This is a story submitted by Tommy Holland:
IRON NICK, a short story of tragedy and irony
As they left their CPA’s office that hot June day after completing their
60-day IRS extension, Mr. & Mrs. Julius C. Peterson, of Yuma, Arizona decided that they desperately needed an additional tax exemption. Nine months later they gave birth to an imposing 11 pound, 19 ounce son, Nicholas.
Years passed….
At 6’ 9”, Nicholas, now known as “Iron Nick”, was by far the largest and meanest inmate at Alcatraz. As a 2-pack-a-day smoker he easily had the carbon footprint of 3 average men. Every afternoon, during shop class, he would secretly hone his rudimentary files using the government-funded, gas-powered grinder - meaning even more harmful fumes. Each night, for over 3 hours, and clad in the Shrek pajamas that his distraught mother had sent him, he would briskly rasp away at the thick bars. All of that extra breathing generated by his actions meant one thing: more deadly CO2 chipping away at the fragile ozone layer. Finally, just before the eve of his 32nd birthday, March 15th, Iron Nick completely cut through two bars, broke out of his cell & quickly, but quietly, crept down to the craggy island shore. To warm himself before the treacherous voyage he built a small fire there on the beach….the result? Even more harmful fumes. As he arduously launched his heavy, make-shift raft into the frigid waters, the effort caused him to repeatedly pass gas, spewing a significant amount of additional noxious fumes into the earth’s atmosphere.
By now his carbon footprint was roughly the same as that of a
medium-sized stegosaurus.
Not 200 yards from the beach, and still a full mile from his goal – the Golden Gate park – his fragile craft began to quickly disintegrate into
hundreds of fragments, which is not surprising, considering that it was crafted from several grosses of stolen pencils, lashed together with rice noodles made in nearby China Town (which he procured from the prison’s black market, where he’d also purchased his cigarettes).
As his titanic hulking frame, laden with a thick parka, absorbed gallon after gallon of the 33 degree H20, hypothermia overtook him and Iron Nick sank slowly – silently – into the dark icy abyss…..A few hours later, now buoyed by millions of tiny ice crystals embedded in the polyester fibers inside the coat, this now glassy-eyed, frozen mummy slowly rose to the surface where a strong current carried him ‘neath the huge cables of the historic suspension bridge. As the corpse drifted westward it became caught up in the fabled Pacifico-Nome current which swept Nick’s rigor-mortis-rigid remains northward. It / he lodged against a small ice floe somewhere north of the Aleutian Islands where it eventually formed a huge iceberg. The National Oceanographic Institute designated this large ice formation “85369 – NK.”
Irony abounds here:
- Nicholas Peterson and Julius Caesar, the historical figure whom his own father was named after, both died on ‘the ides of March.’
- As a common criminal is now celebrated as some type of folk hero, to this very day the work shop at Alcatraz prison has been designated as a National Historical Monument, and has a plaque affectionately designating it as ‘Nick’s Place’
- The same government that incarcerated him, also provided him with the equipment that he needed for his escape. Furthermore,
- It was that equipment that was adding to the harm being done to the atmosphere – the very atmosphere that the government was spending billions of dollars so diligently to protect!
- Over a period of some 15 years the temperature gradient of 85369-NK grew to such a size that it became a significant force in reducing global warming, essentially nullifying the damage that Nick had caused to the earth while he was living.
- 85369 also just happens to be the Zip Code for Yuma, AZ - Nick’s boyhood hometown.
- Except for 2 letters, “Iron Nick” has the very same letters – in the same order – as the very word “Ironic”. And just what are those 2 letters? NK - just like the suffix of Nick’s iceberg!
Mere coincidence? Hardly.
Tempting fate? Probably.
The Moral: Regardless of the generous benefits which our next President may promise, don’t have a kid just to get the tax write-off.
My Essays
I'm in the process of digitizing (i.e. typing out) all of this, so check back if it's not complete and you care. There are about 22 pages total. Maybe once that's done, I'll add new stuff if I find out that anybody's read this and liked it.
I had a pretty boring testing class in undergrad. This was the result:
Page 1:
The first excerpt from the long, un-awaited, unauthorized sequel to “My Brother Was an Only Child”
Tootaloo
Tootal-you
Teardrops of wood fall from my cheeks
I’m sick of the use of the attribution of
RANDOMNESS
People just fail to see the connection
A good man will say, “Yeah, dude, I see what you’re saying, I’m picking up what you’re putting down, I’ve caught your drift, I’ve got ya!”
But for others – the general populace – I gotta say before you freak out, “I saw this object, which made me think of this movie, which made me remember this quote, yada yada yada
Oh, that’s REAL FUN.
The air is replete with unexcusable [sic] misattributions to randomness.
I shutter.
Thanks for carin’
You’re probably wondering who Karen is.
I don’t even remember how we met, but she sure was good at throwing away paper trash.
I remember the time her trash rolled up on to my desk (She was sick that day) and unraveled itself. It simply read, “It’s not nice to beat a dead horse, but I shure (ignore the “H”) is a lot easier if you’re racing him.
Please sign below if you want to help in my campaign to disperse brain power to the pee-ons called “the average Joe”
For Rick – Relevance?
Page 2:
“Don’t talk to me now,” I was thinking.
I was too busy mistaking a crumpled up post-it note for butter.
But Sally just kept on with her rhetorical questions and waiting for an answer.
I had to laugh though. She kept getting the zipper of her dinning room chair stuck on the table cloth (I told her she should use her night gown to dress up the table, but, then again, she never was very practical). In the mean time my toast sure tastes a lot like paper today.
I tried wiping the sweat from my gardenia’s off of my eyes so I could hear Sally better, but she was too busy making funeral plans – She really knew how to put the “fun” in funeral.
Page 3:
Oh Yeah! Like I’m Sarcastic.
Jeff says I’m thin skinned.
That really hurts.
Jeff – “You’re so defensive”
No, I’m not
Jeff – “You never understand”
What do you mean?
Jeff – “What, do you just ignore me out of spite?”
That’s a nice shirt, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.
Jeff – “You always make me feel so dumb.”
You’re such an idiot, you know that’s not true.
Listen Jeff, I think we’d get along much better if you would just water my plants instead of trying to plug them in. I know I’m partly to blame – I shouldn’t have fed your VCR that dog food (That RCA Dalmatian always confused me).