Inherent Superiority
Chapter II: Fallout
…
It turns out using equal signs for page breaks doesn't work too well, so back to ellipses.
Disclaimer: I don't own Peanuts. You can thank your deity of choice for that.
Disclaimer 2: I did some research. "Sparkyville" was the closest I got to the name of a town for the Peanuts setting.
Disclaimer 3: Charlie is not a very nice person to certain people here.
…
Dedicated to every single person who was told to just endure bullying, abuse, or teasing so people could have some fun while they pushed you closer and closer to suicide.
May you live long enough to see your tormentors die alone and unloved.
…
To say the repercussions of "Operation: Blockhead" were severe would be putting it very lightly.
Those who had joined the assault on Charlie Brown's home acted under the belief that whatever penalty the law would dish out would be manageable enough to warrant yielding to Lucy's idea of Inherent Superiority and forcing Charlie to be their permanent punching bag and slave.
Perhaps they were united, genuinely, against their common hated enemy, an eighteen-year old boy whose grievous crime that warranted such an attack amounted to not wanting to be their personal toilet for life.
This unity, however, vaporized like a droplet of water tossed onto a hot skillet, when it became clear to the hundreds arrested that the penalties were going to be catastrophic. Plea deals were made, former allies turned on each other like backstabbing was going out of style, and while stories varied from person to person, the gist of each was- It wasn't my fault, I'm a victim of mob mentality, I can give you names.
Those who could got the best lawyers money could buy, but it made no difference- it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a house of cards. The best defense any lawyer made was one of temporary mob insanity, and that held little weight in light of the years of evidence and the police reports that multiple armed assailants had converged on one home with the sole purpose of prolonging a boy's torture by killing his family.
Over the course of several months of legal battles that made sure there was scarcely a dull moment in Sparkyville's legal system, the community of Charlie-haters (as the media dubbed them) understood what it meant to be on Charlie's side of the fence when they all became outcasts, unwelcome anywhere, refused service, demonized as entitled bitches and bastards with poison for souls and feces for blood…
There were, of course, fines and jail time.
But this is like looking at the biblical Great Flood and summarizing thusly, "There was water."
Even for the few judges so jaded and cynical that this act of unprovoked terrorism did not provoke them to personal indignation, there was the awareness that any form of leniency on the Charlie-haters was going to be seen as condoning or pardoning their actions, a move disastrous for their careers.
Martin Grey was hit the hardest monetarily, ordered to pay ten million in damages to the Brown family for his and his daughter's years-long campaign of torment and violating the legal agreement. It would be the sentence of ten years minimum in prison that would hit him the worst. Fine Italian suits became orange jumpsuits. Morning coffee became cold water. And what had become of his social life was a matter best left undiscussed. Martin Grey became owner of Grey Industries only in name, his VP taking the reins while he suffered in jail.
Violet Grey was spared jail only because the loss of Charlie Brown had literally wracked her so hard she had helped her mother polish off several bottles of vodka. Both were still waking up when news of the attack's failure came, necessitating imbibing two bottles of scotch reserved for such dire moments.
Lucy Van Pelt, charged with inciting a mob to riot, had a great deal of the blame of that day laid at her feet, and given her past with the Brown family, the judge who oversaw her trial found absolutely no reason to be lenient with her in any way whatsoever. Aside from fines which drained the family bank accounts, she was hit with a ten year sentence for her crimes and unrepentant attitude in court, which culminated in a death threat at the judge and jury, resulting in ten more years…
While the fines were not as steep for the other families and persons involved, they were nonetheless crippling. That, combined with jail time, meant that hundreds of retirement plans went up in smoke.
The worst of it, however, was where all that money went…
Most of it went to the lawyers, as it was. What was left went to the Brown family. It was as if they had won the lottery thrice simultaneously, meaning that Charlie Brown…
…who should have been tied to a pole in a football field and flogged until his flesh hung off him in strips…
…who should have been chained to a desk in school every weekday to be tortured and made an example of as the personification of failure…
…who should have died being forced to kick at footballs yanked away from him until his spine broke from the resulting falls…
…he was free to move around the country as he pleased.
Yet the wake of Charlie Brown's unintentional vengeance was not detrimental to everyone.
Rerun Van Pelt's parents were deemed unfit for caring for him, and he was happily readopted by a family who never was able to conceive within a month.
Schroeder heard the news and composed a new work he would later call "Babylon Falls".
And Perry "Pigpen" Wiggins, the one student to graduate without serving jail time, dutifully helped his father clean up the mess, earning enough overtime money to buy his first car.
…
TWO YEARS LATER
…
The park was freezing. Winter made everything slick and cold and Perry wondered why he was here…
…then he remembered that he and the person he should have been a friend to had something to discuss.
It was so frigid that even his legendary ability to attract dust failed. Not that he minded- after so many years of cleaning up other people's messes, wasn't he entitled to be as clean or as dirty as he wanted?
The area was a small circular stone pavilion with four compass walkways leading away from it, benches circling it, trees laden with snow hanging over head.
The perfect place for a discussion… or a fight.
There was no one else here. Everyone with a lick of common sense was keeping outdoor excursions to a bare minimum.
Perry had sweatpants under his jeans, thick wooly socks under his boots, a sweatshirt and a heavy coat, thick winter gloves, a knit cap and scarf…
…and it was still bitterly, impossibly, freeze-the-piss-in-your-bladder cold.
He was beginning to wonder if Charlie's vengeance on him was to call him here, to this supposedly neutral ground and not show up, leaving him to freeze, when the crunch of snow underfoot got his attention.
He was still bald from years of stress, or at least that's what Perry assumed- Charlie Brown had shielded his body likewise, and it took a moment to confirm it was him, recognizing that face that had deformed from child-like hope to a grim scowl that said The world hates me and the feeling is fuckin' mutual…
They stood ten feet apart, looking at each other as the wind blew on and off, driving snow.
"Funny." Charlie began. Was that hate in his eyes or skepticism? "Didn't see you in the mob."
"I was in the bathroom." Perry said with a shrug, fully turning to face him, snow falling off him.
"Thing is," Charlie began to circle the pavilion, keeping his gaze on Perry, "I don't remember you ever joining in."
Perry matched his stride. Righteous anger over years of non-action or no, he wanted to emerge from this uninjured if possible. "Not everyone thought you deserved to be treated that way."
"And yet, if that's the case," Charlie's words were colder than the wind, "Nobody said anything."
"Maybe because they knew it wouldn't help."
"It would have helped me." Charlie growled, stopping.
He shook his head, as if confused, then looked at Perry, regarding him coolly.
"Were any of you hurt?" Perry asked, his concern genuine.
There was a long pause, a minute, maybe he didn't hear him…
"No. Someone called the cops in advance." Charlie's expression didn't change.
"Maybe…" Perry offered slowly, "…maybe he wanted to do one right thing to try to make up for what he didn't do before."
Charlie blinked several times, inhaled, exhaled. "Well, he did make up for it." He turned and started to walk away. "Stay alive, Perry."
"Stay alive, Charlie." Perry replied as he turned to walk back to his car.
There was no making up over beers. No long apologies or reciting of flaws. Just two men exchanging what appeared to be purely hypothetical theories and then walking off.
Perry went about his business.
Charlie Brown decided to very deliberately omit any references to Pig-Pen from the book.
Because Charlie was proud to be a vindictive bastard, ready to demand an accounting for wrongs, but the crime here was inaction and it had been atoned with action that had indisputably saved his ass…
…and for all the bitterness and hatred he carried, Charlie Brown was above collateral damage.
…
FIVE MORE YEARS LATER
"Rocks every Halloween. You're kidding me, right?"
Tyler Carrol, his editor, had every right to be skeptical. Who would believe, without a police report, hundreds of people banding together to attack a single boy? Or that his teachers had supported a false rape accusation against him?
"No." Charlie said simply. "And when I stopped going trick or treating, they started throwing them at me every chance they got."
The man was a slightly obese middle aged white-bread face for the publishing company Charlie Brown had signed on with to distribute "Blockhead".
"You do realize… even with the publicity the… what did they call it, "Operation: Blockhead" got, this is a little hard to believe."
Charlie wondered how he'd like some of the things he'd left out because they were too unbelievable. Being served human feces at lunch, forcing him to bring bagged lunches. Being tied to a tetherball pole and used as a tackling dummy he'd left in, but only barely. When the "car gag" had resorted in a twisted ankle, he had been explicitly forbidden to use any staircase save for one where Violet Grey could daily shove him down the stairs, resulting in bruises and gashes…
"I gotta ask, why didn't you kill any of these people?" Tyler asked.
"I couldn't afford enough ammo." Charlie answered.
And his editor laughed, unaware that was the gospel truth.
…
Linus Van Pelt had endured the years in military school and came out great physically.
Mentally, Charlie wasn't sure.
At one time, Linus' biggest issue was his security blanket. That had been burned, along with all his non-essential possessions, on the day his family decided he should go to military school to make room for his sister's "study".
Charlie doubted there was a reason for the burning besides his sadistic parents deciding it would be funny.
"Why is she still alive, Charlie Brown?" Linus demanded. His face was hard and scarred, apparently the result of several hazing incidents gone wrong but unpunished.
"You mean, 'why didn't I kill her', right?" Charlie responded.
Linus' apartment was small, "cozy" if you wanted to be polite. The two looked at each other over beers.
"No jury would have convicted you." Linus offered.
"Wasn't a jury I was worried about." Charlie sipped his beer. "You heard about the mob, right? If someone so much as breathed wrong at her, she'd have them crucified, metaphorically and literally."
Linus shook his head. "They contacted me, you know? Asked me to help them out with rebuilding their accounts after your lawsuit wiped them out."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
Linus nodded. "Told my own mother to fuck off. Amazing what a few years of hazing and drills will do to you. But again, why didn't you kill her, especially after what she did to Sally?"
"You don't think I wanted to? If I did anything, anything, do you think they would have stopped at just killing me? They'd go after her, my mom, dad, anyone who hadn't spat on me…"
"She was really their… what, prophet? Leader?"
Charlie sighed. "I don't even know. She told them what they wanted to hear. It was like fucking with me was a religion and she was the high priestess or something." Charlie shrugged. "But hey, look at you, Sergeant now, right?"
Linus nodded. "Nearly got killed for it, and holy fuck did I leave a lot of bodies behind in Iraq, but yeah. Heard you're making a book."
Charlie took a sip of beer. "Yessir. My personal 'fuck you' to the good people of Wallstone and their families."
"Anyone you left out in your misery memoir?"
Charlie held up his fingers, counting off. "…Lessee… You, Schroder, Patty, Marcie, Pig-Pen…"
"Pig-Pen?" Linus asked, eyebrows raised.
"He called the cops on the day of Operation Blockhead." Charlie explained. "Really, I decided if someone didn't do me harm, I wouldn't do them harm. Everyone who did can die in a fire."
"Saying my sister should burn to death is an insult to fire, Charlie." Linus counter, knocking back a healthy swig.
"I think Prometheus would forgive the necessity." Charlie retorted.
…
"Forgiveness."
"Funny, really, how forgiveness can mean very different things for two different people when talked about by the very same person."
"Case in point: Lucy Van Pelt once said, before she went completely crazy and went into her "Wisdom Goddess" delusion, that I needed to forgive everyone everything immediately and treat them as if they were my friends. I pointed out she and others still hadn't forgiven me for their losing baseball games or coming in 2nd in a spelling bee."
"She then explained that different people deserve different levels of forgiveness- people like her deserve total and complete forgiveness for any faults they might have, while people like me needed to remain unforgiven and be punished repeatedly for every single mistake."
"As this was immediately after chapter 3's football game where she yanked the ball away again, I was less than convinced. I believe, now, she wanted forgiveness, not for the sake of starting over, but because someone like Lucy was addicted to betrayal in the same way people can become addicted to alcohol or drugs. When I made it clear after she had attempted to kidnap and enslave my little sister that she would never be forgiven for anything, I cut her off from her fix. In a way, I suppose I played a role in her gradual mental degradation."
"And Lucy, if you're reading this, let me assure you: I am happy for any and all pain that you attribute to me."
-Blockhead, Chapter 7: Forgiveness Doesn't Always Work
…
This trip was completely without any benevolent merit.
There was nothing good he could possibly accomplish by visiting Violet Grey as she languished in the final stages of terminal breast cancer. She would not be made repentant by his gloating and mentioning of the book; if anything, it would harden her heart.
His recounting of her many wrongs against him wouldn't set her on the path to redemption, either. All it would do, when used in tandem with the mentioning of the book, was make her feel wrongly justified in her actions and further distance her from the possibility of repentance.
It would hurt her physically, even. Doctors were still working on a way to try and beat the cancer back, stop it from metastasizing so she could rally, and aggravating her would only complicate an already Sisyphean task.
In short, there was nothing, nothing at all positive that would come for Violet out of this visit. It would only serve to shorten what little time she had left and encourage her to waste it on senseless bitterness and rage instead of rallying and seeking redemption.
That line of thought was all Charlie needed to justify his visit.
It really was kicking someone while they were down. But he felt he had earned the privilege, if just this once.
A nurse knocked on the door as he waited. "Ms. Grey, you have a visitor."
He entered, after a few seconds…
WOW.
The years had been almost as much as a fucking bitch to Violet as she was. That and the drug use, the binge drinking, and the malignant cancers slowly taking over her body.
Her skin was ashen, her head was balder than his, and if pitted against a stiff breeze in a fight, said breeze would probably be crying minutes later that it hadn't meant to kill her.
Her expression went from hopeful to disappointed, then to blustered fury. This final, pathetic spiteful glare she now gave him was Violet's last stand.
"What the fuck do you want?" She snapped.
What he wanted to do was a song and dance routine about how she deserved this and she'd be burning in hell. He'd gotten the lyrics down pat, and he'd rehearsed before he came here, but there were other patients here who needed their rest and hurting them alongside her just didn't sit well with him…
"Just wanted to see you." He offered casually. No sense in going too fast. Judging by the number of iv tubes in her, she wasn't going anywhere really quick.
"I can't tell you how flattered I am you took time out of dumpster diving to see me." She said with a sneer. Or at least, she tried to sneer. It was more funny than anything else.
Well, time to get into it.
"I wanted to ask you something. Why?"
She looked at him funny. "…why what?"
"Why did you treat me like garbage?" He asked, trying not to smile too much. "Why did you get other people to treat me like garbage?"
She blinked several times, staring at him like he had done the desired song and dance routine only in German, before finally two still usable brain cells collided.
"Because you were- are garbage! You fail at everything! Baseball! Life! School! You deserved everything we gave you and more!"
There had been a voice telling him he was above this, when he walked in. That he didn't need to tap dance on her grave before she had been shoveled in. That voice was silenced, now, and he could fully focus.
"So I deserved to have my homework and projects stolen."
"Duh, yes."
"I deserved to be beaten up every week." He raised an eyebrow.
"Of course!" She exclaimed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"I deserved for the whole freaking school staff to turn on me and flunk me automatically for every test just because everyone thought it would be funny?"
"Yes, you blockhead, yes!" She was eye-twitching now. "You deserve to stay at the bottom! You should be in this bed! You should be the one with cancer!"
He shrugged harmlessly. "But I didn't smoke a pack a week, Violet. You did."
She actually looked shocked. "How did you know?..."
Had she really and truly forgotten? "Oh, come on. You were a chain smoker in high school. You and your friends burned me with cigarettes more times than I can count." He pointed out a few whitish scars on his cheek.
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. "How the mighty have fallen", and all that. Well, the thing is, I had a blast doing everything I did- especially what I did to you, that was the best part. Watching you choke back bitch tears every day. Watching you try, fail, and laughing at you when you fell flat on your face!"
It was a final, feeble attempt to hurt him, but Charlie took in her dying form, used the satisfaction it gave him, and it was armor and vitality. Her barbs found no purchase in his armor of hatred, and when he gave her no overt response, she looked deflated.
"I didn't really have any successes to my name before graduation." Charlie pursued conversationally. "But I got out of this town, went to college, and things got better. It's amazing what you can get done when everyone doesn't care about you, good or bad."
It was time to tighten the screws. "What have you done?"
"I, for your information, have dined in the finest restaurants, shopped in premium boutiques, last summer I went on my third cruise to-"
"I mean, what have you done with your life?" Charlie interrupted, now aiming for that sore spot he knew was there, where was it- "Have you learned anything? Found a hobby besides insulting people? Learned a language? Gone to college? Got a job?"
The look on her face said it all. Nothing. Absolutely nothing constructive, other than a cautionary tale for wiser children, had come out of Violet's life.
"Well… what have you done?" she said after a few minutes.
How typical Violet Grey. Attack, never defend. Fortunately he had come with the perfect salt to throw in her gaping wounds…
"I'm glad you asked." He pulled out a copy of his best seller and offered it to her, and she snatched it away.
Her confused look remained after five minutes. Christ, the drugs really did kill brain cells. He was going to have to spell it out for her.
Oh, well. He shrugged mentally. More satisfying, this way.
"I started writing about my childhood as therapy. Then some professors suggested I write a book. Soon I had a publishing offer, and now I'm well past 100,000 copies sold. I start talking with an agent about the movie soon."
There it was, a look of dawning horror, a realization her name was mud…
"I didn't change names." Charlie allowed the anger to seep into his voice, along with no small amount of vindictive satisfaction. "I figured everyone who helped make the book what it is deserved full credit. Especially you, Violet. I have a whole chapter devoted to what you and your friends put me through."
For a moment, she actually looked contrite. Just a moment though, and then her fury and hatred returned in full force. "You're lying." Violet snapped. "This is a trick to make me feel sorry for what I did, isn't it? Well, guess what, Failure-Face? It's not working. I'm not sorry."
"Sorry?" She still really didn't get what he was doing here? "I didn't come here to make you feel sorry for me. I don't need you or anyone to feel sorry for me, anymore. I'm doing great! Don't believe me? Look me up on your laptop."
"Then why did you come here?" Violet asked.
TO MOCK YOU.
TO HURT YOU.
I WANT TO SEE YOU SUFFER. I WANT TO SEE YOU IN PAIN, I WANT TO SIT BY YOUR BEDSIDE AND LAUGH AS SATAN DRAGS YOU OFF TO BE TORTURED IN HELL FOREVER.
I WANT YOU TO KNOW YOUR BEING HURT BY YOUR STUPID MISTAKES MAKES ME HAPPY. I AM GOING TO FUCKING MASTURBATE OVER THE THOUGHT OF YOU SCREAMING IN AGONY FOR ALL ETERNITY, YOU STUPID WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT, GOD I FEEL SORRY FOR THE CANCER, IT COULDN'T HAVE DONE ANYTHING TO DESERVE BEING SADDLED WITH YOU-
Ow.
Whoa.
Thank God his filter held. That was a close one. Time to bullshit.
"I'm… honestly not sure." He lied through his teeth. "I guess I wanted to give you the chance to apologize. You know, make peace before you die and have to explain yourself to God."
Yeeeaaaaaah. He was going to hell if he died today. He'd write another check for cancer research.
It did seem to scare her, though, talking about dying. That was something.
Then she brightened. "My dad donates to charities all the time. I'm covered."
She was so fucking stupid he almost- almost- felt sorry for her. "You honestly believe that, don't you?"
Oh hell with it. Let's hammer on that sore nerve.
He put on his best preacher's smile and voice. "All I'm saying is that, before it's too late, you want to get right with yourself and God. Not for my sake, or the sake of anyone else, but for yours, Violet. Because soon, you're going to have to explain why you did what you did to your life, to others, to me-"
He could hear her last ounce of restraint go snap. God, he wished he brought a camera.
"For the last fucking time-" she reached under her sheets, grabbing something, "I did it because YOU DESERVED IT!"
Years of reflexes told Charlie to move, and while the projectile was off, he was glad he did. Violet had thrown her bedpan, full of… waste… at him. It smashed her very expensive looking tv, covering it in things best not dwelled on.
She was breathing rapidly, looking like she was about to have a heart attack. Part of him wanted to stop, lest he actually be held legally responsible for killing her. Part of him wanted to see if he actually could talk her to death, and another part still really really wished he had brought a camera…
"You deserve to lose everything, forever." She hissed, clambering out of bed, dragging her iv post with her. "You deserve to die alone." She broke a vase of flowers over her beside table, advancing with a broken, jagged piece of pottery, as threatening as a one legged, one winged pigeon. "You deserve all of this, not me!"
He took a step back, and realized that he didn't really need to dodge- she didn't have the strength or speed to do any damage…
…and then she slipped in her own shit.
Damn. That would have been a good analogy.
She landed ass-first in a puddle of her own filth, and doctors and nurses pushed him aside to help her up, trying not to get filthy as they lifted the hyperventilating, sobbing wreck up.
Am I done here? My worst enemy, humiliated, dying, aware I'm going to demonize her after she's gone, covered in her own feces, and knowing I'm successful… yeah, that covers everything.
It was time to go, before someone took offense at his kicking her while she was down.
"You think this is fitting, don't you? You think I deserve this!" she cried out.
He turned back to look on her one last time. She looked pleading now, for any shred of pity, any shred of goodwill.
Not a chance.
"It is, and you do. Goodbye, Violet."
As she sobbed openly, Charlie decided, as he strolled out to the parking lot, this was one of those stories best left untold to others.
As he closed the door to his car, he began to sing, to the tune of Beauty and the Beast's "Be our guest"…
You're a cunt, you're a cunt,
I'm so sorry if I'm blunt
You're a bitch and a witch
I want to give your ass a punt
When you die, I won't cry, and I will gladly tell you why
You're so crappy and I'll be happy when in Hell you finally fry…
…
Lucy Van Pelt did not think, even for a goddess, it was possible to be this angry.
It was almost as if she had reached a reached a sort of Nirvana with how angry her confinement had made her. She had gone around the scale of anger several times, gradually growing in her berserk fury until she arrive at a sort of cold mania, and now, after so many cycles of heating and cooling, she had been tempered into something else.
Charlie Brown and everyone allied with him had to die. That was not a goal. That was not a mission statement. It was simple fact, now.
That, at least, was what she thought was going on. It was hard to tell, in that cramped prison psychiatrist's office, handcuffed to a chair.
"I'm glad to see you're calmer now, Ms. Van Pelt." Doctor Grem said as he checked notes. He was a withered, shaken old man, grey hair bleached with the horror stories of what inmates had done and what had made them that way.
Calm.
It almost made her smile.
It was really like she was in the middle of a decision, really. A pause that was forcing her mind, despite the five very long years of indignity taking their toll, to rationally calculate things.
Namely how Charlie Brown was going to die.
She had reverted from her "It" stance. Too confusing. To grant him anonymity after his magnum opus of wickedness was too kind a gesture.
"I guess my time in here helped me see things in perspective." Lucy said with a shrug.
That wasn't entirely a lie. After the nuclear holocaust that had been Operation Blockhead, after five years of enduring hell, beatings and strip searches, bad food and confinement, rock hard beds and NOT ONE GODDAMNED OREO…
Lucy concluded that Charlie Brown was too dangerous to keep alive. He was like a dying star that collapsed in on itself, and once you got too close to the event horizon, you were a lost cause.
How could she have known it would come to this? Charlie was a total failure; that much she was certain of, but it was like temperature- a rational person understood that there was 0 degrees kelvin, the absolute cessation of all movement, and nothing below that. How then could she have anticipated Charlie's failure dragging so many down at once?
Dr. Grem took more notes as he asked questions about what she remembered about Operation Blockhead, and she gave practiced, calm responses. In her state, she understood Grem was the key to early parole, and it wasn't in her interest to give him anything beyond a sense of subdued contrition.
Perhaps it was more like radiation, than temperature. Charlie Brown's aura of desolation went far and beyond anything a person could put on a scale of 0 to X. His failure at life had taken on a malignant stage of energy all its own, and like a leaking nuclear power plant his very presence had irradiated the hopes and dreams of all those superior to him until nothing but ash and cancerous husks remained.
A disturbing thought came to her, as she agreed automatically that perhaps it was a sense of misguided duty to her neighborhood that result in her actions.
Was it safe to kill Charlie Brown?
Would his curse pass onto someone else? Would he detonate in a wave of entropy, causing the very fabric of reality to fail when he died?
That bridge would have to be crossed when she came to it. For now, her focus was on getting out of here, and reassembling her worshippers into something resembling a congregation.
…
He hated the stage lights.
They were hot, they were aggravating, they glared in his eyes. Why had he agreed to this?
"Today, on Clashing Views, we have famed writer Charlie Brown, author of the best seller Blockhead, and Andrew Baker, principal of Cold Plain High School in Houston, Texas, author of Up a Creek." The host, Gregory Truman, a black muscular man, nodded to both gentlemen, with Baker not even acknowledging him.
Oh, right. This fuckhead.
He'd read Up a Creek. It was a love letter to paddling and a dismissal of students as little more than hormonal, mindless zombies who needed to be beaten into submission. It dismissed bullying as a natural separation of the leaders from the followers, and that was as far as he got before he got sick. It took his editor's intervention to get him to realize that, in later chapters, Baker mentioned Blockhead by name and decried Charlie Brown as someone who deserved everything he got. He then went on to say that the good kids learned respect for authority from getting bullied and that the ones who complained about it went on to be rapists and wife beaters.
Baker made it clear he didn't like Charlie, and to be fair, Charlie didn't like Baker.
He was a blonde, fat, blob of 49 going on 50 with a permanent scowl with a triple chin. Jabba the Hutt would have been more visually appealing, and probably less loathsome to deal with.
He complained, in Up a Creek, that no youth today respected his authority. He could hardly blame these vague youths- what was there to respect in that sneer, that contempt for everything that didn't fit into his view of the world? The morbid obesity that made the chair sag?
He should be grateful, he supposed. He couldn't have made a better strawman for his argument if he tried. Nothing he could conjure up would personify the many flaws in the educational system as well as Andrew Baker.
"Now, let's get right into it. Mr. Baker, you came out pretty much guns blazing in your book." Truman prompted.
"I don't have respect for anyone who says that a natural occurrence designed to separate life's losers from life's winners is some sort of tragedy." Baker began icily. "This idea that Wallstone High is some sort of horrible example because everyone ganged up on the one loser is nonsense. All that means is that Wallstone was composed of 99% winners and 1% loser, and let me tell you, in my experience as an educator of the highest caliber, I would give my right arm for those numbers."
"So, false rape accusations and daily assaults are what you consider normal?" Charlie countered. "If everyone's ganging up on one person, teachers and parents included, it's all okay?"
"Let me explain something very simplistic, Charlie. I know when people use big words, you get confused, but try and follow along. It's. A. Food. Chain. Students aren't people, they're animals that we expect to wear pants and poop in the right place. They don't fully develop until they graduate, and in your case, it's pretty clear that being forced to graduate you wasn't enough. Hell, I'm surprised you're not choking on your own feces."
Okay, that's how it is? Charlie decided as noises of derision filled the crowd. Fine. I can play that kind of game. He had looked into Andrew Baker's little fiefdom, and got some very interesting results…
He whipped out a paper. "Ladies and gentlemen, anyone with a smartphone or internet connection, get them ready in case you want to verify what I have to say. Cold Plain High School leads in several categories, namely suicide and assault. Where it outranks any other High School in the nation is teacher on student violence. Not simply paddling, like Mr. Baker's love letter to the paddle encourages, but teachers knocking students down and stomping on their faces, coaches using chains as whips during running exercises… if I'm to understand correctly, you're under your third investigation for your policies advocating this kind of treatment and parents are pulling their kids out by the- pardon the pun- busload."
Charlie turned to the audience. "Anyone care to verify that? Show of hands… one, two, five… ten…" he turned back to Baker, now sweating. "I have to say, as far as career choices go, principal isn't one of mine, no offense to every other principal in the nation, but… I wouldn't use policies that get my school hit with lawsuits every week if I was."
Baker fixed Charlie with a murderous stare. "The litigation against my school is a direct result of your pandering to this bleeding heart mentality of everyone getting a trophy and no one ever hurts anyone else's feelings…"
Charlie laughed. "You know what? You want to blame me for you eventually losing your job and going to jail? Go ahead. I accept the credit. I'd be proud to be the official reason you cite for finding yourself at the bottom of a new food chain, one that really doesn't like people who beat on kids. But let's get some facts straight. I don't advocate an "everybody wins" mentality. I do not, in any chapter of my block or any of my blogs, say no one's feelings shouldn't ever be hurt. Hell, I have an entire chapter dedicated to the various incurable diseases I hope the people who hurt me get afflicted with. I got my wish with Veronica Grey, by the way. Dreams do come true, kids!"
Nervous laughter from the audience.
"I'm just asking, for once, Baker… be honest. For the love of God, be honest. It's never been about education, or discipline, or even getting unquestioned obedience. You just plain get off on hurting children, don't you?"
"You mean am I happy when one of those pieces of shits learns their place after twenty pops? When I read about them wanting to kill themselves after I beat their asses for being disrespectful?! You bet your goddamn candy-ass I am!" roared Baker.
Charlie could only stare in disbelief for a few seconds.
"What's the matter, shit-face? Cat got your tongue?" Baker jeered.
"My God." Charlie said quietly. "You know what you're doing. You know you're hurting them horribly, and you're proud of it."
"My job is to weed out the weak, Brown! If a kid breaks down after I'm done with them and hangs themselves, I've done my fucking job!"
The silence and appalled looks from the audience were lost on Baker.
"That's not teaching." Charlie found his voice. "That's torture, pure and simple."
"I have had it up to here with your GODDAMN NEW-AGE CRAP!" Shouted Baker, turning red in the face. "I'M THE ONLY THING KEEPING THESE KIDS FROM BECOMING DRUG DEALERS, THIEVES, AND LOSERS LIKE YOU-"
"YOU'RE A FUCKING SOCIOPATH!" Charlie pointed his finger at him, unable to control his voice. "YOU FUCKING GET OFF ON KILLING KIDS-"
But Baker was beyond any reasoning, and grabbed a chair, charging Charlie with it like a battering ram, murder in his eyes.
Charlie dodged the initial lunge, stepping to the side, then Baker hurled the chair at him, and it caught him on the shoulder as he tried to get out of the way…
Baker charged him, and as he tackled him, Charlie knew if he got on top, he'd kill him…
It was not a nice move, jamming his thumb deep into Baker's left eye. Nor was kicking out as he hit the ground painfully, smashing his heel into Baker's groin as the fatter man howled in pain from the eye injury.
Baker gave a strangled cough and fell, clutching his groin. Two security guards rushed over to restrain him as Charlie rose, and asked the first thing that came to his mind-
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
…
"…what was supposed to be a debate between opposing views on bullying and corporal punishment turned into a brief but violent brawl on Opposing Views, as Andrew Baker for reasons unknown decided to attack Charlie Brown following openly admitting he enjoyed hearing about his students committing suicide. While Mr. Brown only sustained minor injuries during the altercation, Mr. Baker suffered a severe injury to his eye and severe testicular trauma. However, due to the actions being performed in a clear-cut case of self-defense, police have declined to charge Mr. Brown."
"Andrew Baker, currently principal of Cold Plain High School in Houston, Texas, is currently under investigation for allegations of physical abuse at his school. Following yesterday's outburst, investigators are interviewing students from Cold Plain concerning practices at the school."
"Both Baker and Brown have published books that have drawn fire from critics- Brown's for examples of abuse that critics say border on the unbelievable, and Baker's for suggesting discipline that most state laws would consider abuse, including Texas. Further critique of Baker's book, Up a Creek, says that the research cited is outdated and biased, and that Baker's stated criteria for what justifies punishment includes declarations of innocence among the most deserving factors for extreme force."
"This station reached out to an anonymous former student of Wallstone who confirmed that Chapter 7's detailing of the methods used to create an oppressive environment in Wallstone High were not exaggerated, but in fact watered down. Among omitted methods used were detentions every Sunday to prevent Charlie Brown from being able to attend church, serving human feces to him during lunch, and permanent confiscation of any cell phone or recording devices Mr. Brown had on his possession."
"In related news, Lucy Van Pelt, mastermind of the so-called "Operation Blockhead" was released on parole today…"
-Channel 12 News
