The Zellbaca Chronicles

The Armchair Incident

A few years back, Tony and a friend of ours at the time, hereafter referred to as Slapper, had an odd, yet entertaining custom. Periodically, we'd steal garbage from people's alleys and take it up to a hill where we would destroy it with other garbage. The most predominant weapon was the Megaton Hammer. That's right. Just like from Zelda. We're dorks, get used to it.

In all actuality, this Megaton Hammer was what appeared to be the axle of a riding lawn mower. It's big. It's heavy. It's rusty. Just like Tony!

So, obviously, the place where we committed such crimes was dubbed Megaton Hill. For it was a hill. And on it we found the Megaton Hammer. Makes sense, yes?

Well, one evening, in the beginning of a dry fall, we exhumed a stained, moldy armchair from the alley between 11th and 12th streets. In fact, “stealing” our prize was half the fun. However, upon arriving at the site, we realized a big soft piece of furniture would be fairly resistant to blunt force, unlike our usual prey of mirrors and frozen trout. We did what we were able with our beloved weapon of minute destruction. We knocked the back rest off the seat and removed the swiveling base from the bottom.

At this point, we’d reached a stymy. We carefully considered how we could violate this upholstered victim further. Producing a rather small pocket knife, I began slashing away at the fabric. It was certainly a less gratifying form of annihilation, but we were at a loss. Digging further into my pocket, I discovered a lighter...

Now, I’m not stupid. I know what happens when combustion is introduced to a dry landscape. But I wanted some goddamn destruction! I merely lit the wooden frame and a bit of fabric aflame. It was nice and controlled. However, Slapper must have inhaled some of the smoke, because he, in his infinite brilliance, dropped a big piece of foam from the cushion on the fire.

Think “lighter fluid”.

The three of us stood there watching the fire. “You do realize we’re in deep shit, right?” I asked. They knew...

We had very little resources, none of which were water. We had the Megaton Hammer and remnants of past massacres. We secured a coffee can, an old abandoned shirt, and the aforementioned trout. I’m still not quite sure how we thought of it, but as Tony was furiously smacking the fire with the trout, I was hacking away at the tire ruts in the hillside with our trademark instrument while Slapper was shoveling the loosened terra onto the furious flame. As I mentioned, that damn “hammer” is fuggin’ heavy. I quickly tired from swinging it repeatedly. Ordering Tony to take over, I began scanning the landscape for more firefighting tools.

Failing in my efforts, I decided to try to smother the flames with the old shirt. Surprisingly, it worked fairly well. Until the shirt caught on fire.

Switching shifts on the excavating again, I began the shoveling while Slapper provided the dirt. My memory seems to be failing me, no doubt due the trauma, but it seems like Tony was using his man hands to aid in the distribution of earth.

Eventually, the fire was quelled. Reeking of smoke, it was time to take Tony to a job interview. Awesome. So, we doused him with aftershave and called it good.

When the site is visited, the charred remains of that day still remind us of the only time the victim fought back.