Anthropy Anna - Continue?: the Boss Fight Books anthology

Continue?

The Boss Fight Books Anthology

The Big Metal Stomach
Mike Lars White

At nine years old I was able to produce a boner, but I didnt know what to do with it. I tried rubbing it. Nothing happened. It just turned red. So I decided to hump a pillow. That was nice. It made me feel like the guy with fluffy hair that was humping Morgan Fairchild in the Cinemax movies Id been watching. I started humping pillows in the living room, right in front of my parents as they sat in their armchairs reading the New York Times. Watch this! I cried. They didnt care. They were hippies. For months Id been begging them to buy me a dog, but they wouldnt have it. They were vegetarians but they hated animals. They shit everywhere, said my father. So I asked for a cat instead. They said they didnt like the smell of cats. Besides, who would look after the dog or cat when we went on vacation? No, it was too much responsibility. No pets, they said. Now that I was humping pillows and becoming a pervert, however, it seemed to me they no longer had much of a choice. I needed a pet to be healthy again, to be like the other children. Dont you see whats happening? I said. I watch too much TV. Every day I came at them with a different argument. After awhile I began to notice a new expression on their faces. It was guilt. I had them. If they couldnt buy me a pet, they would have to buy me something else. And this is how I ended up with the ColecoVision game console.

One month later and my basement bedroom had turned into a sort of terrorist training hideout. Id always had friends coming overneighborhood kids, classmates, kids of my fathers coworkersand wed always found things to do. But with ColecoVision our lives had purpose. Now if we ate or drank something, it was fuel for gaming. If we went for a swim at the municipal pool, it was to cool our fingers for more gaming. The electronic noises were reconfiguring our neural pathways. Our thumbs and eyeballs were being re-geared for greater sophistication. When the aliens invaded the planet, whom would they choose as the prime specimens of humankind? It would be us, the electro-athletes.

The year was 1985 and Coleco had the best graphics of any console on the market. Sorry, Atari was the tagline from the TV commercial. Since it was my Coleco, I had the privilege of practicing more than anyone else. I set all the high scores. The only other player to come close was a half-Chippewa Indian named Littlepaw. My ego was so big that I encouraged Littlepaw to beat me. I needed the competition. Sometimes I let Littlepaw sleep over at the house. Mornings he would show up at the breakfast table with a blanket wrapped around him like a toga, reeking of urinehe was a bed-wetter. After a couple bowls of cereal the two of us would return to the basement and play a few warm-up games. When our other friends showed up, wed let them play. Wed sit at the back of the room and smile at their inadequacies. They seemed to be having fun, which for us was beside the point. A true gamer was after power and domination. Inevitably someone would ask if we wanted to play. No, noyou go ahead, wed say. If we got bored, we might step in with a pointer or twoespecially if there were girls present. Finally one of us would reluctantly grab the controls and yawn. Then we would destroy everyones hopes of having a future in video games.

It wasnt long before Littlepaw and I felt the need to test our skills on a larger playing field, a place where money was at stake. Our towns most important video arcade sat in a row of buildings just around the corner from the Red Carpet bar. We made our debut there on a sunny day in the middle of June.

It was dark and wet inside the arcade, filled with a blue electronic haze. There was a row of games on each side of the room, with a token machine at the back where a manager sat behind a little desk. I noticed right away that Littlepaw and I were the shortest people in the house.

We set to work. Littlepaw went for Tron and I took over the Track & Field , the game where you drum two run buttons as hard and fast as you can. After that we played Super Mario Bros. , Paperboy , and Galaga . It was all warm-up at this point, getting used to the new environment Then we noticed a small crowd gathering around the Centipede machine. Some guy was setting a new record. I remember he was wearing a baseball hat with a nicely shampooed rattail streaming out the back. We walked over to watch him play.

This guy is good! said Littlepaw.

As soon as Littlepaw said this, the guy stopped playing. He turned around, grabbed Littlepaws shirt and shoved him across the room.

WHO YOU CALLIN GUY !

It turned out the guy was actually a girla bony Latina girl with a rattail.

The manager showed up. Take it outside!

Rattails friend was standing over me now. All bad acne and buckteeth. She was a foot-and-a-half taller and outweighed me by at least 50 pounds.

The manager decided to join us outside. He gathered the four of us in a circle around a parking meter.

Whats this about? he said.

This shitfuck called me a guy! said Rattail.

It was a mistake, said Littlepaw.

The manager didnt look well. He was running his fingers through his hair, clenching his teeth as if about to vomit.

I just said she was good at Centipede , Littlepaw went on.

Rattail Girl was still in battle mode. Her friend was red-faced, clutching her boobs and fuming. I couldnt believe the manager wasnt defending us. For a second I thought he was going to let the girls throw punches. Instead he asked them back inside the building.

They didnt move.

He pleaded with them. Please ladies, please go back inside. Ill handle this.

Finally the girls left, after spitting at our shoes.

The manager turned to us, wiping his forehead: Im gonna have to ban you from the arcade.

Littlepaw: What?

I thought I was dreaming.

Youre both banned, he said as he walked back to the arcade. Dont come back!

We walked home.

The whole thing was nonsense. I could only imagine how emasculated Littlepaw felt. The arcades werent ready for us. Either that or Cloud Two, Minnesota was the wrong place to be chasing our dreams. Minneapolis was just an hour away, and that was where Prince had thirteen girlfriends, where Prince was five feet tall and nailing his fathers girlfriend at age twelve. For the next couple weeks we were listless and unmotivatedLittlepaw much more than me. I felt sorry for him. With no desire to play Coleco or visit another arcade, the two of us settled into our usual summer routine of sitting at the municipal swimming pool, making trips to the snack bar. Littlepaw would eat popcorn while I watched our friend Bjorns sister rub suntan oil all over her body. I wondered if she would ever care that I was a Coleco champion. I daydreamed about her and me, about doing something that would impress and overwhelm her, Id be exactly like Ferris Bueller. I started thinking about the idea of sex, about how it worked when a log of feces floated by.

It was a human turd, right there in the swimming pool. A few people screamed, everyone jumped out. The lifeguards had to bring out one of those nets for collecting leaves and moths. Its just like in Caddyshack , I said to Littlepaw. Except instead of a candy bar its a real shit.

We would have hopped a train and escaped Cloud Two for good, if not for the miracle that happened next.

Our local Coburns grocery store had just acquired a new video game, replacing the old Pole Position machine that had been sitting near the entrance since as long as we could remember. The day we first spotted the new machine, Littlepaw and I were walking out the store with our Sunday donut bags.

I remember thinking it wasnt a real video game. It was more like a film. All the usual crude 1980s pixelated graphics had been replaced by rich, fluid Disney animation. Dragons Lair , said the voiceover. The fantasy adventure where you become a valiant knight on a quest to rescue the fair princess from the clutches of an evil dragon. A series of grotesque cartoon characters flooded the screenskeletons, lizard kings, purple-lipped ogres running around with squiggly daggers. At the end of it all was a blonde princess named Daphne, filling the screen like ribbon swirl in a marble. She was all lips and skin, wrapped in transparent black lace. You only saw her for a second as she drew her legs up and squealed as if penetrated from a surprise angle. My heart collapsed when I saw her. I would have had a boner if not for the chill rushing up my spine. Daphne was the woman Tawny Kitaine and Heather Locklear aspired to be, she was the inspiration for all the Ratt and Van Halen songs that have molded my psyche.