I am not going to continue with this idea - but it was a great deal of fun to write.
No one knew how it started. That was, what is commonly known in the Navy, IST, and most other organizations, as a
lie. It was a lie that everyone agreed to, and this collusion over the shared deception was in itself a form of
teamwork and more importantly, team bonding.
Most of IST Paragon suspected Thibor.
There was good reason for that suspicion; but not all the facts fit the
puzzle. With sufficient force, you could fit the werewolf shaped suspicion through the round hole of the reality; but
it required some deliberate twisting and application of a considerable amount of force. A level of force that would not
be appreciated by the werewolf in question and could lead you to fit uncomfortable through the round hole, the square hold and the star-shaped
hole. Simultaneously.
The first reason was purely practical. The
physiognomy of the human body did not lead to efficient application of the technique. The human body contains
significant, automatic defense mechanisms; usually centered around protecting areas necessary for survival and reproduction.
In targeting those areas, you were up against learned reaction and automatic reaction simultaneously. Not good
odds. There were more effective targets, ones that not only had a higher efficacy in landing a specific strike, but
played on the natural defensive reactions to allow that strike to land.
The second reason was motivation. The group
targeted was not the most deserving of the treatment. There were groups for whom such and act was far more
deserved. Their villainy greater. Their victims legion. Yet it was not these groups that were targeted.
The final reason could only be described as poetic.
As gestures went, it was banal. There was no elegance to it. When the
story of your life was written, your grand artistic creations, humanitarian acts and nobler endeavors could all be swept away by one such thing. As the old Joke stated "I built a thousand walls, but do they call me Dmitri the wall builder? I painted a thousand houses, but do they call me Dmitri the house painter. But shag one
sheep…"
So based on these reasons, it was unlikely that Thibor was responsible for starting
Kick-a-Hellion-in-the-Junk Day. Thibor knew this. He had been counting on
it.
Of course the reality was somewhat more muddled.
He had not intended to create the phenomenon. It had started as a joke. Well
not really. It had started as a Curry. Not any curry mind you. This was not a your run-of-the-mill then run-out-your-arse curry. It was not an impress a
date with your international food experience curry. It was a boy's night out, late night, something to hold the
beer down curry.
In Atlas Park.
In Hellions Territory.
It had been Thibor, Simon, Louie, Byrd and Charcoal.
While Charcoal did not qualify in the boys category, due to a significant difference in genitalia and a pair of stunning bristols. Byrd also did not really qualify. He could be considered one of the boys, but it was a
stretch. Byrd was one of the boys in the same way that tomatoes are fruits.
Sure it is technically accurate, but no one really believes it.
Standing in between the well lubricated revelers and their curry destiny - well a
restaurant called Arthur Curry's Indian Seafood - was a trio of Hellions. The altercation was brief, but
telling. The shaky cel-camera video is focused on the Hellion, and the sound is distorted, but the phrase. "declare Kick a Hellion in the Junk day open." Could be made out.
The video made it onto Herotube.com. It went
viral. A new meme grew. No one knew when "Kick a Hellion in the Junk"
day was, but every few days a message storm would put it into the minds of the city, heroes, villains and citizens alike, that this day was "Kick a
Hellion in the Junk" day, and set to it with gusto. Then the day would pass, and in the cool, rational, light of
the next morning, it would be realized that an error had been made, and "Kick a Hellion in the Junk" day was pending, and would arrive
shortly.
It was a beautiful thing.
For everyone except the Hellions.
And even when they complained, it was in a gasping, pain-wracked, squeaky
voice.
And that was beautiful too.
No one knew how it started. That was, what is commonly known in the Navy, IST, and most other organizations, as a
lie. It was a lie that everyone agreed to, and this collusion over the shared deception was in itself a form of
teamwork and more importantly, team bonding.
Most of IST Paragon suspected Thibor.
There was good reason for that suspicion; but not all the facts fit the
puzzle. With sufficient force, you could fit the werewolf shaped suspicion through the round hole of the reality; but
it required some deliberate twisting and application of a considerable amount of force. A level of force that would not
be appreciated by the werewolf in question and could lead you to fit uncomfortable through the round hole, the square hold and the star-shaped
hole. Simultaneously.
The first reason was purely practical. The
physiognomy of the human body did not lead to efficient application of the technique. The human body contains
significant, automatic defense mechanisms; usually centered around protecting areas necessary for survival and reproduction.
In targeting those areas, you were up against learned reaction and automatic reaction simultaneously. Not good
odds. There were more effective targets, ones that not only had a higher efficacy in landing a specific strike, but
played on the natural defensive reactions to allow that strike to land.
The second reason was motivation. The group
targeted was not the most deserving of the treatment. There were groups for whom such and act was far more
deserved. Their villainy greater. Their victims legion. Yet it was not these groups that were targeted.
The final reason could only be described as poetic.
As gestures went, it was banal. There was no elegance to it. When the
story of your life was written, your grand artistic creations, humanitarian acts and nobler endeavors could all be swept away by one such thing. As the old Joke stated "I built a thousand walls, but do they call me Dmitri the wall builder? I painted a thousand houses, but do they call me Dmitri the house painter. But shag one
sheep…"
So based on these reasons, it was unlikely that Thibor was responsible for starting
Kick-a-Hellion-in-the-Junk Day. Thibor knew this. He had been counting on
it.
Of course the reality was somewhat more muddled.
He had not intended to create the phenomenon. It had started as a joke. Well
not really. It had started as a Curry. Not any curry mind you. This was not a your run-of-the-mill then run-out-your-arse curry. It was not an impress a
date with your international food experience curry. It was a boy's night out, late night, something to hold the
beer down curry.
In Atlas Park.
In Hellions Territory.
It had been Thibor, Simon, Louie, Byrd and Charcoal.
While Charcoal did not qualify in the boys category, due to a significant difference in genitalia and a pair of stunning bristols. Byrd also did not really qualify. He could be considered one of the boys, but it was a
stretch. Byrd was one of the boys in the same way that tomatoes are fruits.
Sure it is technically accurate, but no one really believes it.
Standing in between the well lubricated revelers and their curry destiny - well a
restaurant called Arthur Curry's Indian Seafood - was a trio of Hellions. The altercation was brief, but
telling. The shaky cel-camera video is focused on the Hellion, and the sound is distorted, but the phrase. "declare Kick a Hellion in the Junk day open." Could be made out.
The video made it onto Herotube.com. It went
viral. A new meme grew. No one knew when "Kick a Hellion in the Junk"
day was, but every few days a message storm would put it into the minds of the city, heroes, villains and citizens alike, that this day was "Kick a
Hellion in the Junk" day, and set to it with gusto. Then the day would pass, and in the cool, rational, light of
the next morning, it would be realized that an error had been made, and "Kick a Hellion in the Junk" day was pending, and would arrive
shortly.
It was a beautiful thing.
For everyone except the Hellions.
And even when they complained, it was in a gasping, pain-wracked, squeaky
voice.
And that was beautiful too.
