The Golden Globe

Then it was Sparky, who he began talking about in a surprisingly calm, controlled voice. He spoke of the lawsuits he had filed, was soon to file, or intended to file as soon as his lawyer drew them up. He kept glancing at the clock over the bar, saying his lawyer would be there soon and I could hear the whole story from him. By then I was wishing the ambulance chaser would arrive and give me a way to gracefully leave.

The segue into insanity was so gradual I hardly noticed it at first. Then I realized he was talking about a computer chip Sparky had implanted in his, non-Gideon's, head, that enabled Sparky to control his thoughts. The doctors hadn't been able to find it, oh no, Sparky was too clever for that, but Once-Was-Peppy had had his telephone removed, just in case. He was sleeping under a lead canopy because he was at his most vulnerable when he was dreaming.

"I have sonic and static generators ru

The only person in that direction was a stubble-faced drunk passed out with his face in a puddle of spit on the filthy bar top.

"One of Sparky's spies," post-Peppy confided. "He's here every day, pretending not to watch me. Pretending to be too drunk to notice anything. But I've seen him muttering. He's wearing a wire, somewhere, I haven't figured out where yet. He tells them when I leave here so they can keep track of me. Did you see them, loitering around out there? There's enough of them that no matter which way I go they can keep tabs on me. I've confronted them, but they all look at me as if I was crazy."

There was much, much more, I'm sorry to say. You try to be gentle, you try to be kind, but most of all you want to be out of there. Leaving becomes a frightening process of detaching his clawlike fingers from your clothing, first one hand, then the other, then the first hand again. I thought I was free, backing away with a big smile on my face, when his arm shot out and grabbed me again.

"I've figured out who he really is," he said, in a loud whisper.

"Sparky?" I said.

"Satan," the man who used to be Gideon Peppy said.

Folks, I don't want to turn this into a diatribe against the abuses of personal rights and freedoms, but this man needs help. Because he's harmed no one and so far hasn't harmed himself, he ca

This man should be stopped, before he hurts himself or someone else.

Or both.

The News Nipple

Obituary Page, 6/10/60

MARSH, Julian E. Born 2103. Mr. Marsh, better known to millions of his young fans as "Gideon Peppy," was dead on arrival at the Mare Vaporum Medical Center yesterday afternoon. The cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

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TELEVISION CLOWN KILLS SELF, WOUNDS TRANSIENT

(Mare Vaporum) Julian Marsh, until recently known as Gideon Peppy, arrived at his former office in the Sentry/Sensational Studios at 3:00 P.M., covered in blood, brandishing a .55-caliber automatic pistol. He fired a few rounds seemingly at random, harming no one but sending office workers and security guards ru

He went directly to Studio 5, where the current episode of Sparky and His Gang was being filmed. Screaming incoherently, waving the weapon at anyone who approached him, he demanded to see young Sparky Valentine, star of the show. When informed Sparky was not due on the set for another three hours, he threatened a cameraman, telling him to roll tape. Facing the camera, he made a brief statement, the content of which has not yet been released, then put the muzzle of the gun into his mouth and fired. He was killed instantly.

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Earlier in the day Marsh had gone berserk in the Twelve-Step I

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Gideon Peppy shouted, "Roll 'em, roll 'em, you cocksucker, or I'll blow your fuckin' head off. Is it on now?"

Peppy's hands and the front of his clothes were dark with dried blood. He stared into the camera, and smiled broadly.

"Maybe this'll satisfy the little fuck," he said, then sucked on the barrel of the gun. When he fired his whole face seemed to stretch out like a face painted on a balloon. A red mess of brains, hair, skull, and blood erupted from the crown of his head, and he fell to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. The camera moved in. There were spatters of blood on his yellow shoes.

Sparky ejected the chipcard and tapped one edge of it idly on his desk.

"Maybe that'll teach him to mess with my father," Sparky said.

He pressed the button on his desk that co

He rose from his desk and walked across the deep carpet of his office. He went through the door and out into the public corridor. The people who passed him all smiled and waved respectfully. He had a smile for each one.

All conversation died as he entered Studio 88, where the casting session was being held. He remembered the first time he'd been there, not even knowing he was trying out for the part of Sparky. Long time ago, he mused.

He stepped up to his big chair at the end of the table. No one was sitting at the far end, where Julian Marsh used to sit, but that was okay. Everyone was clustered down at Sparky's end.

He opened a crystal candy jar and took out one of the lollipops custom-made for him by Dixie Chocolateers of Tharsis, Mars. The gold-leaf-coated paper rustled expensively as he unwrapped the sweet. He popped it into his cheek and looked around the table. He hitched himself a little higher on the padded box that enabled him to rest his elbows at table level.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen. It's magic time. Send in the first of the Peppy prospects."

Sparky was eleven.