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Reformers: A Tale

By Punkerslut

Image by NiD
Image: "Monk" by NiD

Part the First

     It was the 24th century, and the reformers and their activity had reached a peak. There were thousands more organizations, all bent on Humanitarian and Rationalist reform. They were convincing their fellow men, filling their hearts with inspiration at the beauty of compassion, with admiration at the duty of an affectionate man, with complete awe towards the accomplishments of an individual who worked to change society. The reformers were great, and the populace listened. It was a time unprecedented. The reformers of the past hundred years found themselves battling ignorance more than they battled anything else. The poor arguments, the misinformation, the complete hypocritical and contradictory responses were what shielded the beast of cruelty and ignorance from any well-armed assault. Now that reformers of every kind had relinquished the blazing, destructive flame of ignorance and hypocrisy, the New Reformers -- as they would be known as -- would manage to turn back the dark wave in the hearts of their fellow humans.

     The Old Reformers -- as they were known as -- had been reforming ever since the 18th century, and they were reformers of every kind. They worked against Capitalism, against government corruption, against Vivisection and animal experimentation, against flesh-eating, against religion, against abusive criminal law, against monogamy, against the church, against the institutes that were a burden to civilization, against the beliefs and the creeds that made up the body of brutality. In fighting these forms of tyranny and oppression, though, the Old Reformers often found themselves fighting against illogic, ignorance, and arrogance. Their enemy was not necessarily the man who consumed flesh. It was, instead, a slack-jawed hick, proudly bearing the fact that he has two teeth, and confidently saying, "But we iz smarter den them critta'z, so we have da' right to eat dem." These reformers, even those who may have personally been spiritual or religious, found themselves detesting the churches and the ministries. For it had always been the conformed opinion of the churches to condone everything that society condoned. As well as depriving them of reason in all affairs that were spiritual, it deprived them of logic in affairs that were cultural, social, or moral. So we find it that religion is the bloody baton wielded by the monstrous beast called iniquity. Slavery had the blessing of the church. And every week, pew-slaves would come and hear the sermon, be it full of claims that women have no souls, that black men have no souls, or that animals have no souls. And on these hypocritical, ignorant, indignant claims, the foul beast of cruelty had survived for centuries.

     So, the Old Reformers battled the cruelty condoned by the church, and often found themselves battling the church itself. As centuries passed, more recruits were found among the battalion of Freethinkers. They waged the wars that made a different tomorrow. The fight for Civil Rights, the fight against war, public control of capital -- all these things had been achieved by the Old Reformers, but in giving the populace an accurate and just view of the world, they also gave them reason and evidence and logic. Humaneness delivered through the gentle hand of compassion, holding ever so tight the reasons that justified our abstinence of meat, our refusal to cooperate with the corporations, our open sexual relationships. Though it is true that the Old Reformers ameliorated a good part of the indignance and the ignorance, there still remained many individuals who viciously held tight to the ideas and principles that have constituted the being of savagery "Hey, you fucking moron! God made animals to be consumed! That's why they're made out of meat!" To this, Glick -- head of the New Reformers -- responded, "Is that why humans are also made out of meat?" Or some anger-consumed speaker would state, "We have teeth designed to consume flesh, therefore it is justified to kill animals!" Shortly after, Raised On Cement -- another New Reformer -- appeared on the radio to state, "The human digestive system is undiscriminating. Does that mean we also ought to allow cannibalism, because our teeth are designed to eat meat: both human and non-human. Furthermore, an Atomic Bomb is designed to kill mass amounts of human beings. Does that justify its usage, just because it is designed to do that?"

     Virtual Nitwit, another New Reformer, would deliver wonderful speeches to massive crowds of people. "Our fellow creatures," he would speak, "Are conscious beings. Their sufferings are not different from our own. They are capable of emotion, of pain, of suffering, of joy, of desire, of the things that make up sentience. We ought to give them our sympathy, and in giving them that, they also deserve to have rights. When a child cries because it is struck by a drunken father, his tears and suffering are not at all different from those that an animal experiences when vivisected, when killed to be eaten, when hunted for the sake of pleasure. Why should we turn a blind eye to the sufferings of animals, then, if we cannot condone the brutality inherent in Child Abuse? There is no other form of iniquity so common and so devastatingly brutal as that of selective vision, to accept one thing but to alternatively ignore another thing. Please, my friends, understand where your meat comes from, and understand that another living, breathing, conscious creature was killed for it!"

     Yip Yip was another New Reformer. Though more aggressive, and seemingly angst-filled, he was a wonderful debater. "Animals have rights. That is one thing that only a fool and an idiot would deny," he would say on a television debate.

     "But animals are stupid," argued his opposition -- Carl Vaso, "Therefore, they have no rights."

     "Well," Yip Yip said, his eyebrows obviously lowering in contempt, "If some fucker agrees with you that if some defenseless creature is stupid that it has no right, you'll soon find your fucking head on some sick fucker's grill."

     "Please, please," the host pleaded, "No profanity."

     "Oh, that's right," Yip Yip responded, "I forgot how particular verbal sounds are prone to creating suffering in those who are mentally inapt." The host, who was supposed to be neutral, stayed in that position, and just frayed away from the comment.

     "Yes," Carl Vaso said to Yip Yip, "But animals in the wild consume each other. What about that?"

     "My answer to this same goddamn argument has not changed since last time we publicly debated," Yip Yip said, "Some animals rape and murder each other. Hey, that must mean that it's okay for us to do the worst possible fucking things to each other."

     "Animals don't commit mass atrocities against each other, though," Carl responded.

     "Isn't a fucking human an animal?" Yip Yip said, "Try using your pea-sized brain for once to think about the things around you. I already answered all of these arguments about a thousand times, and you still haven't admitted to defeat."

     "Well, what about plants?" Carl asked, "Aren't they alive, too?"

     "No shit, bro," Yip Yip said, "And I answered this argument about five thousand times. An animal is conscious, it can feel suffering. A plant is not conscious, it cannot feel suffering. You fucking get it yet?" Though full of rage and fury, Yip Yip still managed to be a wonderful addition to the reformers. His passion managed to light the hearts of those attracted to things meaningful and ethical.

     Turbo Fuck was a great addition to the reform movement, and her devotion was incomparable. She was a monkeywrencher, and her activities included the illegal dismantling of equipment that was used for exploiting animals. This equipment included tools and machinery that destroyed forests, as well as equipment that was used in factory farming. In fact, though it was known that there was an active monkeywrencher in the field during this reform period, it was unknown that she was a female until after five years of duty, when she met with Glick. After conversation, Glick publicized the meeting, with the permission of Turbo Fuck. From then on, she was known as Turbo Fuck, the name she had chosen for herself when she was only eleven years old. It was not until much later, when the reform movement was successful, that more was known about her. In particular, it was discovered that she was capable of using her bare hands as tools to unscrew equipment. And, unless on a very small piece of equipment, she preferred to use her hands instead of a screw driver. It was also known that she literally slept outside for extended periods of time, making various assaults on the bog-god machinery that decimated the planet.

     Glick seemed to be the head of the New Reformers. Though he did not discover them and put their talents to work, he was the one who organized them into one central body of movement once they had become popular. In fact, he created a small town -- village even -- where they could all work together. The town was created in Providence, Rhode Island. It was only a short distance away from one of the local libraries and one of the hospitals. On the block purchased from Glick, and his allies, he created a center for education and reform. It was here that public debates and speeches were planned, or even carried out, and it was here that various books, pamphlets, essays, editorials, and articles were written for hundreds of magazines and newspapers all over the nation. Anything that was willing to run an article made by the New Reformers was given an authentic, individual article, written by one of them. They were tireless and devoted in all of their reform endeavors. Of course, in particular, they wished to eliminate the cruelties of Humanism, the belief that humans are here and are the only individuals who deserve fair treatment. Though the early Humanists were successful partly in destroying the vicious machine of religion, they did not make room for any humane advancement. In fact, they posed as a block towards any humane reform. It was partly ironic, though, that they should first eliminate religion, but then proceed to live a lifestyle based on the very principles of the thing which they claimed was devoid of any reason or any compassion. So the New Reformers focused primarily on destroying just that: Humanism. But religion was still in vogue, and so they also endeavored to remove the cruelty-condoning appendage from society.

     Years went by, and reform occurred Years and years of dealing with, "Hey, idiot, what about plants?" or "Since you love animals, you obviously hate humans," or "You know that animals are lower on the food chain than us?" or anything that was based on ignorance and cruelty. Anything for these brutalitarians to justify the heartless act of consuming those who can feel like them. But it is so, believed by these reformers, that it is only natural for savages to justify cruelty and brutality on hypocritical and unreasonable claims, for illogic will cover up for inhumanity, just as inhumanity will cover up for illogic. Everyday, though, these reformers, the New Reformers, had to deal with all sorts of cruel and merciless attacks on their character. Yes, they had each other, and it almost seemed that the warmth of each other's bodies was the only thing that kept them still compassionate. It seemed that there was nobody else in this world but them, and their own followers. They went on, but rarely could they walk through the streets without someone throwing something at them in distaste. Sometimes there were even physical assaults on them from the population of barbarians that surrounded them. There was no end to the cruelty that was bestowed upon them. No end to the tyranny, no end to the heartlessness. Yet still they reformed, they tried to enlighten their fellows, they continued to destroy the vestiges of religion and flesh eating, trying to offer them the fruits of affection. So it went on, they continued with their focus upon reform, and the heartless reactions of the people did not cease. There was no end to the heartlessness, until one day...

     Finally, it happened. Religion was thrown to the gutter by the marginal standing people, and the intellectuals of the world had all but detested the heartless mechanism. Churches, funded by no money, went bankrupt, and charities began to spread the warmth of secular money. So it also came that animals officially obtained their rights. Statesmen were elected by the people that worked for the rights of animals. But it was by no mere ploy of strengthening the act against cruelty to animals. Instead, the Constitution had the 48th amendment added to it: animals were allowed to be citizens, allowed to the same rights and the same privileges that humans were allowed to. The success of the New Reformers was praised by every Humanitarian and every Rationalist. Those who held an unleveled, revered love and affection of everything humane and rational were full of joy and happiness. So it came that Turbo Fuck came out of the forest, her face covered with dirt, and her service no longer needed. The New Reformers themselves were full of joy at their own success. Glick, Raised on Cement, Turbo Fuck, Yip Yip, and Virtual Nitwit were proud of their work, and happy to see that their own efforts were capable of changing the world around them. Most of them, though, were middle-aged or old-aged. Still, though, they seemed to be full of zestful and joyous rigor, these men and women of compassion and duty.

Part the Second

Image by NiD
Image: "Tracy 6" by NiD

     The first actions of the New Reformers since their success was to go back to where they left off. For Glick, for example, this meant back to reading and literature. For Raised on Cement, this meant back to music. For Turbo Fuck, this meant back to the forest as a ranger and outdoorswoman. For Yip Yip, this meant being an angry, disgruntled film critic. And for Virtual Nitwit, this meant to go back to the people and become social again. The activity of reform for these reformers took up their entire lives, to the point where they could do nothing else.

     So, they made their attempts to go back to where they were from, but many of them found difficulty in that. The New Reformers still lived in the villa purchased by Glick. Once, while talking to Turbo Fuck, Glick said, "I was reading this book, and there was this part where the hero was trying to save someone from dying, and out loud I said, 'The author is immoral if he allows the hero to fail!' I... - I guess maybe I wasn't being very rational, then."

     Turbo Fuck had a horribly difficult time with it. Although she once enjoyed the outdoors, and only felt home there, when she returned, it felt almost useless. She was geared towards thinking of when her next monkeywrench target would be or how to avoid capture from the police: considering all the facts when making a successful assault on the machinery that was hired by the traitors of humaneness. But now in the forest, to her, it seemed completely useless and pointless to try and get some pleasure from it. It had become dry, it had lost its meaning, it had become an Atlantis, it had become irrelevant to enjoy the surroundings.

     Raised on Cement came to become completely apathetic. He wouldn't even get out of bed. There were nights he would stay in his bed, trying to sleep, only accomplishing in bringing up terrible, awful memories of the years past. His life as he knew it was gone, and there was nothing he could do. "Why get up?" he thought.

     Yip Yip came down with a large assortment of various psychological disorders, including Schizophrenia and Alzheimer's. When they had severity, every time he woke up, he thought that animals were still in chains, and that the minds of people were still addicted to the numbing religion. "Let's get them! We got to save the animals!" he would scream, waking up. His friends, his fellow reformers, sometimes told him that he had already saved the animals and granted them right. Sometimes they didn't tell him. And sometimes after telling him this, he refused to believe it and went on out of bed and worked on a reform project.

     Virtual Nitwit had problems adapting a life to live with other people. He once planned on having a huge family, with children he could love and cherish. But being awakened by the call to duty to save his creatures, he abandoned this dream. Shortly after his success with reform, he walked into a bar and met a woman. "Hi," he said to her, giving her his best smile.

     "Hey," she responded, rather unenthused, "Hey, are you that reformer guy?"

     "Yeah," he said, "I am. How's it going?"

     "It's going good," she responded, "What's up?"

     "Not much," he responded. Shortly after the beginning of the conversation, he didn't know what to say. But she carried on the conversation very well.

     "Yeah, today was kind of weird for me," she said, "There was this guy outside trying to convince me to be in a porn film with him. It was really, really weird."

     "Yeah," Virtual Nitwit said, and he would respond to her stories and her comments with short, brief words, "Oh?" -- "That's cool." -- "I heard about that." -- "Amazing." After a half hour of conversation, he said he had to leave. He left the bar, as well as leaving the rest of society. He never again wanted to speak with another human being for as long as he lived. He found an apartment and stayed there, away from his fellow reformers and allies.

     Glick found himself unable to truly enjoy books for what they are, as Turbo Fuck could no longer enjoy the outdoors. Raised on Cement was lost to apathy. Yip Yip developed psychological disorders. And Virtual Nitwit could not stand society or dealing with other people. It seemed that those who had abandoned their dreams to work for reform found themselves unable to return back to their dreams ad their hopes. In fact, they had changed in ways so unbelievably radical that now, their old dreams were their current nightmares. And so the world was reformed, but in doing such reform, they gave up a part of themselves.

     The dreams of these reformers were once vibrantly alive and full of vigor. Glick, who was the head of the New Reform movement, was an artist, a thinker, a philosopher, a scientist, and a writer. He gave up his intellectual pursuits of interpreting the world and the Universe so that he could come to affect the world. Though possibly viewed as better than simply interpreting the world, he preferred to interpret the world. It was what he liked and what he did as a child. Though, it was by interpreting the world that he discovered the cruelty of religion and the brutality of animal oppression. His real name was Richard Docnor.

     Raised on Cement was an artist and a musician who enjoyed composing music of all sorts of types: classical and techno most, though. For him, being happy and capable of making music was really what his life was about. He also enjoyed analyzing music, and often times discovered that there was really a great deal of math that went into making music. He also discovered that art, in general, runs along the same lines: being able to use techniques and methods that can guide a viewer through different emotions. And, by using the just right manners and methods, one artist can guide a viewer from the sincere and honest emotions of sadness to vibrant joy, to thoughtfulness, to invigoration. When he went back to music, he found that he was dead, without the slightest bit of motive. The decades had worn away the vitality that he had found in music, and he found himself completely apathetic. His real name was George Tagnara.

     Turbo Fuck was an outdoorswoman, who had been full of inspiration and awe at the world around her. Finding that her world was being destroyed around her, and that her fellow creatures were subject to the vile persecutions of the gluttonous and exploiting Capitalist class, she had abandoned her nature walks in favor of Terrorism, she had gave up camping for bombing, appreciation of nature to its defense. Though she was still in nature while being a monkeywrencher, she did not appreciate the wild the way she had before. When she did take breaks off from her monkeywrenching to walk through streams and admire the canopy, she found that such activity was useless. And this sentiment, while surrounded by the wild, stayed with her. Her real name was Evelyn Dobbins

     Yip Yip was a film critic, and a disgruntled one at that. Every film, be it American or foreign made, be it comedy or horror, was absolutely rancid and terrible in his opinion. He remained to be the pinnacle of dissent of opinion for the United States for a long amount of time. Those who were sick of films that "dumbed down" for the sake of making more sales, these individuals remained loyal and devout fans of the critic Yip Yip. He also was lucky enough to have conversations broadcast on national television with other great film critics, though they tended to be on the opposite side. What he mostly judged and criticized as bad filmography were the films that were not made as art to inspire, but rather the garbage that was made to gather profit. It was by judging awful films for such a long time that he was capable of amassing a decent amount of wealth, of which he donated to Glick to help make the small villa for the New Reformers. Yip Yip planned on going back to film criticism after his reforming, but he came down with psychological diseases which prevented him from realizing that his reforming was successful, and therefore over. His real name was Frank Solz.

     Virtual Nitwit, though now completely alone and shut off from any social contact, was often times lonely and without people. He liked art and music, as well as literature and other humanities. But most of all, he dreamed of being with other people, of finding a lover, of appeasing the great sexual tendencies that were in his body. He went to clubs, he tried personals, he talked to people, but he never seemed to find the people he liked. Instead, he only managed to cure some of his loneliness, but still remained unfulfilled. By the time he was twenty five years old, he was the newest recruit in the New Reformers, and started giving speeches and writing letters, all for the sake of reform. Dedicated to his new duty, he found little time for socializing, and instead worked to fill the hearts of other men with warmth and sympathy. His real name was Caleb Martinez.

     One day, after the success of the New Reformers, Glick had sent notices to the other reformers to meet him at his house. The only one who showed up was Turbo Fuck. "Hey," Glick said to her, "You know where the others are?"

     "No," she said, "I haven't seen them. Raised on Cement has been stuck in bed and does not want to leave. Yip Yip is protesting against eating meat. Nobody has seen Virtual Nitwit for weeks. I tried calling. All I got was a message machine that stated he was uninterested in communication with others. Why you'd call us, anyway? What'd you want to talk about?"

     "It just seems that there is so much dissent," Glick said worried, "It seems that... that we're falling apart. We are not bound together. Instead, we are coming apart and losing each other, and in doing so, we are losing each other. I don't know about the others, but I'm not feeling very well, and I think it might be safe to assume that they are feeling pretty much the same."

     Turbo Fuck nodded. "Right," she said, "What can we do about it?"

     "I don't know," Glick said, "Every morning I have to take care of Yip Yip. Maybe you can stay with me and help me with that?" She said she would. The weeks grew on. Every morning, they had to deal with Yip Yip and his mental psychosis. He would wake, full of wrath and anger the way he was before the success of the New Reform movement, and only his friends were there to calm him. Glick and Turbo Fuck did what they could to aid their friend who suffered from the ills of mental illness.

     Everyday, Glick would go to Raised on Cement's house. He would knock, and he would get no answer. "Raised on Cement!" he would call, "Come on, let me in, please." Only shortly after he would hear someone banging on the floor and yelling, "Open the door yourself." Glick would do that.

     Upon entering the house, he would find Raised on Cement naked no the floor, partly covered in bed sheets. There was food on the counter, some rotten, some just opened. Glick did his best to try and keep things clean and bring new food. He tried to bring the things that Raised on Cement loved, food items that might possibly full him back up with zest and vigor. Raised on Cement would lie on his side, no shirt on, his lower parts of his body covered with bed sheets, and Glick would sit beside him, sometimes rubbing his stomach or the side of his rib cage. "How have things been going?" Glick asked.

     A long sigh emitted from Raised on Cement. "Things..." he said pausing, "Are fucking awful. What about you?"

     "I'm okay, I guess," Glick lied, "I wish you would feel better, though. The others are worried about you."

     "The others?" he asked, "You mean the crazy one and the one who refuses to answer the door?" The careless comment struck a pang in the heart of Glick. He wondered why he should try when his friends delved into apathy and bitterness.

     Everyday, Glick also tried to make a stop at Virtual Nitwit's house. Though this was his ideal, it only seemed like he managed to make it to Virtual Nitwit's house once a week. The tears and pressure on him had built up with exhaustion, too much for him to bear the monotonous rejection of his close friend and ally. The visits with Raised on Cement took their toll. Still, though, when looking at Raised on Cement, Glick could not help but see the bold hero who helped advance the New Reform movement greatly. He could not help but see the wondrous and amazing man, the Atheist, the Vegetarian, the Socialist, the Free Lover, the admirer of truth, the devotee of logic, the disciple of Humanitarianism. When Glick came to Virtual Nitwit's house, he would bang on the door. "Virtual Nitwit! You there?" he would yell. There was never any answer. It seemed almost useless to go to his house at all.

     There was a time at the library, when Turbo Fuck and Glick were looking through books. Glick found a discussion group and started talking with some individuals, though they were men and women much younger than himself. He asked them, with an almost breathless tone, "Does anyone eat meat?" One of them laughed and said, "Eating meat has been outlawed for some time now." He gave an insincere chuckle and looked down, then up again, and said, "Right," his face with a half smile. He turned away and left. He found that Turbo Fuck was looking outside, admiring (or fantasizing) some of the vehicles that traveled these roads.

     The next day broke the monotony of Glick's routine. When he knocked on Virtual Nitwit's door, he opened it. "Virtual Nitwit!" Glick exclaimed.

     "Please," Virtual Nitwit said, "Call me Caleb."

     "Okay, Caleb," Glick said, almost unsatisfied, "How are things? We missed you. How come you don't answer the door?"

     Caleb leaned against the door as he spoke with a rather lazy tone, "My friend, I decided to leave society and its cruel, merciless relationships. Even talking to you now seems tolling on my soul. It's that I am unsatisfied with these people, with all people, and anything they could possibly offer me. I don't know if you understand that, or if you could."

     "But others need you," Glick said, "You can't see that?"

     Caleb said, "The creatures, our fellow kin, once needed us, but they don't any more. They have the protection of the government. Nobody needs me, and I need nobody. Don't you see?"

     "But your friends," Glick reinforced, "We need you and we care about you. We don't want you to suffer and we feel better when you are around us. Can't you see that?"

     "Yes, but," Glick said, "But... I'm not sure." He put his hand on Caleb's shoulder. "I just want you to know that I love you, and that we need you, and you need us.." His hand still an Caleb's shoulder, he turned away and looked down for a brief moment, and then looked back to Caleb. "Take care of yourself, friend," he said, and then left.

     "I will," Caleb said, "You do the same."

     The same routine continued. Turbo Fuck and Glick would sleep in the same room as Yip Yip, waiting for their friend to wake up with anxiety and wrath. Sometimes, though, they wish they were him. Then, at least, they would have something to do, something to fight for, instead of the general apathy that covered them all now like blanket. Virtual Nitwit, or Caleb, stopped answering his door again. Raised on Cement still worsened. Not only did his apathy become worse, but he also became aggressive and almost violent. A month passed by like this, until one fateful day when Glick went to Raised on Cement's house.

     "Raised on Cement!" he yelled, "Hey! I'm out here! Tell me to come in!" A minute passed, and Glick went in anyway, figuring that perhaps Raised on Cement was asleep. When he walked into the bedroom, he found Raised on Cement. He had hung himself on one of the fixtures on the ceiling. "Oh, shit..." Glick said, in a barely audible voice. A note on the table read, "It is done." He put the food he purchased from the local grocery store on the floor, and called the police. Shortly afterwards, his body was sitting in morgue.

     "I don't like this," Glick said to Turbo Fuck.

     "Me, neither," she said, not even looking up, full of an unexpressed sadness. Raised on Cement was a Humanitarian, a Rationalist, a lover of all that was good, appalled by all that caused suffering -- this is what his tombstone said. When there was a funeral, Virtual Nitwit did not show up. When Yip Yip was at the funeral, he said addressing the crowd, "We'll get those meat-eating bastards still! This isn't the end to the New Reformers! We will succeed!" Nobody said anything to him about it. They only mourned the death of their friend Raised on Cement.

     A few days later, Glick and Turbo Fuck were helping Yip Yip out of bed. Yip Yip continued with his rant, "We got to get those bastards. All of us! You two, me, Virtual Nitwit, and Raised on Cement! We have to get those evil motherfuckers who are killing the animals." It struck something inside of Turbo Fuck, her face swelled up with tears, and she ran out of the room in hopelessness and desperation.

     "Wait a minute," Glick yelled out as he left Yip Yip to chase Turbo Fuck. Yip Yip was yelling, "Go aid our ally!" as Glick ran after her. Turbo Fuck came to a room and wanted to stop. Her heart was running faster than her legs, which was a remarkable speed, so she laid against the wall, and started to cry. The noise from the pace of Glick's running finally came to a halt as he found Turbo Fuck crying in the hallway. "Hey, what happened?" he asked, "Are you okay?" Before she could respond, he put his arms around her and told her that he loved her. They must have spent a half hour together, physically intimate with each other. Afterwards, Glick volunteered to take care of Yip Yip for the rest of the day.

     Another day came where Glick, Turbo Fuck, and Yip Yip went to the library late in the evening. Earlier in the day, Virtual Nitwit refused to answer the door again. When Glick was looking through the books on the shelf, the great hits, he found and picked out a book by the title of "Tuesdays With Morrie" by Mitch Albom. After reading only a few pages of it, he was furious with the book. "Have you read this shit?" he said to Turbo Fuck, "Some man dying tells me about life, love, meaning, family, and culture. Obviously he's never given a speech to a disgruntled, violent crowd of people opposing Animal Rights, and he certainly has never be threatened with physical violence for his beliefs."

     "Or ever performed an act of sabotage to save the lives of our fellow creatures," Turbo Fuck said, not looking up, but then meeting the glance of Glick, "It was supposed to be a hit in its day. The book anyway."

     "It's fucking awful," Glick said, "And the critics who praised it must have been eunuchs."

     Glick would have nightmares every night. He would see people burning, and he would be confined to some device that disallowed him from aiding them. He felt sadness to see the pain and suffering, but even more sadness because he couldn't help. He would wake up, sometimes partly dehydrated, sometimes with an extreme case of drymouth. His heart always racing, he felt the pains and sufferings of those who suffered in his dream.

     One day, while in the library, Turbo Fuck asked Glick if he wanted to hear some poetry she wrote. He nodded. She then pulled out a piece of notebook paper with some scribbling on it, and she read it...

every night I have to suffer alone
     there is no safety in my dreams
even the suffering has grown
     those who love me can't hear my screams

     Tears were brought to the face of Glick as he heard her state it, but he said nothing. He only turned away to the ground, his tears creating a puddle. He then looked back to her, and said only what he knew to say, "Yeah." A month went by, and there was no change in the routine of things. The wrathful days of Yip Yip continued without disturbance, and Virtual Nitwit continued to ignore Glick's knocking. Since Raised on Cement was dead, Glick went to Virtual Nitwit's house everyday, and received the same refusal everyday.

     There was a time that came, though,when Turbo Fuck and Glick were outdoors looking around. She looked at the sky and said, "You can't always see this on the inside."

     "What do you mean?" Glick said.

     "I mean nature," she said, "It's so.... peaceful." Glick's eyes were fixed on the ground. He looked up and saw that Turbo Fuck had bolted into the forest.

     "Wait!" he cried out, "Where are you going!?!? Turbo Fuck! Evelyn Dobbins! Don't go!!! Wait!!!!" It was to no avail, though. Glick was the last living man ever to see Turbo Fuck, or Evelyn Dobbins, again. Even no body of her was found.

     The months went on and on. Yip Yip with his angst, and Virtual Nitwit with his negligence. It started to build up on Glick, but he didn't know what to do. One day, he went to Virtual Nitwit's house and started banging on the door. "Hey, friend!" he yelled, "I need you! I can't do this alone.... The nights are getting unbearable, the nightmares continue to haunt me, I can't take care of Yip Yip alone, and every time I move, pangs of loneliness strike through me. I need you!" He stood there for about five minutes, completely silent, and then sat down on the steps to Virtual Nitwit's house.

     These men and women were reformers. They saved the world, but in doing so, they lost their soul.

     ..... then the door to his house opened.


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