...it's Wonder. Brad Wonder.
Yeah, exactly. My parents had a great sense of humor. You should have heard some of the stuff I got in school as a kid. "Hey, Wonder Brad, missing your peanut butter and jelly?" "It's a Wonder-ful life, isn't it, BRAD?" "It's a Wonder you were ever born, Brad!" After the first couple of years, I almost got into a state of Wonder at the sheer creativity of some of it. Yeah, riiiiight. Uh huh. Suuuure.
Actually, it IS a wonder I can write in this journal given what happened. I've been trying to sleuth-out how there can be a functioning internet a month after the beginning of the Apocalypse. More on that in a minute.
Sleuthing is something that comes naturally to me. I was a Private Detective before the Death Ray started beaming into the life of the planet. I actually made a few nice peanuts here and there doing it, too. However, if you make fun of my name, I can go all Private Dick on you real quick-like. I kind of have that in common with the big toothy Lizardites like poor ol' Squiggy. I'll go all Reptiloid on your ass if you can't bite your own tongue, get me?
One of the best things I ever sleuthed out was the gal who calls me Mr. Wonder-ful. That's right, I got her under the tinfoil in time and brought her to the bat caves with me. (She's not too thrilled with our temporary home, but it beats the frying pan. Who among us other than Squiggy and company is?) My Sweet's name is Claudette Clerestine. She is a beautiful blonde bombshell, with an excellent brain and an even better heart. She's the real reason I want to beat Johnny C. to the Tinfoil Shack most days. She was a nurse and a Tarot card reader before the Death Ray. They don't come any smarter or sweeter in my book, than my Claudi-gal.
Now, back to how I can be writing in this journal. I think it is the US Federal Government. I think they have a backup of most of the internet with them deep in Cheyenne Mountain and most of the other buried bunkers they snuck in all over the planet. I also think they have guys who fly around in helicopters and tinfoil suits that keep cellular networks going so they can keep tabs on the Tinfoil Corps like us all over the baked-Earth.
Lucky for us we managed to keep a few solar-cell-based phone chargers with us. They work even better in the Death Ray, they put out more juice on cloudy days and such. We've been kind of amazed that we've been able to call each other and surf the web when we're out of the Guano Caverns. We've even been able to Tweet at some of the other members of the Tinfoil Club from caves around the planet, which is heartening for four years from now. I'll have to tell you about some of them later.
So, if you think the Death Ray has freed you from the Scourge of the Paper-People Pushers, think again. Corporatism will probably be right back to endanger the planet as soon as we fly out of the Left Ray. They have finally proven that Paper Tigers are far worse than the real thing, I bet. Look at the shape real tigers were in before the Death Ray came. They were on the verge of extinction. I have to wonder how many endangered species will have survived Apocalypsia when all is said and done. I guess that's something I'll have to sleuth out after we're free of the tinfoil.
Brad Wonder out.
No comments:
Post a Comment