Fater banged against the hard plasti-glass. Within a few short minutes, his hands were aching. The police officer stared back at him and smiled. Fater could not smile back. He had no mouth.
"Bastard!" Fated yelled. Fater was something of a rebel.
Fater frantically pulled at the door handles.. all were locked. He turned around on the seat and placed his back against the back of the seat. He gently kicked out the back window of the police car. The police officer stopped smiling and began driving instead. Fater climbed out the back of the window and onto the glass-covered trunk. He slipped about as he stared out at the streets which rushed past. He then decided that this was his chance. Taking out his large slabs of recycled smute, he nailed them together in a roughly rectangular shape. He then proceeded to mount on brick after brick, until the structure was firm. Walking indoors, he mounted windows, installed carpets, staircases, elevators, ropes, snakes, goat-o-matics, etc. He contructed a bed on the third floor in the suite, and laid down and went to sleep.
At 11:30pm that night, the doorbell rang something fierce. Fater put on his bathrobe and angrily took the lift downstairs. Opening the door, he recognized his arresting officer.
"Yes?" Fater asked.
"Nice place," said the officer, walking inside uninvited.
"Sorry about the mess, I just built it." "It's alright."
"I doubt that. How can I help you?" Fater inquired. "I'm looking for a man named Fater. He escaped from my police vehicle and then proceeded to build a house on top of it."
"Well, that's ridiculous, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"The description of that house matches the description of this house."
"Which is?" "On top of a police vehicle."
"I see," Fater said, nervously. Perhaps the opportunity hadn't been quite so golden as he had imagined.
"Anyhow, come with me, please." "Or you'll?"
"Well, you see. This house is presently on top of a police vehicle, which is currently travelling along the highway at approximately 90 km/h. If I don't get down there before the next bridge, we'll all die. And I'm not leaving without you."
"Aha. And there we have the ultimatum." "If that's what you want to call it."
"I see," said Fater. He did. Often. "Yes. Well. Shall we go, then?"
"Now?" "Well, yes."
"I was sleeping." "In bed?"
"Yes, actually." "Oh!"
"Why does that startle you so?" "It's just that, back in the bayou, we never..."
"Go on." "We never... had..... beds."
"Tragic! Come on then, let us voyage upstairs," said Fater, as he gently mounted the escalator to the third floor. The police officer followed. They sat down on opposite queen sized beds.
"Nice beds," commented the police officer. "Thank you, I try."
"Well then, what do you suggest?" "You could come along peacefully."
"Ha! Can't you see that rebellious look in my eye? Don't you remember my daring escape from your police vehicle?"
"Actually, you merely escaped on to the roof." "Oh get technical."
"Sorry." "It's alright."
"Really?" "No, not at all. Actually, I'm scarred for life, I was just being polite. You know how people are. It's almost a required responce. 'Sorry' 'It's alright, she was just my wife.'"
"Hey! I never killed your wife!" "No?"
"No. Not in the least." "Wounded?"
"No!" "Are you sure?"
"Welll..." the police officer mumbled. "Are you?"
"Maybe just a little." "Aha! You should be arresting yourself, not I, oh minstrel of the night."
"That's against the law, I'm afraid." "You would know, criminal bastard," Fater yelled at the now sobbing police officer.
"Sorry," the police officer mumbled. "Whatever. Perhaps a snack would be in order."
"Yes, I could go for some Milepost Trout." "I think not. Are you partial to (dramatic pause) optical corn?"
"All too partial! Wink!" With this, Fater and the police officer strolled down a spiralling staircase into Fater's second floor kitchen, where they helped themselves to a few loaves of optical corn.
"Corn," said Fater. "Yes."
"Heh, who knew?" "The Indians," stated the police officer.
Fater looked at the police officer ruefully as he proceeded to grab his collar and slam his disobiedient head into the hard oak table.
"Cut it out," said the police officer. "Sorry," said Fater, releasing the police officer and sitting back down. "Good corn, though."
"Optical." "Yes."
"Too optical?" "No, just right."
"Just optical enough." "Amen."
"If it was more optical, it would be too optical." "Mmm."
"Of course, if it was less optical, it wouldn't be quite optical enough."
"I suppose." "Hence we may deduce that this is Utopian Optical Corn. The Pinnacle of Optical Corn Technology. The best optical corn, worldwide," said the police officer smugly.
"Yes." "Well, no."
"You're right. Sorry," apologized Fater. "It's alright."
"Is it?" "Not really. But I'm not going to hold a grudge."
"Maybe you will." "I just said that I will not," the police officer countered.
"It could be another lie." "Another?"
"You said 'It's alright', when it wasn't. A lie." "Sorry."
"It's NOT alright! So HA!" Fater said, cruelly denouncing every molecule constituting or associated with the police officer's living corpse.
"Sob," sobbed the police officer, sadly. "Sorry," Fater apologized.
"It's alright." "DAMN YOU!!! You lying bastard. You're devastated. There is NOTHING alright about it! It is all WRONG!"
"Sorry." "It's alright," Fater replied.
The police officer paused. "Well, I'm leaving." "Why, exactly?"
"I do believe a bridge is coming up, and I have no desire to be on top of my police vehicle at the moment of impact."
"I got you into this, I suppose." "Ummm...don't let it trouble you."
"I insist." "Er, well. It's... that is... there is no problem."
"No, I feel rotten. And very, very .. SORRY." "It's alright.. damn! I didn't want to say that!"
"I kind of tricked you into saying that. My apologies."
"It's alri.... no. It is not. You shall pay," said the police officer. He proceeded to pull out his large black pistol and place fourteen bullets inside Fater.
"Ow," said Fater. "Sorry."
"It's.. nothing." "How dare you?"
"Which part?" "The chair thing."
"Oh, sorry," said Fater, kicking the police officer in the gut.
"Sorry," said the police officer, smashing Fater in the head with his pistol.
"Sorry," said Fater, as he wrestled the gun away from the police officer.
"Sorry," said the police officer as he punched Fater in the face.
"Sorry," said Fater, as he proceeded to insert nine fresh bullets in the police officer's head.
The police officer did not reply aloud, but his final thought was, "It's alright."
"It sure is. Everything's alright. Eveyrthing always has been alright, everything always will be alright. We're all lucky to be alive. Or dead. We're just lucky, lucky, lucky!" Fater exclaimed happily to a nearby fridge. When the fridge did not reply, Fater shot it.
"Sorry," said Fater. "Hum," said the fridge. That's fridge language for 'it's alright', which is the only thing fridges ever say.
Fater now proceeded down another staircase and into the front lobby of his fine mansion. He pulled aloft the front door of his grand mansion, allowing in a large cement bridge, which proceeded to pave over Fater's living corpse, crushing it into crunchy Fater pudding. The bridge didn't apologize, of course, but Fater replied "It's alright."
The bridge continued to roam on through the house, casually destroying everything Fater had worked so hard to build. The bridge went out through the back, and continued to race away. Fater's fine house lay dead in the middle of the highway, complimented nicely by a wide array of vehicles of all sorts which happily crashed into it. The police vehicle drove on. Everything was alright.