What twist of wicked fate brought the soon-to-die Chad Waddell and DDI vice-executive Jimmy House together for one momentous event? How can the two standards of all that is good and cool in the world co-exist simultaneously in the same spatial location? Why can't Jimmy House get a date? All this in more in

a tale of mANY TRAGADIES

Legend told of the house, nestled at the corner of Flapjack Avenue and Horatio Street. The siding was atrocious; the roof was caved in in several spots. The paint, once white, was now yellow and peeling off. However, inside the door on the rusted hinges, a lush carpet spread across the floor. It was the color of honeydew at dawn, and it swayed like endless amber waves of grain. Immediately upon entrance into the rundown shanty, the visitor would fall to their knees and run their fingers through the carpet, awed by its beauty and softness. They would remain like this, entranced, until their gaze fell upon a single imperfection on the lush landscape, a single point of blue ink.

This carpet was Legend, and Jimmy House sought out all things he believed to be of his status, and so he came to the abandoned house one day, toting his carpet-cleaning gear. He smiled knowingly; today, there would be cleaning.

Many carpet cleaners in the past had attempted to clean the carpet of its single flaw, and each failed in turn, withdrawing in defeat. Often, their dreams shattered, the carpet cleaners quit the business entirely and instead toured the nation, giving motivational speeches. Jimmy House declared to the dilapidated house that this would not be his fate.

A small crowd gathered as the House opened the door and entered the carpet shrine, wherein several worshippers sat on their knees, contemplating the mysteries of life and proper color coordination.

On the wall, a placard said "Out, damn spot!" and when this caught Jimmy's eye, he laughed, a hollow, resonant noise in the otherwise silent chamber. The worshippers lifted their gazes to him, and their eyes brightened. Finally, they thought, a savior!

"I will need a completely empty room to properly clean this carpet," Jimmy House said. He looked slowly over the carpet, examining every nuance and detail. His eyes came to the spot, a single tiny blemish on the otherwise perfect surface. It stood at the tip-top of a strand of carpet.

The worshippers bowed their heads in silent approval and filed out of the room, coming to rest in the kitchen where they nervously peered around the doorway to watch the House at work. Jimmy's status of being at work consisted of him staring at the carpet. He could identify no good way to remove the spot. His carpet cleaning expertise was stumped.

Suddenly, the front door swung open; Jimmy's eyes lifted as the door followed its arc outward; in the doorway stood the Master of Disaster, the Bleeder of the Cedar, the Worm for a Term, Chad Waddell, holding a glass of cranberry juice and a bowl of used motor oil. Waddell was stumbling drunkenly into the house, apparently searching for shelter.

"Who are you? What are you doing?" shouted Jimmy House. He lunged at Waddell, but his foot caught in the cord for his electric carpet scrubber and he crashed at Waddell's feet. Waddell took a shaky step over him, carefully balancing his cranberry juice and his motor oil, which he sipped.

"Is this a party?" Waddell gurgled. "Waddell is the main man at a party. Where is my lamp shade? Where is my toga? Where is my harem, Sandra, Kate and Yoga?"

Waddell staggered around the room, rubbing his muddy feet on the carpet and spilling his duel beverages all over it. He tripped on Jimmy's equipment and splashed motor oil on the shocked worshippers, standing stunned in the kitchen doorway.

After a few moments, Waddell pulled himself to his feet; he waved at the worshippers, still shocked, and smiled weakly. Behind him, a storm that would dwarf the wrath of all Hell's legions was brewing.

"You listen to me," said Jimmy House quietly and dangerously, just like they would in the movies he had seen, "you pathetic farce of a human being . You have just taken something beautiful and grand and, in your drunken stupor, you have ruined it absolutely, and with your ruination of this grand thing, you have deprived the House, Jimmy House, of an opportunity to get his name affixed to all the annals of history. Instead, Jimmy House will be made a laughingstock. There is an option here for the House. The House could leave, and never look back, and realize that life isn't all victories, and be a big loser. On the other hand, the House could take his electronic carpet scrubber, he could take his man-sized boxing skills, and he could reduce you to a very clean puddle on the ground. Given that you've spoiled what otherwise could have been an excellent day for the House, I feel obligated to do the very same for you."

And with that lengthy speech, Jimmy House punched Waddell, who had fallen asleep, and proceeded to soundly thrash the Master of Disaster around the room, for hours, all before the stunned spectators in the kitchen. One of them was drinking a Diet 7-Up.

Soon, the carpet, once almost divine, was completely soiled. A thick layer of crusty blood and gore covered all but a tiny circle, continued inside of which was the dot Jimmy House had shown up to clean. The House saw this, and he saw the badly mangled body of Chad Waddell, and he smiled a grim smile, and left, and the worshippers bowed down before the slightly stirring body of Chad Waddell, and so a new deity was born to replace the old. Besides, the carpet couldn't talk.