Hava-Wash – Part 2
Illustration from iStockphoto
And now after yet another successful awakening and engine ignition, our young man, comfortable settled in the vehicle command post, was ready to plunge into traffic. With his senses in alert he approaches the first intersection, the one up the street near his Presidential Palace.
Suddenly: “Stooop! Whoooaa! Whoooaa!” As usual the SD – Stop Dwarf is at his post doing his job, cursing loudly, sitting high up, right in the top of the traffic sign. His crazy signs were related to the commander through the TCDs – Traffic Control Dwarfs running all over the dashboard. “Warning! Stop Alert Great Master!” Alfonso reacts immediately. The decision is automated. The nervous impulses are transmitted in nanoseconds and instantly enforced by the right leg’s muscles that push the brake pedal. Brake! The BPJ – blue piece of junk abruptly stops right in front of the Stop sign. A quick look left… a quick look right… Svooooom… svooom… heavy traffic. Interminable parades of horse power caged in different metal bodies. Some are smaller, some are huge, some are angry and some are stupid, some are colored and some are rusty, some are the latest state of the art mechanical wonders and some are obsolete four wheels disasters. All of them are tamed by their humanoid masters, most of them already tired, with grey faces and lost looks, making their way through traffic. Some of them cursing, some of them bored, and some of them just absent. The people are not happy yet. But fear not! The Revolution is around the corner!
Suddenly a window of opportunity! “All clear left! Repeat! All clear left side! Go! Go!” the TCDs stuck against the windshield are doing their job, flapping around their signal flags, running, whistling and cursing. “Whooa! You mother fucker… all clear Master! Go! Go! Fuck off asshole! Let’s kill them all! Whooa!” The SD is clearing the BPJ to entry the intersection, agitating hysterical around the Stop sign.
The little neurotic fellow curses and spits all day long. He slaps himself, he tumbles, and he throws on the pavement his white hat, then he quickly runs down to get it and climbs back on top of the sign always cursing the damn traffic in his intersection. That was his job. Alfonso knew well this dwarf. It is the first SD that he sees every day. The funniest things happen at night, when the Stop Dwarf is napping, always at the top of the sign, leaned against a half empty beer bottle and sleep talking. Sometimes, from nowhere, some crazy fool is penetrating the precious intersection shrouded in the quiet of the night with the engine max revved and skidding around. Is a real spectacle to see the little SD ruffle his feather. His eyes grow smaller with anger and because of the surprise he always looses his balance and falls down from the sign screaming until everything ends with a clogged impact sound. Booof! Usually he falls straight on his head. Then he raises confused, he straits up his uniform and starts running hysterically around the metallic sign pole. This lasts about forty-eight to seventy-six seconds, time during he shouts from the bottom of his lungs the most awful and hideous curses against humanity. The poor guy! Afterwards he barely climbs up his sign, takes a sip of beer and starts spitting the people walking by. It’s his way to get even with the humans. And every day he starts all over again.
Alfonso, following the TCDs instructions signals left… click… click… click… and slowly engages the left turn. The BPJ moves loudly, obedient and slow on the first lane of the crowded avenue. The TCDs continue their dashboard razzle-dazzle. “Go! Go! Hit it!” The BPJ successfully enters into the heavy morning traffic. “You have a new message… you sexy thing!” The female voice announces through the internal comm. “Put it on-screen! Shit! Thanks!”
The hustle and bustle that is going on in the cockpit is suddenly interrupted by a graveyard cough, having the point of origin under the commander’s seat. The peewees immediately react. The activity intensifies and frenzy takes over. Everybody is busy at their posts, running around transmitting information, monitoring gauges, gesticulating and arguing. The cough continues and it’s getting louder and closer. It’s accompanied by a key chain rattle like sound. “Plueah…” a spit. Alfonso’s coat is swishing. The coat’s fabric fold just as a little figure is hardly climbing up the commander’s sleeve. And finally… tan… ta… naaa… heavy beer stinking and cutting a dark contour shape in the sun light that was flooding the cockpit, bravely and dizzy appears on the commander’s right shoulder, posing hands on hips position, the mighty Chief Executive Dwarf, the Supreme Captain of the peewees – Osnofla the Great. “Aaaaattention! Captain on shoulder!” All dwarfs in formation. Then comes the greeting… “Long and sexy life!” The captain is solemnly answering the greeting (Irish accent of course): “Long and sexy lives to you too, you little bastards!” And all peewee nation is throwing their hands in the air, they start bouncing around their axis leaning in one leg and then the other. Everything ends with a collective shouting… “looong and sexy lives!”. The romping around ends. The gang continues with their routine. Everybody is back at their stations.
Alfonso was getting kind of annoyed by the racket caused by the little captain’s morning apparition, but what could he do about it? They had their own rules and customs that he was bound to respect. After all Osnofla was his most trusted advisor and friend. Although his Chief Executive Dwarf was kind of wacko most of the time, he knew that he always could count on him, especially when the shit hits the fan – and that happens more often than you think. Osnofla was experiencing the usual slight hang over but he was also fresh, victoriously smiling at the windshield, still posing on his master’s shoulder with his hands on his hips.
– Morning Your Highness! What’s up?
– What’s up with you dog? What, did you bother to wake up? And what’s with the freaking beer stench? Did you get stoned again last night?
– Well… I got a bit hammered, loaded, wasted, plastered, shit faced, really really really fucked up…
– Ok! Ok! Damn! I got the message. But you didn’t left any trace of your orgy in the cockpit, as you demented little fuckers usually do.
– Well… I know you got really mad the last time you found that crazy shithead lieutenant Pinkoulus pissing on the Start Engine button and all the stoned brave peewees going wild all over the cockpit. So, we had to strategically relocate our drinking quarters. I got my guys out and we got wasted behind the left back wheel. My God that was some wild shit! You should have seen the orchestra dudes! Now that’s a freak show! They didn’t get off until they smack each other senseless with their instruments. And we had some troubles with a stray dog that was drawn to our wheel… you know how they are, those dumb animals, nosing around. We had to bite it by its nose to get rid of it. And then the simpleton comes back and pisses on the wheel and of course on our party. Go figure! Luckily for it we were all so hammered that the only thing that we could do was to set the orchestra’s piano on fire. And the funny thing is that those orchestra dim wits are still arguing in the trunk about what the hell happened with their piano!
– Yeah… well it’s nice that you can have fun… while the rest of the world is falling apart!
– Dude! What the fuck? Did you wake up on the wrong side again?
– Come on man… you know we’re in a mission. I need you to be more responsible. I need to know I can count on you.
– Ok. Now… really what’s up?
– I just received the message. Those UN morons messed up again the deal with Ahmadinejad. I thought it was a done deal. Now we’re back at square one. Shit!
– Well… that’s not good. But look at the bright side. All you have to do is to set up again a strip poker game in Tokyo with the Bolshoi Ballet and get the boys back together for a nice round of negotiations… if you know what I mean – Osnofla laughs maliciously on Alfonso’s shoulder.
– You know it’s not that simple. Netanyahu swore the day after that he will never ever attend another negotiation party with that crazy Iranians and French guys.
– I know! My God that was fun! Remember how at breakfast he could not seat down because his ass was in pain. And his face when Sarkozy told him that he got so drunk he felled asleep on the bar counter and him with Ahmadinejad tattooed his ass. On one cheek “I am an Iranian fan! Allah is Great” and on the other “I love Tatiana! Vive La France!” Luckily the Japanese had their ninjas in the room so they couldn’t kill each other. That was crazy!
– Yeah… but now that Iranian ass threatens again he will flood the European market with radioactive ice cream. God damn it! How can I focus on the Revolution when I have to deal all day long with those morons?
– Commander… maintain direction!
The BPJ glides into traffic, passes by signal lights, runs on the avenues and leaves behind other vehicles. Three giant yellow and blue butterflies are falling from the sky made from flowers bright-colored in all the universal shades. They glide lazy, calmly through the petal rain, hovering over the packed avenue, casting huge warm shadows on the little insignificant life forms trapped in the street frenzy. One of the shadows slides just for a second on BPJ’s body. The butterflies are slowly vanishing over the skyline. The colored petal rain continues to drop relentlessly until the contact point with the clear cold and grey real world – that means about a tall man’s height. The petals melt into oblivion at two meters above ground level. They just fade away.
– Prepare submersible mode! Immersion imminent!
The Chief Executive Dwarf’s command is promptly followed by his subordinates. They run around, check the gauges, comment, gesticulate and adjust instruments. The cockpit is pressurized the vehicle is prepared for immersion. Osnofla knew a short-cut through the blue liquid and was certain that this will relax his troubled young master before he faced yet another challenging day in office.
– We are ready for immersion Al. At your command…
– Perfect! Execute!
The BPJ turns left. It leaves the main avenue and takes a side road heading for the ocean. The road ends with a ramp. The angry max revved engine drags the vehicle toward the higher end of the ramp. Alfonso continues to accelerate. Osnofla smiles on his shoulder. The dwarfs settle in immersion positions. The silence takes hold of the cockpit. Only the old engine’s roar engaged in the mad race plays the mechanical music that challenges the silence. Suspense… The BPJ reaches the end of the ramp. Svooooo… and leaves it behind. It’s back wheels break off from the solid surface with a light squeak. It heads for the sky. In its ascension the vehicle goes over the earthly two meters high and plunges into the colored petal rain, the little dancing petals are instantly dissolving when touching the BPJ’s blue metal body, leaving behind small perfume clouds… poof… Through the lazy dancing flower sky the warm sun shines, casting blue shimmer on the vehicle’s body… sssfling… The passengers were dazzled by the rare spectacle. The giant butterflies were flying.
But only after a fraction of a second the BPJ changes its trajectory obeying the Gravity Laws. Fooo… Splash… the blue liquid embraces its visitors. Red, yellow, green, pink, orange life forms, all shapes and sizes were gladly spinning around the vehicle’s windows. The algae plains were calmly dancing on the drift current rhythms (and it seems it was a reggae rhythm). “Immersion complete! All systems operational! We are clear and in the go zone!” The peewees were at their stations doing their jobs. The BPJ is freely continuing on its way through the blue liquid heading for its master’s destination – The White Bungalow.
– Man… that is so cool!
Everything is going great! Positive vibes surround the vehicle. The warm blue floods the cockpit casting harmony all over the place. Osnofla is engaged in some sort of jig, twisting around his master’s right ear, one step forward, two steps back, one step right, three steps left… hands in the air… aaand hips are spinning. BPJ’s Traffic Control Dwarfs are doing their job waving around on the green algae rhythm. From time to time one of them slips in a pirouette, another a hip swing… clipboard in the air, everybody is slowly shaking their heads and tapping their feet following the calm green rhythm. They all wear shades, slick hairstyles and colored unbuttoned macho pecs showing tropical shirts. Uuuu… one cool sexy gang…
The BPJ runs freely through the dancing fauna and flora, elegantly swinging on the marine drift pathways, happily shaking its antenna and leaving behind air bubbles trails, each one of them more crazed than the other on their insane race for the surface. That is a strange thing. What a short but effervescent life the air bubbles have. Each one of them trapped in the crazy race didn’t know how to get ahead of the other. Each bubble is rushing, speeding on its way to the water surface, to certain death. The second they reached the surface… poof… they dissolve into thin air. But until that point, on their short way up to oblivion, each air bubble emanates a pure unparalleled joy. They all are yuppie and tralala… And together they become an indescribable clutter of happiness. All of them are crazy chatting around to everybody else, some of them are getting in love, and they get close and bound to each other making small baby bubbles that tag along on the way up. And they follow absolutely any path they want. They are so free. They are thrilled. They fully live their way up short lives and vanish.
To be continued…