literature

Something 90s This Way Comes

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Literature Text

A stillness hung in the air as President Rhodes entered the room. Arthur Hammen, well respected general and good friend of Rhodes, quickly jolted from his seat as he heard the door creak. A sharp salute couldn’t hide the grim frown he wore on his face.

“Arthur, I do hope this matter requires a 3 am trip to the office. Janice wasn’t too happy when you rang”

“Sir, I can assure you this is of the utmost importance. I hope you excuse me if I just skip the formalities and dive straight in? You need to hear this”

Rhodes glanced over his old friend, then shuffled sleepily to his desk. His form shrunk as he collapsed into the soft cushions of his magenta chair. “Oh come now, General. You and I both know you were never one for formalities.”

“Right…ahem,” Hammen shifted wearily. “I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’ll just be straight. What you are about to see is filed under the top tier of classification. Absolutely nothing we are discussing leaves this room.”

Rhodes exhaled, cradling his aged head in his hands, then almost reluctantly reacquired eye contact with the man in front of him.  “Arthur, please. I’ve seen enough taxpayers’ money go fluttering away towards pointless alien witch hunts to care anymore about ‘top tier classification.’ Did you know there’s an ‘Elvis Relocation’ wing at 51? It’s insane. Who cares if the public knows? It’s not like we’ve ever found anything”

“With all due respect sir that’s not entirely true. That’s what I’m here to tell you.”

With this Rhodes eyebrows peaked. His posture improved, and his hand relinquished the silver lined pen he was so fascinated with moments ago.

“Really now? We’ve got an E.T.?”

Hammen took a deep breath, then grabbed a group of folders he had left lying on one of the guest chairs. TOP SECRET was stamped in deep crimson on most of them, and the corners of several intriguing photographs poked out of the sheath.

“It’s time you learned, Mr. President.”

“Learned about what?”

Hammen leaned in towards his superior. Rhodes prized himself on being a man of strong will, but under the penetrating gaze of a being of Hammen’s stature even he felt the need shift awkwardly.

“Fad control.”

Rhodes’ expression went blank. His eyes darted back and forth, and his mouth hung slightly as he tried to comprehend. “I’m sorry. Fad what? Fad control?”

“Correct. The duty of my organization is to monitor escalating fads and intervene at climax to halt any potential damage to national security or American culture.”

Rhodes began to smirk. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Are you serious? You monitor fads? As in, like, bellbottom jeans?”

“Well the bellbottoms have been for the most part contained, Mr. President. A rebel or two still manages to slip through on occasion, but we took out the rest magnificently. Oh those were the days…”

As Rhodes heard the seriousness in his friend’s voice he started to lose face. “I…This can’t be real. You can bring the cameramen out now, I’m not gonna give the press anymore footage of me screwin’ up. Porters already has enough to work with in his g****mn “To Catch a President” smear commercials”

“I assure you this is not a joke, Mr. President. I realize it’s a little tough to grasp initially but we have important matters to discuss.”

“No, no we don’t. Im sorry Arthur but I’m not gonna sit here and talk hairstyles with you. I’m quite tired“

“Oh you think this is a laughing matter, do you? Well take a look at these, sir!”

Hammen tossed some photos from one of his folders on the desk. Rhodes quickly glanced them over, but was unmoved.

“What? It’s just a bunch of pictures from the California wildfires. It’s been all over the news”

“No, this is what we’ve been feeding the press for months.” Said Hammen, jabbing his thick finger into the pile of photos “It’s a cover. All fake”

“How is it fake? Acres of forest are being burnt down by these things. They’re out of control”

“Not burnt, sir. Eaten.”

Rhodes cocked an eyebrow. “Eaten? Eaten by what, exactly?”

“These!”

More photos scattered onto the table. Unlike the earlier set, these photos didn’t capture wild infernos, but…

“Oh…oh my god. What….what the hell are those things?”

“We call them Furbies. They don’t rest, they don’t sleep. They just eat, breed and ****ing giggle about it all. We’ve been trying things for months. Nothing can stop them. We even attempted taking out their batteries but the stupid screws in the compartment won’t budge.”

“You’ve…you’ve tried everything?”

“Nearly. We sent in some of our best agents to try and eliminate them, but they were compromised a few days ago. Haven’t heard anything since.”

“CIA?”

“No. Call ‘em the Rangers. A whole team of energetic, teenage fighters just ethnically diverse enough to avoid a lawsuit. Their hip, preppy nature was our greatest assets. At least til now.”

“Those were your best agents?”

“We thought so. Granted the puns got old pretty quickly, but their fighting abilities were top notch and definitely not fake at all. At any rate, they were clearly outmatched.”

“By the Furbies?”

“No, something far more elusive. Far more dangerous”

“Well?”

“Hold on, let me find the file,” Hammen began shuffling through his papers, shaking his head ever so often and forming vague shapes with his mouth, “yes here it is. Apparently it’s a team of nearly unstoppable fighters. Our intel is incredibly limited, but we know that their leader is called Leonardo.  A Mr. Raphael is apparently very crude and initial reports peg one Michelangelo as a “party dude.” Oh and Donatello… yes…yes, he most certainly does machines”

“He what? Does machines? What the hell does that even mean? And why wasn’t I informed about any of this earlier? Why now?”

Rhodes began running his hands through what little remained of his snow white hair. Hammen took the opportunity to take a seat at last, though his stiff posture still echoed of his staunch military mindset.

“We’ve never had to come forward about our operations before. The previous decades yielded easier, more controllable fads. But this one is off the charts.”

“Okay, okay. At the very least we can quarantine the west coast right? Just cut the Furbies off and let them die of starvation?”

“We could, but we risk damning ourselves in the process.”

“How so?”

“Little vermin we’ve dubbed Tomogotchis”

“Tamales?”

Tom-o-got-chis. They’re some kind of Japanese plague”

“Don’t tell me they’ve found their way into America?”

“Oh yes. En force. The animals themselves are relatively harmless, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, the creatures seem to leave behind heavy amounts of waste residue anywhere they reside. Over a relatively short period of time this residue can reach lethal levels, for both us and the tomogotchis themselves”

“Are you telling me these things crap themselves to death?”

“For lack of a better phrase, yes. As of now we don’t actually possess any means of dealing with the waste product, but several teams have observed Furby swarms tearing right through the stuff”

“So if we kill off the Furbies, we drown in Tomogotchi ****?”

“…Yes”

Rhodes threw his head back dramatically. Swiveling his chair back and forth, he muttered, “I cannot beeeelieve this is happening. Why couldn’t this occur next term? I’d be somewhere over in Hawaii, sippin’ some fruity thing on a beach-”

“That wouldn’t be possible anyways, sir. Hawaii was lost three weeks ago. Beanie Babies everywhere. We would send a liberation force but we risk damaging their tags. Then they’d be worthless to everyone”

“Beanie Babies? I know about those. My daughter has some. How on earth are those causing a problem?”

“That’s what they said about Tickle Me Elmo. Eight tramplings and a Wal-mart store fire later and we’ve lost North Dakota to those chuckling ba***rds. Fads like these bring out the worst in people”

Rhodes seemed to shrink even further into his seat. His hand reached for his pen once more and a quiet quickly took hold of the room.

“Look, Arthur, it’s what, four in the morning? I don’t know what you want me to do. You know more about this stuff than I do”

“But there is something you can do, Carl. Something that could end this epidemic here and now” said Hammen. Rhodes was taken aback; not once since the election had Arthur Hammen once called him by his first name.

“Are you serious? Anything! What is it?”

Hammen reached into his lap and produced another file. A smooth shade of mint green, the sleeve was sealed tightly by a thin layer of plastic.

“What I hold in my hand, Mr. President, is something that possesses the strength to wipe out every fad for now and even years to come. Something so powerful we had to take it all the way to you in order to receive activation clearance.”

“Why the hell would you bother bringing it to me? If it’s as good as you say it is just activate it now! Clear ‘em all out!”

“It’s not that simple. This thing could be the solution we so desperately need, this is true. But it has the potential…” Hammen for the first time in the conversation seemed nervous. He looked away briefly, then rubbed his hands on the tips of his knees, “It has the potential to consume everything.”

Rhodes looked down at the folder. His friend seemed almost reluctant to take his hand off of it.

“Everything, Carl. Every billboard, every commercial, every toyline. No one will be able to escape it. It’ll take out the other fads all right, but if it gets out of control, it could be worse than all the others combined!”

“What…what do you need me to do?”

“I…we all need you to choose, Mr. President. The decision is yours”

Rhodes got up, and turned away from his friend. Drawing back the curtain, he watched the lights of the city dance before him in an elegant patience. He stood for what seemed like hours, just staring at the country he so deeply loved. The sun soon began to creep up in the distance, and groups of children rode by on their Razor scooters, enjoying the early morning air and laughing in sweet ignorance.

“Give it to me.” He said determinedly, thrusting out his hand. Hammen rose from his seat, handling the folder as one would a child, then passed it on.

“Mr. President, I give you the Gotta Catch ‘Em All Initiative”
Ahh the 90s....Roller blades, slap bracelets, and Will Smith....geez what a freaky decade.
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VioletCherryBlossomz's avatar
“Are you telling me these things crap themselves to death?
ROFL! XD This is hillarious