EEEAHHH & Co.

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 11/19/1996; 11:27 A.M. (APPROX.); ARABICA LOVE CAFÉ: Today I watched a man chop a block of ice in half with his bare hand. The block, in its original form, had been the size of a thick phone book—nay, three thick phone books—nay, three thick phone books and a hardcover edition of Webster’s 1957 New International Dictionary, 2nd Edition, Unabridged. I tell you it was thick, this block. The man who halved said block of said size was unharmed. Clearly, the Force was strong with this one. The decision to split the ice block was, seemingly, unpremeditated. You might say the block invited, lured, summoned his hand. If it was lonely, this block, then it was lonely no more, for now it had a twin. It had become twins. Why this block of ice was lying on the counter beside the cash register in the first place remains, at this writing, a mystery.

My question to Sir Ice Slasher was not, “Why?” No, instead I asked, “How?” 

“I clear my mind,” he told me, “and create an invisible sphere around my hand.”

“Mmm,” I said, and nodded, as if I understood. Sphere crafting wasn’t offered where I went to school. And here we have yet another example of how academia, in general, fails to provide students with practical, real-world skills. God forbid they make geometry worthwhile.

Once sphered, Sir Ice Slasher can split just about anything with the unthumbed side of his hand. Oh, and this wasn’t accomplished in silence. No, as he halved the block, he cried, “EEEAHHH!” To be clear, upon EEEAHHH-ing, this man did not identify himself as “Sir Ice Slasher.” Although, coming from him, it would’ve worked. Sure, it seems a little much here, on the page, but this dude was Miles Davis cool. (In sooth, my opinion of Mr. Davis’s public persona is almost entirely derived subjectively, through his music.)

But Let’s imagine for a moment that ole Sir Icy has it backwards. Sans warning and sans ostensible reason, say an invisible sphere periodically encompasses this man’s hand—not unlike the common itch. In order to cure himself of this pesky, itchy, transparent sphere, he must strike and halve some hard surface and purge the sensation with a “EEEAHHH!” If indeed precipitated by an itch, this act becomes, whilst nonetheless remarkable, a mite less sexy, no? But this is conjecture, which, in the main, is good for little more than padding. Still, padding is a comfort.

Sir Ice Slasher claims to’ve seen a man create an invisible sphere powerful enough and an “EEEAHHH!” loud enough to split a stack of thick wood blocks—without touching any of them.

When he’s not halving blocks of ice, Sir Icy drives a school bus full of snooty suburban brats. He is at peace with it, but I am not.

“Here’s what you do,” I told him. “Whenever one of these brats gets too snooty, hit the brakes and throw the bus into park. Don’t even pull over. Let the horns behind honk. Their blaring will add to the tension. Take a block of wood—have one handy—and set it on the seat beside the brat. Then say, ‘You wanna see how I spank naughty little children? EEEAHHH!’ Thy block so split shalt thence restore the general peace. Rolleth on.”

Sir Icy’s talents are obviously wasted sitting behind the wheel of a school bus.

“Seek out the best the sphered hands you can find,” I insisted. “Assemble a demolition crew. Imagine the ad campaign: ‘Need to tear down that house? Forget the wrecking ball. Don’t bother with dangerous explosives. These guys, they’ll have the place leveled within five cries of ‘EEEAHHH!’ That’s right, folks: Five ‘EEEAHHHS!’ or your money back!’”

Also, I urged Sir Icy to take a patent out, as soon as possible, on his sphere-conjuring hands. 

He seemed mildly amused.

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