The Case of the Stalkers

Leo the Patriotic Lion here. Ever had one of those people in your life you would rather kill than look at? It does not matter if they are stalking you, or if they are just someone that annoys you half to death. There are many obnoxious people in this world, many of which may be very intelligent but come off as ding-dongs just as easily as those people who genuinely are ding-dongs. It is all a matter of behavior, and bad behavior and stupidity is hugely frowned upon in the G-52 organization.

Conversely, you may be annoyed with someone because they are genuinely smarter than you are. The sad truth is, studies have shown in the case of intelligence and literacy, the average American is only as literate as a 4th grade boy or girl. Perhaps that was the premise behind the quiz show “Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?” (In the UK, the show is called “Are You Smarter than a 10-Year-Old?”) As far as I know based on what Cripto told me (because he is the quiz show genius of the G-52s, and because I have never looked at a television screen even when it was turned off for even a quarter of a second in my life), only two people have been able to say, “I am smarter than a 5th grader!” Those two people walked away with $1 million as a reward. Think about it, though; how embarrassed would you be to have to admit on national television that you are not smarter than a 10-year-old child is? I know I would.

I wish to focus on the first paragraph’s thoughts, though, because there recently have been stalkers afoot. All of them, as you might have been able to deduce, are stalkers all hoping to get rich off Cripto’s misery. What they do not expect, however, is to have the cops show up and arrest them. I even said on live television that I would assume someone was stalking him in the event they’d stop Cripto on the streets and ask him for some cash, since one of the psychologists he has been seeing in regards to the PTSD he suffers from likes to think of those people using him as a living ATM, which I later apologized for. But let me make it clear: Cripto only donates those ridiculously huge amounts for extreme situations, such as the wars in Syria and Iran, or when a tornado strikes, since he cannot change the past, and he hasn’t had enough experience restoring buildings. In fact, after the damage he suffered from that first nightmare also resulted in all that building damage, Mayor Clarkson insisted that it be rebuilt with regular construction crews. That way, Cripto would not unintentionally cause unemployment to go up.

Government officials have told the press in what was one of the rare truly unbiased news reports that because Cripto gave them six times the amount of the national debt plus six times the amount of the budget deficit, it encouraged them to finally listen to the opinions of the American citizens (in particular me) to quit spending so much, because out-of-control spending only made it worse. It was T2’s Hip Solution and his unique fuel, however, that gave Americans their obsession with American-made products, which is what eventually produced more jobs at home in the end. Needless to say, it made the Communist government officials of China jealous, but it taught them an important lesson: capitalism works, and Communism doesn’t. The politicians of our nation also felt sorry for Cripto when they first learned about his troubles with the stalkers, but if you were to ask them, they’d tell you it helped them to realize just how problematic healthcare, welfare, and social security could be if they didn’t handle it properly. Cripto simply became the scapegoat in their place.

Cripto is used to being the scapegoat, however; in his grade school years, he used to have a strange way of craving attention and being in the spotlight all the time (and he now says it’s the autism and ADHD in him that was a part of it, but bad habits he’s broken otherwise) of volunteering to be the scapegoat, and thus, Louis the Merciless, when he was just bully Louis Schelgel, was able to use this to his advantage in his numerous attempts to kill Cripto. This, combined with those outbursts he had, scared the other kids back in line, and helped them realize Cripto wasn’t “normal” as they saw it. Fortunately, the outbursts and the volunteering to skip recess in place of the other pupils disappeared, but unfortunately, Louis kept trying to kill him, and ultimately paid the ultimate price for it.

Today, Cripto encountered stalker after stalker, which the police arrested, leading our Sheriff, David Crackshot, to say to him, “I’m hoping that this doesn’t get out of control. If it does; we’ll have to act as if you were the President and we were the Secret Service. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do,” Cripto replied. “I have a feeling it’s driving Leo the Patriotic Lion up the wall more than it’s driving me up the wall. It’s crazy. I wonder, though; what would Cody do?”

“Cody?”

“Callahan Cody.”

“Oh, the Texan lynx that draws on you if you insult him, his friends, or Texas?”

“Yes. Leo says Cody is more die-hard about Texas than he is about America, so it’s nationalism but on a state level. And to Leo, and me, it’s terrifying! He’ll go to jail himself—or die—if he’s not careful.”

“That is something to show concern about. Do you mean to suggest that he’d also draw on those he feels would stalk him?”

“He might. I don’t know him that well, though; I think W.C. knows him best.”

W.C. drove up on his bike and paused to take a breather. “Someone mentioned me?” he asked, indicating he heard me.

“Yes; I was just saying you know Callahan Cody best out of the ones that are actual G-52s,” I said. “You’ve known him the longest.”

“Yes, I have. I’m a bit worried about him.”

“What for?”

“I have reason to believe he began drawing his two pistols on those he discovered were planning to stalk you for money. He never shoots, though; he keeps his guns empty. But just pointing them is enough to scare them back in line and convince them to get a job and work their tails off. Still, I don’t think it’s right. You wouldn’t do that, would you, Sheriff?”

“Oh, no; departmental policy forbids it. I’m sure you as a cowboy do the same, Cripto; never using the guns unless it’s necessary.”

“You’re correct, Sheriff,” I said as we headed over to Cat’s Granby. I rode with him in his squad car as W.C. drove alongside us on his bike. “And on top of that, anytime I end up in a gunfight, I don’t even point my guns at the other one involved. I point them elsewhere. I live by the same code the Lone Ranger lived by: 1) no shooting to kill; 2) no booze in the saloon, which is easy because G-52 policy forbids drinking anyway; and 3) hands to myself and away from the girls. I’m sure the Nickelbacks and the Righteous Outlaw live by that same policy. The rest of the Fab 5 certainly does. I doubt Cody really means to shoot anybody, though; it’s just his way of scaring them off.”

“You might be right about that,” W.C. replied. “If I know Cody well enough, and I’m certain I do, he never shoots to kill. His record is clean; no crimes. I checked with the Texas police the other day, since he’s from Texas. Also, the number of arrests is decreasing, since someone started a rumor that Leo is on the case.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

The three came across Cody’s ranch and found me talking with him. I had been asking him politely to refrain from his emotional meltdowns, which was leading him to draw on the unsuspecting folks who confessed they were stalkers that lived off food stamps. “These are the people I figured would do what they would do if they played and won the lottery,” I said to the Sheriff. “They’d blow through the money in a short time and then hope for more, because they haven’t been taught how to manage their money. That may actually be the reason people who win huge lottery jackpots take their own lives, as opposed to my original reasoning for people who win the lottery that later take their own lives, which was simply because they won a huge jackpot.”

“I promise not to draw on any more folks, Sheriff,” Cody added. “So be it if I go to jail or die for my beliefs, my friends, or Texas. I want nobody messin’ with Texas!”

“I know better than to mess with it,” Cripto replied. “I have relatives down there. I’ve always thought it was the greatest state in the Union.”

“Glad to hear that, partner.”

“And don’t worry about it, soldier,” I said. “I’ve been on the case myself. Now that we’ve reduced it to zero, nobody will stalk you anymore.”

“I hope not. It does make me thankful I have superpowers; I can summon the cops with a wave of my hand or snap of my fingers. I didn’t have to today; the force was already patrolling around. So kudos to you and the W.C.P.D. Blue, Sheriff, for being on top of things the whole time.”

“And the Red section,” David added. “There’s a W.C.P.D. Red and a W.C.P.D. Blue, but not a white one, so sorry, Leo, that we can’t complete the trio.”

“That’s all right. I figured it had to do with the lights on the squad car.”

“It does. We did this to make it easier for the police as a whole to patrol such a big city, as well as make it easier to count them in a census, since Battlefield Range is divided into a red and a blue section as a reference to that period of furry music defeating human bigotry, when furries wore blue uniforms and humans were wearing a lot of red. It was actually Mayor Clarkson’s idea. Each one has their own Sheriff as well, and you’re right, Cripto; I’m the Sheriff of the blue section.”

“That makes sense,” Cripto replied. “It always goes back to the human bigotry, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed it does.”

“Yup,” said Cody. “And just so y’all know; these guns ain’t loaded. I wish I could stop drawin’ on folks like I do, but I don’t mean to hurt them any. I’ll probably regret it just as much as y’all bellowing at them Glaswegian Devils, Leo.”

“I think it’s best if you just don’t let it bother you, as long as you don’t do it again,” I said sympathetically, even giving Cody a pat on the back. “I’m doing the same with the bellowing. That was the first time I ever bellowed in 32 years, evidently, if I did the math correctly; the last time I ever bellowed that loud was during my campaign. And since I’m 30 forever thanks to the criptonitroglycerite and its eternal effect, you can safely say that I haven’t changed a bit. Clearly you haven’t one bit either, have you, Cody?”

“Nope, not really. Forgive me, though?”

“Of course I do.”

“As do I,” said W.C.

“And me,” Cripto added.

“That goes quadruple for me,” David concluded. “I promise not to report you. All the people that you drew upon have been apprehended and arrested, and probably won’t be out of jail anytime soon.”

“I see.” It was appropriate for us to do so, so Cripto and I went ahead and gave Cody a hug for support. W.C. and the Sheriff looked on with admiration. As soon as Cody was able to calm down, we chatted a bit more about the scenario, which turned into a discussion about lifestyles in general, even though David left to go back to the station. Thus, Cripto walked alongside me as Cody led us over to a local hole-in-the-wall restaurant for lunch. Despite being a hole-in-the-wall type of place, it lived up to its name of having the best home-style cooking in the area. “It’s a reason I go here a lot when I eat out,” Cody smiled. “It’s fantastic. Plus, I’m friends with the one who owns it.”

“So I noticed,” I said as we sat down at a table for four. “You don’t have to have a fancy restaurant to have a successful one, I always say.”

THE END