My march to conquer the world was going well. I had decided
as a freshman that one day I would carefully dress in my uniform, lace up my
dinkles, don my saxophone, and start on my path to world domination. It was
late July before my sophomore year and I had already marched on the White
House, the Parliaments of most European countries, and I was on my way to China to plant
a foot in Hu Jiantou’s face.
The United Nations had already
tried to send Captain America
after me. I took his shield in a series of fluid body movements (particularly fitting
for a ballad) and chucked it into the Atlantic Ocean .
He was angry of course – even more so after I kick-halted his face. What
Captain America didn’t realize was that the Director of Bands, Dukart, had
trained me to march through anything.
All I had to do now was march
through Russia
and the world would be mine.
At least, that was what I thought
before I met my bane.
The Russian government sent it after
me. The President and Prime Minister of Russia decided to call in the one
thing that could possibly defeat me (they secretly hoped we would defeat each
other).
It was nighttime and I was marching
through the barren wasteland that was near the town of Siberia , almost ready to shift my efforts
southward when I heard it – a soft cackling coming from within the darkness. My
blood felt like ice in my veins as I looked around for the source. From within
a ditch between two hills, two glowing yellow eyes peered at me.
“Bugs!” it moaned from the
darkness. Suddenly, it scuttled out from the ditch, creeping toward me at
alarming speed.
I marked time while appraising the
creature. It had six legs, each long, bright green, and sheathed in an
exoskeleton. The two arms were nothing but bent pincers. Its face, though soft
and squishy, had two, terribly sharp mandibles clicking together excitedly as
the yellow eyes dissected me. The worst part: it was wearing a diaper.
“Bugs!” it cried, more animatedly
than before.
Although every part of me wanted to
shriek “Band-Panic-Hut!” and run away screaming, I changed my tempo at mark
time. “Forward-March!” I bellowed, taking off at a perfect eight-to-five step
size, right for the praying mantis baby. My dinkle connected solidly with its
spongy head. The praying mantis baby fell. For a moment, I stood, marking time,
to make sure the thing was dead. Its gaze was glazed over and glassy, showing
evidence that whatever intelligence had been behind the yellow was gone.
Take that Russia !
They thought they could send a simple baby after me, but they underestimated my
power.
Laughing quietly to myself, I
turned to the south. It was time for China .
An inhale of breath, no louder than
a wisp of air, echoed behind me.
No,
I thought, the blood draining from my face. It couldn’t be! I had made sure my
marching technique was flawless so there would be no mistake of its demise. No
recovery should have been possible!
I whirled around. The pointy green
legs that had popped off on impact were still twitching on the ground, but out
from the sockets more legs were growing. It was regenerating! Its smashed in
head, still marked with the tread of my dinkle, was inflating, growing a
greenish hue as an exoskeleton grew beneath the thin baby flesh. Less baby existed
within the praying mantis baby than before. If I continued this assault, it
would be more bug than baby.
“Bugs,” the praying mantis baby
groaned, rolling around on the ground until its pincer like legs lifted it up.
“Revenge!” it screamed.
As much as I hated to accept
defeat, my march to conquer the world was over.
“Band-Panic-Hut!” I shrieked,
waited two counts, and then bolted back toward home at a spectacular jazz-run,
arms flailing.
Band
camp will begin in a week, I told myself. I would have had to stop my march on the world anyway.
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