(Paper) Cuts To The Chase

by Davi3d

Davi3d continues the saga:

Date: Wed, 22 May 1996 15:03:05 -0600 (MDT)

t was a Tuesday, I think. The day the fandom died. I remember it well. Besides me, Torka was the last. Or was it Zan? Or Eva? Well, they're triplets. Who can tell 'em apart? Anyway, I've been here ever since, trying to keep the old building going. Yeah, it had gone a bit into disrepair. A handyman I'm not. No matter how loud I screamed "vooba vooba vooba" nothing ever happened. It finally occurred to me that "vooba vooba vooba" was probably the sound of some tool, but by then it was too late. So, here I sat, waiting for any of them to reappear. For a newbie. For some Nancyboy fan. A Gary Puckett fan. Anything. Anybody.

But no one came. So I sat. And sat. And watched the episodes over and over until the only tape that hadn't worn out was 33 1/3. So I alternately watched that tape and wandered around the old building, listlessly humming Ceiling In My Room and imagining that I heard the ghost of Andrew Sandoval screaming "No! Anything but that!" I tried humming The Good Earth once, but then realized that there was no tune. That made humming it very difficult. So I watched. And wandered. And watched.

Until the day that PapaRob dropped back into my life. He looked so young, so full of life, despite the very obvious fountain of blood that gushed from his finger. And then he tossed me that issue of MBF. That Spring '96 issue that I so desperately needed. But it got me. It cut me. And when it did, I watched in amazement as Rob's cut stopped bleeding. A smile came to his face and I heard him say "I'm coming hone, Sue!" and then a thick fog appeared, enveloping him and clouding him from view. Then just as quickly, the fog was gone. And so was Rob.

I sighed. "Alone again. Naturally." It was then that I realized that not only was I referring to Gilbert O'Sullivan instead of the Monkees. I was also bleeding. Badly. The blood was spurting up in a fountain of epic proportions from the webbing between my index finger and my thumb. Not one to be affected by the sight of my own blood, I calmly walked over and pointed my hand into the long-empty Jacuzzi, Druid's long abandoned clothes still lying nearby. I thought over the situation and realized that the only way to stem the tide of the bleeding was to pass the cut on to another Lister.

But that presented two problems. First, could I possibly be cruel enough to purposely cause pain to another? Second, there were no listers left around. The first question was answered quite easily. I had no choice. Otherwise, the thread would come to an end, and we couldn't have that. The second question was a little tougher to deal with. Particularly as I was getting a little woozy. I had no choice. I had to call upon a gimmick from my comics fan days, long before I became involved in Monkees fandom.

"Oh great spirits of APA-hacking, return to me!"

Nothing.

"Please?"

Nothing.

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

In the distance I heard a slight stirring, like someone waking up, turning over and going back to sleep.

"Pretty please with a mint copy of Giant-Size X-Men #1 on top?"

Suddenly, the room was filled with an amazingly beautiful purple mist. I heard a voice booming throughout the empty clubhouse.

"Who dares call the Purple Mist from my resting place?"

"It is I, oh Great Mist. Davi3d the Fannish, once of Interlac, once of cAPrA, once of APAtoons, once Central Mailer of WAPA."

"Oh, yeah. You. Geez, you've gotten old."

"You're not exactly some spring field-mist yourself... Listen, I need your help. I need to be transported back in time, but not space, ten years. Exactly ten years. Got it?"

"Got it. Enter the mist."

I walked into the mist and felt the sensations that I had not felt in over twenty years. Mostly sick to my stomach. The mist is not for those who easily get queasy. I closed my eyes and felt the floor slip away from my feet. Unfortunately, I realized too late that the chances of the earth occupying the exact same position in space that it had ten years ago were pretty slim. The Purple Mist knew this, but didn't bother to mention it. The Mist always did have kind of a sick sense of humor.

The mist faded and I looked around. There was nothing but sky. Above me, in front of me. Behind me. To both sides. Below me.

BELOW ME??????

I did a take worthy of Wile E. Coyote and suddenly began plummeting earthward. A sign appeared in my hands. It said, "Yikes!" I looked down and realized that I was falling straight toward the Ferris wheel. It was clean and beautiful and whole again, but not moving. I saw various listers sitting in the un-moving cars, mostly looking impatiently toward the top car.

"Hmm," I thought. "Mel and Heath must have the Ferris wheel remote again."

Sure enough, there they were in the top car. Most of the other listers had spotted the body plummeting toward them by now, and were screaming and pointing. Mel and Heath were far too absorbed in their necking to notice. I looked at the "Yikes!" sign in my hand, and noticed that the handle was hooked like an umbrella. I reached out with the sign in my left (intact) hand and snagged one of the bars directly in front of Mel and Heath's car on the Ferris Wheel. I swung around but managed to keep my grip and hold on to the sign.

"Mel! Heath!" I cried.

They went on kissing.

"Here, catch!"

They ignored me.

I tossed the weather-beaten copy (VG at best, now) toward them, but neither noticed. The pages flew open, managing to hit both of their adjoining hands and cut both of them.

"Oww!" I heard Mel yell.

"Did I bite you or something?" Heath asked with concern.

"No! I'm bleeding! Look!" And Mel held up her left hand showing the spurting fountain of blood.

"Holy Deathy Mouse!" cried Heath. "I am too!" Sure enough, his right hand was bleeding as badly as Mel's.

"It wasn't Deathy Mouse." I yelled, still hanging precariously by my sign. "It was me."

"Davi3d?" They finally noticed me. "But you look so old!"

"Yes, I've come from the future. And the future is bleak! But you can still change it! Don't forget them! Don't forget the Monkees!"

"The who?" Heath said, displaying his usual sense of humor.

"No, not the Who, Heath," Mel replied. "The monkeys. You know - the dead ones in the freezer!"

"Oh, those monkeys!" And they both began to laugh, despite the spurting blood.

It was at this moment that I lost my grip on the sign handle and plummeted toward the ground. I saw the Purple Mist re-appear below me and executed a perfect swan dive toward its center. The Purple Mist chuckled and stepped to one side, allowing me to plow headlong into the ground leaving a crater that Wile E. would have been proud of.

"Cute." I mumbled upward to where the Mist looked down into the crater at my broken body. The Mist giggled and said "Hey, I gotta have some fun after a twenty-year nap." The Mist jumped into the crater and again enveloped my body. I could instantly feel my bones knit and the wounds heal. I hadn't even noticed that the blood had stopped back on the Ferris wheel. Suddenly, I was back in my own time and back at the clubhouse. But something was different. The clubhouse was in perfect shape. The batpoles were still there. The music blared from every room. Somehow, I knew that the word had been passed on. I knew that the Monkees had never been forgotten.

(Mel? Heath? The MBF is in your court now! Have fun!)