“Right. And the inhabitants of the animal kingdom know this. After years of trying to make them wear pants and play the accordion, or chasing them out of our attics with brooms, humans are undoubtedly despised by both chimps and squirrels alike. Physically, humans and apes may be related, sure, but, socially, spiritually, chimps would identify more with squirrels. They would be brethren in a fraternal sense.”
“Have you ever lost an argument?”
“Once. That guy’s not alive anymore, though.”
Forty-Four: The Same Thing We Do Every Night
Having given in wholly to the whims and wants of the woolgathering wastrels, Quetzalcoatl was finally able to enjoy his days, largely through excessive drinking, sleeping, and the occasional spouting of vague, usually insulting, witticisms.
Then he got bored.
Then he got an idea.
A wonderful, awful idea.
“Everyone,” called Quetzalcoatl loudly, “gather ‘round.”
“We can’t gather round, man,” said Gil.
“The room’s square, man,” said Lil. “It’s got, like, corners.”
“OK, not you two,” replied the former Aztec god.
“That’s not cool, man.”
“Yeah,” seconded Gil, “that’s, like, discriminatory and stuff.”
“Fine, alright,” relented Quetzalcoatl, “but no talking.”
Gil and Lil nodded. Phil, Bill, Will and the rest of the philosophers and liberal arts majors likewise gathered ‘rou… in a manner that filled the room but did not actually resemble a circle in any way.
“Gentlemen and ladies who look like gentlemen,” said Quetzalcoatl. “The time has come for us to make our presence known. For you to get off your asses and make this planet a better place…”
Quetzalcoatl was going to take over the world.
Forty-Five: His Name Was Sleepzor, He Was a Tiredmotron
“What the fuck is the new guy doing?” asked Thor.
“It looks like he’s taking a nap,” replied Catrina.
“But he’s a robot.”
“Yeah.”
“Robots don’t sleep.”
“Yeah.”
“Why is he sleeping then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think we should wake him?”
“Well, given that he’s got a circular saw in his chest and the last guy that surprised him was the late, great pillow fetishist, I’d advise against it. Also—and this is important, Thor—why? There is no conceivable reason to wake him. We haven’t had a guest since he killed that guy.”
“Yeah, I know, but I want to know why he’s asleep.”
“That’s pretty dumb.”
“He’s a robot. Robots don’t sleep. And yet this one is asleep, snoring even. I want to know why.”
“So ask him when he’s awake.”
“What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he’s in some kind of robot coma? What if by waking him up I’m saving his life?”
“My money’s on that being even more unlikely than a robot napping in the first place.”
“I’m gonna do it.”
“You’re gonna get a saw through your chest.”
“You worry too much.”
“You’re an idiot too much.”
“Here goes.”
Thor approached the robot sprawled across the lobby’s couch. He was debating between tapping the robot’s shoulder and simply yelling in its face. Catrina, for her part, decided it would be wise to retrieve the first aid kit from the break room, as Thor was about to become grievously injured.
“
Catrina wasn’t exactly sure what happened next—as she was safely beyond the robot’s assault perimeter when its defense mechanisms were triggered—but it sounded awfully similar to a jet of flame, an agonized cry of “By Odin’s beard,” followed immediately by an equally as agonized cry of “fuckin’ shit, my eyes,” then something soft, fleshy, and angry punching something confused and made entirely of steel, and, finally, something made of steel being thrown through something made of glass.
Catrina was going to offer her sympathies to Thor by yelling “I told you so” into the lobby, but she found she was laughing far too much to speak.
Forty-Six: Dispersing the Diplomats
Quetzalcoatl was drinking quietly in his corner, humming a song he had heard on someone’s radio at some point in time, possibly, when he was suddenly surrounded by a half-dozen dirty, disheveled faces he had never seen before. Or, more likely, had seen before but didn’t bother remembering. Or, most likely, he was very, very drunk and they were very, very blurry.
“Can I help you?” asked Quetzalcoatl.
Gil, Lil, Hil, Jill, Jack and Mac nodded their blurry heads in unison.
“OK, that’s… that’s not helping. Someone use words. Or pictures, maybe.”
“We’ve been talking to Phil and Will, right?” said Gil. “And, like, we were thinking that, maybe, you know, we should go out as, like, emissaries or something.”
“To, you know, spread the word of what you’ve been saying and, like, make your teachings and stuff known,” added Lil.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” said Quetzalcoatl. “And you guys came up with it?”
“We did,” said Jill.
“Together,” said Jack smiling too much.
“Yeah, great, good for you,” replied Quetzalcoatl, looking at Jack uneasily. “You’ve certainly got my blessing. Or at least my approval. I suggest you gather whoever else you want and go forth and do what it was you just said you’d do. Now.”
Gil, Lil, Hil, Jill, Jack and Mac nodded their blurry heads again. Then they continued to stand there.
“You don’t appear to be going forth,” said Quetzalcoatl, closing one eye in an effort to focus. “Why are you not going forth? Now?”
“Well, we’re, uh, we’re not really sure where to go from here,” said Jack.
“We didn’t get that far,” added Jill.
“Yeah,” added Hil. “What, uh, what exactly should we tell them?”
Quetzalcoatl sighed and rubbed his palms against his forehead.
