Wonkette Presents THE SPLIT: Chapter Twenty-Nine

In which our heroine has pizza for the first time and readies herself to be an old fogie.

“I was going to be his thesis advisor,” Wilma said between bites of pizza. “He would have made a great professor. Whip those kids’ brains into shape.”

Stimpy gave her an affectionate smile. He said to Lorinda, “Wilma’s the one behind everything we’re doing. She made it all happen.”

They were in a small hotel room. A pizza box occupied the middle of the bed. Lorinda sat cross-legged at the head while Stimpy sat on the edge to Lorinda’s right, Wilma at the foot of the bed. “I’ve never had pizza like this,” Lorinda said. “So good.”

“You don’t get good pizza in Perfecton?” Stimpy asked. “Isn’t everything perfect there? By definition?”

“The only kind we get comes on little muffins. It’s like: muffin, a slice of tomato, and some cheese on top. Open-faced.”

“That’s not pizza,” Wilma said between bites. “That’s not even a good muffin. And, by the way, this isn’t such great pizza either. The man who runs the pizza parlor here, he owned a pizza joint in Brooklyn. New York City. Left during the Great Migration. Total religious nut. Like everyone here.” She took another bite. “He’s always complaining about mozzarella.”

 “Who’s Mozzarella?” Lorinda asked.

“It’s a kind of cheese.”

“Tastes good to me,” Lorinda said. “So you figured out how to get girls out of the country for a … reset?”

“She was doing it even before The Split,” Stimpy said. “They were outlawing abortions way earlier.”

“It wasn’t an original idea,” said Wilma. “The original Underground Railroad beat us to it in the nineteenth century. Not to imply that they were doing it for exactly the same reasons, mind you.”

“This woman I met in Little Harlem used those words, ‘Underground Railroad.’ I never heard that before.”

“Education in these here Confederated States,” Wilma said, with a shake of her head. She picked up another slice of pizza.

“The nineteenth-century Underground Railroad,” Stimpy explained, “was a secret network of people who brought slaves from the South, the slave states, up north to the free states.”

“And Canada,” Wilma added.

“Wow,” said Lorinda. “Brave.”

”When it was obvious that education was dead in this dumb New Country — and it was obvious right away — your boy Stimpy here got busy running all around Texas, and most of the rest of the CCSA. Rounding up people who felt the same way we did.”

“It was all her,” Stimpy said. “I was like her lieutenant. Support staff.”

“He’s way too modest.”

“It’s pretty … heroic,” Lorinda said, then instantly felt foolish. “And all your funny names? What’s that about?”

“I taught a class called The History of the American Cartoon,” said Wilma. “Probably my favorite class of all time. Very close to my heart. When we started making plans to do this it was clear that we’d be in danger, and that as a precaution we should adopt aliases. To me it seemed natural to use cartoon names — the names of cartoon characters — and that’s what we did. Of course, not everyone loved the idea.”

“She’s met Bill and Hillary,” Stimpy said.

“Ahh, Bill and Hillary. So much more dignified than Mickey and Minnie.” Then, to Lorinda: “Do you have the vaguest idea who the real Ren and Stimpy are? Or were?”

Lorinda shrugged.

Wilma reached down and grabbed a screen pad from her bag on the floor. “Ren and Stimpy,” she said to the pad.

A moment later she passed it to Lorinda, who started giggling almost immediately as she watched two surreal animals — what they were supposed to be she couldn’t tell — beat the living hell out of each other. “Stimpy’s the one on the right,” Wilma said.

“I see why you gave them those names,” she said to Wilma as the clip ended and the next one began with Ren saying, “Steempy, you eedjit….”

“We picked those names ourselves.” Stimpy tried to laugh, but some deeper feeling overwhelmed him and choked it off. He looked away, eyes tearing. Lorinda put down the pad and started to move toward him, but Wilma got there first, sliding over and enveloping him with a hug. Head on her shoulder, he wept until he was out of tears, finally saying: “I didn’t do anything. I could have saved him.”

“You didn’t know that guy was a lunatic,” Lorinda said. “You couldn’t know he was going to shoot.”

“I should have known.”

“No,” Lorinda said firmly. “You couldn’t. Crazy is crazy and unpredictable.”

“He was a wonderful man,” Wilma said, patting Stimpy’s back. “He loved you dearly. And he died for the cause.”

Stimpy heaved a great sigh, then stood and wordlessly headed to the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

Wilma also stood, picked up her pad, dropped it into her bag, and looked intensely at Lorinda. “How do you feel?”

“I’m okay,” Lorinda said. “I mean, I can’t believe what happened to Ren. Roger …”

“Physically,” Wilma said. “How are you physically?”

“Oh, that. I don’t feel anything at all yet. I mean, it’s so early. I feel normal.”

“Good.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” Lorinda continued. “He was just some random guy at the bar —”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Wilma. “These things happen. We’ll help you deal with it.” Then, projecting her voice so Stimpy could hear her over the running water, she said “Don’t go anywhere tonight. I’ll be back in the morning with Archie. He’ll finish you up — costumes, hair, makeup, the whole deal. When he’s done, you’ll look like old fogies. You won’t recognize yourselves. There’s a bed and a couch. You can figure out who sleeps where.”

“You can have the bed,” Lorinda and Stimpy called out at the same time.

Lorinda laughed and hollered: “Steempy, you eedjit!”

“You’ll work it out,” Wilma said. “Try to get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

“I have one question,” Lorinda said. “Would a couple of old fogies take the Rapture Ride?”

“Definitely,” said Wilma. “That’s a fogie ride.”  Then, whispering: “Take good care of him. He’s a little fragile right now.” With that, she left.

Wilma and Archie arrived at 6:30 the next morning. Although only in his mid-thirties, Archie’s hair was white. Crewcut. He was almost unhealthily thin and wore a tight white tee-shirt, tight white pants, and white sneakers. Having finished with Stimpy, he was standing and staring at Lorinda. “You don’t want your hair as white as mine,” he said. “You don’t want to stand out. And anyway, it’s too much work.” He jerked his head toward Wilma, sitting on the side of the bed. “Maybe something like hers. A nice, dull gray.”

“Fuck you,” Wilma said.

“Language!”

Lorinda sat in the room’s only chair, backed up against a small chest of drawers. Archie plopped down on the bed next to Stimpy and continued studying Lorinda.

Meanwhile, Lorinda was gazing at Stimpy and shaking her head. “I literally don’t recognize you,” she said to him. His hair was a distinguished steely gray and quite a bit shorter than it had been. The beard was gone, replaced by realistic-looking creases and crinkles.

“Wait till I get done with you,” Archie said to Lorinda. “And we haven’t even talked about your boring costumes yet.”

Wilma, turning to Stimpy, said, “You should shuffle around a little. Get used to walking old.”

Stimpy stood and hobbled in a circle in the small patch of available floor space.

Wilma laughed. “You can loosen up a bit,” she said. “You look like a little kid playing old.”

He shuffled past Wilma.  “I think the secret is to walk careful,” he said. “How’s this?”

“Better.”

Stimpy stopped at the small night table by the head of the bed. “Think you can get us another car before we leave tomorrow?” he asked while opening the night table drawer and extracting a book that said Holy Bible on its cover.

“Working on it,” said Wilma.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Lorinda. “What’s with the lit-up underwear and flashing jewelry and all that?”

“I guess you’re not a Rapturist,” Stimpy said. “The idea is, when the Rapture arrives—”

“You’d better get naked!” Archie interjected. “Looking forward to it!”

 “Only those who are pure of heart get swept up to heaven,” Stimpy said. “Meaning, those who have accepted Jesus. But somehow it’s better if you’re not wearing any clothes.”

“Everything’s better without clothes,” Archie said.

Wilma took over the lecture. “Some people believe that’s nonsense about the clothing. Others say that God’ll undress you automatically, because only your natural body can make the journey. No clothes, no tattoos, or dental fillings, or jewelry, or prostheses, or fake boobs. Nothing you weren’t born with. You sometimes see people arguing, right out on the street, about what happens if you don’t take off your clothes. You go straight to hell! No you don’t! Jesus rejects you! No! He loves you whether you’re wearing clothes or not! They go on and on. It’s fucking insane. Just a couple of months ago two women were arguing about it in a store, right down the street from here, and one of them ended up with a bullet in her head.”

“She was shot because of a stupid argument?” Lorinda asked, eyes wide.

“Stone cold dead,” said Wilma. “And the shooter wasn’t arrested! She said they were having a doctrinal dispute. No one, not the security force, not the Council of Elders, was willing to call it a crime.”

“What happened to Maintain the Population?” Lorinda said.

“This is an enclave,” Wilma said. “They make up the laws as they go along.”

“Wait a minute,” Stimpy said. “They still have a Council of Elders?”

“Hell, yeah,” Wilma said. “It wouldn’t be Revelation without those loonies. But they’re just figureheads. It’s the Richie Riches in Austin who run the place.”

 Stimpy suddenly remembered the book he had in his hand. “This can’t be THE Bible!” he said. “It’s too thin!” He held it open so the others could see. “It says Holy Bible but it’s, like, fifteen pages long. And it’s illustrated. It’s a fucking comic book!” He flipped through it before looking at Wilma. “There’s just one chapter: Revelation!”

“Whadja expect?” Archie cracked. “You think people around here can read?”

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PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!

Chapter One. In which we meet our heroine and her dainty little gun.

Chapter Two. In which Lorinda demonstrates her bartending virtuosity.

Chapter Three. In which our heroine receives a promotion and prepares to celebrate.

Chapter Four. In which our heroine proves herself an immoral citizen of the CCSA.

Chapter Five. In which our heroine goes to church.

Chapter Six. In which Lorinda contemplates her future, ignores Pastor Doug, and gets something unexpected from Emmie.

Chapter Seven. In which Lorinda learns something that threatens her big dream.

Chapter Eight. In which our heroine freaks out.

Chapter Nine. In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.

Chapter Ten. In which two unpleasant men perturb our heroine.

Chapter Eleven. In which our heroine seems to have found a solution to her problem.

Chapter Twelve. In which that black truck follows our heroine all the way to Austin.

Chapter Thirteen. In which Lorinda lashes out.

Chapter Fourteen. In which our heroine gets a taste of life in the big city.

Chapter Fifteen. In which our heroine meets a fellow bartender and has a drink.

Chapter Sixteen. In which Lorinda once again takes a swing with her little pink gun.

Chapter Seventeen. In which our heroine prepares to escape.

Chapter Eighteen. In which our heroine gets in a truck with a couple of slightly scary strangers.

Chapter Nineteen. In which our heroine learns that she’s got a long way to go.

Chapter Twenty. In which our heroine spends a night in a gas station.

Chapter Twenty-One. In which our heroine learns about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Two. In which our heroine learns way too much about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Three. In which our heroine experiences liberty run amok.

Chapter Twenty-Four. In which our heroine’s escape is disastrously derailed.

Chapter Twenty-Five. In which our heroine finds herself back at the gas station.

Chapter Twenty-Six. In which Stimpy, on the road to Revelation, reveals Ren’s real name.

Chapter Twenty-Seven. In which our heroine manages not to crash the car as she learns more about CCSA enclaves.

Chapter Twenty-Eight. In which Lorinda and Stimpy enter Revelation.

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