by this inspirin' speech, the townsfolk cheered an' hooted so loud I'm amazed the green critters themselves didn't hear from way up there. But Miss Courtney Alabama, as smart as she is purty, says, "So who'll be the fighters?"

Everyone stops hootin' and looks at the mayor to see if he's got any answer. And he does. "I knew y'all would ask that," he says triumphantly. "And I have the answer. These letters I'm holdin' in my hands right now is yer answer." An' he holds up some real prim and proper letters with some fancy script that I reckon' no one but the writer themselves can read.

The mayor says, "Now I myself hadn't opened this yet, so I'll do so now an' we'll all so who our myst'ry fighters are."

Everyone watches very carefully as the mayor opens the letters and reads 'em. His eyes widen an' they look as wide an' round as plates. He clears his throat again and says, "We got seven fighters who'll take this job." Then he frowns and adds, "Well, at least I think they're fighters. 'Cause we got a ninja, an accountant, a pirate, a cook, a musician, a lawyer, an' a schoolkid. Heck, are they takin' us seriously?!" he shouts out loud.

Well, when we hear that, we ain't so happy either. Hootin' and hollerin' and shoutin'. Can't they see we got a serious alien ‘infestation problem here?

But purty Miss Courtney Alabama doesn't shout. She thinks instead. That's the type of girl she is. Then, like the schoolgirl she thinks she still is, she raises her hand and asks, "How much are we payin'?"

After checkin’ the mayor responds, "Nothin', I think.”

Well, we all think, if they're comin' fer free, might as well give 'em a chance.

Hoo-boy, if we had even known what we were gettin' into...


So, even tho’ we ain’t quite so excited ‘bout the fighters comin’, we all step out middle of summer to greet ‘em all. ‘Sides, we’re all curious to see what they all’r lookin’ like.

An’ ‘sides that, all the girls are goin’ googly-eyed ‘bout the ninja and pirate, an’ what they look like, an’ if they like girls or junk like that. I tell ya, nothin’ll come out of those girls.

The seven fighters pull up in the most rugged an’ worn an’ broken cart ever. Heck, I hadn’t seen such an old cart since my aunt’s brother’s friend’s uncle’s niece’s nephew’s godmother’s son came to visit.

Hoo-boy. And they hired ‘emselves out fer free?

The ninja climbs out in his ninja-y fashion and walks to the may’r. Least I think he was the ninja, ‘cause he was dressed in all black cloths and shuri-whatever-they-call-it things. An’ I don’t know how he knew he was talkin’ to the may’r, but he did. Must be one of those ninja-y skill things. What I would give to get that!

He holds out his hand an’ says in an Asian-y accent, “Hello. We here to help out.”

“Er,” May’r Scottsflick says, “Right.” An’ takes his hand.

They shake, but it’s pretty clear tha’ none are ‘customed to shakin’. In our ho-dum lil’ town of Mossvile, every person knows every other person, an’ we ain’t got any visitors, so May’r Scottsflick never shakes. An’ I doubt the ninja ever shakes.

The rest of the seven come on out and sure ‘nuff, there is a pirate, looking big an’ tall an’ everythin’ we ‘spected; an accountant, lookin’ pretty accountant-y; a schoolkid, lookin’ like he’s the best in the world an’ only ten years old; a lawyer, lookin’ through his briefcase and mutterin’ to himself; a cook, carryin’ a pot large ‘nuff to hold half the town; and a musician, who looks just like tha’ lawyer, ‘cept he has a twirly moustache. Quite a group, but we’re all thinkin’ that only the pirate and the ninja would be able to fight. ‘course, with that huge pot of his, the cook might be able to do some damage, too.

“I introduce us,” the ninja says. “I Mashimoto Matsumoto. The pirate Pete Smokey. The accountant Nile Morton. The child Jason Mitchell. The lawyer George Smith. The cook Mooky. The musician Andre Vasolinni. We fight for you. We good fighters. We help out against aliens. For money we fight.”

“Fer money?” the may’r and half of the people splutter.

“For one day, a hundred forty dollars. Twenty dollars each,” the ninja says calmly.

Now if that ain’t a ripoff, I don’t know what is. “We ain’t got that much money!” the may’r says.

“We give you one day free. After that pay by half day. Discount ten percent from regular price.”

“Now hold on. When I say we ain’t got that much money, we mean it. If you are thinkin’ of cheatin’ us, we ain’t gonna buy it! We’re poor folk. All most of us got are a couple dollars and the possessions we own. A hundred forty ain’t reasonable for a day!”

“A couple dollars, put together, can equal much,” the ninja says.

“Oh, come on! We ain’t gonna give you anything. Git outta here!” the mayor waves them away.

“Wait,” Miss Courtney Alabama says. “Maybe we should give ‘em a day, ‘cause it is free, and then we’ll see whether they’re worth it or not.”

Now, the mayor, he ain’t an old man. He’s a pretty young guy, barely into his thirties, and all of us know he’s got this tremendous crush on pretty Miss Courtney Alabama, so he’ll always follow her suggestions. Even if they ain’t all right (like the time with the tractor and that old mare). But this time, her suggestions seem all right.

“Okay then,” the mayor says. “We got a one-day deal. After that day, we’ll see if y’all worth what y’all charge.”

The ninja bows all polite-like an’ says, “Thank you.”

‘course, we were all thinkin’ that maybe there wouldn’t be any alien attacks the next day (‘cause we hadn’t had any for more than a month), and then what? A waste of a free day, that’s what! Then of course they wouldn’t hire ‘em fighters.

But as—what would those civilized folk say?—Murphy’s Law would have it all, there would be no sleepin’ that night.


It is precisely three o’clock in the mornin’ when we all hear the explosion. Tho’ we ain’t too glad about the untimely wake-up call, we all rush outside to see what damage now. The green critters are obnoxious little pests.

‘Course the seven fighters all got into action. Least the ninja and pirate did. Can’t say much for the accountant and lawyer, who are both uselessly typin’ away on those newfangled computer machines. The cook is cookin’ some sorta soup, and the musician took out his violin and is playin’ some sorta sonata or sonata-opus-whatever. An’ the kid is still sleepin’, imagine that!

Well, at least two of the seven are workin’. The ninja is doin’ some ninja-y stuff and whatever, and the pirate’s doin’ some pirate-y stuff and whatever. ‘Can’t describe much, ‘cause bleary-eyed-ness ain’t such a good state to be observin’ in. So we watch them do their stuff.

Suddenly, the ninja whips out a pistol and starts shootin’ like crazy. Ain’t that the strangest thing? A ninja using a modern pistol like he’s willin’ to stop bein’ so traditional and whatever.

None of the townspeople are fightin’, thank goodness. All of us are like family, and no one wants to see their neighbor bein’ shot to death by those lasers or big guns or slime.

‘Course, if the ninja or pirate or whatever they call themselves die, we can’t care less about them, right? At least we won’t have to pay.

So we’re watchin’ the ninja (Mishamatsu, was’n that his name?) and the pirate (Pete Smokey, that one’s easy to ‘member), and we haf’ta say that we’re actually kinda impressed. Can’t say that we’re wowed, but the two are pretty darn good. At least they haven’t died yet, an’ that’s a ‘complishment in itself, ain’t it?

Suddenly, the aliens aren’t there anymore. We look up, and there aren’t anymore green little blobs anymore. Heck, either the aliens left, or there ain’t any more of them to fight—neither which have happened before!

Guess those fighters aren’t as bad as they seem.

“You like our work?” the ninja says as he and his pirate-y friend return from their alien invasion slaughterin’ work. “You pay for another day?”

Mayor Scottsflick thinks for quite some time. Then, Miss Courtney Alabama, without knowin’ the consequences, says, “Well, they’re pretty good, aren’t they?”

And that seals the deal. “Sure,” the mayor says. And they shake on it.

But all of us shake our heads an’ think of the money we’re losin’…


Something I thought up. And I can't tell whether it turned out well or not...

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