JPod

by Douglas Coupland

  Kaitlin was re-evaluating my possible use as genetic material for any future child of hers. She rang the doorbell, and Kam Fong seamlessly opened it and returned to the main room for the song's climax. Then he bowed and said, "Am I not grand?"

  Dad said, "You're an hour early."

  Kam said, "Not to worry, I can put them both to work. Come to the kitchen."

  "Hey, we're supposed to be guests here."

  "And I was supposed to have housekeepers until I fired them this afternoon."

  "Why?" Kaitlin asked.

  "I caught them eating."

  Kam waved around a kitchen in which hundreds of hors d'oeuvres sat half finished. "Here. Make some canapes. Jim and I have to practise."

  We stood at the counter and tried to figure out what to make, but we couldn't think of what to do with all the cheeses and vegetables. We went to the Dell beside the phone and put the word "canape" into Google Images. This generated a predictable deluge of porn, as well as some retro 1950s canape photos.

  "Do we have radishes?" Kaitlin asked.

  "Yes, but nobody likes radishes."

  "I know. Has anybody in the history of humanity ever sat down one day and said to themselves, You know, Td like nothing more right now than to eat a crisp yummy radish}"

  We lurked for a while in a radish chat room. Snoozeville.

  Kaitlin continued her rant. "Carrots coast through life. If they were any colour other than orange, they'd be extinct by now." She adopted her carrot voice: "Hi, Tm a carrot and have a bland nothing flavour, but because Tm attractive and because Tmjust about the only orange vegetable that can be eaten in raw form, you keep me in your kitchen. I mock you for your weakness"

  "Look at the canape sofas." Kaitlin and I quickly learned that a canape sofa is a sofa designed to seat two people.

  "Boring."

  Two clicks later we ended up on the Cunnilingus Web Ring.

  "Ethan, I want to go home. This is the worst housewarming ever."

  Just then Mom, showing no sign that she remembered Tim decomposing mere feet away, walked in and said, "Canapes! What fun!" Tying her apron, she said, "You know how boring I find ballroom dancing. It's a side of him I've never understood." With a paring knife she began whittling radishes into rosebuds. "He and Kam Fong are entered in a competition called 'Canteen.'"

  "Canteen? What's it about?"

  "'The Greatest Generation Goes to War—A Ballroom Tribute.'" Yet again, "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" pulsed from the living room.

  Kaitlin said, "I'm so sick of that 'Greatest Generation' crap. We finally drive a silver nail through the heart of Generation X, only to have this new monster rear its head. And I'm sooooooooo sick of Tom Hanks looking earnest all the time. They should make a Tom Hanks movie where Tom kills off Greatest Generation figureheads one by one."

  Bree arrived on cue: "And then he starts killing other generations. He becomes this supernova of hate—all he wants to do is destroy."

  "He starts killing the surviving members of the Sex Pistols."

  "Hate clings to him like a rich, lathery shampoo. His lungs secrete it like anthrax foam."

  Mom lost it. "Stop it! All of you! Tom Hanks is a fine actor who would never hurt anybody. At least not onscreen."

  I thought, Hey, didn't Tom Hanks mow down half of Chicago in Road to Perdition? Well, whatever.

  "You young people stop your prattling and help me out here. Kaitlin and Bree, peel these cucumbers. Ethan, fill me in on your secret plan to sabotage the videogame you're working on now."

  "What!Who told you about it?"

  "Your friend Mark."

  "You were talking to Mark?"

  "He's getting me some bootleg gardening software, and he told me that you've begun collectively designing a secret slasher character named Ronald, a birthday clown who lives in a secret lair within SpriteQuest."

  "He told you about Ronald?"

  "He did."

  I'll spare the world Mom's translation. Basically, we're concealing the coding files used to generate Ronald inside a folder called MOAT WATER TEXTURES that nobody's particularly in charge of nor interested in. There's going to be a switch inside the configuration files that allows a player with the secret password to go from one mode to another, including Ronald's Lair of Death, releasing him on a spree of carnage and terror within the SpriteQuest realm. But because this secret file can be found and unlocked by a debugger, the jPod development team needs to covertly insert Ronald into the game's coding during the final stage—after the debugging is done. Just before the master gold disk is shipped to the factory, Bree has to have an affair with the FedEx deliveryman. She'll demand that her FedEx boyfriend give her the disk before it goes on the plane. Ronald's complete files will be inserted into the game at this final moment.

  Mom asked, "Bree, what if the FedEx delivery guy is a gal?"

  "Well, there's a first time for everything."

  Mom asked, "Bree, why are you speaking with an English accent?"

  "To speed up my career."

  "A sensible decision. English women are so bossy-sounding, and they love giving orders. Men are too lazy to bother fighting back. That Thatcher woman really knew how to crack the whip."

  Other guests started arriving, most of them ballroom dancers or thugs. Over the next four hours, smokers lit up outside by the glistening fronds of the New Zealand tree fern above Tim's grave. I popped out, if only to convince myself that Tim's bony forearms weren't punching their way out of the topsoil like in the final scene of Carrie. I then wondered if some future civilization would ever dig up Tim's bones and wonder what his life was like, or if his last cheeseburger would remain mummified within his gut. About half of the smokers were on their cellphones. Kaitlin came out, ready to go home. She said, "Remember how, back in 1990, if you used a cell­phone in public you looked like a total asshole? We're all assholes now."

  Dad came out with John Doe and Cowboy. I asked them what they were doing, and Dad said they were headed down to the rail yard to tag grain cars.

  "Dad! John and Cowboy are too old to be doing that, let alone you."

  "I'm getting in character for a role I'm playing."

  "What role is that?"

  "It's for a bank commercial. I have to roll my eyes when young hip-hoppy people come in to open savings accounts."

  "For that you have to go tagging?"

  "If I'm supposed to hate the little fuckers, I might as well have a fresh memory in my head to make me do so. It's method. Why are you always so harsh with me about my craft?"

  He's still traumatized because his speaking role was axed from the SUV commercial. He needs a bit of joy in his life.

  "Just go," I said.

  After Dad left, Mom came out to the front step area outside the main doorway.

  "What a lovely home. Kam is so lucky to live here."

  She went back inside.

  . . .

  Part of my job in subverting SpriteQuest is to provide Ronald's creation myth—his backstory that tells players how he ended up in his secret lair, dedicated to mayhem. Here it is:

  Ronald was attending his one-billionth birthday party in a suburban basement, handing out little cups of orange drink to churlish brats. He looked up the stairs briefly and saw the kids' mothers in the kitchen, drinking martinis and making jokes at his expense. He abandoned the kids to confront them. "If you've got something to say, then say it to my face." The mothers giggled. I mean, this was a living Pez dispenser suddenly in their faces.

  "Relax. We were just having fun."

  "Fun is my business, lady. I know fun. Those cracks you were making aren't fun. There's a sensitive soul beneath this greasepaint."

  "Were you born with all of that shit on?"

  Another mother asked, "What do you do when you get home—leave your makeup on and eat TV dinners and make prank phone calls?"

  "As a licensed mascot for a multinational corporation, nondisclosure agreements prevent me from telling you what I do in a noncommercial situati
on."

  "Chickenshit. I bet you eat at Wendy's."

  Ronald stuck out his finger and pointed into her face. "Wendy is a whore"

  As this conversation took place in an American house inhabited by Americans, lots of guns were handy. One of the mothers—let's call her Alpha-Mom—reached into her knitting basket and withdrew a .44. She couldn't believe it—she was turned on by her ability to choose whether the clown lived or died. She pointed it at Ronald. "Okay, clowny-wowny, time for you to go."

  Ronald said, "No way. Not until you apologize."

  "For what?"

  "For mocking clowns."

  One of the mothers was about to dial 911, but the gun mother said, "Sheila, no. Not until we have some fun." She motioned to the others. "Nell, lock the kids in the basement." She turned to Ronald. "Okay, bun boy. Strip."

  "Huh?"

  "You heard me. Strip. We all want to see what's under all that yellow fabric."

  One of the mothers whacked him behind the knees with a folded-up aluminum mini-scooter and he fell to the kitchen floor.

  "Strip. Now. Or we'll get really ugly."

  Ronald was surrounded by six mothers brandishing knives, collapsed folding chairs, guns and one heavy table lamp. One of mothers whacked Ronald on the lower back, and the others pulled her back. Alpha-Mom said, "Not just yet, Katie." She looked down at Ronald, and there was no mercy in her eyes. "Start with those bright red, overly large novelty clown booties. One, two. Bang bang."

  Ronald obeyed, and as he did, he realized he was turned on. It was a new sensation that both frightened and pleased him. Through his red and white striped socks, he could feel the cool, dry, recently washed floor tiles. In submission, he handed over his boots to Alpha-Mom.

  "Good. Now the socks. Did you phone Waldo and borrow them?"

  Ronald removed his socks. The air cooled his toes. Nakedness was going to be a treat. He started to remove his yellow gloves.

  "Did I say you could remove your gloves?"

  "No."

  The women cackled. Alpha-Mom said, "Now for a big ticket item—overalls"

  The women started betting against each other: Boxers or briefs? Painted-on underwear or a smooth, bulby nub like a doll?

  Ronald unzipped the three-foot-long zipper down his front. A strap fell from each shoulder. He wanted to laugh, but he knew that if he did, it would kill the mood.

  Alpha-Mom was huffy. "That's underwear? It looks like an adult diaper. Now take off the gloves."

  Ronald obeyed. He was now down to his shirt and diaper-like undergarment.

  "The shirt goes, clown. Do it quick."

  From the basement, Ronald heard the children's piercing sugared-up voices. He felt freer than he had ever felt before.

  "Hey, wait a second—you've never taken your clothes off before, have you?" Alpha-Mom said.

  "Part of being a corporate spokesmascot is that I can only remove my clothing if commanded. And nobody's ever asked before."

  Alpha-Mom: "So you've never looked down there}"

  "No."

  Alpha-Mom said, "Time you did."

  The room was almost religiously charged, as if the women—and Ronald—were to glimpse the contents of the Ark for the first time. Ronald was fumbling with the garment's fastening system when an escaped child suddenly entered the room, scaring the mothers. The .44 went off by accident, hitting Ronald in the upper arm. Blood sprayed everywhere. "You crazy fucked-up bitch, what the hell do you think you've done?" Another escaped child entered the room and began screaming. Katie moved to shush the kids out of the room, but slipped in a pool of clown blood, cracking the back of her skull on a sharply tiled corner of the decorative, retro, Cape Cod fireplace. A vermouth bottle shattered.

  Ronald looked. "Holy shit, she's dead." He could even see brains.

  The children screamed even more. Nell said, "Get them out of here."

  Ronald's grease-painted torso was speckled with beads of blood.

  Alpha-Mom was freaked. "Shit, shit, shit. What are we going to do?" She tossed Ronald his clothes. "Put these on. Now."

  "But I never had a chance to look inside my undergarment. . ."

  Sheila said, "Shut up and dress." She looked at the other mothers. "Here's what happened—the clown did it. That's our story. He tried to molest me, and I had to protect myself. You were all here. You saw it."

  Ronald knew he was fucked. He also knew he had maybe ninety seconds before the police cruisers arrived, and so, half-dressed, carrying his stained clothes, he ran into the living room, where a Legend of Zelda game was on pause. Ronald dove into the screen, and the glass closed up behind him. And he's been trapped inside games ever since . . .

  . . . And now he's out for revenge.

  . . .

  For the past few weeks, Bree has had ten Scrabble games piled on her desk; some weekend, her plan is to glue their letter tiles onto her bathroom mouldings. "What a depressing Spinsters of Tomorrow craft project, huh? But it'll look so cute."

  Suddenly—ping!—all of us were playing Scrabble, making the stupidest words. It turned out that Bree had removed nearly all the E's and S's from the letter bag—har, har, har—and some T's as well. We got her to put them back and we played again and made pretty good words. The best was mine: "tsetse," as in tsetse fly.

  Afterwards, Bree said, "As a special treat, I've printed out a list of the 972 three-letter words allowed in Scrabble, but I've added one non-regulation word to the list. First person who finds it wins a jumbo-sized Toblerone chocolate bar."

  "Why do you have a jumbo Toblerone bar? Nobody ever buys them."

  "I wanted to see what it was that Steve was working on when he rescued that company, and dammit, maybe he's on to something. They're good."

  Mark added, "Toblerone's not just for mini-bars any more." No one said anything. He still hasn't learned how to be ironic.

  Herewith Bree's list. Let it be noted that Microsoft Word's spell-check rejects most of them—so, then, how real are these words?

  AAH ADD AHA ALB AMU ARB ASK AWA BAD BAT BIB BOB BOY BUR CAN CHI COR CUD DAG DEE DIE DOG DUB EAR AAL ADO AID ALE ANA ARC ASP AWE BAG BAY BID BOD BRA BUS CAP CIS COS CUE DAH DEL DIG DOL DUD EAT AAS ADS AIL ALL AND ARE ASS AWL BAH BED BIG BOG BRO BUT CAR COB COT CUM DAK DEN DIM DOM DUE EAU ABA ADZ AIM ALP ANE ARF ATE AWN BAL BEE BIN BOO BRR BUY CAT COD cow CUP DAL DEV DIN DON DUG EBB ABO AFF AIN ALS ANI ARK ATT AXE BAM BEG BIO BOP BUB BYE CAW COG cox CUR DAM DEW DIP DOR DUI ECU ABS AFT AIR ALT ANT ARM AUK AYE BAN BEL BIS BOS BUD BYS CAY COL COY CUT DAP DEX DIS DOS DUN EDH ABY AGA AIS AMA ANY ARS AVA AYS BAP BEN BIT BOT BUG CAB CEE CON coz CWM DAW DEY DIT DOT DUO EEL ACE AGE AIT AMI APE ART AVE AZO BAR BET BIZ BOW BUM CAD CEL coo CRY DAB DAY DIB DOC DOW DUP EFF ACT AGO ALA AMP APT ASH AVO BAA BAS BEY BOA BOX BUN CAM CEP COP CUB DAD DEB DID DOE DRY DYE EFS EFT EGG EGO ELS EME EMF ERA ERE ERG EVE EWE EYE FAX FAY FED FEU FEW FEY FIN FIR FIT FOG FOH FON FRY FUB FUD GAG GAL GAM GED GEE GEL GID GIE GIG GOD GOO GOR GUT GUV GUY HAJ HAM HAO HEM HEN HEP HIC HID HIE HOB HOD HOE HUB HUE HUG ICE ICH ICK IMP INK INN IVY JAB JAG JEU JEW JIB JOW JOY JUG KAS KAT KAY KEY KHI KID KOB KOI KOP LAG LAM LAP LAY LEA LED LEV LEX LEY LIS LIT LOB LUG LUM LUV MAN MAP MAR MEL MEM MEN MIL MIM MIR MOG MOL MOM EKE EMS ERN FAD FEE FEZ FIX FOP FUG GAN GEM GIN GOT GYM HAP HER HIM HOG HUH ICY INS JAM JIG JUN KEA KIF KOR LAR LEE LEZ LOG LUX MAS MET MIS MON ELD EMU ERR FAG FEH FIB FIZ FOR FUN GAP GEN GIP GOX GYP HAS HES HIN HON HUM IDS ION JAR JIN JUS KEF KIN KOS LAS LEG LIB LOO LYE MAT MEW MIX MOO ELF END ERS FAN FEM FID FLU FOU FUR GAR GET GIT GOY HAD HAT HET HIP HOP HUN IFF IRE JAW JOB JUT KEG KIP KUE LAT LEI LID LOP MAC MAW MHO MOA MOP ELK ELL ELM ENG ENS EON ESS ETA ETH FAR FAS FAT FEN FER FET FIE FIG FIL FLY FOB FOE FOX FOY FRO GAB GAD GAE GAS GAT GAY GEY GHI GIB GNU GOA GOB GUL GUM GUN HAE HAG HAH HAW HAY HEH HEW HEX HEY HIS HIT HMM HOT HOW HOY HUP HUT HYP IFS ILK ILL IRK ISM ITS JAY JEE JET JOE JOG JOT KAB KAE KAF KEN KEP KEX KIR KIT KOA LAB LAC LAD LAV LAW LAX LEK LET LEU LIE LIN LIP LOT LOW LOX MAD MAE MAG MAX MAY MED MIB MID MIG MOB MOC MOD MOR MOS MOT MOW MUD MUG NAG NAH NAM NET NEW NIB NOB NOD NOG NOW NTH NUB OAT OBE OBI OFT OH
M OHO OMS ONE ONS ORB ORC ORE OVA OWE OWL PAL PAM PAN PAY PEA PEC PER PES PET PIG PIN PIP POH POI POL PRY PSI PUB PUS PUT PYA RAH RAJ RAM RAY REB REC REP RES RET RIF RIG RIM ROM ROT ROW RYA RYE SAB SAT SAU SAW SEI SEL SEN SHH SHY SIB SIT SIX SKA SON SOP SOS SPY SRI STY SYN TAB TAD TAP TAR TAS TED TEE TEG THY TIC TIE TOE TOG TOM TOY TRY TSK TUX TWA TWO MUM NAN NIL NOH NUN OCA OHS OOH ORS OWN PAP PED PEW PIS POM PUD PYE RAN RED REV RIN RUB SAC SAX SER SIC SKI SOT SUB TAE TAT TEL TIL TON TUB TYE MUN NAP NIM NOM NUS ODD OIL OOT ORT OXO PAR PEE PHI PIT POP PUG PYX RAP REE REX RIP RUE SAD SAY SET SIM SKY SOU SUE TAG TAU TEN TIN TOO TUG UDO MUS NAW NIP NOO NUT ODE OKA OPE OSE OXY PAS PEG PHT PIU POT PUL QAT RAS REF RHO ROB RUG SAE SEA SEW SIN SLY SOW SUM TAJ TAV TET TIP TOP TUI UGH MUT NAB NAE NAY NEB NEE NIT NIX NOA NOR NOS NOT OAF OAK OAR ODS OES OFF OKE OLD OLE OPS OPT ORA OUD OUR OUT PAC PAD PAH PAT PAW PAX PEH PEN PEP PIA PIC PIE PIX PLY POD POW POX PRO PUN PUP PUR QUA RAD RAG RAT RAW RAX REG REI REM RIA RIB RID ROC ROD ROE RUM RUN RUT SAG SAL SAP SEC SEE SEG SEX SHA SHE SIP SIR SIS SOB SOD SOL SOX SOY SPA SUN SUP SUQ TAM TAN TAO TAW TAX TEA TEW THE THO TIS TIT TOD TOR TOT TOW TUN TUP TUT UKE ULU UMM UMP UNS UPO UTS VAC VAN VEE VEG VET VOE VOW VOX WAP WAR WAS WEE WEN WET WIT WIZ WOE WOT WOW WRY YAM YAP YAR YES YET YEW YOM YON YOU ZAX ZED ZEE ZOO UPS URB URD VAR VAS VAT VEX VIA VIE VUG WAB WAD WAT WAW WAX WHA WHO WHY WOG WOK WON WUD WYE WYN YAW YAY YEA YID YIN YIP YOW YUK YUM ZEK ZIG ZIN URN USE UTA VAU VAV VAW VIG VIM VIS WAE WAG WAN WAY WEB WED WIG WIN WIS WOO WOP WOS XIS YAH YAK YEH YEN YEP YOB YOD YOK YUP ZAG ZAP ZIP ZIT ZOA

  N N N N N N N

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  N N N N N N N

  L L L L L L L

  L L C C L LN

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  L LN N L LN

  NNNNNNN

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  NNNNNNN

  T T T T T TT

  T C T T TC T

  C C C C C C C

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  . . .

  A few days later I caused a sensation in jPod: "Everybody listen up. At the count of three, write me a list on a topic of your own choosing. You've got five minutes. The best list wins . . ." at which point I held up the trophy " . . . this six-inch Japanese kewpie doll complete with working squeak. This doll is the spokesmascot of Japan's most beloved mayonnaise company. I bought it off eBay because I thought it was cool and that when I put it on my desk my life would be somehow better—but, well, this hasn't proven to be the case. Are you ready? Get set. . . One . . . two . . . three . . . Go!"