It was a dark and stormy night, rain falling heavily on the troops of men
and women gathered in the gloom, grim-visaged and stern. Melodrama was in
the air, boys and girls, and those present were reaping it for all it was
worth.

"Sir, can I help you with that?"

The speaker, in this instance, was young Lt. Superguy, from the MAUL
Signal Corps. He was addressing Most Holy, attempting to operate a camera.

"See these," the CinC replied, pointing at his trousers. "They're called
asshole pants, and I'm the one wearing 'em. So just wait till I can take
this shot."

The dashing (and handsome!) wealthy young Lt. returned to the group, and
waited for his commander to figure out just how the hell to operate one of
these things.

"Okay, got it. Everyone in position? Good, on three then. One- *flash* - 
oh damn."

Unable to maintain themselves any longer, the officers began the
celebration. Rouge Squadron was defeated, and these guys had some
celebratin' to do.

All except one.

As the revellers revelled, and the partiers partied, one man, a lone
figure cast in shadows (Audience: "Oooooh") remained outside the group,
alone with his thoughts. The rain fell hard that night, dark and greasy-

[You sure you want the rain to be greasy?]

[[Yeah, it's my story dammit.]]

[Okay....]

Like I said, dark and greasy, covering the lone figure-

[You already said he was a "lone figure"]

[[Okay then, fine. Try this:]]

covering the solitary figure in it's tragic ooze.

[Oh come now, how can ooze be tragic?]

[[Stop it! You're interfering with my Great Work.]]

[Oh, sorry. Do continue.]

He was thinking- what was he thinking? Thoughts he was thinking, and grave
ones at that. Thoughts to make the skin crawl-

[Where?]

[[Where what?]]

[Where is his skin crawling to?]

[[Oh, leave me alone.]]

...the skin crawl, the hairs on the back of one's neck stand up, folicles
all trembling at the very hint of, well, what it was that he was thinking.
This was the Night, That Night, the Night it would all begin.

[And, hopefully, soon end....]

[[What was that?]]

[Nothing. Please, continue.]

He pulled from his pocket- the deep, dark depths of his pocket- a Gordita.
A wistfull grin briefly flashed across his stern visage.

"Mmm. Gordita."

This figure, clad in black, well, except for his insignia, but for all
intents and purposes in black, slowly unwrapped the culinary item, careful
to maintain maximum containment within the pita itself while minimizing
lettuce loss. How dramatic was he, in striking contrast to all those who
had mocked him as a child, laughed at him, spit on him and kicked him,
used his head for a toilet plunger even after he had given them his lunch
money, his 401K plan, indeed all that he owned- oh, how afeared they'd be
now-

[Um, we're not talking about our hero anymore, are we?]

[[This is Art! You are interfering with my Art!]]

[Okay, it's your reputation....]

Anyway, as he prepared to consume this Gordita, another figure came out of
the gloom surrounding him. It was a woman.

Beautiful she was, trenchcoated, it seemed, as if in the mist itself. Her
hair fell in curls, dark red, like the life-blood that encirculates
through the veins and arteries of all people-

[Oh yeah, there's a line to remember....]

[[Ahem]]

She approached him, and spoke. Three simple words she spoke then, there,
in the rain-

[The greasy rain, right?]

[[Go away]]

...in the rain, which by now had formed puddles around them both, unifying
them as if in anticipation of some momentous happening, or perhaps it was
protecting them, maybe, or it could have felt sorry for them too, but
regardless there were lots of little puddles, and the raindrops, falling
harder now, disrupted their smooth surfaces with countless ripples, almost
like the riddle of life itself-

[WHAT DID SHE SAY???]

[[I'm building up to that. Wait a moment.]]

[Saints preserve me....]

and watching these little puddles of Truth- for that is what they were-
she tossed aside her blonde hair and-

[I thought it was red. You distinctly said it was red hair. You're a
thundering moron of a writer.]

[[Well, maybe she dyed it as she was, you know, coming out of the mists
and all.]]

...and said her three words. 

"This your car?"

"My car? um, well, yes, it is. I mean, yeah. It's mine."

"And are you aware that you are parked in a No-Parking Zone?"

"Well, no," he stuttered. "I mean, but, well, I'm waiting, you see-"

"I'm going to have to ask you to move your car sir, or it will be towed.
Street cleaners coming through in an hour."

The dismal truth of his situation finally came to bear on the Lt. He
addressed the MP, whose MAUL insignia were now clearly visible.

"I'm sorry. Yes, I'll move it. Okay. Sorry. I really am sorry."

"Just shut up and move the car," she said, turning on her heel and leaving
him there, in the rain, with a soaked Gordita his only comfort. No one
knows where he went after that, perhaps to the hills, or maybe the woods.
Some say he died of a broken heart, and his ghost can still be seen
haunting the rain-soaked parade grounds at MAUL HQ. Those who know,
however, simply grin, looking off into the distance, and to this day
remain silent as to the whereabouts of the fabled Lt. Superguy, MAUL
Signal Corps, Jihad to Destroy Barney.

[That's it? That's the end of Effigy?]

[[That's it.]]

[You're leaving us with wet Taco Bell and a parking ticket?]

[[Don't forget the puddles. They were metaphors, you know.]]

[I'm suddenly consumed with a very strong desire to punch you in the face,
you know.]

[[Please don't, I have more stories to write, more of my Great Work to
complete, more truths to share with everyone....]]


                                   FIN