Wednesday, June 10, 2009

C H A P T E R   1

Model T Ford
Henry Ford’s schematics for the Model T, circa 1908.
R

enowned car engineer Davey Thompson staggered away from the assembly line. He was being approached by a dark shadow. Stomp! Stomp! Davey thought to himself, “I must run faster! He’s getting close!” Stomp! Clomp!

Davey sprinted like a runner as fast as possible! Stomp! Patter! Whoop! Crash! He fell into the assembly line. “How ironic,” thought Davey, “My own assembly line, where I worked in this great city of Detroit for forty years, where I was so great at creating cars will now, in fact, be the very place where I am uncreated. Or in other words, where I die!”

The shadow stepped into the light! Clomp! Stomp! He was holding a gun!

Davey knew that he’d have to act fast and do something symbolic before he died. Death! Symbolic!

He pointed toward the West. Bam! Boom! Blammo! The shadowy figure smirked as he pointed his gun at Davey … and shot him! Boomo! Then Davey went through the conveyor belt and was grossly smushed by the assembly line. Whirl! Wop! Whoa!

The menacing, shadowy figure smirked and left the car plant the way it was before he came in: empty! Just like the contents of Davey’s life … or now death!


C H A P T E R   2

P

rofessor Roger Lipton looked around at all the severe old white faces in his midst. All glaring at him from across the table. Lipton on one side and the seven board members of Harvard on the other.

Thump, thump! Lipton’s heart beat fast! Thump!

“Professor Lipton,” said the Chief Inquisitor, “You know why you’re here, right?”

Thump! Maybe they could hear his heart. Ah, it reminded him of the symbol of Jarkata. He thought about how the great pagan symbols often had moments of truth. For example, Jarkata also had to face an interrogation at his workplace of witchery. To commemorate the anxiety he felt, he carved (Carve! Carve!) a wooden statue, on the back of which he emblazoned an ancient sign for virility that would transcend time itself, until it was lost and chopped into firewood.

Luckily, Lipton happened upon the firewood at an outdoor market in Bangladesh while he was on one of his many exotic adventures. He noticed, once he set fire to the wood, that the ancient symbol actually appeared in the smoke. Lipton then, using reverse optmothology, was able to convert the smoke back to wood using science and logic. Through the symbol he gained access to a group of Welsh shamans who were trying to plot the assassination of the Duke of Earlham. Boy, were they surprised when he foiled them and also unearthed a controversial secret about naughty Pan. Namely, that Pan didn’t even exist. Chuckle! Chuckle! Lipton chuckled to himself.

“Professor, why are you laughing? This is very serious. You are being kicked out of Harvard due to the fact that you haven’t been working here for the past ten years.”

Thump! Thump! Lipton’s heart raced as quickly as his mind. Mind! Thump! “Surely, all the conspiracies I have foiled in the past decade can be seen as work.”

“You haven’t taught a class in that decade and you haven’t been published. We are not an American Scotland Yard, we are a University.”

Lipton saw his chance: “Actually, Scotland Yard is in England. Not America.”

A hush spread over the room. Whispers of “By God, he’s right” and “Get a fact check on that” spread across the table.

Lipton felt at peace. Peace! No thump heart! After a suspenseful hour, the fact checker entered the ornately designed room.

The only noise that could be heard was the thumping hearts of everybody. Thump! Thump! Thump! “Ha ha,” thought Lipton, “My heart doesn’t go thump!”

“I just checked the facts,” said the Fact Checker, “And Scotland Yard isn’t in America at all!”

“Well, where is it?” challenged the Chief Inquisitor.

“Hold on, I’ll check the facts.”

“Or you could take my word for it,” sneered Lipton.

Thump! Thump!

They all did.

“Also,” said the Fact Checker, “There is a spine-tingling mystery in Detroit right now with very symbolic implications. How will we ever solve it?”

The Chief Inquisitor put his head in his hands and started weeping. “We’ll never solve this mystery. There are too many powerful interests against us! What ever will we do?”

Lipton cleared his throat. Clear! “I’ll solve it in as controversially and intellectually as I can. I’ll put Harvard back on the map!”

Thump! Thump!

What would Harvard say?

Thump! Thump!

They all said, “Yay! solve the mystery.”

“But what if he doesn’t solve it?”

Thump! Thump!

Lipton thought to himself then spoke, “I will solve it.”

Everybody wiped off flop sweat in relief. Wipe! Wipe!


C H A P T E R   3

T

he Professor flew into Detroit National Airport at 5 p.m. He walked into the strange city awed by the history of it. He went into a coffee shop and ordered an espresso.

“That’ll be four dollars.”

Lipton laughed heartily. The barista, an attractive, slender woman in her twenties gave him a strange glance. “What’s so funny?”

Lipton wiped a laughter tear from his eye. Wipe! “Oh, you see, back when Detroit was invented, oh probably around 1733, four dollars would have bought the whole city! And now coffee costs that much in this rich and diverse city: the engine of American progress.”

She also laughed heartily. Laugh! Laugh!

“That’s funny and historically accurate. What are you doing in Detroit?”

Lipton laughed heartily. Laugh! Laugh! “I’m solving heart-pounding mysteries with religious connotations. Care to join?” Her smile was answer enough. Smile!


C H A P T E R   4

L

ipton and girl walked over to Ford’s main plant. Walk! Walk! They approached the receptionist, an attractive, slender woman in her twenties. Lipton opened his mouth. Open!

“We have an appointment with Hezekiah Ford, who is the head of Ford.”

The attractive, slender receptionist in her twenties gave them a winning smile. “Go on in. He’s expecting you.” She proceeded to push a button. Whoooosh! The door opened with a whooosh noise. Whooosh!

An evil-looking, terrible, odious man sat behind a huge wooden desk. How distrustful he was. “Sit down, Professor Jerk! Why do you meddle in my affairs? I will kill you.”

Thump! Thump! Were Lipton and girl to die …


C H A P T E R   5

… Lipton and girl didn’t die. It turns out that Hezekiah Ford wanted to talk first.

“Why would you dare to entangle yourself in forces bigger than the world,” said Ford, “You will die if you get too close!” Would Lipton and girl meet their untimely demise now? Thump!


C H A P T E R   6

L

ipton and girl didn’t die at all. In fact, they lived!

Lipton doffed his hat (he was wearing one, you see). “Sir, we are just here to solve this most gruesome of murders.”

“How dare you accuse me and my Great-Grandfather, Henry Ford, who was the founder of this company, of murder!”

“It is true, Henry Ford made this company in June 16th, 1903,” Lipton went on. “He revolutionized the way cars are made with the Model T model, which he invented on October 8, 1908. He was adamantly against labor unions. Henry Ford died on April 7th, 1947. Nobody knows how he died; some people think that he had ties to shady organizations and that perhaps that is why he died.”

Snarl! Hezekiah snarled at Lipton! “You’re barking up the wrong tree. If you don’t look out, I’ll kill you!”

Lipton and girl felt their hearts thumping. Thump! Were they to die?


C H A P T E R   7

T

hey lived and went over to General Motors. Walk! Walk! They approached the receptionist, an attractive, slender woman in her twenties. Lipton opened his mouth. Open!

“We have an appointment with George Motors, who is the head of General Motors.”

The attractive, slender receptionist in her twenties gave them a winning smile. “Go on in. He’s expecting you.” She proceeded to push a button. Whoooosh! The door opened with a whooosh noise. Whooosh!

George Motors sat behind a trustworthy desk, and he was also trustworthy. He smiled at them. Smile! He then assuaged their fears. “I will never kill you and only want to help you. Ford is evil. Henry Ford was really bad to Jesus by hiding secrets in his Model T Fords, which he invented on October 7th, 1908.”

Lipton smiled gently. “It was actually October 8th.”

George Motors smiled gently. “Why, I think you’re right. You are a brilliant professor, Professor.” They both smiled gently at the repetition of the word “professor.” Trust! Trust!

“I will help you out in any way I can,” said George Motors. “Just remember that you can trust me.”

Lipton smiled gently. “Can you tell me about the secrets about Jesus that Henry Ford hid?”

George Motors frowned gently. “So you haven’t heard … about Jesus’ secret?”

Thump! Thump! Thump!


C H A P T E R   8

G

eorge Motors looked at Lipton and girl with a serious look. “Henry Ford spent his whole life trying to hide a secret one of his workers uncovered on an assembly line.”

Lipton gasped. Gasp! “Was the worker any relation to Davey Thompson, who died grotesquely in a murder yesterday?”

George Motors gasped. Gasp! “Why, it was his Son! How terrible.” He then proceeded on to his story, “So Brad Thompson found a mysterious diary, which Jesus himself is rumored to have written. And Henry Ford killed him.”

Lipton gasped! Gasp! “Where is the diary?”

George Motors gasped. Gasp! “It must be at the plant where both Thompsons were murdered.”

Girl gasped. Gasp! “What are we waiting for?”

They ran to the plant, but there was a shadowy figure running at them. Clomp! Clomp! Were they to die?


C H A P T E R   9

T

hey didn’t die. They ran away through the streets of Detroit past many landmarks.

Lipton remarked about a huge, intimidating structure, “Why, that’s Ford Field, the home of the Detroit Lions. Maybe it is named after Henry Ford. Let’s go!”

Run! Run! They ran! George Motors screamed. Blast! Blast! He died a gruesome, terrible death.

Lipton remarked about George Motors dying, “I liked him and found him trustworthy. I wish that he didn’t die in such a ghastly way by that shadowy figure. But we must run all the quicker or we will also reach our untimely demise. But can a demise ever be timely?” Lipton and girl both chuckled at that last remark. Chuckle! Chuckle! They were bonding through this great adventure. Bond! Bond!

Lipton remarked when they got to Ford Field, “Hey, Davey Thompson was pointing to the fifty-yard line when he died! Let’s dig it up!”

Dig! Dig! There was a … body! Jesus’ body holding a diary! Jesus! Jesus! Diary! Holding! Read! Lipton read! It’s in a code! Lipton read code because he symbologist!

“My God!” Lipton and girl chuckle because God is right in front of them. Chuckle! “This is written in a code, but I think I can decode the code and break the code to find out secrets from the code!” Lipton went on, “See he is writing in numbers and each number means a letter. See: for example, 1 means A and 2 means B.”

Girl exclaims: “You are very smart at symbols! What does it say?”

Hezekiah Ford steps out from the shadows holding a gun. “It says: You are going to die!”

Thump! Thump! Were Lipton and girl to die?


C H A P T E R   10

T

hey didn’t die. Ford shot George Motors in the head and his head fell off and it was gruesome and brains were everywhere.

Lipton gasped. Gasp! “I thought he was dead!”

Ford chuckled. Chuckle! “No. He was the shadowy figure all along.”

Lipton chuckled. Chuckle! “And I thought you were untrustworthy this whole time. That is ironic.”

Ford looked at Lipton and smiled. Smile! “You see, I’ve always wanted my Grandfather’s secret to be unearthed, but I just didn’t know where it was buried. Now we can tell the world.”

“It’s actually your Great-Grandfather, silly.” They both chuckled at this joke. Chuckle!

“So, what’s the secret?” asked Ford.

“Well, judging by the symbols and the code I cracked, it looks like Jesus was not white at all!”

Gasp! Gasp! Gasp!

“Do you realize the implications?” Said Ford, “This will change everything. The controversy!”

The girl started crying. Cry! “But does that mean he’s still Jesus?”

Lipton chuckled. Chuckle! “No.” Girl cries even more.

“We must tell the world, so they can stop praying to this false idol.”

A helicopter landed on the field. And shadowy figures ran out. The Vatican was emblazoned on the side of the copter.

“We must take back the body, as well as the diary you so ingeniously cracked! Or you will die!”

They didn’t die because Harvard’s helicopters shot missiles at the Vatican’s helicopters.

Explosion!

Unfortunately, the girl met her untimely, and ultimately gruesome, demise in the epic fireball.

“You did it, Lipton,” said Harvard, “You have solved another controversial mystery. Please come back.”

“Yes, please come back,” said an attractive, slender woman in her twenties.

Lipton chuckled. Chuckle! “O.K.” Thump!

Neil Griffin is a Los Angeles–based Postmodernist. He doesn’t know what this means, but he gets laid as a result when he shows his business card, which reads: Neil Griffin. Professional Postmodernist. nhgriffin003@gmail.com. Sometimes he will talk about simulacra, something he also doesn’t understand, and he will get laid again. Other times, he will cry when people make fun of him for being a Professional Postmodernist, and for talking about simulacra. He will dramatically scream, “Emotions are Modernism! I’m over it!” Then he’ll sleep on his pillow of tears and dream of simpler times …

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