In Persuasion Nation

"And meanwhile I'll think of some fu

"I hope I can invite some of my dog friends?" says Buddy.

"Do your dog friends have butts?" says Chaz Wayne.

"Does it matter?" says Buddy. "Can I only invite them if they have butts?"

"I'm just wondering in terms of what I should cook," says Chaz Wayne. "If they have no butts, I'll make something more easily digestible."

"Some of them have butts, yes, says Buddy in a hurt but resigned tone.

Then we hear the familiar music that indicates the backyard has morphed, and see that the familiar Carrigan backyard is now the familiar Carrigan backyard again, only better. The lawn is lush and green, the garden thick with roses, adjacent to the oil pit for Orgy Night is a swimming pool with a floating wet bar, adjacent to the pool is an attractive grouping of FunGeese! with tantalizingly blank DryErase cartoon balloons.

We see from the joyful way Doris and Chaz Wayne lead the other guests into the yard, and from the happy summerparty swell of the music, that this party is just begi

Back at the Carrigans', Brad floats weightlessly in the bland gray space.

Floating nearby is Wampum, Chief Wayne's former horse. Brad remembers Wampum from the episode where, while they were all inside playing cards, Wampum tried to sit in the hammock and brought it crashing down.

"He used to ride me up and down the prairie," mumbles Wampum. "Digging his bare feet into my side, praising my loyalty."

Brad knows this is too complicated. He knows that if Wampum insists on thinking in such complicated terms, he will soon devolve into a shapeless blob, and will, if he ever gets another chance, come back as someone other than Wampum. One must, Brad knows, struggle single-mindedly to retain one's memory of one's former identity throughout the long period in the gray space, if one wants to come back as oneself.

"Brad brad brad," says Brad.

"I used to eat hay, I believe," says Wampum. "Hay or corn. Or beans? Some sort of grain product, possibly? At least I think I did. Oh darn. Oh jeez."

Wampum falls silent, gradually assuming a less horselike form. Soon he is just a horse-sized blob. Then he is a ponysized blob, then an inert dog-sized blob incapable of speech.

"Brad brad brad," says Brad.

Then his mind drifts. He can't help it. He thinks of the Belstonians, how frightened they must be, sealed in large plastic bags at the police station. He thinks of poor little Doug, probably even now starving to death sunburned on the familiar Carrigan roof.

The poor things, he thinks. The poor, poor things. I should have done more. I should have started earlier. I could have seen it all as part of me.

Brad looks down. His feet are now two mini-blobs attached to two rod-shaped blobs that seconds ago were his legs, in his khakis.

He is going, he realizes.

He is going, and will not be coming back as Brad.

He must try at least to retain this feeling of pity. If he can, whoever he becomes will inherit this feeling, and be driven to act on it, and will not, as Brad now sees he has done, waste his life on accumulation, trivia, self-protection, and vanity.

He tries to say his name, but has, apparently, forgotten his name.

"Poor things," he says, because these are now the only words he knows.

in persuasion nation

1

A man and a woman sit in a field of daisies.

"Forever?" he says.

"Forever," she says, and they kiss.

A giant Twinkie runs past, trailed by perhaps two hundred young women.

The woman leaps to her feet and runs to catch up with the Twinkie.

"The sweetest thing in the world," the voiceover says, "just got sweeter."

The man sits sadly in the field of daisies. Luckily, a giant Ding-Dong runs past, trailed by perhaps two hundred young men.

The man leaps to his feet and runs to catch up with the Ding-Dong.

"But not to worry," the voiceover says. "There's more than enough sweetness to go around!"

The Ding-Dong puts his arm around the young man, and the young man smiles up at the Ding-Dong, and the DingDong bends down and gives the young man a kiss on the head.

2

A hip-looking teen watches an elderly woman hobble across the street on a walker.

"Grammy's here!" he shouts.

He puts some MacAttack Mac &Cheese in the microwave and dons headphones and takes out a video game so he won't be bored during the forty seconds it takes his lunch to cook. A truck comes around the corner and hits Grammy, sending her flying over the roof into the backyard, where luckily she lands on a trampoline. Unluckily, she bounces back over the roof, into the front yard, landing in a rosebush.

"Timmy," Grammy says feebly. "Call 911."

Just then the bell on the microwave dings.

We see from the look on his face that Timmy is conflicted.

"Timmy dear," Grammy says. "For God's sake. It's me. Your Grammy, dear."

Timmy comes to his senses, takes his MacAttack Mac &Cheese from the microwave, and sits languorously eating it while listening to his headphones while playing his video game.

"Sometimes you just gotta have your MacAttack," the voiceover says.

Grammy scowls in the bush. We see that she is a grouchy old unhip hag who probably wouldn't have even been cool enough to let Timmy have his MacAttack, but would likely have forced him to eat some unhip old-person gruel or fruit.

Then fortunately Grammy's head drops back, and she is dead.

3

An orange and a Slap-of-Wack bar sit on a counter.

"I have vitamin C," says the orange.

"So do I," says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"I have natural fiber," says the orange.

"So do I," says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"You do?" says the orange.

"Are you calling me a liar?" says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"Oh no," says the orange politely. "I was just under the impression, from reading your label? That you are mostly comprised of artificial colors, an i

"Slap it up your Wack!" shouts the Slap-of-Wack bar, and sails across the counter, jutting one pointy edge into the orange.

"Oh God," the orange says in pain.

"You've got an unsightly gash," says the Slap-of-Wack bar. "Do I have an unsightly gash? I think not. My packaging is intact, weakling."

"I have zero calories of fat," says the orange weakly.

"So do I," says the Slap-of-Wack bar.

"How can that possibly be the case?" says the orange in frustration. "You are comprised of eighty percent high-fructose corn syrup."

"Slap it up your Wack!" shouts the Slap-of-Wack bar, and sails across the counter and digs its edge into the orange over and over, sending the orange off the counter and into the garbage can, where it is leered at by a perverted-looking chicken carcass and two evil empty cans of soda.

"Now you have zero of zero of zero," says the Slap-ofWack bar.

"The Slap-of-Wack bar," says the voiceover. "For when you're feeling Wacky!"