It was a day like any other in the Steel City. Mother’s baked apple pies and father’s went to work in their gray wool suit. You know a regular Normal Rockwell painting with a stagnate economic base and a tore up down town.
The citizens of da Burg were still basking in the glow of the Super Bowl even though not a single beer bellied over the hill Steelers fan had squat to do with it. While dusk approached the good little Burg Hippies and Knitting Grannies made their way to the Bee Hive for their weekly knitting meeting.
As the good boys and girls pulled out their yarn and needles the over bearing racket of techno music was shattered by a maniacal kackle. The front door was kicked open and a jack booted figure in a gray uniform stomped into the Hive.
“Great Caesar’s Ghost.” exclaimed a terrified little hippie having a Scooby Do flashback.
“It’s Gary Busey, the Yarn Nazi.” she squealed with her Boye needles trembling in her hand.
“Ha, I found you, you hippies. Sipping coffee, unwinding from your day jobs at Giant Eagle you make me sick.”
The gray clad Hollywood Icon reached into his rolling tote and pulled out a skein of cashmere yarn made in the retched sweat shops owned by Kathy Lee Gifford.
“You dead beat hippies knitting with your Red Heart on metal needles make me want to puke. I mean sicker than when my agent tells me I can’t get work for scale plus ten percent. Give me your entire pay check this yarn costs 80 dollars a skein. Do you know how hard Kathy Lee works getting 3 year olds to operate spinning wheels?”
“No I will not knit with it, and the first Lethal Weapon movie sucked most because of you, man.” defiantly stated the brave young hippie through the pot induced haze he lived in.
Bussey pulled out his bamboo size 50s and cracked the hippie across the knuckles.
“Dude, that’s not cool.”
“You try finding your motivation with Mel Gibson calling you a Jew Loving Panzy because you love knitting.” snarled Bussee holding the 50s over the hippy’s head.
“Sorry Dude, I had no idea. Just don’t hit me again, Dude” pleaded the hippy hiding his hands under the table in a defense mechanism he learned in Catholic School.
“Kahn, I will make you pay, Adolf” threatened Bussey halting after every word while using over exaggerated hand motions.
“The name is Bret, Dude”
“Adolf” bellowed Bussey.
“Bret, don’t talk back to him. He is switching into William Shatner mode. He is capable of anything” stated a wise Granny who had read about this horror in the back pages of Rebecca Magazine.
“Not William Shatner mode. Someone call Yarn Man, Dude” cried Bret with all the anguish his little girly voice could muster.
Across the continent a red phone blinked on a Plexiglas end table in a room full of inflatable furniture. Dressed in a black suit Michael Cain entered the room that looked over the beach in Malibu.
“I won and Oscar and I’m playing the bloody butler in this crappy short story. I’m going to throttle my agent when I get back to London.” murmured Caine in a powerful Shakespearan oration that deserves at least a People Choice Award.
“No use kissing up now. You and the rest of your Yank friends can bugger off” grumped the foul mouthed Brit who was still pissed they lost the Revolutionary War.
“You were not the only theater we were fighting in you yober. And do you want me to answer the bleeding Bat Phone or Not?”
“It’s the Yarn Man Phone and yes answer it now.” replied the dashing narrator who lived in the world’s only super power.
“Bloody Yanks, just because you have more missiles than us you think it makes you special.” moaned Caine as he picked up the phone.
“Yarn Boy Headquarters, how may I help you?”
“It is Yarn Man” corrected the narrator.
“Do you honestly think anyone cares?” snapped Caine like Elton John letting into his personal pastry chef.
“Are you calling me a puff you colonial degenerate. Honestly, the things one does for scale plus 20 percent.” whined Caine getting back to the scene on answering the phone.
“Right, you say Gary Bussey is attacking a coffee shop in Pittsburgh. Yes Commissioner, I will get Yarn Man this instant.” forcefully stated the butler pushing an alarm button.
“I hope DC Comics sues you.” quipped Cained because of his deep seated inadequacies about not being American.
“And you wonder why no one likes America.” scratched back Caine like a Valley Girl at a Pravda sale.
As Caine simpered at the Bussey terror that had been unleashed our beaded scruffy hero bounded into the room bouncing off one of the inflated couches and landing near Caine.
“Master Arquette, the Yarn Nazis are attacking Pittsburgh.”
“Holy Home Spun.” snapped David as he jumped to his feet punching his fist into his hand.”
“To the Bat Cave!” exclaimed our dim witted Hero.
“It’s not the Bat Cave! You are Yarn Boy.” corrected Caine.
“Dude you just call me dimwitted?” asked Arquette who could also inexplicable hear the narrator.
“No that is the narrator, David. He thinks he is witty.” simpered Caine with a look of anguish as he knew he was no match for the Narrator’s snappy comeback.
“It’s your bloody story can I just get this dullard into his costume and get on with this drivel.”
The grand old lady of British stage and screen led out hero to a book shelf with every known issue of Tiger Beat.
“See if you get me back for another episode.” grumbled Caine as he pulled the bust of Alfred E. Newman to reveal a secret passage with a fire pole.
“To the Yarn Stash.” excitably stated Arquette jumping down the hole without holding onto the pole.
As he hit the bottom with a thud Caine rode the pole and followed him down.
The climate controlled cave had individually labeled air tight bins tucked neatly onto shelves. Caine stepped over Arquette as he walked over to an oversized Computer Terminal with a jumbotron for a screen. Hitting a couple buttons a rocket powered super sonic jet rose from a hatch in the floor.
Yarn man’s side kick Yarn Dog appeared from an elevator next to the fire pole. Yarn Dog sniffed Arquette as he staggered to his feet.
“How come the dog uses the elevator?” asked Yarn Man as he tied his aquamarine garter stitched mask around his head.
“I believe it is because he is smarter than you.” the elegantly attired golden retriever barked in agreement with Caine.
Mean while back in Pittsburgh Gary Bussey’s cohort had entered the Bee Hive. With a white Chef’s uniform and a soup ladle in hand the approached Bret.
“Didn’t your agent give you the uniform.” question Bussey.
“No he told me you wanted to do the Soup Nazi bit. And since there is no Seinfeld reunion in the works I was desperate.”
“What ever, just do your thing to that impudent little Hippy.”
“No soup for you.” stated the soup I mean Yarn Nazi menacing Bret. Bret gave a confused look at the rest of the group.
“It’s yarn, take his yarn.” screamed Bussey.
“OK, OK your lucky I needed the work.” shrugged the yarn Nazi.
“No yarn for you.” he threatened with his soup spoon and snatched the yarn from Bret.
“Noooooooo,” cried Bret with a primal terror.
Just as it appeared all was lost Yarn Man and his side kick Yarn Dog shoved open the doors to the Bee Hive.
“Unhand that Hippie’s yarn.” demanded Yarn Man.
The Yarn Nazi looked confused.
“You told me this was a bit for a birthday party.”
“You asked for it then.” In a single motion Yarn Man pulled off his pink garter stitched scarf and unfurled it to it’s full length of forty feet. Like Indiana Jones he whipped the yarn from the Yarn Nazi’s hand.
“Are you smoking crack. No one told me some dipstick would be whipping me.” at that the Yarn Nazi stomped out of the Bee Hive smacking Arquette with his spoon as he went.”
Ha ha ha ha ha ha HA” snicker Bussey.
“You have fallen into my trap Yarn Boy” stated Bussey smacking Bret with his needles again.
“It’s Yarn Man,” corrected Arquette whipping the size 50’s from Bussey’s hand.
“Unleash the cyborg.” roared Bussey with a fair amount of criminal glee in his voice.
Some where down Carson Street a thunderous crash could be heard, then another, then another.
The hippies and Yarn Man rushed into the street to see what it was. Had they been smart they would have run for cover. Still, it would not be as entertaining if they did.
The horror of the mechanical form could be seen towering two stories over Jack’s bar. The drunks fled in terror as the six story behemoth crashed first through the façade of the old drunk house.
“English style sucks” cried a thunderous voice from inside the creature’s helmet.
As if able to feel the presence of knitting hippies the leviathan turned to stare down Yarn Man and the hippes that cowered on the side walk infront of the Bee Hive.
As it turned the visor on the helmet opened to reveal the head of what could only be described as evil itself.
“You animal,” yelled Arquette looking into the still open doors of the Bee Hive.
“You reanimated Elisabeth Zimmerman and turned her into a killing machine.”
The Opinionated Cyborg of Knitting death slowly stomped toward them crushing cars as she went.
From a compartment in her torso compartment she pulled a 10 foot wide ball of yarn out.
“Eat expensive wool death” cried Zimmerman as she launched the wool ball of death at the group. It landed on Yarn Dog and Bret flinging them down the block.
Tune in next week to find out if Michael Caine really quits.
Is yarn Dog really dead or is it just a ploy to get you to read next weeks addition?
Find out next time on Yarn Man.