Friday, March 27, 2009

Badasses of Songdom: Triangle Man v. Bungalow Bill

Some time ago here at FO, Triangle Man picked a fight with Universe Man. If you recall (and judging from the analytics, you won't), Triangle Man won that bout on points, in a nailbiter. That made Triangle Man undisputed champion of his own song, and he's been riding high and itching for another fight ever since. Message bricks through my window, toilet paper in the shrubbery, the whole nine yards.

So in this post I have the pleasure of announcing — only slightly under duress — Feigned Outrage's Badasses of Songdom Series. Triangle Man's opponent today? That All-American, bullet-headed Saxon mother's son of Beatles lore: Bungalow Bill.
As you know, Bill's a Nimrod-the-Hunter type. Probably more nimrod than hunter, but don't underestimate him. Bill brings an elephant and blunderbuss with him to this fight . . . and a bit of chip on his shoulder after that incident with Captain Marvel. And Triangle Man has agreed to stage today's combat deep in the jungle: that is, right in Bill's comfort zone.

On the other hand, Triangle Man is a cold-blooded, hateful, feisty son of a bitch with three equally sharp corners (he's gone equilateral today), and he's been working out.

So let's get things started, shall we?

Taking a cue from Captain Marvel, Triangle Man has receded into the shadows. He has the advantage of stealth, whereas Bill is plodding around in the trees with a frickin' elephant. A surprise attack is surely in order . . . "AHA!" Triangle Man cries, swinging through the air on a vine (he hasn't perfected the Tarzan yell). But wait! There's the elephant, but where's Bill?

"Right behind you, Tiger."

A trap! Well played, Bungalow Bill! Triangle Man has to think fast. He has done his research. He knows Bill has proved susceptible to moral confusion in the past. Pinned down between the roots of a giant kapok tree, staring down the barrel of Bill's gun, Triangle Man plays his ace: "Is it not a sin, Bill, to shoot down a geometric figure in cold blood?"

Fierce-faced Bill lowers his gun. He is angry: Triangle Man challenged him to this fight, then skipped away like a rabbit. Now that he's been caught, he's trying the emotional appeal. Unfair, he decides. And hardly sporting! "MUMMY!" he shouts.

"I'm here," Bill's mother says, stepping blithely out from where she had been crouched, behind a termite's nest. "And for cryin' out loud, Billy: you call me 'mama.' I didn't raise no mummy's boy Inglishman. Now I seen the way this-here Triangle Fella been treatin' you and it ain't right." Bungalow Bill's mother glares at Triangle Man. I mean, she really glares at him. Let me put it this way: if looks could kill, it would have been Triangle Man lying at the base of the fateful kapok tree, vanquished.

But looks don't kill, do they? And so instead it's Bill, his mother, and his elephant down on the ground nursing puncture wounds, and it's Triangle Man standing over them all, wiping off his three corners with a Purell-soaked handkerchief and taunting his fallen foe in song:

Triangle Man, Triangle Man. Triangle Man hates Bungalow Bill. They have a fight. Hey, Bungalow Bill: what did you kill? Nobody. Triangle wins. TRIANGLE MAN.

See you next week.

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