#i got way too into reading old medical articles and feeling smart 200 years later
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Brick Club 5.5.2
Welcome to another Hugonian tangent on my part. I am the Victor Hugo of Brick Club. I’m going to hop into the chapter halfway because the cut is just an offensively long look into literally a single line à la my research in the eight pound cannon last volume. So if you have any interest in medical(?) care(??) in pre-germ theory Europe, specifically the use of the mentioned “chloruretted lotions,” by all means read my essay.
First of all, it took me ages to figure out what this illustration reminded me of but I got it:
Gillenormand continues to rankle me in a powerful way, the shriveled bastard. “M. Gillenormand did not permit anybody to explain to him—” yeah, because heaven forbid anyone with actual expertise explain anything to a rich royalist old man. I’m so glad he gets to be happy and unburdened considering he’s the fount from which literally all of Marius’s woes sprang from to begin with. Poor bourgeosie has been sad and grumpy in his manor home while Marius was nearly driven to suicide but all’s well now, I suppose! You heard it here first, folks, everything is Gillenormand’s fault. No, I will not be taking constructive criticism.
Gillenormand’s unearned joy is sharply contrasted with Marius’s grave reservation. He’s very much in a state of shell shock—“the whole affair of the Rue de la Chanvrerie was like a cloud in his memory; shadows, almost indistinct, were floating in his mind…he understood nothing in regard to his own life”—and instead of dwelling on his inability to process what just happened, Marius is clinging to the idea of Cosette, of life, of the future. “Let us emphasise one point here: he was not won over, and was little softened by all the solicitude and all the tenderness of his grandfather.” Good! Fucking excellent, because Gillenormand has proven himself to solely operate in his own interest and he will discard anyone who isn’t immediately useful to him with little thought. It’s immeasurably satisfying to see Marius turn and leverage himself against Gillenormand in service of his own interests for once.
I have done my due diligence, now onto what I really want to talk about: when we thought bleach was medicine and used it on Marius.
Marius’s wound gets horribly infected (natch) and “it was not without difficulty that the chloruretted lotions and the nitrate of silver brought the gangrene to an end.” Silver nitrate I recognize, its caustic properties mean it can be used as a topical antiseptic, although it’s no one’s first choice today. Despite being a clear liquid solution, it will also permanently stain the top layer of your skin brown if you come into contact. This fades fairly quickly as your skin naturally exfoliates away, in about a week or so from personal experience.
I was much more intrigued by, first of all the word ‘chloruretted,’ and second of all what kind of chlorine compounds would be used as treatments for infection in 1832. I went googling and found an illuminating article from 1827 titled, “The Chlorurets of Oxide of Sodium and of Lime, As Disinfectants” by Thomas Alcock (as well as a subsequent review of this article from The Lancet the same year which is amusingly awful). I’m going to start with some definitions and then I very much wanted to talk about this article that is only barely tangentially related to the situation. Sorry.
Chloruret is an archaic translation of clorure which is just the French word for chloride. Chloruret seems to have been used to refer to not only chlorides but chlorates and hypochlorites as well, which is, uh, not a great system because sodium hypochlorite, sodium chloride, and sodium chlorate are bleach, table salt, and herbicide respectively and, it goes without saying, very different! So I’m doing some guessing in context as to what compound these authors are referring to. Chloruret of lime is the compound calcium hypochlorite (CaClO)—which you might find today in swimming pools—and I believe chloruret of soda is just sodium hypochlorite (NaClO) which is slightly confusing because this is the exact same compound as chloruret of oxide of sodium. I have a 0.5% solution of NaClO in my bathroom right now to clean my shower with, this is what we colloquially call bleach.
All of these chloruret compounds were known to prevent decay, but it’s unclear if anybody really knew why, which leads to a couple of highly questionable recommendations from Alcock and his contemporaries. Alcock begins his article relating how chloruret of lime or soda was used to slow the decay of corpses for identification and investigation as well as to disinfect hospital equipment, sick-rooms, sewer systems, anything. Alcock and his reviewers didn’t have a concept of bleaching agents, but Alcock observes “both the chloruret of lime and of the oxide of sodium have the disadvantage of discolouring the muscles when applied to them.” Additionally, this article was written before germ theory supplanted the miasma theory of disease and Alcock continually recommends the use of chlorurets “in destroying putrescent and infectious effluvia” with the belief that clearing out a bad smell would also purify the ‘bad’ air spreading disease and infection. He actually has an entire section relating cases from French doctors where chloruret of lime cured “asphyxia” caused by breathing the Parisian sewer fumes.
The reason chlorine bleach works as a disinfectant is because it pretty indiscriminately kills organic material by destroying proteins on a molecular level. This is great when you’re just wiping down operating tables and hospital rooms, but very bad when you start applying bleach to living, organic patients. Alcock quotes a French medical report recommending “Applications of the chlorureted water to be made to the buboes, the carbuncles, and the gangrenes of persons labouring under the plague” which isn’t the worst idea considering antibiotics are over a century away but also “Water containing half a dram or one dram of the concentrated chloruret of oxide of sodium to each pint, to be given to the patients afflicted with plague as their common drink.” It probably goes without saying, but this will not cure infection or plague or anything except the condition of having intact stomach lining. There is no good reason to ingest hypochlorite in any form, despite the section titled “On the Internal Use of the Chloruret of Soda.” Do not drink bleach.
The next section is a series of gruesome anecdotes of hospitalized patients who were cured of gangrene in every imaginable body part using chloruret of soda. Alcock, despite constantly mentioning how disgusting this all is, takes a certain amount of satisfaction in vividly describing just how horrific each infection presented before bleach swooped in to save the day. To skim, gangrene is when body tissue dies, in this case due to some sort of bacterial infection. Avoiding anything too graphic, dead tissue rots and this is bad and will send you into septic shock.
This brings us, unfortunately, back to poor Marius. Who has been dragged through an effluvious sewer with open wounds and now has gangrene. Alcock relates an account that might be comparable, that of a boy with an infected wound on his cheek, closest to Marius’s grazing head wound. The treatment was “a solution of the chloruret, in the proportion of one part to six of water” applied directly to the wound and dressings. This apparently worked very well, the infection cleared out “and the surfaces granulating kindly.” So Marius, despite needing sections of dead skin cut away, might not even have too much of a scar from his head wound, although it would be kind of badass, wouldn’t it? Can I see Marius with a gnarly face scar from a) being shot and b) being slathered in bleach?
Second, he was shot in the shoulder through and through. This might present more of a problem because the wound goes pretty deep near some pretty vital areas and sepsis is a major concern because we don’t have antibiotics and, lord, how did Marius actually survive this? Alcock provides an example of “a case of punctured wound received in dissection…the patient experienced immediate relief from the diluted chloruret of oxide of sodium [NaClO], used as a lotion, combined with free use of leeches.” A winning combination and “the patient recovered without any untoward circumstance.” This has got to at least leave a significant patch of discolored skin from the repeated application of bleach, if not an impressive scar to boot. Hugo specifically says nothing of this, but sodium hypochlorite solutions were apparently also frequently injected at infection sites for deeper wounds or more internal infections, specifically in the bladder, the uterus, and, oddly enough, the nose for atrophic rhinitis). I get that everyone was working with what they had but…bleach injections is a challenging concept.
A final, indulgence; the subsequent review of Alcock’s article in The Lancet is absolutely laughable as a modern reader. It’s three and a half pages long and its criticism basically amounts to: yeah, chlorurets are great and all, but salt does the exact same thing so this is useless. It’s so smugly dismissive of Alcock’s terminology, his case presentation, and the usefulness of even exploring the applications of chlorurets that it borders on anti-intellectual. And, in the process, is so blatantly wrong about chemistry and medicine that it reads like parody today. “Chloruret of soda, to use for once Mr. Alcock’s nomenclature, is a ‘disinfecting agent,’ and preserves animal substances;—common salt preserves animal substances, but has it been proved that it is not a disinfecting agent?” The Lancet says, with an air of ‘gotcha!’ then continues, “Let the test of experience decide.” Earlier, they said, “It is certain that culinary salt will answer many of the intentions to be effected by the chloride of soda, and it is a disinfecting agent in a very great degree. We do not pretend to ascribe to it all the properties of the chloride of soda, but we are certain that it possesses a great many of them.” That’s a lot of unfounded speculation for a noted medical journal. Also, since The Lancet is petty, I can be petty; chloride of soda is a bad name for sodium hypochlorite because chloride is Cl and a soda (Na) of that is NaCl which is sodium chloride which is just salt, Lancet. Not saying chloruret is a better term, but I haven’t based my entire snarky critique on that basis! Beyond the petty, the test of experience is in and salt and bleach are, shockingly, not interchangeable as disinfectants, something that is easily tested, even in 1827. Salt is a desiccant, it kills some bacteria by sucking the water out of it. Bleach is an oxidizer, it kills bacteria by literally breaking apart the proteins in organic material. This is why, despite The Lancet’s flippant dismissal of the substances’ differences, we use salt to preserve foodstuffs and not bleach. There are so many legitimate critiques of Alcock’s article, he overly relies on anecdotal evidence, his measurement recommendations are unclear and unstandardized, he injects bleach in patients, but this review is just lazy.
#brickclub#les mis#les miserables#5.5.2#shout out to everyone who painted on themselves with silver nitrate in high school chemistry#i got way too into reading old medical articles and feeling smart 200 years later#also if you have even the slight bit a weak stomach dont read about scrotal gangrene#or any gangrene shit is Nasty
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C-man Episode #01
C-MAN
Chapter One
C-man is the self proclaimed hero of the story. C-man was once an average individual like you and I, well almost. C-man was Clyde Atkings, a simple, tall obese man, who lived with his mother. Clyde eventually had to get a job at age 27 after his mother died and her social security ran out. Clyde was now a slick, in his mind, venetian blind salesman. His very bad temper and poor peoples skills helped him sell no blinds at all. After three years Clyde was in debt having sold nothing and was in need of escape. Escape for him was to throw himself in the path of an oncoming vehicle, a chemical truck. This truck was carrying very foul liquids on this day. After slamming into Clyde the truck veered off the road and tipped, pouring the toxins all over his mangled body. In a month Clyde was out of the hospital and as good as new, the chemicals had hastened his recovery. Although, Clyde had lost all grip on reality, and his IQ dropped 1/3, he has three times his original strength. Clyde thought for sure this was a blessing from Jesus himself, he vowed he would do good. Clyde was now C-man, short for Chemical man. C was easier to have printed on a T shirt. C-man found an apartment in his price range, a shed. C-man also found a sidekick Smart Bob. Smart bob is a 5’ 5” tall 95lbs little man. Smart Bob, whose real name is Robert Thimple, was found by C-man in a dumpster behind Burger King. Smart Bob was a former math teacher who lost everything after becoming addicted to sniffing super glue. C-man hoped Smart Bob could be the brains of the operation.
Volume #1
(C-man)
(C-MAN HAS JUST GOTTEN EVERYTHING SET UP THAT HE THINKS HE WILL NEED FOR THE FIGHTING OF CRIME. C-MAN HAS WHAT HE REFERS TO AS “HIS CRIME FIGHTING
HEADQUARTERS”, WHICH IS A SMALL TIN SHED ON A SMALL PIECE OF LAND IN A RUN DOWN PART OF TOWN. THIS IS ALSO WHERE HE LIVES. C-MAN HAS RAN AN AD IN THE PAPER TELLING OF HIS CRIME FIGHTING SERVICES. C-MAN AND HIS NEW, TRUSTY, SIDEKICK ARE SITTING BY THE PHONE WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO CALL)
C-MAN- this is great, I’m so excited, any minute now someone will call in need of our help
(FIVE HOURS LATER C-MAN IS STILL STARING AT THE PHONE. SMART BOB IS READING THE PAPER. C-MAN NOTICES SUPER GUY ON THE COVER PAGE OF THE PAPER AND YANKS IT AWAY FROM SMART BOB. SMART BOB TRIES TO TAKE THE PAPER BACK AND GETS BACKHANDED TO THE FLOOR)
C-MAN- who’s this silly bastard wearing the goofy clothing?
(SMART BOB PICKS HIMSELF UP OFF THE FLOOR AND SITS BACK IN HIS CHAIR)
SMART BOB- you’re not exactly color coordinated yourself.
(C-MAN LOOKS AT HIMSELF, HE IS WEARING ORANGE SHORTS, A CHEAP LOOKING T SHIRT THAT SAYS C-MAN ON IT, A CAPE MADE OUT OF A BED SHEET AND HIKING BOOTS, HE THEN LOOKS AT SMART BOB, HE IS DRESSED NORMAL EXCEPT HE IS WEARING A CHEAP T SHIRT THAT SAYS SB REAL BIG ON IT)
C-MAN- do you want to get more practice picking yourself up off the floor?
SMART BOB- no.
C-MAN- answer the fucking question then, geek.
SMART BOB- the guy in the paper is Super Guy.
C-MAN- I’ll just read this article and see what all the fuss is about.
SMART BOB- either that or wait till they come out with newspapers on cassette.
C-MAN- WATCH YOUR MOUTH!
(C-MAN TAKES SOME TIME TO READ THE ARTICLE)
C-MAN- DAMN HIM, with him always saving children from burning buildings and protecting old people from muggers. Nobodies going to need me! This guy is hard to beat, what makes him so popular, what’s he got that I haven’t got?
SMART BOB- well for starters, I doubt he lives in a tin shed.
C-MAN- Hey, it keeps the rain off your head... if you know where to stand, and besides, this is only temporary. What else makes him so special?
SMART BOB- He also has a cool car.
C-MAN- I have a car.
SMART BOB- It’s a pea green, 4 door, Rambler, and it smokes like hell. If you stopped driving it the pollution level in this city would go down 5%.
C-MAN- It just needs a tune up.
SMART BOB- It needs rings, a head gasket, a new transmission, a new body, new brakes. The door latches fixed, the three windows put back on track....
C-MAN- SHUT UP! I like that car, it was my grandma’s car. She gave it to me after she died.
SMART BOB- Did she choke to death in it?
C-MAN- I’m not going to warn you again, watch what you say. Lets get back to our problem. How are we going to beat Super Guy’s popularity?
SMART BOB- There’s no way we can compete, not with him around.
C-MAN- Oh, that settles it, that only leaves us one choice, we’ll just have to kill him.
SMART BOB- WHAT? Nobody has been able to hurt him. How are we going to stop him? The only thing that even affects him is aluminum.
C-MAN- I think you just answered you own question.
(THE NEXT DAY)
(SMART BOB IS DOWN TOWN STANDING ON THE SIDEWALK FACING A BUILDING. SUPER GUY FLIES UP AND LANDS BESIDE HIM)
SUPER GUY- Pardon me kind citizen. I couldn’t help noticing you urinating on the side of this public building. Could you explain yourself?
SMART BOB- Ya’, ugh sorry, I have a bladder control problem and I didn’t know where the nearest public restroom was.
SUPER GUY- An honest mistake, let me point one out to you, for future reference.
(SUPER GUY TURNS HIS BACK TO SMART BOB TO POINT OUT A NEARBY RESTROOM. AS SOON AS HE DOES C-MAN RUNS UP AND CLUBS SUPER GUY OVER THE BACK OF THE HEAD WITH A PIECE OF ALUMINUM SIDING. AFTER SUPER GUY COLLAPSES C-MAN CONTINUES TO BEAT HIM UNTIL HE IS SURE THAT SUPER GUY IS DEAD)
C-MAN- That solved that.
(SMART BOB WIPES BLOOD OFF THAT WAS SPLATTERED ON HIS FACE WHILE SUPER GUY WAS BEING SAVAGELY BEATEN BY C-MAN)
SMART BOB- I just help you beat someone to death, I feel dirty.
(C-MAN PUTS HIS ARM AROUND SMART BOB’S SHOULDERS)
C-MAN- Come on... I’ll buy you some ice cream.
(SMART BOB’S EYES LIGHT UP)
SMART BOB- What about a Sunday?
C-MAN- I don’t have that kind of money. Check Super Guy’s pockets it may be his treat.
(SMART BOB CHECKS AND FINDS A TWENTY)
SMART BOB- Look, look, a twenty! Just like the rich people carry!
C-MAN- Well wipe all the blood off of it and lets go!
(THEY RUN OFF)
(A WEEK LATER)
(C-MAN HAS RAN A MUCH LARGER AD. THEY ARE WAITING BY THE PHONE WITH HIGHER HOPES. THE PHONE RINGS AND C-MAN QUICKLY ANSWERS IT.)
C-MAN- Ya’, ya’, okay.
(C-MAN HANGS UP THE PHONE)
SMART BOB- What was it?
C-MAN- It sounded like an old woman. She has a cat stuck in a tree again and the fire department is tired of going down there. This looks like a job for C-MAN!
(AT A RETIREMENT HOUSING AREA)
(A 90 YEAR OLD WOMAN IS STANDING OUT BY A TREE, LOOKING UP WORRIEDLY. C-MAN AND SMART BOB COME UP)
C-MAN- DO NOT FEAR C-MAN IS HERE!
OLD LADY- What did you say... you’re a queer?
(C-MAN BRINGS HIS FIST BACK GETTING READY TO KNOCK THE OLD LADY OUT. SMART BOB GRABS HIS FIST.)
SMART BOB- She probably can’t hear.
OLD LADY- What about deer?
C-MAN- This is already pissing me off.
SMART BOB- I SAID, YOU PROBABLY CAN’T HEAR!
OLD LADY- What?
(C-MAN POINTS UP TO THE TOP OF THE TREE. THE TREE IS FLIMSY AND ABOUT FIFTEEN FEET TALL)
C-MAN- YOUR CAT STUCK UP THERE?
OLD LADY- Of course not, my cat is stuck up there.
(THE OLD LADY POINTS TO THE EXACT SAME, TREE C-MAN LOOKS AT SMART BOB)
C-MAN- You should have let me punch here. She’s fucking with me.
OLD LADY- Could you get my kitty, I’ll pay whatever you want.
C-MAN- Okay, Smart Bob climb that tree and get the cat.
(SMART BOB STARTS TO CLIMB UP AND FALLS BACK DOWN AND THEN JUST LAYS THERE)
SMART BOB- I can’t move. It hurts.
C-MAN- I guess I’ll just have to do this myself.
(C-MAN CLIMBS ALMOST TO THE TOP OF THE TREE AND CAN ALMOST REACH THE CAT. THE TREE STARTS TO LEAN, IT BOWS OVER UNTIL IT SLAMS C-MAN’S BACK TO THE GROUND. C-MAN STILL HAS HOLD OF THE TREE AND IS TRYING TO GET THE CAT TO JUMP DOWN TO THE GROUND.)
C-MAN- Here kitty, come here.
(C-MAN LOOSES HIS GRIP ON THE TREE JUST AS THE CAT WAS READY TO JUMP OFF. THE TREE SPRINGS BACK UP TO IT’S ORIGINAL UPRIGHT POSITION AND CATAPULTS THE CAT ABOUT 500 FT AWAY. )
C-MAN- SHIT!
OLD WOMAN- Is there a problem, sonny?
C-MAN- NO! No problem at all. As soon as your cat calms down I’ll hand it back to you, I’ll be right back.
(C-MAN RUNS OVER TO HIS RAMBLER AND TAKES OUT A FUZZY THROW PILLOW THAT HAS BEEN IN THERE SINCE JUNE OF 1972. C-MAN TAKES THE PILLOW BACK OVER, PETTING IT. HE THEN HANDS IT TO THE OLD WOMAN.)
C-MAN- Here you go mam. That will be $200, Smart Bob, get up.
OLD WOMAN- Shhh, I think kitty is taking a nap.
(THE NEXT DAY)
( C-MAN AND SMART BOB ARE BACK IN THE C-SHED. SMART BOB IS WORKING ON SOME KIND OF NEW INVENTION TO HELP THEM WITH THEIR CRIME FIGHTING NEEDS. C-MAN IS LOOKING THROUGH THE PAPER AND POUTING)
C-MAN- I can’t believe that old woman only had $100.
SMART BOB- She offered us sex.
C-MAN- Ya’, and you were going to take her up on the offer too. You sick bastard.
SMART BOB- What?
C-MAN- She had to have had more money than that. She probably had $500 worth of medication in her purse. I should have took it and kept it until I got my other $100.
(C-MAN LOOKS BACK AT THE PAPER, FINDS SOMETHING HE DOESN’T LIKE AND SLAMS IT DOWN ON THE SMALL TABLE)
C-MAN- LOOK AT THIS PAPER!
SMART BOB- I’m busy, I’ll look at it later.
(C-MAN WALKS OVER TO WHERE SMART BOB IS, GRABS HIM BY THE HAIR, DRAGS HIM OVER, AND SLAMS HIS FACE DOWN ON THE TABLE WHERE THE PAPER IS)
C-MAN- Could you please look at the paper?
(SMART BOB ANSWERS IN A MUFFLED VOICE BECAUSE HIS FACE IS BEING PRESSED AGAINST THE TABLE)
SMART BOB- Yes.
C-MAN- Was that hard?
(C-MAN LETS GO OF SMART BOB’S HEAD, SMART BOB DROPS TO THE FLOOR)
C-MAN- Sid you see what it said?
SMART BOB- I missed that.
C-MAN- It says new super hero wanna be calling himself C-man swindled an old woman out of $100 dollars. If I find the bastard who wrote this he’s getting shot in the face’
(LATER THAT DAY)
(C-MAN IS SITTING AT THE TABLE STARING AT THE CEILING. SMART BOB IS STILL WORKING ON SOMETHING. THE PHONE RINGS AND SMART BOB ANSWERS IT)
SMART BOB- Yes, yes, I’ll tell him... bye.
C-MAN- Who was it, was it the police chief thanking me for my help saving the kitty?
SMART BOB- No, actually it was the neighbors next door. They want you stop going out and getting the paper naked.
C-MAN- Those bastards, I can’t do anything right by them!
(C-MAN RUNS OVER TO THE WINDOW, BREAKS OUT THE GLASS AND UNLOADS HIS 9MM AT RANDOM AT THE NEIGHBOR’S HOUSE. A WOMAN SCREAMS BACK FROM OUTSIDE)
WOMAN- YOU SHOT MY DOG IN THE REAR END!
(C-MAN YELLS BACK)
C-MAN- I THOUGHT I WAS SHOOTING YOU IN THE FACE, I GUESS I GOT CONFUSED!
(WOMAN YELLS BACK)
WOMAN- JUST WAIT TILL MY HUSBAND COMES HOME!
C-MAN- I’LL SHOOT THAT FUCKER TOO!
(C-MAN TRIES TO SHOOT AT HER MORE BUT HE IS OUT OF BULLETS. HE IS SO MAD HE IS SHAKING UNCONTROLLABLY)
SMART BOB- Would you like some oatmeal?
C-MAN- FUCK YOU TOO!
(C-MAN TIPS THE TABLE OVER, GOES TO THE CORNER OF THE C-SHED, SITS DOWN, AND CRIES. SMART BOB TURNS THE SCANNER UP AND HEARS SOMETHING ABOUT VENDING MACHINES BEING BROKEN INTO AT THE SUPER OVERSIZED SUPER MARKET. C-MAN HEARS IT TOO, HE WIPES THE TEARS FROM HIS EYES AND JUMPS UP)
C-MAN- Smart Bob, to the C-mobile.
(C-MAN AND SMART BOB ARE DRIVING AROUND THE LARGE PARKING LOT OF THE SUPER OVERSIZED SUPER MARKET. THEY ARE CRUISING PAST THE LARGE ROWS OF VENDING MACHINES TRYING TO FIND THE THIEF. SMART BOB SPOTS HIM UP AHEAD BREAKING THE LOCK ON A MACHINE)
SMART BOB- THERE HE IS!
(C-MAN TRIES TO STOP, FORGETTING THE BRAKES ARE OUT, THE CAR SQUEAKS AND COASTS PAST THE THIEF. THE THIEF WATCHES THE CAR COAST PAST AND THEN GOES BACK TO HIS WORK. THE C-MOBILE COASTS UNTIL IT SLAMS INTO A COUPLE PARKED CARS. C-MAN AND SMART BOB HAVE TO CRAWL OUT OF THE BACK DRIVER SIDE WINDOW BECAUSE ALL OF THE DOOR LATCHES ARE BROKE AND IT’S THE ONLY WINDOW THAT WILL ROLL DOWN. THEY THEN WALK OVER TO THE THIEF)
C-MAN- HALT, lawbreaker!
THIEF- Kiss my ass, chunky.
(C-MAN PULLS HIS GUN OUT AND SHOOTS THE THIEF IN THE LEG. HE DROPS AND STOLEN CHANGE FLIES EVERYWHERE)
C-MAN- Why do people always have to make fun of my weight?
SMART BOB- I think our work here is done.
(A MAN IN A BASEBALL UNIFORM RUNS UP HOLDING A BAT)
B-BAT MAN- Never fear, baseball bat man is here. I heard the shooting, I thought I could be some help.
C-MAN- Smart Bob, who’s this freak?
SMART BOB- He’s a crime fighter from New York. He’s good. I heard he’s here to take Super Guy’s place
(C-MAN QUICKLY PUTS HIS GUN TO B-BAT MAN’S HEAD AND MAKES HIM GET IN THE TRUNK OF THE RAMBLER AND CLOSES IT. B-BAT MAN YELLS FROM THE TRUNK)
B-BAT MAN- YOU’RE JUST AFRAID I’LL KICK YOUR FAT, BLOATED, ASS!
(C-MAN TAKES HIS GUN OUT UNLOADS HIS GUN AT THE TRUNK. SMART BOB RUNS AND DIVES FEARING A BULLETS WILL HIT THE GAS TANK.)
SMART BOB- You killed him.
C-MAN- He pissed me off.
SMART BOB- Oh, that will stand up in court.
(C-MAN WALKS OVER TO THE THIEF WHO IS NOW LAYING THERE, SCARED AND BLEEDING)
C-MAN- When they ask you who stopped you tell them C-man. Okay?
THIEF- Ya, ya, whatever you say.
(C-MAN AND SMART BOB CRAWL BACK IN THE RAMBLER AND PUTT AWAY)
(THE NEXT MORNING)
(SMART BOB IS WOKEN BY THE SOUND OF C-MAN WHISTLING HAPPILY OUT IN THE DRIVEWAY, BASICALLY THE YARD. SMART BOB GETS UP OUT OF THE RICKETY BUNK BED, AND WALKS OUTSIDE TO SEE WHAT’S GOING ON. HE SEES C-MAN IN A VERY GOOD MOOD WITH A LARGE ROLL OF DUCT TAPE, HE IS STANDING BY THE RAMBLER.)
C-MAN- Look what I just got.
(C-MAN POINTS TO THE GROUND)
SMART BOB- It’s a railroad tie.
C-MAN- No, look harder.
SMART BOB- I don’t know.
C-MAN- It’s a C-ram.
SMART BOB- Oh, what are you going to do with that?
C-MAN- What are you, stupid? Can’t you figure it out? I’m going to duct tape it to the hood of the C-mobile.
SMART BOB- And after that, what are you going to do?
C-MAN- Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to ram stuff with it.
SMART BOB- Are you serious? When we hit that squirrel last week I think we bent the frame.
C-MAN- Shut up and do something useful. Bring me some kool aid.
(SMART BOB WALKS BACK INSIDE AND GOES OVER TO THE SMALL CAMPER REFRIGERATOR. SMART BOB LOOKS IN)
SMART BOB- We’re out of kool aid.
(C-MAN IMMEDIATELY STOPS WHAT HE’S DOING AND RUNS INSIDE)
C-MAN- WHAT?
SMART BOB- You heard me, I said...
(C-MAN SHOVES SMART BOB OUT OF THE WAY, KNOCKING HIM TO THE FLOOR. C-MAN THEN PICKS THE REFRIGERATOR UP OVER HIS HEAD AND SHAKES EVERYTHING OUT OF IT. AFTER ALL THE STUFF THAT WAS IN THE SMALL REFRIGERATOR IS ON THE FLOOR C-MAN GETS DOWN ON HIS HANDS A KNEES AND SORTS THROUGH EVERYTHING)
C-MAN- SHIT! I NEED SOME KOOL AID!
SMART BOB- Don’t you think you’re being a little impulsive?
C-MAN- You’ll see impulsive when I strangle you to death from lack of kool aid.
SMART BOB- Okay, lets go to the store then.
C-MAN- I’ll finish the car up real quick.
(C-MAN TAPES THE RAILROAD TIE ON THE HOOD, THEN THEY CRAWL IN THE BACK WINDOW OF THE CAR AND PUTT AWAY. THE CAR SPINS A LITTLE IN THE GRASS WHEN IT IS LEAVING AND CMAN LOOKS OVER AT SMART BOB, WHO IS SITTING ON THE PASSENGER SIDE)
C-MAN- You like all that power, don’t you?
SMART BOB- Ya’, sure, whatever, just don’t hit me again.
C-MAN- If we see any wrong do’ers I’m going to cripple their cars with the... C-ram!
SMART BOB- You’re going to cripple us.
(SMART BOB STARTS PULLING ON THE SEAT BELT TO PUT IT ON, IT WON’T BUDGE)
C-MAN- Pussy.
(SMART BOB KEEPS TUGGING ON THE SEAT BELT HOPING IT WILL UNLOCK)
C-MAN- Did you see that?
SMART BOB- Did some cholesterol fall out of your ear?
C-MAN- That guy in that sporty looking Pinto just ran a stop sign.
SMART BOB- I can’t believe you used the words “sporty” and “Pinto” together.
C-MAN- It has racing stripes on it.
SMART BOB- Whoopty shit.
C-MAN- No matter, he broke the law.
SMART BOB- We’re breaking the law driving a car with no brakes.
C-MAN- HE BROKE THE LAW, I HAVE TO STOP HIM!
SMART BOB- Your face is going to have some breaks soon.
(C-MAN GETS BEHIND THE PINTO)
SMART BOB- What are you going to do?
C-MAN- I’m gonna’ ram him, then arrest him.
(SMART BOB JUMPS IN THE BACK SEAT AND HIDES IN THE FLOORBOARD)
C-MAN- This one is going to be hard to catch.
(SMART BOB LOOKS UP AT THE SPEEDOMETER FROM THE BACK)
SMART BOB- We’re only going 50 MPH.
C-MAN- I know, but he keeps pulling away, and I’ve got this hot rod floored.
(THE PINTO COMES TO A COMPLETE STOP AT AN INTERSECTION)
SMART BOB- SLOW DOWN!
(C-MAN TRIES TO SLOW DOWN BUT THE BRAKES DO NOTHING. THE C-MOBILE SLAMS INTO THE BACK OF THE PINTO. THIS CAUSES THE RAILROAD TIE THAT WAS TAPED THE HOOD TO GET SHOVED BACK THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD OF THE C-MOBILE, ALMOST DECAPITATING SMART BOB WHO DUCKED OUT OF THE WAY JUST IN TIME, AND THEN FLIES THROUGH THE BACK WINDOW. AFTER THAT IT HITS THE ROAD AND SKIPS A FEW TIMES BEFORE IT FINALLY STOPS. THIS DOESN’T EVEN STUN C-MAN, HE LEANS FORWARD THROUGH WHERE THE WINDSHIELD USED TO BE AND YELLS AT THE GUY IN FRONT OF HIM)
C-MAN- HALT LAWBREAKER!
GUY IN CAR- Leave me alone, freak!
C-MAN- HUH? I COULDN’T HEAR YOU EVER MY MOTOR KNOCKING!
GUY IN CAR- BACK OFF, OR I’LL SHOOT YOU WITH MY GAT!
C-MAN- Smart Bob, did he say something about his cat.? WHERE’S YOUR CAT?
GUY IN CAR- MY GAT’S IN MY GLOVE BOX!
C-MAN- WELL TAKE IT OUT, YOU SHIT HEAD! He’s going to kill that poor cat treating it like that.
(THE GUY IN THE PINTO PULLS HIS GUN OUT AND STARTS FIRING BACK AT C-MAN. BULLETS ARE WHISTLING PAST HIS HEAD.)
C-MAN- Two can play at this game.
(C-MAN PULLS HIS GUN AND STARTS FIRING AT THE PINTO. BOTH OF THE CARS ARE NOW FULL OF HOLES. THEY ARE HAVING A HARD TIME SEEING EACH OTHER WITH ALL OF THE STEAM THAT IS COMING FROM THE NOW BROKEN RADIATOR OF THE C-MOBILE. NEITHER MAN HAS MANAGED TO HIT THE OTHER.)
C-MAN- Those chemicals must have made me bullet proof, I don’t have any holes in me yet.
(SMART BOB YELLS FROM THE BACK FLOORBOARD.)
SMART BOB- THAT’S JUST BECAUSE HE KEEPS MISSING YOU, YOU STUPID ASS!
(THE GUY IN THE PINTO TAKES OFF. C-MAN PUTS THE CAR IN NEUTRAL, REVS IT UP, AND DUMPS IT IN GEAR. THE C-MOBILE GRINDS, JERKS FORWARD, AND SLOWLY TAKES OFF.)
C-MAN- WE WILL CATCH THAT LAW BREAKER!
(C-MAN IS CHASING THE PINTO. THEY ARE GOING A NECK BRAKING 35 MPH. THE RAMBLER IS GAINING ON THE PINTO.)
C-MAN- Yes, I smell victory!
(SMART BOB YELLS FROM THE BACK FLOORBOARD.)
SMART BOB- THAT’S ANTIFREEZE, YOU DUMBASS, THE RADIATORS BROKEN!
C-MAN- I knew that Pinto would be trouble. Do we have any more bullets? I’m out.
SMART BOB- NO!
C-MAN- Look, there’s a Marijuana plant in the back of that car.
(SMART BOB LEANS UP FROM THE BACK FLOORBOARD AND LOOKS.)
SMART BOB- That’s a fern, jack ass.
C-MAN- I’ve got to stop this guy.
SMART BOB- Why, so he don’t run anymore stop signs?
(C-MAN FLOORS THE C-MOBILE AND CREEPS UP BESIDE THE PINTO. ONCE HE GETS BESIDE THE PINTO C-MAN SWERVES OVER AND RAMS THE CAR OFF THE ROAD. THE PINTO SKIDS OUT OF CONTROL, HITS A PARKED GAS TRUCK, AND BLOWS UP.)
C-MAN- TAKE THAT, that’s one less nut on the street!
(THE HOOD ON THE C-MOBILE POPS OPEN. C-MAN LOSES CONTROL, RUNS OFF THE ROAD, HITS A FIRE HYDRANT AND CAUSES THE CAR TO FLIP 15 TIMES. THE C-MOBILE IS NOW RESTING ON ITS TOP. C-MAN AND SMART BOB ARE LAYING ON THE CEILING OF THE CAR IN A MAULED HEAP.)
SMART BOB- I think I broke my neck.
C-MAN- I think I ripped my cape.
SMART BOB- YOUR CAPE? NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR GODDAMNED CAPE, I THINK I BROKE SOMETHING IMPORTANT! I CAN’T FEEL THREE OF MY TOES, I REALLY DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR CAPE!
C-MAN- Can you fix it, though?
SMART BOB- I don’t fucking know! My neck is at such an odd angle right now I’m practically staring at my ass hole. We better crawl out of here before it catches on fire.
C-MAN- Relax, I’ve been driving on E since last Tuesday.
(THEY DRAG THEMSELVES OUT OF THE CAR AND LIMP AWAY.)
C-MAN- I think we’re going to have to have the c-mobile towed back home.
SMART BOB- I don’t know, maybe if we get it back on it’s wheels...
(THE CAR BURSTS INTO FLAMES.)
SMART BOB- We could have done without that.
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