In Persuasion Nation

"All over the land, inspired by your example, people are saying enough is enough," says Voltaire.

"Just last week, a frazzled overworked new mother rose up against the can of Red Bull which had moved into her home disguised as a giant breast in order to wet-nurse her baby," says the puppet-boy.

"A group of Revolutionary War soldiers recently registered their dissatisfaction at having been led into the Battle of Yorktown by a tube of Pepsodent," says the polar bear with the axe in his head.

"Wow, we had no idea," says Grammy.

"Will you come into town with us?" says Voltaire. "Show us how to organize and execute a successful program of resistance?"

"We'd be happy to," says Jim the penisless man. "But it's only fair to warn you: things may get ugly."

The six headless working-class guys make gestures with their beer bottles, indicating: Not to worry, ever since that T. rex thing we're kind of past the point of worrying about things getting ugly or whatever.

Then there is a tremendously loud noise and the oblong green triangular symbol, swollen to the size of a city block, powers into the frame and freezes in midair, hovering overhead.

A deep magisterial voice emanates from inside.

"Who are you to quarrel with the Power that granted you life?" it thunders. "The Power which made the firmament, put the moon into her orbit, controls the very rules of physicality by which you are bound? The Power which allows bananas to sing and freshly laundered clothes to wink, which bids the very stars come down from the heavens and recast themselves into diamonds on a ring on the hand of a woman who has finally been put in touch with the softer side of herself via TampexGloryStrips?"

A tremendous walkway thunks out of the triangular symbol's underbelly.

Down the walkway stumble the members of the Ding-Dong/Doritos/grandparents-who-love-Doritos/Kevin/Slap-of-Wack coalition, still filthy from the grave, along with the fully restored GrandeChickenBoatCombo.

"Alive?" says Grammy.

"Resurrected," says the symbol.

"You can do that?" says one pile of mush.

"It is easy for me," says the symbol.

"Hoo boy," says the other pile of mush.

"Let me talk to it," says Jim the penisless man.

"Careful, careful," says Grammy.

Jim the penisless man looks meekly up at the huge oblong green triangular symbol.

"What would you like us to call you?" Jim the penisless man says politely.

"Sir," intones the huge oblong green triangular symbol.

"Sir," says Jim the penisless man. "Couldn't we all, working together, devise a more humane approach? An approach in which no one is humiliated, or hurt, or maimed, an approach in which the sacred things in life are no longer appropriated in the service of selling what are, after all, merely-"

"Silence!" shouts the green triangular symbol, shooting multiple bright green beams of light into the members of the orange/Grammy/piles-of-mush/penisless-man coalition, rendering them instantaneously intact, positive, and amnesiac.

Grammy has a sudden inexplicable desire to use her walker to cross a busy street without first looking both ways.

The orange, free of all gashes and dents, is suddenly deeply curious about the contents of his good friend the Slap-of-Wack bar, and makes a mental note to ask the Slap-of-Wack about his contents as soon as they get home to their wonderful suburban kitchen. What he wouldn't give to be once again on his beloved kitchen counter, looking down fondly at the perverted-looking chicken carcass and the two evil empty cans of soda in the trash can, far far below!

The piles of mush are reconstituted into two human halfheads, which are then reconstituted into a single human head, which goes rolling toward the torso of the grandson, which stands at the bottom of the walkway, summoning its own head.

Jim the penisless man suddenly has a penis.

The man briefly involved with the Ding-Dong thinks warmly of his fiancée, who, he feels certain, is waiting for him in a certain meadow.

The polar bear, the puppet-boy, the headless guys, and Voltaire, terrified, race back to town.

11

Hours later the polar bear with the axe in his head is still hiding under his bed, trembling. He's never seen anything like that before. That green thing can raise the dead. That green thing can brainwash the most powerful coalition in the world.

He does not want to mess with that green thing, not ever.

He knows what he has to do. He has to get up, go into the bathroom, take a shower. During the shower, the axe in his head will miraculously disappear. Then he will get hungry, very hungry, specifically, for Cheetos. He will walk out of town, cursing himself under his breath, simultaneously ashamed and aroused. The landscape will suddenly go arctic. An igloo will appear. Will anyone be home? They will not. He will begin madly salivating.

Oh, he can't stand it. It makes him so nervous. He must have some kind of anxiety disorder. He remembers the enraged expression on the father Eskimo's face as he draws back the axe, the frightened yipping of the Malamute puppy, the shocked way the Eskimo kids cover their O-shaped mouths with their mittens.

His alarm clock goes off.

I really don't want to do this, he thinks. Please, God, send me a sign, tell me I don't have to do this, show me that you are a gentle loving God, who desires good things for me.

Suddenly the roof of the house flies off, the room fills with green light, and a pulsing muscular green limb, like an arm/ hand but more fluid, extends rapidly down from the hovering green symbol and flings the bed aside, revealing the trembling polar bear, ass-up.

The polar bear gets to his feet, wets his paw, pats down his hair.

"I was just, uh, cleaning under that bed?" he says.

"Of course I desire good things for you!" the green symbol intones. "Such as, I desire that you have the deep feeling of pleasure that comes from doing your job and doing it well."

"You can read my mind?" the polar bear says.

"Do you sometimes have a sexual fantasy involving a vulnerable reindeer who comes to you asking for help fending off a mean cougar?" says the green symbol.

"Ha, well, ha," says the polar bear.

"Get to work now," the green symbol says. "And don't think about it so deep. Don't be so negative. Try to be positive. Try to be a productive part of our team. Do you have any questions?"

"I can ask you a question?" says the polar bear.

"Sure, of course," says the green symbol. "Ask me anything."

"Are you GOD?" says the polar bear.

"I can read your mind," says the symbol. "I can raise the dead. I can rip off your roof. Any other questions?"

The polar bear has, actually, a number of other questions. First, what did that penisless guy mean when he referred to devising an approach "in which the sacred things in life are no longer appropriated in the service of selling what are, after all, etc., etc.?" The polar bear distinctly remembers him saying the word "selling." What is being sold? Who is doing the selling? If there is "selling," musn't there be "buying"? Who is doing the "buying"? Are their vignettes somehow intended to influence this "buying"? Are the instances of elaborate cruelty he has witnessed ever since he was a small cub believed to somehow positively impact the ability of the vignettes to cause "buying"? If so, how?

"How dare you even think of asking me that!" thunders the green symbol. "How dare you get all up in my business?"

"You said I could ask you anything," says the polar bear.

Every vase in the house explodes, all the flowers die. The kitchen table collapses, then bursts into flames.

The polar bear, blushing, gets his towel, goes quickly into the shower.