Big Fat Hands of Iron

On a glorious American morning, Goobly Gorbus strolled through the park admiring the dew sparkling on the flowers. His hands were jammed into his hip pockets. He walked with the careless arrogance of one well pleased with himself. He’d written an especially inflammatory poem the night before excoriating the government’s policies in Latin America. It was so hard to find a rhyme for “Nicaragua,” but he’d overcome that hurdle with the phrase “mal agua.” He thought that was surpassingly clever. He breathed deeply of the soft morning air and strolled casually and more than just a bit elegantly, he thought, around the corner toward the duck pond. Perhaps he’d find some inspiration there. Something in the way the ducks squawked and quacked reminded him of Congressmen debating a bill.

He was so lost in a daydream of the furor his poem would raise once it was published in his personal zine that he nearly walked into The Man, also strolling through the park.

The Man nodded. “Gorbus,” he said. “Good morning.”

Goobly nodded. He loathed The Man. Best not waste any words on the likes of him, he thought.

The corners of The Man’s eyes crinkled. “Feeling a bit haughty this morning?” He laughed. “That’s okay. I know you dislike me, but I don’t care.”

Goobly rolled his eyes and The Man laughed again. “I don’t care that you don’t like me,” The Man said, “but it’s important to me that you know I don’t care.” He regarded Goobly through lidded eyes. “What do you think of that?”

Goobly snorted. “What do I think? I’ll show you what I think.” He spun on his heels rather gracefully, even though he stumbled a bit, and dropped his pants. He aimed his pale buttocks at The Man and loosed a shrill, wavering, tooting fart. “Ha!” he shouted, pulling up his britches. “That’s what I think.” He folded his arms over his chest and regarded The Man.

The Man hooted. “You’re such a tease.” He stuck the tip of his thumb into his mouth. His eyes bulged and his cheeks puffed. Just as his face began to purple, his entire body burst inside out with a horrible wet plop and everted into a gigantic pulsating veiny wet and dripping rectum.

Gorbus grimaced. “That’s disgusting!” he cried.

“Oh, now,” The Man said. “Don’t be a ninny.” His face was embedded within the slick side of his rectal wall. “I’m merely embodying the natural state of our society.”

Goobly rolled his eyes. “So now you’re symbolic, is that it?”

The Man’s eyes widened in sincerity. “Exactly,” he said. “Thank you for pointing that out. You see–”

“Oh, look!” a child’s voice cried. “A slippery slide!”

Several more children’s voices cried out.

“Yeah!”

“Cool!”

“Neato!”

Multicolored carnival lights suddenly appeared on The Man’s body, chasing each other over the curves and folds of his monstrously distended rectum. A cheerful organ tune burbled and bubbled. The enticing smell of popcorn and elephant ears and corn dogs filled the breeze. The lights and the music and the warm scents hypnotized Goobly for just a moment. The Man looked just like a carnival ride, even though in reality he looked nothing like a carnival ride.

“Come on, kids!” The Man shouted in a carnival barker’s voice. “Brave the slippery slide! Do you have what it takes? Thrills, chills, and spills await you if only you have the nerve!”

They came from all over the park. Some were running, but most of them just waddled. “That’s so sad,” The Man said, breaking the carnival illusion in Goobly’s eyes. “They have great hand-eye coordination from playing their video games for hours every day, but their asses are all double wide.”

Goobly watched the children converge on The Man. Red-faced and puffing, they lurched and waddled, heaved and gasped. Their double chins wagged, their bellies sagged, and each child’s four cheeks jiggled like mounds of jello. “Hey,” Goobly called.     “What are you–”

“Ssshhh…” The Man breathed. “Suffer the little children to come to me.”

A boy appeared atop The Man. From Goobly’s perspective, the boy appeared to rise over The Man’s bulk like a bloated moon over a landfill. He might have been beautiful in another life–corn silk hair, pale blue eyes, full red lips–but in this life he was a swollen little troll, a grotesque avatar of sloth, gluttony, greed, and the ready availability of processed foods. His wheezing gasps bellowsed. He tottered above The Man grinning triumphantly, then dove headfirst into the horrible gaping fundament.

“Hey, wait!” Goobly cried to no avail.

Shrieking and giggling, the children clambered over The Man’s slick wet rectum to explore the gaping orifice at its top. “Get down from there!” Goobly yelled. “That’s disgusting! Get out of there!”

“Shut up, loser,” said a fat little girl. Mucous, blood, and feces smeared her face. She reached inside the sphincter, grabbed a polyp, and pulled herself inside.

“Yeah, loser,” The Man chuckled. “Don’t interfere with things you don’t understand.”

In a crescendo of delighted shrieks, the mass of children disappeared into The Man’s lower descending colon. His eyelids fluttered in pleasure. “Aaahhh…” he breathed. “Young American innocence tastes so sweet.”

“Unbelievable!” Goobly shouted. He clasped his hands to his head. “Those kids climbed inside you! They’re up your ass!”

The Man laughed. “Of course they’re up my ass. How else will they be changed?” Peristaltic contractions rippled up and down his abdominal wall. A few miserable screams sounded from deep in his belly. “Not to worry,” he said. “Of course, we lose some in the process, but we think the sacrifice is worth it.”

Goobly fell back a step, holding his hands up as if to defend himself. “This is crazy,” he said. “You’re a monster.”

The Man shook his head. “You’d better get with the program, Gorbus. I’m the bedrock of society. I do the hard jobs no one else has the, um, intestinal fortitude to do.” He tittered. “Why, I’m all that stands between you and despair. If not for me, then we’d be overrun by the likes of you, and then what?”

Goobly stepped forward, his index finger raised to make a point, but then a grasping hand popped out from The Man’s mouth and clutched at his chin. The cords in its forearms stretched and strained. Goobly saw a face in the darkness at the back of The Man’s throat. The face grimaced desperately as the hand clutched and pulled at The Man’s chin, trying to heave its way free from The Man’s gullet. The Man closed his mouth and swallowed mightily. A huge lump disappeared with a despairing scream down The Man’s throat.

“A few of them always try to buck the system,” he said with an indulgent smile, “but resistance is futile.”

“You stole that line!” Goobly shouted, pointing a shaking finger in The Man’s face.

The Man swatted Goobly’s finger away and chuckled. “No,” he said. “I wrote that line. I’m like God. All things serve me and I move in mysterious ways.”

The great purple lump of The Man’s everted rectum quivered and burped and spewed a frothy fountain of blood. Goobly leaped back with a cry. “What was that?” he demanded, his shaking voice thin and shrill.

The Man shrugged. “Just as a few of them always try to buck the system, a few of them are inevitably swallowed by the system, never to be seen again.” A single tear tracked slowly down his cheek. He wiped it away and studied the tear glistening on his forefinger for a moment. Then he flicked it away. “They’re weak,” he said, “not fit to participate in our grand experiment.” He dropped into a crouch and shuffled sideways pumping his arms. “Ya gotta break a few eggs,” he rasped, then spun around and shuffled back toward Goobly. “If you want to make a good omelet.” He snapped upright and grinned. “Hot cha cha cha!” Blood dripped from his rectum and pattered across his face. He rubbed it into his cheeks and grinned. “Keeps me lookin’ young,” he beamed.

A grasping hand popped out from his distended anus and groped for purchase. Slowly a shoulder emerged and then a head heaved forth. The child pulled himself from The Man’s rectum and slid to the ground. He wiped grue from his eyes and blinked rapidly. His sides bellowsed a few times as he caught his breath. He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said, soberly shaking The Man’s hand. “You’ve made a man of me.” He turned and marched off.

“Where’s he going?” Goobly asked.

“The Man smiled tenderly. “Oh, to be that young again,” he said. “He’s going boldly forth into the corporate world to occupy an uncomfortable chair in a vast cubicle farm. He’ll make a fantastic cog in a great corporate machine. Give me half a million of these obedient little robots and the profits will soar. Oh…” He choked up a bit. He smiled and cleared his throat. “It makes me feel ever so patriotic.”

He farted, a long, low blast that resonated deep in the bass register and sounded rather painful. His face reddened. “Please do excuse me,” he said. “You’re about to witness a paradigm shift.”

The children climbed out from his pulsing rectum. Singly at first, then in small groups, and finally in a great flood they emerged blinking from The Man’s bowels, wiping the sticky residue of his last meal from their eyes and digging the foul offal from their ears. Goobly heard their chatter. “Finally,” one fresh-faced young girl said to her mates, “I can see. What’s good for The Man is good for me.”

Her companions giggled. “That would make a great advertising jingle,” exclaimed a young man with a sweater draped casually over his shoulders.

The fresh-faced girl laughed. “So it would,” she agreed. They all laughed and linked arms and marched away.

The last of the children disappeared down the street. The Man’s everted rectum shrunk and shriveled and disappeared into his nether regions where it belonged. He stood, arms folded across his chest, beaming happily. “There they go,” he said, “the followers of tomorrow. May God bless them.” He turned to Goobly. “So,” he said, frowning. “What about you? What’s your story? How did I fail to catch you?”

Goobly backed away. “Oh, no no no,” he said. “I’m not crawling up your ass. I don’t want to be like them.”

The Man shook his head. “No, it’s too late for you. I want to know how you escaped. It troubles me that so many grown men and women will never know the sublime joy of working for the greater good.” He spread his arms. “Come, tell me.”

Goobly shook his head. “You’re disgusting.”

The Man roared laughter. “Oh my.” He grinned. “Oh my my! You are naïve, aren’t you! I think that’s cute. I could just eat you up.” His grin grew even wider.

Goobly backed away shaking his head. “I’ll expose you,” he said, thrusting his jaw forward.

The Man doubled over laughing. “What are you gonna do? Oh, I know! You’ll start a blog!” He shrieked laughter. “You’ll spread sarcastic internet memes! You’ll get a facebook page!” His laughter spiraled higher and higher, piercing the sky.

The Man laughed. He laughed long and loud and hard. He laughed last and he laughed best. The smug bastard.

About Tony Byrer

Tony Byrer doesn't do much that's interesting. He works a lot-- entirely too much, actually, and he farts around writing stuff he thinks is funny. His big fear is he''s not funny at all and will have to start taking Paxil. He's written for MicroHorror and Red Fez.

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