"Wayne Wightman - The Attack Of The Ignoroids" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wightman Wayne)

"Not able," he said, coming back into the room with a couple of Sun Lik beers
for us. "I --"

There was a crash through the side window right next to me, glass sprayed across
the floor, and a rock glumped on the floor with a piece of paper duct-taped to
it. I thought people were supposed to use string on such things.

"Neighbors," he said. He handed me the rock and said, "You read."

I peeled off the tape. The note looked like it had been written by someone who
held his crayon like a butter knife. It said, "Gokes go bake were you cam
frome!!!" but I didn't read it aloud.

"Don't have to tell me. I know what it say," he said. "See? People get stupid
more faster. Stupid sex sickness go person to person -- two then four then
eight, then everybody. Nobody help nobody, people do bad stuff all over, first
kill Kampuchea, Rwanda, Serbia, kill whole world -- all because of stupid
sickness go person to person jiggy-jig." He made a Lao-Haitian hand-gesture that
looked pretty universal to me. "Mr. Ramden must fix generators."

"Go fix these reality flux generators yourself, Fang. Why me? A wrench costs
three bucks. I'll deduct it from your rent."

"You fix," he said, giving me a dismissive wave of his hand and taking a long
pull from his beer. "I too old. Beside, I don't have car." He grinned and
pointed a gnarled finger at me. "I know you, Mr. Ramden. You sold tombstone to
family, say spirits must be held down by big stone --cost much much money. But
then you come back next day and give half money back. You crazy white guy.
Heh-heh! Good crazy, Mr. Ramden."

"If it's any comfort to you, Fang, I came back the next day to sell you another
one -- but you were gone and I didn't think the little kid you left behind could
close the deal." My professional training allowed me to lie like a teenager.

Fang shook his head and chuckled. Why was I losing this one so fast?

I swilled off the Sun Lik. "Let me phrase it this way, Fang. My reality's been
fine till your friends started wrecking my lawn. Thanks for the beer."

He thumbed madly through his dictionary and pointed to another word.

"Monitor," I read.

"Yes." He did his grin again. "Monitor. Khamphang is monitor."

"And what does that mean?"

"Mean Khamphang responsible for fucks generators here. You fix them, sickness go
away."