Cauliflower Corners-Part 2

Lil’ Gorgeous

In 1886, Gorgis Cornelius Gustavius Burden Squeers emerged into this world as the unfortunate by-product of a loveless, passably convenient marriage between two undistinguished citizens of Hanover. His father, Cornelius Augustus Ramses Squeers, Doctor of Divinity, was practised in the profitable use of an elastic moral code. His mother was a gentle creature, chosen by fate to spend too large a portion of her life regretting her desperate marital compromise.

Before acquiring his dubious ecclesiastical credentials in 1885, Cornelius Squeers skulked about the countryside looking for suckers. He would rotate his moral and intellectual mediocrity through the villages and hamlets of Hanover County. Places like Cauliflower Corners, Heart’s Content and Lansing’s Ford were among his favourite haunts. He would stay in one place until the probability of his detection became too great. It was his genius to move on just before disaster hit. Never caught. Infrequently suspected. Always guilty. A human weasel. Polished scum.

Gorgis, or Lil’ Gorgeous as he was fondly called by his mother, never really had a chance. His mother, though doting, was weak and detestable in his view. His father, distant and calculating, had no time for him. As a child, Gorgis ached for his father’s approval. Until he turned 10 years old, everything Lil’ Gorgeous did was designed to squeeze out the tiniest evidence of paternal affection. The best he ever got back was a grudging indifference. Finally, he just plain gave up. By this time, he was already a budding sociopath, unknowingly following in his father’s oily footsteps.

At age 11, Gorgis had set fire to his first stray cat. At age 12, he graduated from burning cats to torching abandoned barns. By age 13, he had been banned from Anson’s Feed and Hardware Store, having been rightly suspected of lacing the bundled oats with a strong laxative purloined from the apothecary of Dr. Finch. The accusation, though never proven, clung to him like a bad smell, immune to any attempts at cleansing.

As can be readily guessed, Gorgis had no friends. He spent his solitary hours imagining his rise to sociopathic glory. By what means, he had not yet determined. He used everyone and everything in his path. He read voraciously. While fumbling through a well-thumbed comic book being passed around among his classmates, he came upon an advertisement whose shadowy nature appealed strongly to him. It read, in part:

“Are you tired of getting no respect? Then buy it!

Bachelor of Agriculture Degree…98 cents. Optician’s Licence…$1.10

Chemist’s Licence…$1.15. Doctor of Divinity…$1.48

All framing of the highest quality.

University of Ledes. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

Little by little, Gorgis removed small amounts of money from his mother’s purse until he had amassed sufficient funds for his own mail order Doctor of Divinity. Wouldn’t his father, whose own fake credentials had been acquired by the same means, be taken aback when he saw his son’s purchased diploma hanging proudly in the den?

Alas, after waiting six months for his credentials to appear by post, Gorgis finally admitted to himself that he had been had. “How could these hucksters live with themselves?” he muttered, oblivious to the irony.

Despite his growing sociopathy, Lil’ Gorgeous was not without a warped sense of humour. Once, in 1901, on a visit to the movie theatre in Hanover, he executed an anonymous prank, still now remembered in awe. Saturday afternoons at the Hanover Cinematopia were reserved for kids only. For five cents, children could watch six hours of movies and stuff down cheap candy until they were green to the gills. No one was allowed in the balcony. If caught, the trespasser would have to deal with Big Bubba, a post-pubescent Cro-Magnon Man so thick he signed his name with a single downward slash (\) because he had trouble completing a full X.

Gorgis waited until the third feature had begun before entering the theatre. He kept the admission money given to him by his mother and snuck into the Cinematopia through a washroom window. He emerged from the washroom unseen and scurried to the refreshment counter. He ordered the Monster Tub of Popcorn and paid the full price, a thing which never failed to make him feel cheated.

While making sure no one was watching, Gorgis sidled up to the water fountain and, by a miracle of science, used the water to turn his mountain of popcorn into a gelatinous goop. Armed with his newly christened Monster Tub of Ooze, he climbed the stairs to the balcony as soon as he saw Big Bubba slide out an exit door for a well-deserved smoke. Up, up he went, smiling his fiendish smile. As he reached the edge of the balcony, he donned his mask. On the screen, the evil gunman was tying a fair maiden to the railway tracks. Every kid in the theatre was on the edge of his seat as the train stormed down the rails.

As the train rounded the last bend, Gorgis, hanging over the balcony railing, wailed in his loudest voice:

“I feel sick! Gawd! Oh Gawd! I’M GOING TO THROW UP!

AAAAAAHHHHHH! RAAAAALLPH!”

One hundred and twenty faces simultaneously turned up to the balcony as Gorgis squeezed the Monster Bucket of Ooze against his chest, thus causing its contents to fly up and over the throng below. Gorgis intensified his wretching noises as the slimy, snot-like tsunami splattered his helpless victims. Already stuffed to the gills with Gummy Bears, Sweet and Sours, popcorn, peanuts, licorice and soda pop, it did not take long for the first be-gooed kid to throw up. He was followed by the next, and the next, and the next, until the theatre was transformed into one gigantic vomitorium.

Gorgis calmly dropped the empty bucket and dashed out of the theatre in the same way he had come in. His exploit became the stuff of legend, a perfect crime in Gorgis’s eyes. Perfect because he would never be caught.