Parade Day

Dr. Filth grew up in Boonville, where a parade was held each weekend from March 3rd until November 31st, commemorating everything from the town band’s new flatbed truck, to an overstock of expired candy at the town grocer. Dr. Filth hated parades.

The parade was two weeks early for St. Zeno's Day, but was the closet day Metro City could schedule a bagpipe team. The tradition had been observed for years until "Parade Day" became an official holiday in the 80's. Each year, the Legion of Badguys infiltrated the parade to spark riots and public vomiting in a population eager to abuse a lack of rules. Villains disguised as police wander the streets with rolling kegs punching out anyone who doesn’t pay the finder’s tax.

Stupendous Guy had a brunch appointment across town, so Dr. Filth was put in charge of keeping the peace. Normally beloved among the cafes and bars, a superhero was no welcome addition to Parade Day’s festivities. Dr. Filth called his closest friend, Reset Button for help, but Reset was asleep. Doc continued calling until Reset went back in time to keep Dr. Filth from ever calling in the first place. Doc called each member of the Superhero Gang in turn, but all had previous engagements sure to last until late afternoon.

Dr. Filth found himself a position on the River Walk, with a commanding view of the Main Street Bridge. Horn blasts tore the silence, mixed with the shrill cry of a circular saw. The air was chill and cool. Unseen on the bank across the river, a crowd of people chanted, “Galvatron Rules!” It was a good day for a spectacle. Blood was sure to spill that afternoon.

People approached in tense packs, avoiding eye-contact and belching to establish dominance. None recognized Dr. Filth. No green, no glory. “A toast! A toast to St. Zeno! Everyone! Hell Yeah!” The circular saw bit mahogany once more.

The police threatened violence on anyone making trouble. On Parade Day, the police make the most. Bars not open by 9am are burned to the ground, owners hanging from the light posts out front. Not a good day to be impaired. Fists come slow and clumsy but connect like a rhinoceros.

A bass drum pounds the ritual and more power tools join the song. The War Tribe dances in open support for the Legion of Badguys. Women are screaming. Police abandoned the entire West Side by midnight. The dead will be tallied and removed on Monday. Until then, the corpses provide the feast.

Downtown filled quickly, and already aluminum chairs are being thrown at cars. Traffic will be shut down early this year. “Mom, why do we have to be quiet?”

“Just listen, you will know when they are near you.”

“Are they werewolves, mom?”

“I think so.”

“Maybe it’s worse.”

“GALVATRON RULES! GALVATRON RULES!”

The slow and aged are being thrown from the Main Street Bridge, and explosions are sounding against the riverside houses. Soon, the homeless will be cooked alive on great iron spits. Most recent information estimated the War Tribe at 300 warriors. Dr. Filth was alone on the river bank without even a handgun. Dr. Filth convinced himself the most effective course was to sit on the park bench and wait. Trumpets sound once more. Through it all, the busses were still running.

Dr. Filth considered hiding in the hills outside the city until order is restored. Every member of the Superhero Gang was assigned to clean up broken glass and trampled food off the sidewalks after nightfall. Why should he stand stay and be killed in the parade when every other superhero was off cutting their nails or shopping for Parade Day presents. It only took one stalled car on the South Hill to cut off all escape routes out of the city, and leave refugees at the mercy of the Townsfolk.

An inflatable palace has been erected at the center of town, and the police were corralling the biggest drunks here. When the War Tribe reaches Downtown, this will be the only line of defense. The bars will absorb most of the violence, but the fighting will be most intense here until each tavern is packed to capacity and the stragglers move on to seedier districts.

A lone girl in a green sweater wanders outside the police station. Any officers remaining inside will be drunk beyond restraint. She will be lucky to survive the parade. The rain will change it all. Someone is to blame. The parade will go on.

The rain is falling heavy by the time the drum corps sound and the marching begins up Court St. to Main. First armed infantry to absorb Molotov cocktails and vintage grenades dug from dusty boxes in moldy basements. An armored trolley follows to pick up last minute refugees of burning houses.

Car horns blare and drunk girls return. A SUV has crashed through the barricades, killing an auxillary police and the three flagbearers for the ‘Lil Lady Stompers Dance Corps. The parade is cut off. The crowd is restless, everyone loves a good parade. A police battalion is eager to respond. If someone doesn’t start marching, there is going to be war.

Spinning police lights race down Court toward the bridge, and shotguns are shoved in the bellies of the revellers. The carnage is circumvented when the 4th Kilted Drum Brigade form a line. The fighting pauses for the whistle, and quickly dissipates before the pounding feet. People are cheering. Little kids are crying. The firemen throw candy. Everything may still be okay.

The whole scene goes to hell when the news crews arrived. There was blood to report, and the vultures swooped in to have a taste before the carcasses turned rancid. Parade quickly turned to riot when the revelers realized they could be stars. A staggering frat boy with green hair slugged a sorority chick beside Dr. Filth. When Doc interceded, he was slugged as well. Dr. Filth convinced himself his nose was not broken and that he could stand without aid. The frat boy disappeared in a sea of green T-shirts peaking beneath brown overcoats. The sorority chick would have been unconscious soon anyway.

The reporters were tossing raw meat in the parade route, driving onlookers to spectacular levels of lust, hacked and broken body parts were tossed freely to spectators who chewed the flesh and painted their own faces with the blood. If Dr. Filth didn’t stop this madness, he was sure to lose his job again. To his horror, he Dr. Filth realized those were no reporters, they were Badguys! The thick one with spiky hair had worked for Ball Buster on a quarry-heist, and the shorter reporter once held up a lumber-yard.

Could even Stupendous Guy sweep these streets clean fast enough to save the lives of children already trampled under foot as they scurried to collect candy and rat poison spilling from overturned floats. Doc shoved through the jostling crowds, ducking clubs and dancing around knives.

Polished axes gleamed on the shoulders of a fireman gang picking up their step to join the fray. "Hup, two, three, four! Hup, two, three, four!" Dr. Filth leapt from a brick plant potter to rescue a ginger-haired preschooler in the path of the ogres. Only the police patrol made a more promising target for the firemen, allowing Dr. Filth the seconds he needed to slip back in the crowd and deposit the child in a garbage can where it should be safe until the horror subsided.

The fierce battle between the police and firemen had stopped the parade entirely. Doc hopped an orange police sawhorse and raced down a sidestreet. Doc got back on Court Street to find the parade moving again. A paper machae float showed a drunk rabbit bashing a leprechaun with a Jack-O-Lantern. Miss Metro City was chained between two poles, screaming for help from the fire lit by a stray cigarette. Dr. Filth tried to reach her, but he was pummeled for taking the fun out of the parade. Dr. Filth convinced himself there was nothing he could do, and that both legs were still working properly.

It was raining harder now, diluting the blood into deep puddles. Police were hammering freely on anyone coming too close. Gore sprayed everywhere. Paramedics fought to get in on all sides, but found themselves meat for the feast. Do-gooders were not welcome on this rainy day.

Past the Court House there was little congestion. Few bars meant fewer people, and even less police. Easy picking for the drug addicts and homeless who were bold enough to look their victims in the eye while demanding money. No need to threaten with gun or knife, body odor alone is enough to make spectators empty their pockets and run screaming.

Dr. Filth convinced himself there was no time for this level of villainy. The Mayor will call for peace soon. From then until midnight, all police were off duty and still permitted to carry guns. Anyone caught in the street was fair game for vigilante justice. When there were no more victims, random people would be dragged from the bars to be drawn and quartered in the intersections. Bad was on the verge of worse.

Doc reached the library running. Nothing but winos and city council sprawled on the sidewalk with empty bottles and vials scattered around them. Doc jumped and skipped over the bodies nimbly. A few reached for his wallet, but moved too slow. The parade started at the new bar past the library that offered complimentary anal sex with no complications, but only to straight people. Dr. Filth could see the bar, concealed by only a few trees and the corner of a street. Drunken float operators and bagpipers lingered about the door with squirrelly queens sneaking glances up kilts and under sporrans. The mayor was outside, but still had a full pint-glass of whiskey. His handlers were corralling him toward his paper mache throne.

To Dr. Filth’s shock and awe, standing next to the Mayor was Adradian, one-time arch-nemesis of Stupendous Guy, and father of Bureaucraticus, who became head of the Superhero Gang in Stupendous Guy’s ill-fated bid to retire. Their last encounter had resulted in the jailing of Evyl Linn, Stupendous Guy’s return from retirement, and the deposing of Bureaucraticus. This would make anyone sore, especially Adradian. Could it be Adradian who was behind the Parade Day debacle? Dr. Filth convinced himself it was true.

Approaching with caution, Dr. Filth tried to stay out of sight. As the Mayor finished his drink, Adradian handed him another.

Dr. Filth leapt into action, diving from the crowd and slapping the pint glass from Adradian’s hand. The glass exploded on the broken concrete sidewalk, splashing Dr. Filth’s feet with glass and brown liquid. “Adradian!” Dr. Filth cried. “You’re under arrest for inciting a riot!”

Adradian stared in shock. “You fool!” he barked in a thick Hungarian accent. His spindly body rose to its imposing full height. His long, knobby fingers stretched like branches for Dr. Filth. “It's too late! Nobody will understand a word he says!"

The Mayor staggered toward the float where two ogres helped life the Mayor to his throne.

"Viva la re-valoosy-on," shouted a thin man in skat. He wore a body-suit the color of millet and hair that shot up in a long, electric style. "Your clock is cooked, ducks! You're going down two-by-two. This riot is the work of Yeller-eYe. That's 'yeller,' like the color. Dr. Filth, prepare to meet your doom!"

Adradian wandered back inside the bar, lip curling with annoyance. The Mayor was already singing boisterously and waving his arms as his float trundled away unnoticed.

"You see, the Mayor is so inebriated, nobody will ever understand his cries for peace," Yeller eYe said, rubbing his gloved hands together.

"Those were your goons tossing meat!" Dr. Filth realized, closing for combat.

"Correct! I disguised them as newsmen so they can videotape me getting silencing the crowds. Only after my goons have beaten the crud out of Metro City will I get them under control. When the world sees those videos, they will make me king for the afternoon. Metro City will tremble before my wrath!”

“Everyone put your pants on!” Stupendous Guy shouted, stepping from the crowd, fists on his hips. Stupendous Guy's eyes lit up when Adradian returned outside with a freshened tumbler of Scotch. “Adradian! I figured you were behind this. I’m placing you under arrest.” Dr. Filth grabbed Stupendous Guy's elbow, but Stupendous Guy brushed him aside. "Throw down your weapons and hand over that Scotch!"

"It wasn't him," Dr. Filth said.

"Of course it was," Stupendous Guy answered, punching Adradian in thethe stomach, doubling over the old man. "The only place you'll be king is in jail, Adradian."

"It was me," Yeller eYe said.

Stupendous Guy looked over his shoulder and furrowed his brow at the sight of Yeller eYe. "I don't even know who you are. Who are you talking to?"

"He started the riot!" Dr. Filth shouted. "He's guilty, let go of Adradian and capture him!"

By this time, Yeller eYe had escaped down an alley and through a backyard. Dr. Filth got winded at the thought of chasing that willowy quary. The Mayor was by now out of sight.

“The police are about to rip this city apart!” Adradian protested. “If the mayor doesn’t tell them the secret word, hundreds of people are going to die.”

"What sway do you have over the Mayor?" Stupendous Guy asked.

"I've taught him a spell to stop the violence, Adradian said. "When he reaches downtown, he'll unleash a phrase that will resound through the ages, marking not only our time, but our culture for generations to remember. He'll make them chant along with him, ensuring that when Stupendous Guy is forgotten, the people will still shout, 'Adradian okay!' That's why I started the riot!"

"That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard," Stupendous Guy said, pushing Adradian into the waiting handcuffs of the police officers rushing to help. "Take him away, boys." Stupendous Guy smiled and put his arm around Dr. Filth. Columns of smoke were rising from Downtown. Gunshots were clapping regularly. “Come on, Dr. Filth,” Stupendous Guy said. “We’ve got work to do.”

"What about Yeller eYe?" Dr. Filth asked.

Stupendous Guy cocked an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Yeller eYe," Dr. Filth repeated. "The other villain. He claimed to be responsible for the riot, not Adradian. We might have arrested the wrong man."

"I arrested," Stupendous Guy said. "I did all the arresting." Before Dr. Filth could respond, Stupendous Guy smiled and pointed to the fire. "We can't catch them all, Doctor," he said. "If you do, you'll put yourself out of a job."

Peace and prosperity would soon reign in Metro City once more.

END