CHURCH, Season Six, Episode Six Part Two

CHURCH, The Television Show

Season Six

Episode Six Part Two

    The Dutchman was coming to Majesty; Noodle didn’t know that he was wanted in four countries for having sex with minors and he promoted the show on Her Majesty’s Noodle PeopleFace page. Dance Majesty Emonkies: ‘Everybody’s doin’ it, pushin’ it.’ He quoted the performer’s lyrics.

    “Have you been working out? You look a lot bigger,” Laos said while they were checking ID’s at the front door.

    “Check out those guns!” The Meatpacker added.

    “Do you ever take steroids?” Noodle asked Laos.

    “No, that’s sketch,” he answered. “I push heavy weights at the gym, that’s all.”

    “Come on, just a bump when the time’s right,” The Meat Packer chimed.

    “Why, are you trying to buy steroids?” Laos asked Noodle.

    “I’m not! I was just curious how you got so big.”

    When Noodle went upstairs to guard the stage he found a stanchion placed in front of the catwalk where he occasionally smoked. He thought someone was lazy putting it away; he didn’t know that they were trying to send a message. Noodle came from a world where people would tell you to your face if they had a problem with something you were doing.

    Later in the night a girl came barreling down the stairs and shot past Noodle, flying over all four steps to the stage. Noodle reached to catch her fall but she slipped through his fingers and stumbled over the misplaced stanchion. So drunk, she couldn’t get up; she rolled on her back and vomited all over herself.

    “Supervisor, check this out!” Noodle said and pointed to the girl.

    “What did you do, bring her back there?” He asked.

    “No!” Noodle exclaimed.

    “Well, go pick her up!”

    Noodle did not want to touch that. But he was good at following orders; so he took her in both his hands and lifted. It took a few tries to get the big girl on her feet.

    “Should I go to Burning Man or The Cannabis Cup for my vacation?” The SquishHead asked Noodle.

    “I don’t know. Which do you want to do?”

    “Well, I have cousins in Europe that I haven’t seen for a while.”

    “You should do that, then.”

    “No, you should go to Burning Man,” The Meat Packer interrupted.

    “Why’s that?” The SquishHead asked.

    “Money! If you drove, do you know how much product you could unload? Fifty thousand people want to blow-up their heads out there!”

    “Do you think that would work? I’d have to drive all the way across country with product in my car.”

    “Talk to The Barracuda. We know people. I bet you could pick up in Desert City and then the drugs would only be in your car for a few hours, instead of a few days.”

    Noodle rolled his eyes and walked away.

    Before the night was over, The Marketer and The Manager snuck up and started talking behind Noodle’s back.

    “I think it’s because his head is so small…he has no place to dump his emotions at the end of each day,” The Marketer said.

    When Noodle got home he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was stress from The Club that had been keeping him up later, and again sat on the back porch chain-smoking cigarettes. His mind raced. It seemed like people had been walking up behind him a lot and muttering things that resonated. But, that would be crazy!

    Until someone had the conviction to say something to Noodle’s face, he’d ignore it and went on with his life.

    But he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t escape the ringing. It was like bombs had exploded and ruptured his ear drum.

    So he logged onto PeopleFace to distract himself. DJ Ghost Face had the latest post in Noodle’s new feed. ‘Loading up the car, headed down to The Southern Festival in the morning. Gotta love making this kind of money to take trips!’

    By the time he logged off the sun had risen and Noodle smoked one last cigarette before going to bed. He slept through most of the following Sunday, and woke up on Monday just before he had to meet The Uncle for dinner.

    “Have you heard about Charlie Sheen?” His Uncle asked.

    “Mehca was telling me about him and they’re always quoting him at The Club, but I don’t have a TV or read that kind of news. Why?”

    “The guy doesn’t show up for work. He’s a louse,” The Uncle insulted.

    “Well, I don’t know if that’s true – didn’t something happen because they weren’t paying him?”

    “He’s a drunk and he went on a coke binge and he got so wasted he couldn’t show up for work. Meanwhile, he’s calling his boss, demanding more money.”

    “I can’t speak to his drug use, but didn’t he have the number one rated show on television– and then The Producer manipulated The Labor away from his set?”

    “No!” The Uncle denied. “He’s a looser and he’s never going to work again!”

    “Maybe it’s a viral marketing campaign. People at The Club can’t stop talking about him. They quote him all night long.”

    “He’s a looser.”

    “He’s not a looser. He made more per episode than you’ve made in a decade.”

    The following night Noodle sat around the Lion Room with the other security waiting for The Club to open.

    “I drink Tiger Blood!” The Meat Packer bragged.

    DJ walked by, and looked right at Noodle, “Winning!” he sang as he skipped by.

    The Manager stood there with a grim, sober look on his face. Upstairs, he bumped into The Marketer.

    “They can’t stop quoting Charlie,” The Marketer sighed.

    “I know. It’s because he went public. That video went viral – it’s everywhere, you cannot get away from it.”

    “I haven’t seen it.”

    “He’s tripping out. He just goes on and on about how everything’s connected and nine-eleven conspiracy theories.”

    “Was he in The Program?” The Marketer asked; he knew who The Manager really was.

    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” The Manager sighed and walked away.

    Noodle went to get a screw gun so he could fasten the golden couches to the dance floor. Across from the maintenance closet, the door to The Manager’s office was open; Noodle recognized the one liners, The Manager was watching Charlie Sheen’s viral video with his girlfriend. .

    “He’s great,” The Manager said to his girlfriend.

    “He’s crazy,” his girlfriend sighed.

    “He’s not. It’s stress. There’s a lot more to this world than ninety-nine percent of the people know about.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “You’ll see. We’re going to stress Noodle out. Hopefully he’ll turn into Charlie Sheen.”

    “Why?”

    “To catch The Terrorists. The Boyfriend stole a video from his house that he filmed after his doctor stressed him out and his speech, his rhythm, he fits the profile.”

    “Of crazy?”

    “Aliens!”

    “You’re joking!” She giggled.

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