"God Only Knows"

An unexpected brain-flash came in. Joe’s eyes widened as he projected the message for Zipper to read.

“From Charles Executor Obliviator,” Zipper read aloud, eyes growing in wonder at the message from the music/monkey-butler businessman. "Why, that's CEO, from the Thunderhead!"

Zipper read on. “Grand performance at Crash Landing tonight. I got a blimp waiting at the end of the road. Make it there, and consider a ten trillion dollar music contract yours.”

“T-T-Ten!” Joe weezed. “The fellas and I could live on the Moon!”

Alright, alright, Zipper would have to admit - that inflamed sensation beneath her nostrils was nothing more than old-fashioned envy. And yet, when you see someone you like look so happy, you can’t help but feel happy as well.

She smiled. “You’ve earned it, ol' chum.” Then she eyed the door. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

The two friends shook his hands. After coordination with the others via brain-flash, Zipper rolled up her sleeves and barreled out the door onto the street.

It was pure chaos out there. People were pouring out of their apartments now, eager to join the fun, since the last great riot had been during the Toxic-Rat Uprising years back, and when you’re laying in bed all day, doing nothing, on your stomach with your feet kicking up behind ya like a teenaged girl, a riot seems mighty appealing. Letting out steam. Humans are made of water. Sometimes steam comes out whether ya like it or not.

Several car fires raged along the street, while a drunken mob dragged a reluctant robo-cop by its mechanical legs. Sailors climbed atop the flying rectangle drones and now drove them cowboy-style through the sky. Pies soared everywhere while tomatoes flew fast, Tommy Gun-style, from Vito’s Italian-American Bakery towards Django’s American-Italian Bakery across the street, with Django himself using a big pizza dough shield as he led a brave squadron towards their mortal enemies. Air raid sirens began to blare in the background, a curfew was declared, and it really made you think, ‘cuz this was ‘sposed to be 2999, when humanity had moved beyond the need of such things…

In the kitchen of Django’s, Django Jr held hands with Nat Cool, a plate of spaghetti between them on a table. Battle conditions make for quick lovers. One strand left, the two started slurping, and wouldn’t you know it, they were slurping the same strand, little spaghetti sauce ‘round the lips, mouths moving closer-

“Let’s get out of here!” yelped Sue from the parlor, where she had remained hidden with the rest of the group until Django ushered an exhausted Zipper and Joe inside. With Dime-Boys and Do-Nothings all united once more, Sue grabbed Nat by the collar and yanked her out of there, everyone fleeing out the back door as a combined group of Vito’s men and sailors broke in through the front. The last Nat ever saw of Django Jr was the boy - no, the man - doming Vito with a bottle of Tuscan alfredo.

Through the fire and flames, down the street Zipper and friends went, sticking to shadows and back-alleys, ducking when sailors roamed by, when police reinforcements rumbled on. They arrived at the bottom of a slightly-inclining street, Obliviator’s blimp parked in an intersection at the top, monkey-butlers keeping rioters at bay.

Steeling themselves, the gang charged up the hill, ignoring how both exhausted and out-of-shape they were. Nat, the most athletic, made it there first, clamoring over into the open-air basket. The rest of the gang arrived, all except Zipper, who probably would’ve had high cholesterol had she lived a thousand years ago before they cured it.

Joe, half-way over the basket railing, tried to go back and save her, but something awful happened. When the Martian flagship Vespasian pranked the Asskicker, several paint balloons failed to go off. These duds were studied by top scientists, one of whom made a quick buck by selling it to Haraguchi, who planned on pranking Billy with it. But now, that Martian paint balloon had a new purpose - from Haraguchi’s spot on a nearby rooftop, he slung that balloon right at Zipper!

“Duck!” yelled Joe. Zipper, feeling half in a dream from this terrible practice known as physical exertion, heard him just in time. She stumbled out of the way, the projectile coming for her head, and in moments like these you make some grand realizations.

I don’t wanna be a ratcatcher. I don't wanna job that destroys.

The balloon flew closer.

I want to be someone who creates.

Mere inches away.

I want to better myself and creating something good. 

It sailed by her entirely and splattered harmlessly.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Zipper realized. That’s what I wanna do. I wanna improve! I wanna improve! I wanna

Zipper slipped on a pie and smacked into the pavement. She let out a cry and held her scraped knee.

“Sssh…aaaah.”

She held her knee.

“Sssh…aaaah.”

She held her knee.

“Sssh…aaah.”

She held her knee.

“Sssh…aaah.”

She held her knee.

“Sssh…aaah.”

“Hurry up!” yelled Magenta Sue, because the monkey-butlers had collapsed the perimeter and the blimp was now taking off (and Zipper owed her $5). The gang tried to jump off to save Zipper, but the monkeys wouldn’t let nobody out. Zipper came to her senses and shambled over to the rising basket. The blimp was taking off, and if she jumped, she risked falling away, down the incline, to certain doom.

Yet Zipper jumped anyway, because she wanted to improve.

Time slowed down. The blimp seemed so high up now. Zipper stretched her hand, and there Joe was, with Sue and Nat and the rest of them, reaching for her.

Hands came close.

Zipper missed them entirely.

The blimp took off, and here Zipper was, falling back towards the ground, sailors waiting for her.

But then someone saved her.

A hand from the basket grabbed hold of her wrist and hauled her upwards. Zipper, sighing in relief, saw the grinning face of her savior.

“Gotcha,” said Scottie.

Zipper smiled. “Aw, Scottie, you wonderful mistake of nature, you…”