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16 Sep

Episode 11 – Father’s Day – Part 3 – by Eugeniusz S. Lazowski

“Madre de Dios!” exclaims Blanco in fear.

“This time he’s killed someone!” Bell complains a moment before he sticks to his inhaler.

“This time he ends up in front of the firing squad…” is Moore’s comment.

The President’s staff, and some of the escort men rush towards the destroyed tent, fearing the worst.

The mayor rushes in, panicked.

“Our party! The wagons! The award ceremony tent!”

“Mr. Mayor,” asks Panting Blanco, “do you know if there was anyone in that tent?”

“No, it was the award ceremony tent! The award ceremony for best daddy of the year…” Morgan desperately replies. “Now, where are we gonna have the ceremony?”

“In heaven…”

“What?” Morgan exclaims.

“To heaven,” continues Naive moved, “the poor general has gone to heaven…”

Among the crowd, frightened and stunned by the roar, the security men make their way, who hardly walk on the collapsed tent in search of Byjove.

“He flew into the sky…” is Naive’s comment.

“Get me out of this shack!” thunders Byjove’s voice. “How the hell do I get out of this tent?”

“That man is unbreakable…” says Wright.

The men of the security go to the screams, but stop in front of the saber circling in the air.

“Make way, get this tent off me!” swears the soldier, slashing and tearing the cloth with his saber.

Byjove comes out of the ruins with a sword, to the amazement of all, who thought the worst. “Out of the way!”

“General, he’s still alive…” rejoices Naive.

“But of course I’m alive!” he replies. “Rather… how is the chariot race going?”

“The landing must have been more traumatic than it looks…” Moore thinks aloud.

“General,” advises Bell, “perhaps you should lie down and recover from the blow you suffered. You know, some trauma can manifest its consequences after many hours…”

“Bell!” slams Byjove. “The trauma I might cause you, if you don’t shut your mouth, will have immediate consequences, you understand?”

“Oh, God…” pants Bell on his inhaler.

“Yes, yes,” says Moore, “he’s fine, he’s just the same.”

“General,” Blanco says, “there’s no race, remember? We were trying to stop the President’s chariot and yours…”

“Not to mention all the other daddies’ carts,” Wright adds. “Look around you…”

Chaos reigned supreme throughout the park, wrapped in one big fuss. Wagons galloped, fathers terrified, stalls destroyed.At that moment, Super Dan’s chariot was speeding towards the sausage counter.

“Look, the President’s wagon!” says Bell with little breath left.

“Men, run, move!” cries Blanco.

Too late… Super Dan’s wagon swept right over the sausage counter.At that moment, Super Dan’s chariot was speeding towards the sausage counter.

“Look, the President’s wagon!” says Bell with little breath left.

“Men, run, move!” cries Blanco.

Too late… Super Dan’s wagon swept right over the cold cuts counter. The roar is frightening, wood, salami and sausages flying in all directions as the three passengers soar through the air like three acrobats.

The First Lady does a parable and lands on a large hedge, which saves her from worse consequences.

Ms Brontenserious flies in the direction of a marquee, one of the few left standing, and lands on it, tearing it down.

Super Dan rises into the sky like the comet star, with a tail, represented by the skewers in the back. The meat counter on which he falls explodes into a thousand pieces.

“The President, save the President!” is the scream of Byjove as everyone rushes to his rescue.

“Oh God,” exclaims Naive, “this time he’s dead!”

“Naive, don’t give me false hope…” says Moore promptly.

The escort, staff and part of the crowd are all around him, motionless in front of the scene: Super Dan on the ground, buttocks in the air and three spits stuck in his ass, a steak on his head instead of a toupee, and a sausage necklace around his neck.

“Soon,” Byjove’s voice breaks the silence, “get those skewers off your presidential buttocks!”

“Help the President,” Blanco orders the escort, “and rescue the First Lady and the housekeeper.”

They’re called firefighters, ambulances, army, national guard and civil defense. After three hours of hard work the park no longer resembles a battlefield, the destroyed tents and stalls have been cleared, the wounded medically treated or hospitalized.

While all this was happening, in a tent, surrounded by security men, lying on his belly on a cot, away from prying eyes…

“Don’t worry, Mr. President,” assures Byjove, “I’ll take care of your ass now!”

“What?! No, one moment, General, but there is no doctor…”

“A doctor?” slams Byjove. “Those goddamn bone saws! Don’t worry, I’ve stitched up more wounds in Vietnam than an ER!”

“Vietnam?!” Super Dan is moving on. “No, wait a minute…”

“Don’t worry, my commander, I won’t be a moment. Here, off goes the first…”

“Aahhhh!!”

“Don’t do that. It’s nothing. I’ll take the other two skewers, two patches and it’s all over.”

“No, wait a minute…” begs Super Dan, while his wife and his faithful housekeeper hold him down.

“Et voilà!” exclaims Byjove, brutally pulling out both skewers.

“Aahhh!”

“That’ll teach you to have certain ideas.” the First Lady reproaches him. “You and the wagons drawn by oxen…”

“Ja, the wagons, but with beer and sausages on them, that’s what he thinks!” adds Ms Brontenserious.

“My ass!” cries the President.

“It’s over, my commander.” Byjove says, snapping to attention. “The operation was successful!”

“Successful?!” complains Super Dan. “My ass is on fire…”

“Do you want me to call the fire department?” asks Moore, who just walked into the tent. “They’re right outside, trying to clean up the mess you’ve made. Do you want me to call one with a fire extinguisher?”

“What?!” slams the wounded big chief. “Moore! What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I was wondering if I could be of any use to your presidential buttocks.  General, do you need a hand?”

“No, Moore, thanks for the thought, but I solved the situation. The operation was successful!”

“Are you sure?” Moore insists. “No, because outside there is Bell who has extensive experience in illness and treatment, and if you’d like we could invite him…”

“Of course!” cries Super Dan, lying down, no more skewers, but with bleeding buttocks. “And while we’re at it, why don’t we have a cabinet meeting around my ass?”

“But, Mr. President,” mumbles Byjove, “I don’t think it’s appropriate, a little modesty, it’s still presidential ass…”

“General!” cries the first citizen. “That was a joke! What do you want, to actually hold a cabinet meeting around my ass?”

“Aye aye, my commanding officer!” jumps to attention Byjove.

“Rather,” continues Moore, “may I point something out?”

“No!” continues to resound to the first citizen. “You can’t! Get out of here, get out now!”

“So,” Byjove continues confused, “shall I go out and call the others?”

“The others who?” slams Super Dan.

“All right,” says the British seraphic, “but don’t get upset, it’s bad for your blood pressure, isn’t it, milady?”

“He’s right,” answers Gwendoline. “The veins in your neck are about to burst…”

“The other members of the government…” explains the military.

“The other members…” stammers Super Dan banned. “And for what?”

“For the cabinet meeting around his ass,” continues Byjove, “as you said before…”

“Get out!!! Everybody out of here!” screams super angry Dan.

“…and your backside keeps bleeding. That’s what I wanted to point out.” concludes Moore. “General, but the operation was not perfectly successful?”

“By a thousand bayonets!” exclaims the soldier. “I forgot to suture the wound!”

“Forgotten?” explodes Super Dan. “While you’re standing here talking nonsense, I’m bleeding to death!”

“That’s never!” snaps on Byjove, who turns towards Ms Brontenserious. “Needle and thread.”

“Nein, I no needle, no thread.”

“No?” amazes Byjove. “What kind of a housekeeper are you? You always carries all the spare parts…”

“Ja. Wigs for President’s big head and girdle for his belly.”

“All right,” mumbles Byjove, “I’ll have to manage…”

” Belly?” Super Dan’s gonna pop. “How dare you?” I have no belly…”

“…cauterize the wound.” Byjove concludes.

“…and I’m not wearing girdle…cauterize?! What does that mean?

“Let’s light a nice little fire, I put my saber on it for a few minutes and then I put it on the wounds, pressing hard. One moment and it’s over.”

“What? General, are you out of your mind? It’s my ass…”

“Your ass is no different from a soldier’s!” Byjove replies proudly. “I cauterized a lot of wounds back in Vietnam!”

“Well, gentlemen,” says Moore with a mocking smile, “I see you’re busy, so I’ll leave you to it. I’ll help Blanco organize some relief work out here. Goodbye, Mr. President.”

“Nooo! Don’t leave! General, keep that saber in place and don’t come any closer!”

Outside the tent, anxious Bell goes to meet Moore.

“Moore, is it that bad? Judging by the screams, he seems to be dying…”

“No, don’t worry” reassures Moore. “He’s in good hands, the general is taking care of him.”

“Aaahhhhh!!!!”

An hour later…

The President, claudicating, suffering and with a new toupee on his head, comes out of the tent. At his side, his wife, his housekeeper and Byjove.

“Here he’s back in the world of the living!” exclaims Moore. “A round of applause for our President!”

“Moore,” snarls Super Dan, “one of these days I’m gonna…”

“And a big round of applause for our hero,” continues Moore, “General Byjove, who saved the President with a very delicate surgery!”

“Duty, duty,” replies Byjove smiling, “I only did my duty as a soldier.”

“General,” insists ironic Moore, “don’t be modest,” we all know your great experience on the battlefield. Rather, explain to us, how did you perform the surgery? Tell us…”

“Well, actually,” replies Byjove promptly, “the situation was delicate. You know, the President’s ass was pretty messed up…”

“Moore!!! General!!” cries Super Dan still in pain. “Will you shut your big mouth?”

“Uh, gentlemen,” says Bell, “I think the President wants to keep this matter quiet…”

“Of course,” continues Moore with a grin, “it’s understandable, given the subject matter, isn’t it, General?”

“Moore!” cries the President. “If you don’t shut your damn mouth…”

“I get it!” snaps on Byjove. “Operation Presidential Buttocks permanently closed!”

“General,” screams Super Crazy Dan, “knock it off. I don’t want to hear about this anymore, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Mr. President,” Bell replies, “we’ll maintain absolute secrecy on this matter. Speaking of the post-op course, I could recommend some really miraculous ointments…”

“Bell!!!” screams Super Dan really freaked out. “I said stop it! Do you know where you can put your ointment?”

“Oh, God…” is Bell’s moan.

“Let me guess…” Moore’s stinging. “Something to do with your operation?”

“Moore…” cries Super Dan about to explode.

“Enough, darling,” says the wife, “the veins in your neck are about to burst. Just think the worst is over.”

And that’s when Mayor Morgan arrives, distressed more than ever.

“Gentlemen, how are you?” he asks concerned.  “And you, Mr. President, how are you?”

“Perfectly,” answers bent forward and limping. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Well,” he continues, embarrassed Morgan, “after the delicate surgery he had to go through…”

“What?” Super Dan comes out again. “How do you know that?”

“Well,” continues Morgan, “the Chief of Staff has informed us of what happened and…”

“Moore! What the hell did you do? Did you tell the whole world?”

“Oh no,” answers Morgan, “just me and the city councilmen. Don’t worry.”

“Quiet?” burst out Super Dan’s purple face. “And since you were there, why didn’t you say so on TV?”

“There wasn’t a camera handy at the time…” is Moore’s response.

“Presidential ass on everyone’s lips…” Byjove mumbles thoughtfully.

“Moore, one of these days I…”

“Mayor Morgan!” cries one of his assistants who arrives in a hurry. “The bonfires… what have we do with the bonfires?”

“Right…” replied Morgan. “With everything that’s happened, I almost forgot. You wanted this new custom, imported from abroad, so we prepared a lot of wood for the fires…”

“Fires?” jumps on Byjove. “Who said fires? Here I am, always ready!”

“But I don’t know if we should…” Super Dan tries in vain to fight it.

“Let it never be said!” Byjove slams down.  “A true soldier never backs down!”

“Well, if you want to keep going…” doubtful Morgan agrees.

“Let’s finish this ordeal,” Blanco comments, “and go home.”

“Agreed.” Wright joins in.

“Perfect!” cheers Byjove as he pulls out his saber. “Let’s go! Fire in the hole!”

The group heads towards a large clearing, where several piles of wood are ready to be burned.

“Well, gentlemen, here’s the wood you requested,” says the mayor. “Would you like to proceed with the lighting?”

“Definitely!” replies Byjove by clicking his heels. “Where’s the gunpowder?”

“What?” Morgan exclaims.

“What about the gas?” Byjove continues.

“Oh God…” sighs Bell alarmed, “…here we go again…”

“But not even some sticks of dynamite?” Byjove insists. “How the hell am I gonna light these bonfires?”

“In the traditional manner,” Blanco desperately intervenes, “I’m sure the mayor’s assistants are ready, aren’t they, Mr. Morgan?”

“Sure…” answers the stunned mayor.

The maintenance men lit bonfires, while Byjove grumbled, “What a people, going out to a party without even carrying a few sticks of dynamite…”

Around the crowds that survived the morning’s disaster begin to gather.

“What a sight, what a sight…” says the romantic Wright.

“Yeah,” agrees Morgan, “a good idea, I’ll give him that. “The bonfires, the crackling of the burning wood, the families gathered around…”

“…the jump of the bonfire…” Byjove intervenes exalted.

“The bonfire jump…?” question banned by the mayor.

“The bonfire jump!” confirms the general. “Why didn’t they tell him?”

“I really don’t know anything about it…”

“You need to know,” Blanco explains, “that in some parts of South America, on Father’s Day, bonfires are lit and fathers dare to jump over them.”

“And our President, as such,” Moore smiles, “will inaugurate this new tradition.”

“What?!” exclaims Super Dan, still sore.

“Of course,” continues Moore mockingly, “our President never backs down in the face of an obstacle, does he, General?”

“This never!” exclaims Byjove. “Our President is a true leader!”

“Really?” exclaims Naive. “Is he going to jump that big bonfire? But won’t it be dangerous?”

“Our President,” insists Moore, “doesn’t know the word danger.”

“Exactly!” says Byjove, standing at attention. “Like any warrior!”

“Gorgeous,” says Naive clapping, “can’t wait…”

Put in a corner in front of everyone Super Dan is forced to accept.

“Of course.I’m ready,” he says as he limps towards the bonfire, his gaze incinerates the smiling Moore.

“Darling, are you sure…” The First Lady tries to stop him.

“Madam,” intervenes Byjove, “do not resist a warrior’s fate!”

“Take care, Mr. President,” Naive encourages him, “take a running start.”

The crowd waits in silence, Super Dan is still, his eyes like two slits, even his toupee seems concentrated. Then suddenly he snaps, jumping for the pain, he is near the bonfire, a leap and…

Super Dan can’t get past the bonfire and lands sitting on fire.

“Dios mio!” exclaims Blanco. “The President is on fire! Get him out!”

The security men immediately pull out Super Dan, while one of the firemen present with his fire extinguisher fills the President with white foam.

“Aahh!” cries Super Dan. “My ass! My butt!”

“Oh, God!” cries Naive who’s pointing at the bonfire. “The President’s hair!”

Everyone turns around to look at his toupee left on the bonfire as it slowly catches fire.

“Spray some foam on the President’s big head, too,” Moore advises. “So no one will notice anything.”

“Great idea! I’m on it!” exclaims Byjove, ripping the fire extinguisher from the fireman’s hands, pointing straight at Super Dan, who disappears into a huge white foam.

“That’s it!” says the military satisfied. “Now no one can see anything!”

“Already even the President…” says Moore. “Knock-knock… Hello?”

“He didn’t choke to death, did he?” question Bell worried. “Because fire-fighting foam has the ability to draw oxygen away from flames, so his lungs would suffer…”

“Bell!” slams Byjove, “the only things suffering here are my ears!”

“Yuck!” You can hear a moan coming from the big foamy mass.

“He’s alive! He’s alive!” cheers Naive.

” Hurry,” Blanco says, “get him in that ambulance and take care of him!”

While the security men take Super Dan away, accompanied by the First Lady and the inseparable housekeeper, Byjove advances.

“Make way, now it’s my turn!”

“May God protect us…” whispers Moore.

“General,” says Wright trying to stop him, “but you’re pretty sure you…”

“Positive!” replied Byjove, drawing his saber and pointing it at the sky. “Clear the way!!!!” and he goes off like a rocket to the bonfire.

His leap is worthy of an Olympic champion, even an exaggerated one. He passes the bonfire and aims like a cannonball at one of the last remaining stalls, hitting it.

The deflagration resembles a bazooka shot, pieces of wood and salt cakes fly around hitting the spectators.

“This time he won’t get up…” says hopeful Moore.

Everyone rushes in scared, but here he comes out of the rubble, Byjove.

“It’s useless,” concludes Bell, disconsolate, he’s unbreakable…

“Next one now! Bell, what are you waiting for?” Byove screams. “Your turn!”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“I told you at the meeting, don’t you remember? You will make the jump on behalf of the government.”

“But no way. My backbone may be damaged…”

“Bell!” screams Byjove with a saber in his hand. “Don’t worry about your backbone, you’re not taking any chances, because you don’t have it! Be a man and show everyone what our glorious government can do. Attack!”

Byjove chases Bell waving his saber to the bonfire where, terrified, he makes a prodigious leap, managing to jump the fire.

Unfortunately, the landing is not the best and Bell is lying on the ground…

“Ahhh!” complains the Secretary of the Treasury. “Help me, I can’t move anymore, I’m in pain!”

“Unbelievable, he skipped it!” comments Blanco astounded.

“Is that so?” observes Byjove. “It’s all about stimulation. Men, lift him up and take him away!”

“Where?” asks one of the security guards.

“In a landfill.” Byjove replies.

“General,” Blanco scolds him, “a little understanding, can’t you see he’s sick? And just to make that blessed leap…”

“Take Bell in one of the service ambulances,” Wright suggests.

“And now,” continued Byjove indomitable. “What’s the plan, Captain Morgan?”

“Uh, actually, I’m the mayor, mayor Morgan. The program at this point includes another one of your novelties: Cannabis flowers.”

“Awesome!” cheers Byjove, “it’s the highlight of the party!”

“I’m sorry,” Bell shyly mentions, “but we’re sure this news…”

“Positive!” the general interrupts him. “100%. I have a long experience in this matter, trust me…”

“That’s the trouble,” sighs Moore, “we trusted you until now…”

“Captain Morgan,” cries Byjove, “Call Corporal Benny, and tell him to lead the flowers transport platoon here!”

“Mayor, I’m still mayor Morgan…” goes off mumbling the first local citizen.

Benny arrives with several helpers, each driving a van.

“All right, Corporal Benny,” Byjove goes up to him, “unload all the bags with the Cannabis flowers here.”

“What are you up to?” question Blanco.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it!”

The bags are piled up near the bonfires, when suddenly Byjove takes them and throws them one by one into the flames…

“General,” exclaims Blanco, “are you out of your mind? What are you doing?”

“General,” Bell panicked, “but do you know what the effects of these flowers on the human body could be?”

“I know what they are,” replied Byjove, “I know very well. I told you, in Vietnam we were experts…”

The smoke starts to spread everywhere, in a few minutes a cloud hovers over the entire park.

Blanco grabs Bell and drags him into an Argentine tango, Super Dan is juggling by throwing three of his wigs up in the air instead of pins, Wright has gone on stage to declaim Shakespeare’s sonnets and Byjove has placed himself near a bonfire to breathe deeply.

People are skidding, everyone is laughing, tears are streaming down someone’s face. Some hug, others lie down on the grass, someone starts to undress.

The only lucid and calm one seems to be Moore, who comes out of the park with a handkerchief on his face.

“Now the kids at every school in the country can do a great Father’s Day essay tomorrow morning…”

This is the first Father’s Day that the Kramp government is attending.

See you next week. Ending theme!

Super Dan
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