A Clockwork Beck…And an Engineer’s Concern

‘Why is this damn phone ringing at 2:00 in the morning?’ I thought.

I reached over and picked up the phone, barely able to see or think from the deep sleep I was enjoying.

“Hello and this better be good!” I mumbled.

It was the Lawyer’s wife. Why in the world would she be calling at this hour of the morning? Something was wrong.

“You have to get over here,” she said in a trembling voice, “as quick as you can. It’s, it’s my husband.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” I said. “I was in the middle of this great dream. There were 8 girls in lab coats and..”

“Shut up and get over here now! It’s an emergency!” She yelled.

“Okay,” I said, “give me about 40 minutes to get there.”

I got dressed as quick as I could and hopped in The Nissan Cube, the official transport of The Lawyer and The Engineer. I drove with the car maxed out, 67 miles per hour, and arrived in less than 35.

I knocked at the door and she let me in immediately. She looked very frazzled to say the least.

“Now what in the hell was the emergency? What’s wrong with your imbecilic husband?” I asked.

“He has been down in the basement for about 14 hours now and refuses to come back up or even talk to me.” She cried. “I’m really worried that this Glenn Beck thing has gotten out of control. Since he started watching, he has been behaving more and more….”

“What? Tell me,” I implored.

“Well, just weird. Very weird…it’s uh..well it’s just hard to put into words. You just have to see for yourself.”

“Oh c’mon…Look, I know you are worried and all but this is The Lawyer we are talking about. He has seen and done it all. Well, I remember just like it was yesterday when…,” I said.

“HELLO! A little focus here. Go look for yourself if you don’t believe me. He’s in the basement,” she snapped back.

I walked over to the basement door and started down the creaky steps. The Lawyer had spent some time and money fixing up the basement, making it his own personal hideway. In fact had nicknamed it the “ManCave.” It had all the accessories to make it rock, like a refrigerator and a killer surround sound system.

I could hear the faint sound of music, but it was some bizarre song that I had never heard before, sounding almost like chanting accompanied by tribal drums.

“Are you down here, old buddy? Hello, can you hear me?” I said, cautiously descending the steps.

I reached the end of the steps and looked around the corner… Holy Shit!!

He was sitting in a chair and directly opposite of him was this..this…thing that he must had made himself. He had taken what looked like 10 rolls of duct tape and formed a crude shape of a head. On that duct tape head, he had placed a blonde wig but with most of the hair cut off so it was short and ratty looking. Then he had placed the duct tape head on a broom stick and somehow had stuck the other end of the broom stick into the floor. Around him was about 12 or so empty bottles of scotch, some rope, and a shovel.

I realized that he was having a conversation with it. Mumbling, screaming, pleading with it, his arms waving about. Trying hard not to just turn around and run, I slowly walked over to him.

“Uhhh…Lawyer old buddy…you okay? You want to talk a little?”

He turned to look at me. His eyes were wild looking, like a cornered animal.

“Tell him! Tell Glenn that he is just a stupid fucktard! You gotta do it…gotta do it….,” The Lawyer screamed.

“Glenn?” I quizzed.

“He’s right here! Can’t you see him? Look! Just LOOK!”

“Ummmm, hold that thought and I’ll be right back” I said

I climbed up the stairs, quickly, and walked over to his wife.

“Sweet Jesus in a cornfield!! Call 911. Call 911. Shit! He is WAY worse than you had said! He is worse than any words can describe! Holy Fuck! We gotta get some professional help and NOW!”

The Lawyer’s wife was all ready starting to dial. She called her family and The Lawyer’s family, as well as the family psychiatrist.

The Lawyer was descended on by every man in the house. He grew violent, yelling, “It’s a government takeover, the government is coming to get me!” He bit someone’s hand. With some extra rolls of duct tape on the floor they were able to mummify him as the psychiatrist loaded him up with a hypodermic full of happy juice. Completely rolled in duct tape, except for his smiling face, The Lawyer was carried to an ambulance and rushed to the hospital where he was admitted to the top floor until his sanity might…[sniffle, fighting back the tears]…might someday return. The initial prognostication was that the chances of a full recovery were bleak.

God save The Lawyer!