MA09 Myth Inc in Action Read Online Free PDF

While I am not particularly sensitive to callous or ignorant remarks about my size or how I’m gettin’ older, I can get a little touchy if anyone tries to poke fun at how I talk. You see, I have spent considerable time perfectin’ this particular style of expression as I feel it enhances my believability as a rough and tumble leg-breaker, thereby minimizing the number of times I have to actually partake of the violent-type actions which so offend and depress my sensitive soul. Therefore, anyone who tries to state or imply that talkin’ like dis is easy or stupid is issuin’ an invitation to waltz with me which would best be withheld unless his or her hospitalization insurance is substantial, detailed, and paid up. This is, of course, the very button the Flie brothers is tinkerin’ with, and I find their efforts sufficiently clumsy as to require immediate instruction as to the error of their ways and perhaps a little behavioral adjustment. The fact that I am still annoyed over the haircuts and uniforms and sorta lookin’ for someone to take it out on has completely nothin’ to do with my reactions.
    “Were you in that musical, too?” Junebug sez, unwittingly steppin’ between us in his eagerness to start a conversation. He is a good-lookin’ kid with the kind of soft, unblemished features usually associated with male fashion-type models. “I got to play Sky Masterson, myself. What was your major, anyway? I got my Bachelor’s in Dance.”
    “BusAd... a Master’s,” I sez, tryin to ease around him.
    Unfortunately he has given the Flie brothers a face-savin’ out from the buildin’ confrontation with Nunzio and me. Whether motivated by any native intelligence or simply saved by animal survival instinct, they switch their harassment to this new target without so much as pausin’ for breath.
    “A college man?... And a dancer! Ooooo! Did you hear that, Hy?”
    “Sure did,” his brother responds and commences to make kissy noises at Junebug. “No wonder he’s so purdy.”
    “Leave him alone, you guys!”
    This last comes from Spyder, who for some reason has seen fit to deal herself into the situational.
    “Oh yeah?” Shu sneers, turnin’ his attention toward this new front. “And who’s going to make me?”
    “If I have to, I will,” Spyder shoots back.
    “Oh yeah?”
    “Yeah!”
    “Well then, why don’t you show us... OW!”
    By now I have cooled off enough to take advantage of the situational as it presents itself. As they puff up and start to strut toward Spyder, the two brothers have thoughtlessly and rudely turned their backs on me. Before they can close on her, I have stepped in behind and between them, and dropped a friendly arm around their shoulders.
    “Excuse me, Spyder,” I sez with a smile, “but I need to have a few words with these boys in private whilst they are still able to stand and walk without the aid of crutch-type assistance. Right, boys?”
    “OW!... Right!”
    “Yeah... Aaah!... Sure!”
    The sudden cooperative nature of the Flie brothers is in no small way influenced by the fact that I have casually dug a thumb into the hollow of a collarbone on each of them and tend to tighten my grip another notch each time I asks them a question... regardless of how rhetorical it might be. The real trick to this maneuver, in case any of youse is interested in technical-type details, is not to loosen your grip once you start tightenin’ it. That is, it isn’t squeeze... release... squeeze... release..., it’s squeeze... tighten... tighter... grind... See what I mean? Now if, perhaps, youse have developed your grip to a point where you can crumble bricks with it... like I have... this will prove to be a most convincin’ punctuation to the weakest of logic durin’ a difference of opinion.
    Anyhoo, returnin’ to my oration, I draws the two brothers aside for a little chat, all the while keepin’ a wary eye on the hoverin’ corporal.
    “Now, don’t you think it would be a good