Communication Breakdown

It’s always the same,

I’m having a nervous breakdown,

Drive me insane!

-Led Zeppelin, “Communication Breakdown”

Jimmy was one of those good little boys. With warm brown eyes and neatly combed hair. He just seemed to radiate good intentions, the star of his own solar system.

He was the only child of the mayor and the president of the Homeowner’s Association. They lived in a big, white house right in the middle of their quiet, normal, suburban neighborhood and spent their days walking in the park, attending reward banquettes, and driving through poor neighborhoods to point and stare.

Yes everything was flowers, smiles, and strip-malls for little Jimmy. No one would expect the horror that was soon to be unleashed upon the little town of Whitesville.

One morning, Jimmy woke up early (he always woke up early). He hopped down-stairs and said good morning to his dear mother, who grinned and kissed him on the forehead (she always did). Together they opened up the refrigerator to make breakfast for Jimmy’s loving father. It was then they realized a horror (not the horror mind you, for that comes later)… they were out of butter!

Both of their minds resentfully flashed to the night before, and the horrible pork-incident. And now how could they make delicious and nutritious pancakes without butter?

“I will go and retrieve the butter, mother!” Jimmy beamed valiantly. Normally little Jimmy never left his home alone, for the world was a dangerous place filled with terrorists, Democrats, queers, and worst of all, black people (the HORROR!). However, these were desperate times, which of course required equally desperate measures.

So off Jimmy was sent, a $10 bill grasped closely in hand. There were only eight blocks between little Jimmy and the supermarket, and he was armed with a cellular phone. The odds were in his favor.

Unfortunately, the odds were about to come crashing down around his head…

“Chopper one, requesting backup… Yes… A small boy with blonde hair, I repeat a small boy with blonde hair… Okay… I’m going in.”

Jimmy marched forward, oblivious to his surroundings, repeating to him, “Do not speak with strangers. Do not speak with strangers.”

“Yo, kid!”

“Yeah?” Jimmy spoke, smiling up at the curious man standing above him. He was dressed in a black trench coat and wide-brimmed hat and leaned against the bus pole next to the old 7/11.

“Hey… you got a light?” He asked, removing a cigar from his jacket.

Jimmy blinked a few times, still smiling, and asked, “Are you queer?”

“What?”

“Mommy says that creepy men are always queer or black, are you black, mister? (the Horror!)” Jimmy asked, tugging at the trench coat. A helicopter flew overhead, though they both paid no mind.

“Whoa! Lay off the rags, dogg!” the man said, wrenching his jacket from the boy’s small hands. A small handgun tumbled out and skidded across the sidewalk.

“Give yourself up, we have you surrounded!” a loudspeaker called. Jimmy looked up to find almost fifty police officers and twice as many guns surrounding them.

“Aw, shizzle!” the cloaked man cursed, “How does this always happen ta me?”

“Release the child and come quietly!” the loudspeaker boomed.

The man scoffed, ripping open his jacket to reveal a dozen firearms, “Yeah right! I ain’t never gunna come…” Suddenly a lifetime of smoking kicked in and the criminal instantaneously died of lung-cancer (that’s why you shouldn’t smoke!).

The policemen shrugged and put away their guns. They all leapt into their cars and drove across the street to the Crispy Crème. As the last car started up, one of the cops called out to Jimmy, “You should get going too… before the media arrives!”

Jimmy twitched slightly, then nodded politely. He turned around and took one last look at the corpse, turns out he was black after all (the HORROR!). As he looked up a Middle-Eastern man came out of the 7/11, flipped the “Open 24 Hours!” sign off, and started off briskly in the same direction Jimmy was supposed to.

Being somewhat traumatized, Jimmy considered turning around and going the other direction. However, he remembered his poor, diabetic father and his sworn duty.

He leapt around and continued several yards behind the obviously inebriated fellow in the turban. This showed a lot of bravery considering he was a shelter 9 year-old-child who had just been caught in the middle of a standoff. That was little Jimmy though, always too stubborn to give up.

There were only six blocks between the 7/11 and the supermarket. Unfortunately there was also a Wal-Mart Super Store. For those of you who don’t know, the Wal-Mart is the ultimate target for all terrorists. Why? Because they hate our freedom of purchasing choice. And of course, Agent Smith knew this fact like he knew the back of his gloved hand.

He came into step behind Jimmy, out from the alleyway he was waiting in. He knew something was about to happen… the alert level was Orange! Jimmy, focused on his courage, failed to notice Smith until his monotone voice droned, “Do not turn around. I mean you no harm.”

Of course, nothing could have alarmed Jimmy more, and he promptly squealed like a baby and spun about. Needless to say, the 7/11 clerk also spun to discern the cause of the horrible shriek. Desperate for cover, Agent Smith straightened his mirrored glasses, flattened his crew cut, and called reassuringly, “The boy has just realized the frail mortality of human existence. Nothing to worry about.”

The clerk nodded and continued on his way. Agent Smith grinned, despite himself, at his own brilliance. He leaned down to Jimmy, who was still breathing heavily, and spoke, “The name’s Smith… Agent Smith. I am an FBI agent, and you have just become my partner.”

Jimmy shook his head fervently, however Smith had already concocted a plan and it involved the little boy.

“Alright. Here’s what I want you to do…”

Abu Gharab climbed the top steps of the Wal-Mart, finally knowing what he must do for his people. He had fooled himself for years, but his dreams last Tuesday, along with the heavy consumption of alcohol, had cleared away his doubts. He was not an American convenience-store owner. It was not his lot in life to peddle cheap snacks and slushies. He was an Iranian, and it was time to stand up for his people!

Tears in his eyes, he remembered his wife, who died in a stupid oil-war fifteen years ago. He finally reached the top stair. He reached inside his jacket, and shouted out to the people below him:

"هذا هو شعبي لكم الخنازير"!

Sadly none of the housewives and businessmen knew Arabic or they would know that roughly meant, “This is for my people you pigs!” Their loss. Suddenly, Smith’s voice rang out across the lot, “Stop. Or I’ll shoot this little…” he indicated to a poor trembling little Jimmy, “Cow!”

Sure enough, Jimmy was dressed from head to foot in a thoroughly ridiculous cow costume. Abu blinked several times before shaking his head in disgust. He then exploded in a ball of flame, taking the entire façade along with much of the parking lot along with him.

“Damn it!” Agent shouted, throwing his left-glove to the pavement. “Why do they hate our freedom?”

Jimmy finally remembered to close his mouth, and slyly began away. Suddenly, Agent shot around and grasped his shoulder, “You weren’t thinking of running away, were you?”

He had an unhealthy look in his eyes, which were visible above his askew glasses. “You cannot leave me now. Oh no. I need you. You’re country needs you. You’re not going anywhere at all. Hey, the back of my hand. I haven’t seen that in years. There are many other places for us to go. Many more terrorists to stop. Things will be different next time. They are always different. But the outcome is always the same. They say I’m crazy. They’ve tried to revoke my license. I’ll show them. We’ll show them. Together we’ll…”

Jimmy kicked Agent hard in the crotch. He grunted and released his grip. Jimmy was immediately off down the road, without even the slightest look back.

He flew as fast as his little feet could take him, past the Star Bux, past the Burger King, past the Star Bux, and past the bank, ignoring the shooting pain coming from his poor legs.

“Oh dear! You do look like you’re in a hurry. Where is a little one like you off to?” a kind voice asked.

Jimmy finally fell down in exhaustion, his concentration foiled. He looked up at the woman above him, a nun with long black hair, casually leaning against an SUV. She smiled down to him softly, the sun shining above her made her look just like an angel.

“What problem could you possibly have, son?” she asked, helping him to his feet.

Jimmy sniffled, “I just want to get to the convenience store and buy some butter. But weird things just keep happening!”

The nun pondered for a second, “Have you considered that perhaps you are atoning for something? Maybe He is punishing you for so wrong-doing.”

“Catholics always say stuff like that!” Jimmy’s mom explained in his head. But perhaps she was right, maybe he had done something to anger God.

The bank alarm went off behind them, and out of the bank came another nun, slightly shorter and pudgier then the one Jimmy was talking to. She strongly resembled a black-and-white rhino, mid-charge, which was about to make Jimmy-goop on the sidewalk. At the last second, she veered to the side and jumped up into the SUV, which the black haired nun had already started.

“Sorry hun, love to stay and chat but I gotta’ fly!” she winked back at Jimmy, whose mouth was locked open. She turned and kissed the other nun and playfully prodded, “What took you so long Sister?”

“Well you know… Nobody takes nuns seriously anymore!”

“Tell me about it.” Her hair flew back along with her habit as she nailed the gas, speeding off into the distance, leaving a poor, stunned Jimmy with a mouthful of smoke. That was the final straw for little Jimmy, who, remembering the cell phone lodged in his pocket, speed-dialed his home, not caring who might pick up.

That is when the locusts descended. Millions of them. In fact, the most on record since the Great Locusting of ’72. No one in Whitesville had ever seen so many insects. Many people in Whitesville were, in fact, members of a rare sect Christianity that disbelieved that locusts existed. (Obviously they were a Jewish lie to scare honest, hardworking, rich people.)

As you all know, locusts block out cell phone transmissions. This left Jimmy alone in the world, with no connection to his family, for the first time in his entire life. Being of sound mind and calm emotion, Jimmy did the only sane thing left to do.

He turned back around and headed straight to the Walmart, beyond the police tape and wreckage, past the grumbling officers and their donuts, through the line of hurried shoppers, and to the front of the hunting section, where he promptly purchased an M16 and as much ammunition as he could carry.

As he walked through the parking lot, he noted how much safer he felt with a gun in his arms, and for a brief moment he was happy his mom always sent him with ransom money. He also reminded himself to join the NRA once he got home.

From there he easily made it the remaining four streets to the convenience store, although he had to fire a few warning shots at those who passed by.

It was a dilapidated old building, one of those stores with so much crap you can’t see in through the windows. Also, it seemed likely that the locusts had caused a blackout, because it was completely dark inside.

However, Jimmy didn’t let this faze him, he simply kicked in the glass door and walked in, careful not to slip on the pieces.

A dark figure crouched in the corner, by the ice. Its eyes seemed to glow as they peered up at him. A dry voice called up to him, “you there…”

After a long moment, Jimmy asked, “Yes?” He double-checked that his gun was cocked and loaded.

“ARE YOU A FOLLOWER OF THE GOAT KING?!?!?” the voice screamed at him, accusatorily.

“Do you mean Lucifer? I am surely not a worshiper of him, and it wouldn’t be wise for you to suggest as much, considering I am the one holding an M16.”

The man sighed, relieved. “No, no. Not that goat king. I meant the Goat King of Scotland; you look Scottish. Are you Scottish?”

Jimmy thought for a second, and then shrugged.

“What can I do for you?”

“All I want is some butter.”

“Oh! Over there, by the cheap beer.”

Everything seemed to be “by the cheap beer”, however the “DAIRY” section was clearly marked.

Jimmy grinned smugly and walked towards the refrigerator. As he reached for the handle the man shouted from across the room, “Stay away from there kid!” Jimmy shot at the man, not even bothering to look.

The man made a loud thump as he hit the floor, which Jimmy ignored. He yanked hard on the door, which opened with an eerie creak, releasing a foul smell into the store.

A whole moose fell out of the fridge, obviously trapped within for a very long time. Jimmy cursed to himself softly as he barged out of the store.

He bumped straight into a tall, young man, with jet-black hair. His eyes were a matching color, and burned with the intensity of coal. He wore thick, gray, glasses and carried a thick stack of papers, which he was shuffling through, absentmindedly. He was also bright red, with horns and a tail.

He smiled, showing rows of sharp fangs, “Please to meet you. I hope you guessed my name.”

Jimmy blinked several times, before aiming his gun and unloading the rest of his round.

“You know I think that’s one of the dumbest lines of all time. Of course you know who I am, everybody on the entire freaking planet knows who I am. Seriously, that’s like Santa coming up to a third-grader in Nevada and saying, ‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Guess who I am, kid!’ I mean honestly!”

“Why… why are you here?” Jimmy whispered, suddenly frightened.

“Well, as all things in life, there is more than one reason, in this case three.” Lucifer grinned evilly.

“You liked to hear yourself talk, don’t you mister?”

People didn’t usually do that. He glared darkly, “First off, you called my name.”

“Oh yeah, didn’t I?” Jimmy smiled, pointing at page 5.

“Secondly, I’ve been keeping up on this story,” he shuffled through his papers before finding the right one. “And I must say it is entirely awful. I mean seriously, I thought I was the king of torture but seriously, the person writing this obviously is a complete sadist!”

“I agree,” Jimmy nodded.

“For example, the story drags on for too long, with long breaks such as this which provides no plot development. Also, the humor falls flat and the plot was overly predictable. The author even outlined the story on the first page.”

Jimmy flips back to page 1 and skimmed it before saying, “Oh yeah, they did.”

“…And finally, the characters and dialogue are totally implausible.”

“They are not! How do you figure?”

“Take your mother’s character for instance, whose motives and personality are completely ignored.”

“Oh that’s harsh. I thought she was good enough.”

“Yeah yeah, that’s what they always say: I think it was entertaining. I tried my hardest. I thought it turned out alright.”

“Okay this scene is rambling now, can you get on with it?”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, I’m prone to doing that, y’know having all the time in the world and all. I mean all the time until Dooms Day…”

“Get on with it!”

“I have a proposition to make,” Satan paused.

“Yes?” Jimmy asked after a long moment.

“God has decided it is not your destiny to gain the butter you seek. I am not one to believe He should be allowed to decide your destiny. Look at the tree up on that hill,” he indicated, “Would you take my help if I were to change it into a carton of butter?”

“Would it mean my eternal soul?”

“That’s usually how it works.”

Jimmy thought hard for a long moment, and then he realized he was probably already damned for committing murder. He looked back up to the Devil and asked, “Would you answer a single question first?”

“Well… that seems fair.”

“Okay, this has been bugging me for a while: The black person and the terrorist were obvious, and I guess the nuns were queer, but what about the Democrats?”

Satan laughed, “Why, I am of course!” And with that he burst into a puff of smoke and brimstone. Jimmy’s eyes immediately darted to the hill; sure enough the Devil had kept his word. There sat the largest tub of butter Jimmy had ever seen.

Jimmy through his gun to the ground, and sprinted all the way up the hill. He grabbed the tub, tears running down his face. It began to rain, the drops mixing with his tears of joy. He raised the tub above his head and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Thank God!!!”

At that moment, he had become the highest point in the surrounding area. A flash of lightning shot down from the heavens, traveled through the butter, and electrocuted little Jimmy. He died instantly and spent the rest of eternity in hell.

What lesson can be learned from Jimmy’s story? Remember kids, never take the Lord’s name in vain.