To get the full story, start with EPISODE 1
‘Well, gentle…men?,’Bifidus seemed like a confusing apparition even for the more bohemian type like Buga, `if you’re looking for advice in the saving the day department, I’m afraid I’m not your gal. Not anymore. Not since the good old days…`
‘Funny that, you don’t look a day over 45!’ I motioned Bifidus to stop making such objectively accurate, yet socially inappropriate remarks. Buga went on though, seemingly undisturbed by such comments, eyes glazed over:
‘You know, there used to be a time when the good men and women of the world would wear cotton onesies and silk capes, and of course, only the finest in leather boots. All in bold, primary colors. And it was all done most tastefully. They would come in to get their measurements taken, we’d talk about sweet nothings and narrowly avoided Armageddons. And we’d laugh. Not raucously, of course, but in gentle waves of subdued and solar chuckles. The sort you’d expect from the people who ever-so-graciously have it all.’
During this little soliloquy, Madame Rubidoux had somehow forced a disturbingly joyous smile to spread-eagle on her face. Then suddenly, burdened by the heavy drapery of her wrinkles, her faced dropped into her default frown.
‘And then, everything changed. It was slow and apparently harmless at first. They started wearing things made out of synthetic threads, but then they caught on to zippers and low body fat index and everything went downhill from there onwards.’
‘That’s all very emotional and moving, I’m sure,’ Bifidus went with the tone of voice of someone who really is neither moved, nor considering developing any emotional reaction, `but can we stick to the part where you help us out?`
But Buga was in rant mode. And you know you cannot and should not try to hold the lid down on that sort of pressure cooker. You have to let it release all that built-up anger, possibly fly around, hitting some walls and innocent by-standers in the process to release the pressure. I had already secured myself a safe spot under a rather sturdy table that looked like it had weathered several other storms of this magnitude.
`Sure, they became… cool`, Buga said the word like it was the very zenith of being petite bourgeois, ‘or whatever word people use to describe them nowadays. But are they well dressed? No. And don’t even get me started on those boots. You know there is a joke going round about the most powerful weapon of the contemporary hero, right?’
‘Royalties?’ I interjected.
‘Oh…’, I cringed at the imagery.
‘They are a close second, though,’ Buga added.
Now, the woman was making a point and it seemed like a valid one, but unfortunately that point was of no use whatsoever to us, given our current predicament. So me and Bifidus called for a five… ten minute break and headed down to the corner shop for some nibbles.