When is a broken coffee mug something more than a broken coffee mug?



Man has ascribed meaning to the inanimate since time immemorial. From the freshly pulled entrails of a goat preaching portents of doom, to grand structures that were to serve as waypoints between the Earth and the heavens. People name their plants. They name their cars. They delegate them personalities. Children speak to dolls and envision them speaking back. Plastic Hasbro stand ins on the receiving end of genuine love and affection.

Objects can hold intrinsic meaning. They can hold the meaning assigned to them by man.

And as Corey looked down at the shattered mug, he struggled with its meaning. Ostensibly, it was just shattered ceramic. The smiley face on it had been bifurcated, its mouth and eyes each standing alone. “Have a beautiful day” it once said. Now “beautiful” was somewhere under the fridge.

Corey?

Dropping back onto terra firma, and secretly thankful for it, he turned to see a middle aged black woman in the doorway of the kitchen. Jack said a limo just pulled up with strange flags on it. Then, noticing the mug, Are you okay?

I want to call Dolly.


She can be trusted with….?



Corey…? She prodded gently.

Corey roused, running a hand down his face. Yeah. Sorry. Just waking up. Did you say “a limo with weird flags”?

Yeah, it’s just idling at the gate. Some Asian guy was driving and said it was a “diplomatic mission “.

Corey mouths the words “diplomatic mission” as he turns it over and over in his head. Then, with a start, he groans. Oh no...not right now….

You know who this is?

Yeah.

You want us to let him in?

Corey chews the inside of his cheek contemplatively. Maybe? Then, with a sigh, Yeah...sure, go ahead. And thank you Rhonda. I’ll meet them outside.

Rhonda nods and starts speaking into a walkie talkie as she goes. Corey looks back down at the broken mug, and he sluggishly goes to retrieve a broom and dust pan. As he scoops it up, the shard with the smile flips right side up in the dust pan. Scowling in reply, he goes to the garbage can and unceremoniously dumps the contents inside.

Then, moving towards the kitchen exits, he suddenly stops to assess what he’s wearing. Fuzzy bathrobe. Star Wars “Baby Yoda” t-shirt. Basketball shorts. Crocs. Fuck it. He mutters, and continues his trek towards the front door. He’s not even halfway there when he hears a commotion.

Corey asked to meet you outside!

A callous snort. I’m sorry, do you know who I am?

No sir, I don’t. And I can’t even read your ID!

It’s a typical North Korean state ID card. It’s not my problem that Americans are uneducated halfwits who never bothered to learn the subtle beauty and grace of Chosŏn'gŭl! I….then, he notices Corey. Mr. Smith, would you please discipline your house woman? She’s being recalcitrant!

“House woman”?!!

Corey rushes to Rhonda’s side, laying a placating hand on her shoulder. You know what, I think what we got here is a typical case of cultural misunderstanding. I’ll take it from here, Rhonda!

With a withering look, Rhonda eventually allows Corey to gently pull her away from the commotion. Then, once she’s well enough down the hall, Corey sizes up the man standing in his doorway.

Apologies for all the bother…..um….. He sneaks a glance down at an American phrasebook he’s trying to peek at inconspiculously. …..chum! Been to any good….another peek…..Nascar races lately?

Uhhhh….no.Corey’s eyes go from the book back to his face. North Korean War Criminal. Jesus, I just feel so strange calling you that. Do you have a real name or…?

That IS my real name.

An awkward silence expands between them until Corey pops it. Is it cool if I call you NK for short?

It will suffice. He looks around the entryway and returns the phrasebook to a back pocket. I must say Mr. Smith, I was intrigued when I heard you drafted me.

He squints one eye shut in a sign of beleaguered surprise. You were?

Yes. I’ve heard much about Corey’s Smith’s famed Commune. And I think with just a little more finessing I can have you operating at peak Korean efficiency in no time. And then, of course, there is the matter of discussing strategy for War Games. He smiles and it’s not exactly comforting.

Yeah. Um…. look man. No offense, I’m glad you came all the way out here just to do...whatever. But I already had a plan in place for us all to meet up somewhere. A place that is not my home. A place far, far, away from my home. So if we could meet there…?

NKWC narrows his eyes at Corey. I’m afraid that won’t work for me. You see, my limousine has run into something of a dilemma and if we are to meet at a neutral location, I will have to accompany you.

Corey tries to look past him at the limo that is now sitting silently at the curb. Is it broken? I have a mechanic on call…

The difficulty is of no consequence.

But…?

The difficulty is of no consequence!

Corey’s eyes widen and he takes half a step back. ‘Kaaayyyyy. Then, with a glance to his left, he sees an Asian man siphoning gas from another car pulled up to the curb. Hey, HEY! That’s our minivan!

Kato turns towards Corey’s voice, pulls the funnel away from his mouth, and sputters gasoline onto the pavement.

NKWC looks appalled. Kato! We are guests here!

Kato looks like he’s trying to reply, but instead he vomits copiusly and paws at his watering eyes.

Jesus, just come inside! He waves a hand at Kato. And I’ll get someone to tend to your friend.

A little later…

NKWC and Corey are in a lounge type room, both of them ensconced in a deep leather chair.

You have the beginnings of a workable nation state here, Corey. But you will have to crack down on your people’s free media consumption! Why, with the unfettered sharing of ideas, anything could happen!

Corey looks unconvinced. How about we just stick to War Games.

He gestures to a notebook in Corey’s lap. You’ve perused my tactics?

There is indeed a notebook in Corey’s lap. He has it open to a page with a crudely drawn spike trap set in front of a door helpfully labeled “Thad’s locker room”. In the next panel, a stick figure Thad Duke is walking through the door and notices the spike trap too late. The third and final panel reveals Thad impaled on the spikes with a liberal use of red crayon depicting spouting blood loss. I gotta say, I’m not feeling it. He turns the page and, quirking an eyebrow, reads it aloud. “Faith Unites Coreytopia and Korea in a Triumphant Holy Alliance of Distinction”?

Ah yes! The rest of us took the liberty of devising a team name. What do you think?

It’s kinda wordy.

It’s already been submitted.

And nobody thought to consult me?

NKWC shrugs. We all figured you’d have too much else on your mind. So we took care of it for you. See? Another eerie plastic smile, this time accompanied with a thumb's up. Team work.

Uh huh. His eyes linger on the words like something’s bothering him.

At any rate, I’m in need of bathroom facilities. Can you tell me where I might find some?

Yeah, just, walk ten feet in any direction. This place has like 80 bathrooms.

He nods, gets up smartly and adjusts his shirt waist, and leaves the room. Corey slaps the notebook shut and tosses it on the nearest table with a distinct “what the fuck?” look on his face. Slumping back in his chair, he looks at the camera.

Okay, I was well aware walking into this thing that I had some work to do. And I haven’t even spoken to Morbid Angel yet. A prospect he doesn’t seem to relish. But, like I said to Bobby Bourbon, it was either take these guys or let them fall into some psychopath’s hands. So I bit the bullet.

I would also like to offer my sincerest “suck shit” to management for booking my team against Thad’s to kick this off. I mean, I get it, but still: suck shit.

So Thaddio, let’s get this bit of awkwardness out of the way. Yes, Mom and Dad are fighting. But thankfully it’s just one of those tiffs about forgetting to put dryer sheets in the laundry and not a family shattering bout of marital infidelity.

We will be okay. No matter what.

But your team most certainly won’t be. Ohhhh, were you expecting me to ride the praise train to a couple more stops?! Corey chuckles. Come on Thaddy, there’s WAR right in the name. I know nothing gets your serotonin pumping like a good war! Let’s talk about our teams.

Yeah, on the surface of things, mine looks like a cluster. But dig a little deeper and you’ll see a former Universal Champion who’s found Jesus, and a war criminal who might be immortal. No, but really, this guy was publicly killed on television like TWICE! It’s insane. Hell, HE’s insane. But I’ll have what he’s having if it means living forever, baby. Oh….and there’s one guy I’m forgetting...Corey snaps his fingers….oh yeah.

FUCKING ALIAS.

Look, I’m gonna lay all my cards out on the table here. I’m not the lynch pin of this team. I may be the one that established this lunatic Scooby Gang and leased the Mystery Machine, but it’s all about Alias. And as far as I’m concerned, this is about the three of us getting that wonderful, insane, unstoppable force of nature past the finish line. The guy’s utterly unbeatable like no one the XWF has seen in ages. And I’ll admit even I don’t quite know what fuels him. But does it matter?

Some might say it’s unwise to put so much faith in one man. To those people, I will kindly point them in the direction of the plethora of footage of him kicking everyones ass. He’s the strongest person in the entire, uh, war. Which is why, as a military strategist yourself, I’m somewhat shocked you passed him up.

I mean, I get it. You love/hate you some Dock. For me, it’s still mostly hate, with maybe the tiniest smidgin of respect for what he’s accomplished. But, mah dude. Mah dude. You really screwed the pooch by not picking Alias.

Okay, okay, FINE. Maybe there is also the small matter of the fact that he hates you. But it’s not like you weren’t already prepared to make some iffy choices. Um, Chris Chaos? You know, given the choice between someone who maybe wants to murder me and him, I honestly might roll the dice on the stabby one. Chris Chaos has been a consummate fuck up for the the last four years. And the worst part? Despite that fact, he still huffs his own fumes. I mean, you would think that after plateauing and becoming a running joke for as long as he has that he might gain a little insight. A little humility. But nahhhh. Chris Chaos only has one gear, and it’s whatever one plows him into the nearest brick wall at top speed. But he’s your boy now, so good luck with that.

Andre Dixon? Is he even picking up the phone for you? Because not only is he a member of B.O.B. but the last we heard of him he was pissing up a tree about how unfair it was that he had to defend the Television Championship against me. Ooof. Heart of a warrior, that one.

The only decent prospect on your team is a man who you can only trust a fraction of the time, and that’s being generous. And while he may have considered you a pet project before, I think that ship has sailed. You banked your team on reassembling the Beatles but left out John Lennon and subbed in Yoko. Dis-Continuum? It’s cute. But in this case, I think it’s also prophetic.

So am I gonna look past your team? Yeah. Kinda. But I think you know as well as I do that just looking at what’s right in front of you is the easiest way to get shot in the back. Because while our match certainly has the most baggage, it turns out there’s four other teams in this thing.

Corey claps his hands together rather theatrically and makes an exaggerated “yikes” face.

Dolly, holy shit I swear you were gonna be my next pick! And now, seeing where you ended up, I legit feel bad. I mean, Robert Main is good. Seemed to fade right back into the background after he squandered all that injury comeback good faith by losing to Chris Page. But the guy’s a brand name for a reason. Hopefully he remembers why in time for War Games.

But ‘dat captain ‘doe. Yeesh. So when Charlie invited you guys to his war room were the windows blacked out? Were their mystery vials of harsh chemicals? Hoses everywhere? Jesus Christ it’s a meth lab! GET OUT!

Corey chuckles.

No, but seriously, he’s terrible. Talk about falling off the face of the Earth. I can remember when people were stoked about the guy. I mean, I didn’t get it. Maybe it was that madcap energy that only comes from a serious undiagnosed mental health condition. Maybe it was his “buying suboxone on a street corner” chic. Or maybe it was because he, ya know, used to actually win matches. But the guy was pretty over. Remember when he got a Universal title match against Sarah Lacklan after only being around for a cup of coffee?

But then that whole “rest of his career” thing happened and it’s been a long walk off a short pier ever since. How are you guys going to rally around a man who would probably be confused by someone raising his arm in victory? Shit, even his girlfriend was smart enough not to stick around. That guy is such a colossal vacuum of suck that Jim Jimson bailed on the XWF shortly after getting stuck in his orbit too! And say what you want about Jim, but at least he was kinda fun. Not having him at the Sea World Savage was such a missed opportunity. Corey shakes his head solemnly. So fuck you very much for that Demos!

It’s at that point that NKWC walks back into the room.

All right, looks like the rest of you get a reprieve for now. But it's probably for the best. I bet every Bob, Dick and Reggie is going to a fabulous job loading my gun for me for the next bit.

Corey’s features drop into a look of confusion when he sees his team mate hoisting up a small garbage can.

Where do I go to incinerate my evacuations?

...what?

My….movements.

Corey just looks at NK like he’s a time displaced alien or something, when he crinkles his nose up in disgust and brings his hand to his mouth.

Why does it smell like shit in here? He looks at the garbage can, and damn near leaps out of his seat as it dawns on him. Did you shit in the bathroom garbage can?!

Of course!

WHYYYYYYY???!!!! It comes out as a plaintive, desperate wail.

Because if I simply flushed my waste my enemies could access it!

I know what each of those words mean individually, but….

They could abscond with my feces and test it to see if I have any biological infirmities.

Well if you don’t have any then what’s the problem?!

Of course I don’t have any. He pauses for a beat. Well, actually, now that we’re on the same team I should be honest with you. I did have leprosy once. But I got over it.

Good to know.

And I trust you would be honest with me about the same?

Suddenly, Corey’s features turn stolid. Something about his expression grinds the banter to a halt. He looks away as NK considers him expectantly. Of course…. He finally murmurs with an inflection that betrays the fact that his mind is far afield.

Earlier….

When is a broken coffee mug more than just a broken coffee mug?

Corey withdraws the pot from the coffee maker and pours himself a mug. Taking it in hand, he traverses the length of the kitchen to consider the sunrise just out the window. But he only makes it halfway there before the lightning strikes. It comes swiftly and suddenly, a searing burn at the back of his head, liquid fire poured into his skull. He gasps and stumbles, his vision abruptly naught but light and shadow before recovering. His arm goes numb, and the mug is already shattered on the floor before the nerves clumsily come back to life in his fingers.

Body drenched in cold sweat, Corey tries to get his breathing under control as he struggles to process what just happened. He leans up against the counter, eyes wide in pain and terror. His gaze settles on the shattered mug.

When is a broken coffee mug more than just a broken coffee mug?

When it’s a harbinger of the end.