Bocks Maltbeer had been investigating seemingly unexplainable cases for the Federal Bureau of Intoxication for almost five years. And yet, his current case was the most twisted he had come across. He was considering whether he should open an M-File on it, when a strange redhead (and aren’t they all) walked through the open door to his office.
“Hello,” she said, “I’m Data Scuzzey. I’ve been assigned as your new partner.”
“The Bureau’s director has decided otherwise,” Scuzzey replied. “He’s afraid the McCarty Party case may be affecting your ability to think clearly. As a computer analyst, I personally think McCarty Party can be rationally explained. I don’t believe in the alcoholically mystical mumbo jumbo you’ve made a career of… but I was not given the choice to refuse working with you. So before you go off on me, keep in mind that I’m the big loser here.”
“I’m sure you were a loser long before this assignment made it official,” Bocks said. A mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes. “But some losers I know are quite attractive. Maybe you are as well. Why don’t we discuss this further over five or six beers and I’ll let you know. I promise not to go off on you, as far as you’ll know.”
July 5th, 1998. Faber College.
“What do you make of this?” said Bocks as he handed Scuzzey a photo he’d just had enlarged at the campus Kinko’s.
“It appears to be a man in a bunny suit,” she replied, glancing at the print.
Maltbeer gave Scuzzey a seriously leering grin. “But can we be absolutely sure it’s a bunny suit, and not an actual man-sized, floppy-eared rabbit?”
“What are you saying?” Scuzzey asked. “You can’t seriously think it’s actually a giant rabbit. What would you have me believe next… that there will be Miller Beer and Democrats at McCarty Party?”
Bocks assumed a lecturing tone. “The giant rabbit has been a symbol of power for centuries. Of course there’s the Easter bunny, long associated with the resurrection of Christ. But what about the ancient Aztec emperor Teofluffiehuican, whose name literally translates to Big Brown Bunny with the Floppy Ears. And in modern times, of course, there’s that damn Energizer Bunny.”
“And don’t forget Harvey, the giant invisible rabbit in the movies,” Scuzzey said (somewhat sarcastically).
“Actually I’d thought of that,” Bocks said, ignoring her patronizing tone. “But I didn’t think mentioning Harvey would really help build my case. Anyway, all I’m saying is that Dale McCarty just might be a giant bunny, at least figuratively. His lust for power is exceeded only by his lust for cold beer and casual sex (hmm, come to think of it, that sounds like a combination of Teddy Kennedy and Bill Clinton… kind of makes you wonder why he’s not a Democrat).”
“In any event,” Bocks continued, “this photo is actually from a McCarty Party video I managed to get hold of. There is a macabre chant performed by the bunny that will chill your bones, or would… if you weren’t already as frigid as a keg in a beer truck.” (Earlier in the week Maltbeer had determined that although Scuzzey was fast and wide, she was rather cold and lifeless in bed. Fortunately for Bocks, that happened to be the second most appealing thing he liked in a woman.)
July 14th, 1998. Somewhere in the Midwest.
The Beer Drinking Man sat alone in the darkened office. The soft glow of the computer screen in front of him illuminated the label on his Bud Light as he took another drink. Though he never boasted (nobody would have believed him anyway), he felt a certain satisfaction in the power he wielded. And the current item on his agenda was almost trivial. Compared to ensuring the French victory over Brazil in the World Cup finals (something he had done simply for the pleasure of knowing millions of French citizens would wake the next day to the agony of a cheap wine hangover), getting Dale McCarty elected to the U.S. Congress would be absurdly simple.
Still, he thought, having another Congressman he could manipulate to do his bidding would be useful. The relatively unknown McCarty would be perfect. His vices were plentiful and could easily be used to persuade him to further the Beer Drinking Man’s goals. Best of all, Dale McCarty’s belief that his sister had been abducted by aliens (well, anyway… his belief that his sister should have been abducted by aliens) made him the ideal man for what the Beer Drinking Man was planning. He chuckled softly in the darkness as he opened another Bud Light.
