(The Hamburglar)
L’Morte
d’Hamburglar
While the chaos around the Cornucopia ensues, The Hamburglar
begins his hunt. He, as always, is a
man possessed. He weaves in and out of
the carnage. To his left Nic Cage is engaged
in a ferocious fight with Wonka (apparently over a backpack full of candy and
cash, neither of which interests The ‘Burg).
To his right, Achilles is lazily strolling around the Cornucopia,
seemingly trying to find the best place to tan, having just half-heartedly
dispensed of Yossarian. In front of him,
Nic Cage is digging through supplies, rapidly pocketing food…wait, didn’t I just see Nic Cage, The
Hamburglar thinks. He brushes it off and
continues his quest…his quest for hamburgers.
After about ten minutes of digging through backpacks at the
Cornucopia and avoiding getting killed by the other combatants, The Hamburglar
is perturbed. Where are the hamburgers? he thinks, I don’t mind them being hidden, stealing is part of the thrill, but I
thought surely they’d have stored some near the Cornucopia. Could they be in the woods? He’s had no trouble avoiding attacks so far,
HB is sly and elusive, and he decides now is the time to team up with one of
the others, maybe they can help each other.
He heads away from the Cornucopia, towards the woods, and within minutes
he sees just the girl he’s looking for.
She’s sitting in a tree twenty yards away, watching, bow in hand, an
arrow pointing directly at his head.
“Don’t shoot,” HB calls out, “I think we can help each other.” “How?” replies the girl. “Katniss, right?” HB remembers briefly running into her at the
Tributes’ reception dinner as he was on his way to swipe a nice medium-well
bleu cheese from the buffet table. “Yes,”
she says, warily, “how are you going to help me, aren’t you that guy who is
obsessed with hamburgers?” “Right you
are Katniss. You have a good memory,”
it’s time for the ‘Burg to turn on the charm, anything to get the precious
hamburgers. “I don’t want to kill you or
anyone else Katniss, all I want is ground beef, and all you want is to stay
alive. I’ve been a thief for thirty
years now, Katniss. I don’t have money
as result, but what I do have is a very special set of skills, skills that will
make me a very valuable ally to someone like you, someone who needs to hide and
needs to stealthily find food.” “I can
do that myself,” Katniss says flatly, “I’ve been doing it all my life. Besides, what would you get from me?” “You’ve been here before,” HB continues, un-phased,
“you know where they’ll have hidden the burgers, tell me Katniss, tell me where
the burgers are and I’ll use all my guile and knowledge to help you survive as
long as I can.” Katniss doesn’t respond
immediately, she must be considering it,
I’ve made her a fair offer, The Hamburglar thinks. “Do you really think there are hamburgers in
the arena?” Katniss asks, lowering her bow for a moment, stunned by the
Burglar’s proposal. “What do you mean
‘no hamburgers in the arena’?” HB asks, genuinely
puzzled. “This is a game of survival,
hamburgers are a luxury. The Gamemakers absolutely
did not put any hamburgers in the arena,” Katniss replies, still somewhat flummoxed
by the line of questioning she is receiving but earnestly trying to get across
the facts to this poor, confused individual, “this is a world without hamburgers.”
The Hamburglar stares at this strange girl, a world without hamburgers? What would that be? This girl must be lying to me and I have to
admit she is very creative, to conceive of a world in which there are no
hamburgers. What a concept! But then again, she has been in the arena
before, and why would she lie to me when I’m offering her protection? Could it be true? The Hamburglar, suddenly light-headed, falls
to one knee, his mind spinning. If there are no hamburgers…what do I
steal? If I can’t steal, what do I
do? Why am I here? ... Am I here? My acknowledgement of my own existence has
always been grounded in a purpose for my being.
Has my presupposition, that there is an objectively real and eternal
physical world in which I am able, nay created, to steal delicious hamburgers,
thereby rationalizing my own cosmic existence, been false? My sense of purpose is my identity, my
identity and confidence that I exist is, and has always been, the barometer
against which I test the truth of all other propositions!! I steal, therefore I
am! But if have no burgers to steal, am I? What is truly real? What is truth?!
Katniss, still up in the tree, staring at the poor,
ontologically-challenged man, blinks.
And in that short amount of time, the millisecond in which her eyelids
close over her dark pupils, something happens to The Hamburglar. He vanishes.
In literally the blink of an eye, The Hamburglar simply ceases to
exist. One minute he was shaking on one
knee, obviously conflicted, his mind racing frantically to grasp
something…something. The next moment,
he’s gone…what is a Hamburglar in a world without Big Macs? I suppose
the sponsors could have sent him some burgers if he’d have asked, I guess he
didn’t know…Katniss thinks to herself, oh
well…
ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION: THE HAMBURGLAR
(Willy Loman)
Death of a
Salesman?
Willy Loman is in the woods, alone.
It's midday and Willy has been sitting under a tree for about
an hour. Having sprinted, once the timer
went off, as fast as his old legs could take him away from the Cornucopia (he
managed to grab only a cigarette lighter near his pedestal), Willy has been
hiding in the trees, struggling in vain to collect himself and devise a
strategy. He’d met everyone before the Games began, he
shaken as many hands as he could, he thought he was well-liked amongst the
competitors, but no one joined with him at the Cornucopia, and now he sits in
the woods, alone. They must not want to fight me, Willy thinks to himself, after all, who wants to kill someone they
like, someone they respect? Yes, they probably thought it best simply to avoid
a situation in which they must battle their friend. His thoughts drift for awhile,
oscillating between plans to find food and envisioning how great it’ll be when
he really needs help and all the other competitors he met, who he laughed
with, will come to his aid once they see him in a dire situation, or, if he
died, how heartbroken they’d be when his face was projected onto the night sky
announcing him recently deceased. They
may all salute him! Certainly there
would at least be respects paid…Eventually, Willy stands up and begins to make
his way deeper into the woods, alone.
Night finally falls.
The forest is dark as Willy wanders through the woods, lost,
child-like. He needs to find shelter; he
needs to prove himself to Biff. Biff, he
thinks, he could have been such a great man, so much potential…Willy shakes
himself out of his daydream, he has to concentrate. Trudging warily between the trees Willy
fights to keep himself in the present but he continues to lose focus…his
thoughts go to Biff. Then, suddenly, he
hears something from his right. It
sounded like a branch, broken underfoot, Willy thinks. He can’t see more two feet in front of him,
the cigarette lighter from the Cornucopia providing the only light. Too afraid to move closer and investigate the
sound Willy calls out shakily, “who’s there? Who is it?” Slowly, darkly, threateningly comes the
rejoinder, “It’s a meeeeeee…..Mario.”
Before Willy can think there’s a comic sounding, BOING, as Mario flies
high into the air, one fist raised, the other at his side. He comes crashing down on Willy’s head,
completely flattening him…
ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION: WILLY LOMAN
END OF PART III
2) Dalton - 10/1
3) Katniss - 20/1
4) Super Mario - 30/1
5) Dwight Schrute - 35/1
6) Nic Cage - 40/1
7) Willy Wonka – 60/1
8) Kate Austen– 60/1
9) Kevin McCallister – 75/1
12) Helen of Troy - 90/1
16) Lennie – 120/1
17) Steve Urkel – 200/1
18) Charlie Kelly – 250/1
19) Marcia Brady – 300/1
22) Miss Piggy – 800/1
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