Chapter IV--In Which the Hammer of God Takes a Detour

For not the first time, The Hammer of God found herself questioning her wisdom in hiring Squeak. Thank God he's only on contract, she thought, as he whined and fidgeted in the seat next to her.

"Why are we in an airplane? I thought you were The Hammer of God."

The Hammer sighed and with immense patience said, "I am THE HAMMER of God, Squeak, not the frigging Flying Arms of God."

"But COACH??" Squeak asked.

"I'm also not The Wallet of God. For Flames' sake, Squeak, you're going to Mexico for FREE. Stop bitching."

Squeaky, realizing the retort on his lips would be met with equal scorn, flipped open his laptop. He thought of Juan or Carlos or any of a number of gay Mexican men waiting with open arms in the warm, warm air of Cancun, or Cozumel, or Rosarita or wherever the Hell they were headed. No use angering The Hammer any further. Already, she was piqued--airport security confiscated not only her Hammer but her Flame Thrower and forced her to check them. She spent an hour fuming until Squeak reminded her that they were merely props and she didn't actually require the tools in order to smote the victims of her wrath (secretly, Squeak believed her mouth was generally weapon enough).

Squeak asked, "Can I at least use my modem?"

"Yes, Squeak. Budget will allow it." The Hammer picked up Atlas Shrugged and began reading. Squeak surfed the internet.

Suddenly, his heart dropped, the saliva in his mouth retreated into the back of his throat and threatened to come back up with the acid forming in his stomach. There would be no Mexican Odyssey, after all, not if what he was reading was true. He checked and re-checked, growing ever more disheartened. Not only because his dreams of lovely, naked Mexican men named Jorge and Juan slathering Coppertone all over--all over--his sharply-muscled body, but also because he would have to tell The Hammer--

--"Twistyfasterisntinmexicoanymore," he said in one quiet breath before ducking and covering as the Flight Attendant had indicated was the appropriate crash position.

"What. Did. You. Say. Squeak?" asked The Hammer slowly. "And, for Flame's sake, sit up! You are making a spectacle of yourself."

"I SAID: Twisy Faster isn't in Mexico anymore. She's in, she's in..." Squeak checked the screen quickly, "she's in Austin."

"Texas?"

"Texas."

"I guess we won't be going to Mexico after all, Squeak." The Hammer was uncharacteristically calm as she stared intently at the passing clouds.

The passing clouds grew dark.

And then darker.

"Fasten your seatbelt, Squeak," she said. He stared to protest but saw the command in her eyes. He knew better than to question eye commands. As Squeak clicked the two ends of his safety belt together, he saw the first bolt of lightening. The airplane shook. The second bolt hit and the plane shook again. Dimly, below, Squeak could make out the lights of a city. The "fasten seatbelt" light chimed on.

"This is your Captain speaking." The cabin tittered. "We have encountered a surprise, yet severe, lightening storm and will be immediately re-routed to the nearest airport which is in Austin, Texas." He thanked the passengers for their patience and a flight attendent explained what to expect on the ground.

The Hammer smiled to herself. Smugly. "Sorry 'bout Mexico, Squeak. Instead of sombreros you get chaps and cowboy boots."

Chapter III--In Which the Hammer of God Hunts Down Her First Quarry

Something is wrong at HammerQuarters. Squeaky feels this immediately upon entering the top secret lair in an undisclosed location. In fact, he once made a wrong turn, and found himself at Scott's Bar on Broadway, across from the Harley distributer; while, being from Lemay, the rough side, he might have passed, the fact he wore a pink and orange leotard was not lost on the other denizens. Who quickly moved forward menacingly.

"Dudes," said Squeak, in what he hoped was something other than a squeak. "I'm a sidekick. Don't blame me for the outfit, blame the Hammer."

"The Hammer? You mean The Hammer of God? That chick? She's hot--I'd bone her--you ever bone her?" some burly, bearded, Harley handler said.

"Uh yes, I mean, no, I mean yes The Hammer's my boss, but hell no I've never boned her...do you really think that guys in pink and orange tights are interested in boning some chick named the Hammer? Any chick for that matter. How do you know her anyway, I thought she was keeping a low profile?"

"She came in here looking for some chains."

"Well, I'm trying to get back to the super secret, undisclosed location. Do you know which way she went?"

"Little Dudette, I think she went that way," Burly Man said, pointing south. "But that was fucking hours ago--no days." Squeak was not at all happy about being called "Little Dudette" and was ready to waste him with a few Tae-bo moves, but remembered the Hammer's admonishment: "I am the Hammer. You are the sidekick. You may not go around kicking people's asses because they bother you--that is my job--unless you find me in a certain death position--like I am trussed up like a pig over a boiling pit of acid.

This time however, Squeaky found HammerQuarters without any difficulty, but immediately he knew something was wrong--the Hammer wasn't just pacing, she was FUMING, and alternately kicking at the walls of HQ. When he heard her exclaim "Fuck me raw!" he considered bolting. Instead he waited to be noticed.

She turned on him. "Did you see this? Did you READ this???" she's thrusting some sort of web print out in his face. "SHE'S GONE TO FUCKING MEXICO!!!"

"Who?" Squeak asked, but he knew who.

"Jill fucking Posey fucking Smith, that's who. I think she got wind of my plan. Did you tell someone, Squeaky???? Did you???"

"I told no one, according to plan."

"Not anyone? Not that really cute taxidermist who questioned you for minutes over why you needed a Leopard penis??? Not even him."

"Not even him," Squeak said ruefully. In fact, he hated thinking about it. Not only was he cute, he was gay and hinted very strongly that if Squeaky would tell him the secret, that the taxidermist would show HIM a few secrets or two. But for better or worse, he made a commitment to the Hammer and at this point it was more about not getting on her bad side than anything else. He'd hoped with her first accomplishment, she'd feel better about being the Hammer of God and lighten up, for chrissake.

"Can't we go to Mexico and hunt her down?" Squeak asked (and then cowered, as had become his habit when asking questions.)

The Hammer gave this some thought. At that moment, an occult breeze blew through HammerQuarters, sending them both into paroxysms of uncontrolled shivering. The outside temperature rarely made it above 10 degrees these last few days.

Mexico seemed like a fine place to hunt down quarry. And who knows what else they might accomplish in the meantime??

"Pack your bags, Squeak, we're going to Mexico. We've got to find that bitch fast. Before she ruins the reputation of every Taco stand between Tijuana and Cancun--."

Next: The Hammer and Squeak Hunt Down the Evil Food Critic.

Next:

Chapter II -- In Which the Hammer of God Selects Her First Wrong to Right

The Hammer of God is in a quandry. Contract sidekick hired and named, she is ready to right a wrong; remove from the planet some evildoer who's stupidity is a bane to humanity. She even has a couple of candidates in mind. But now that she knows who to smote, she can't decide how to smote. Should se smote them quickly, with an instant bolt of lightening or a quick rap with the Divine Hammer? Or should she make certain that the stupid evildoer understands his crime and perhaps allow him to repent?

As so we find her pacing at HammerQuarters, her sidekick Squeaky pouting in the corner. "Stop that," the Hammer commands, "You look like Jack from Will and Grace." But Squeaky is feeling underutilized and there's nothing more pouty than an underutilized contract worker. Because they know that they are superior to all of the regular employee drones. But, Squeaky is tired of sitting in this corner without anything to do. He hesitates to speak up, though. He remembers the first (and last) time he spoke up. He complained about the orange and pink sidekick uniform.

"I look like a fairy," he said.
"You are a fairy, Squeak." And she glared. And no one wants to be glared at by the Hammer of God.

Fuck it, I'm going in, decides Squeaky. "Why not decide on a case by case basis?" He immediately recoils, anticipating HammerWrath.

The Hammer stops pacing, turns around and glares. "Why not, indeed. I am THE HAMMER OF GOD. There is nothing in my job description that says I have to be fair or judicial. Excellent idea, Squeak, excellent."

Thus decided, the Hammer retires to the Cat's Meow. It's Wednesday and she grabs a copy of The Riverfront Times. And finds her first mission.

The Hammer has always despised Jill Posey-Smith, also known both inanely and cryptically as "Twisty Faster." She knows nothing about JPP except that as a food/restaurant critic she sucks. The Hammer has never read one of her reviews without spinning out of control in paroxysms of rage. This one is no exception. The meatballs in her soup are referred to as "monkey nuts." She describes mushrooms as "phallic."

Obviously she needs to get laid.

But, this is not the Hammer's concern. She knows that there will be no quick lightening bolt for Jill. The Hammer has something more diabolical planned. She calls Squeaky on the HammerPhone.

"Squeaky, I need penises."

"So do I, Princess, so do I."

"I need a variety of penises."

"So do--"

"--Squeaky. Cow penises, horse penises, donkey dicks, pig dicks. Any dick at all. I need you to become the Noah's Ark of penises. By Friday."

"Want them still connected?"

"No. Do you have any cookbooks?"

Chapter I -- In Which the Hammer of God Hires a Contract Sidekick

The Hammer of God, who for obvious reasons eschews the handier acroynm, dresses in a black mini, arms herself with dollars and sets upon Clementines, gay bar deluxe. She is not met with much interest or welcome. In fact, she is ignored so ignomiously, she abandons her mission.

The following wee, she tucks her hair up under her hat, pushes her ghetto booty into a tight pair of Wranglers, dons a flannel shirt, spatters paint about and swaggers in again. Any residual femininity is tampered with just enough androgyny to allow her to pass at least a fleeting inspection and that androgyny is just striking enough to induce a second glance and an invitation.

The Hammer of God questions each man who exhibits a friendly cuteness and an intense interest in the football game overhead. She spreads her interviews throughout the cavernous room as not to cause mob suspicion. Each interview includes the following questions:

What do you do?
The interview continues only if the subject is unemployed, self-employed or sufficiently underemployed. After all, the point of a sidekick is to make the Hammer of God operation more efficient: she doesn't want to compete with paying employers.

How do you feel about Quantum Theory?
The interview only continues if The Hammer doesn't understand the answer or the subject says, "No one understands Quantum Physics" and correctly contributes the quote to Feynman.

Who would you rather sleep with Batman or Robin?
Only Robin answers will procede to the next round.

How do you feel about children?
This is an extra credit question. For if the sidekick proves to be intelligent and worthy, The Hammer hopes to parlay this into a sperm donation, though it is not a necessary requirement of the job.

The Hammer of God narrows the field to three. And then, the final question:

"I'm not really gay. Heck, I'm not really a man, but I am The Hammer of God and I want to rid the world of stupid people, wanna be my sidekick?"

One backed off, appalled that a superhero could be capable of such deception. The Hammer's argument that she's no hero and besides ALL the superheroes deceived their publics--she cites Superman and Spiderman and The Hulk which is the greatest deception of all, but she cites this to deaf ears.

The second declines on the basis that he's already Mayor Slay's sidekick and while the pay's not much better and the job less exciting that the one The Hammer is offering, he is in fact the scion of loyalty which is the highest virtue of sidekicks everywhere. Lord knows the Hammer is not looking for loyalty--this is a contract job after all.

Which leaves the third, who's answer to the quantum theory question intriqued The Hammer, although she suspects he watched too much Quantum Leap and probably jacked off to Sam in drag during his "confused" in-the-closet teen years. However, this guy is from Lemay, which adds a level of butch his brethren tend to lack.

"You're hired, kid," says The Hammer, "but you have to come up with a really cool sidekick name."


*******Note: The sidekick would like some help. Anyone have any suggestions for the sidekick?

I AM The Hammer of God. I am the self-proclaimed Hammer of God. I will right all the wrongs made by God. God would like to, but God is too busy. As The Hammer, I've decided that my first deed needs to be big, needs to unprecendented and should probably be less self-serving than I imagine all my other deeds will be.

Ridding the world of a segment of the population should do nicely, but it has to be a segment that through its elimination will benefit humanity, especially me. By crickey, I've got it. I will rid the world of Stupid People.

Lord knows, this is going to be a full-time job. I don't want a full-time job. So, unfortunately, before I can get to the matter of eliminating the dumb-asses of the world, I'm going to have to find a sidekick. However, once I rid the universe, or at least my own microcosm of the universe of stupid people, the rest of my job as The Hammer of God will be easier and I won't require the assistance of a sidekick. I don't want to be saddled with paying employee benefits, statutory or otherwise, so this is what I will do: I will hire a sidekick ON CONTRACT.

As to the qualifications of my sidekick, I've given this much thought. First he/she needs to be a he. I don't work well with women, plus my tendency to be coquettish might be misconstrued. Second, and it goes without saying, he needs to be NOT STUPID. I would prefer someone smarter than I, but not smart enough to realize that. I need to have a resource close to me for those few things I don't already know, but not someone who's going to question my decisions.

He needs to be cute and knowledgable and enthusiastic for every sport known to man (except maybe water polo). And he needs to be gay. I don't need a sidekick who's going to try to get in my pants at every opportunity--this isn't Moonlighting, after all. And, by being cute and gay and a sports enthusiast, he will win friends and influence more people. Remember, I'm The Hammer. He rounds them up and I lift my arm or my foot and bolts of lightning or armies of fire ants or whatever I'm in the mood for will explode upon my victims.

I'll find him at Clementines. Shouldn't be too hard. Scads of cute, gay guys watching football on Sundays. Oh, and from now on I'm posting in the 3rd person. That will emphasize the fact that I have super powers, I'm sure.

And so, the Hammer of God sets on a Quest to find a Contract Sidekick Stay tuned