Trying to organize everything well was the most important thing in John Belzinger's life. He looked at the flow of time, at the relationships between all his relatives, at the way Chronofoam seemed to sit on the window sill right over there, slouching, swinging his legs, and belching, just taunting him on purpose. He knew that Chronofoam did it just to get his goat, but he was powerless to resist the impulse to get mad, and he could feel the heat rising as his face got red and he contemplated pushing Chronofoam off the window sill as hard as he could, and he thought about not caring as he watched Chronofoam fall two stories to the concrete sidewalk down there, breaking into a million humpty dumpty pieces.
What would happen if he actually killed Chronofoam? Lots of people talk about it, but few have really tried it. Or maybe there have been many cases of chronicide; you can't be sure. Chronocide. That would be the best thing, all things considered. He would like to spank Chronofoam, to torture Chronofoam, to take Chronofoam by the hair and swing him around, to abuse Chronofoam to fart in Chronofoam's face, to generally and completely eradicate Chronofoam. He hated Chronofoam. There were no two ways about it.
But Chronofoam, knowing everything he thought, reading his mind as though it were scare headlines, looked unconcerned. Chronofoam stuck out his tongue, daring Belzinger to make his move. Chronofoam could care less. Come on, Belzie baby, Chronofoam said. Come on, I dare you! Just come right on over here. Give me your best shot, Belzie. I can take it. You can't lay a finger on me! I know that's what you're worried about. You ain’t a man, Belzie, you're a whimpering little brat, that's all you are. Belzie Shmelzie can't get out of the shoot. Can't get it up. Can't do nothing. Stingy Belzie. Stingy. Come on Belzie. And all John Belzinger could come up with was, "Oh shut up. You're not even making sense. What are you talking about? That's right, Belzie, chanted Chronofoam. I ain't makin' no sense. And you’re stingy! Do you hear me, Belzie? You’re stingy, stingy stingy! Chronofoam said that with like a chant, as if he were a crowd of hecklers at a boxing match. And Chronofoam had this annoying laugh, more like a cackle that went along with the chant. He loved to use it to egg on idiots like Belzie. And there were plenty of idiots to egg on, always. After all, he had all the time in the world.
Hey Belzie! You remember when we used to play Rock-Em-Sock-Em Robots? What a hoot! Smash, slam slam. Plastic on plastic. Knock that plastic robot's head off, come on Belzie, come on. Knock it off! You didn't win then, and you won't win now Belzie! Heh heh heh. Stingy, Stingy!. Ha ha ha. What’s that, Belzie? You want to kill me? That’s rich, Belzie! You can’t kill me, I'm already dead, anyway, Belzie. Don't you remember? Your Ma told you I offed myself twenty-five years ago. Don't you remember? Come on Belzie, come on! Give it a shot anyway. Finish me off, come on, come on!
Chronocide was on Belzinger’s mind. I could kill him, he thought. Chronofoam said,
“What about the time I slugged you, Belzie? Remember? I got you good. You didn't even put up your dukes. And then you went crying to your old man, remember? And he just gave you some story about how he used to box when he was a kid. But you didn't want to have anything to do with it, remember, Belzie? No, no. boxing wasn’t for little Belzie. Nosiree! You’re just stingy, Belzie, you hear me? Stingy, stingy, stingy!”
Belzinger remembered all too well, but he didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to try to have any feelings about it, knew it would tear him up inside, worried that he wouldn't be able to put himself back together, that he would have to ask all the king's horses and all the king's men, and they wouldn't care, they wouldn't do anything, and there would be old Chronofoam; skinny, slouching, with a little peach fuzz on his chin, laughing that annoying high pitched laugh, taunting him, daring him to push him off his window sill, and he remembered doing it, too, but it didn't do any good because every time he tried it, and he knocked Chronofoam off the window sill, Chronofoam would shatter, and a crowd would begin to gather, but just about then he would kind of blank out, somebody hit rewind, and Chronofoam’s pieces flew back together and made that backwards kind of sucking sound and there he was again: Chronofoam as feisty and taunting as ever perched on the window sill, grinning his maniac grin and laughing his high pitched cackle.
What would happen if he actually killed Chronofoam? Lots of people talk about it, but few have really tried it. Or maybe there have been many cases of chronicide; you can't be sure. Chronocide. That would be the best thing, all things considered. He would like to spank Chronofoam, to torture Chronofoam, to take Chronofoam by the hair and swing him around, to abuse Chronofoam to fart in Chronofoam's face, to generally and completely eradicate Chronofoam. He hated Chronofoam. There were no two ways about it.
But Chronofoam, knowing everything he thought, reading his mind as though it were scare headlines, looked unconcerned. Chronofoam stuck out his tongue, daring Belzinger to make his move. Chronofoam could care less. Come on, Belzie baby, Chronofoam said. Come on, I dare you! Just come right on over here. Give me your best shot, Belzie. I can take it. You can't lay a finger on me! I know that's what you're worried about. You ain’t a man, Belzie, you're a whimpering little brat, that's all you are. Belzie Shmelzie can't get out of the shoot. Can't get it up. Can't do nothing. Stingy Belzie. Stingy. Come on Belzie. And all John Belzinger could come up with was, "Oh shut up. You're not even making sense. What are you talking about? That's right, Belzie, chanted Chronofoam. I ain't makin' no sense. And you’re stingy! Do you hear me, Belzie? You’re stingy, stingy stingy! Chronofoam said that with like a chant, as if he were a crowd of hecklers at a boxing match. And Chronofoam had this annoying laugh, more like a cackle that went along with the chant. He loved to use it to egg on idiots like Belzie. And there were plenty of idiots to egg on, always. After all, he had all the time in the world.
Hey Belzie! You remember when we used to play Rock-Em-Sock-Em Robots? What a hoot! Smash, slam slam. Plastic on plastic. Knock that plastic robot's head off, come on Belzie, come on. Knock it off! You didn't win then, and you won't win now Belzie! Heh heh heh. Stingy, Stingy!. Ha ha ha. What’s that, Belzie? You want to kill me? That’s rich, Belzie! You can’t kill me, I'm already dead, anyway, Belzie. Don't you remember? Your Ma told you I offed myself twenty-five years ago. Don't you remember? Come on Belzie, come on! Give it a shot anyway. Finish me off, come on, come on!
Chronocide was on Belzinger’s mind. I could kill him, he thought. Chronofoam said,
“What about the time I slugged you, Belzie? Remember? I got you good. You didn't even put up your dukes. And then you went crying to your old man, remember? And he just gave you some story about how he used to box when he was a kid. But you didn't want to have anything to do with it, remember, Belzie? No, no. boxing wasn’t for little Belzie. Nosiree! You’re just stingy, Belzie, you hear me? Stingy, stingy, stingy!”
Belzinger remembered all too well, but he didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to try to have any feelings about it, knew it would tear him up inside, worried that he wouldn't be able to put himself back together, that he would have to ask all the king's horses and all the king's men, and they wouldn't care, they wouldn't do anything, and there would be old Chronofoam; skinny, slouching, with a little peach fuzz on his chin, laughing that annoying high pitched laugh, taunting him, daring him to push him off his window sill, and he remembered doing it, too, but it didn't do any good because every time he tried it, and he knocked Chronofoam off the window sill, Chronofoam would shatter, and a crowd would begin to gather, but just about then he would kind of blank out, somebody hit rewind, and Chronofoam’s pieces flew back together and made that backwards kind of sucking sound and there he was again: Chronofoam as feisty and taunting as ever perched on the window sill, grinning his maniac grin and laughing his high pitched cackle.