Fast Guy Slows Down

By Wred Fright

Superman was first published in 1938, so how come he still looks to be about 25 years old in the stories set in 2022? Ditto for all the other superheroes from The Golden Age Of Comics still being published today. Why isn't Captain America collecting Social Security? Why isn't The Flash using a walker to get around? Why isn't The Human Torch complaining about his hip replacement? Why isn't Wonder Woman deciding what Medicare plan she wants? Why isn't Batman retired? Why isn't Plastic Man stretching his dollars to afford his nursing home bills? Why isn't The Green Lantern The Green Flashlight by now? Er, never mind about that last question. But the answer to the other ones is money. As long as the corporate comics companies can milk money out of them, these characters will be kept forever young, aside from the occasional "imaginary story" or whatnot. But in stunting their growth, only half the story gets told. What does happen when a superhero ages with the times and eventually becomes elderly? What's so super about getting old? Well, it probably beats being dead. Just ask Bucky. Er, never mind. Anyway, leave it to one of America's worstselling authors who hasn't given up yet to venture in and tell the rest of the superhero story. In the case of Harry Fox, the superhero known as Fast Guy, he finds he can't outrace time or death. His worst foe though is an existential crisis brought on by saving the world numerous times only to have it result in a shallow, selfish place populated mainly by morons and jerks, and sometimes even moronic jerks and jerky morons. Living alone in his old ranch house in a town filled with new McMansions, he is wondering what to do with himself and worrying about what will happen to the world when he is gone. And the reader is left wondering if Harry is really a superhero. Although he claims he's saved the world more times than he can remember from nuclear annihilation, he delights in pooping on world leaders, which sounds more like a supervillain, or, at the very least, a person with issues than it does a superhero. Or maybe he's just a lonely old man with a very active imagination. In a world less than super, can a senior citizen still be a hero?

Fast Guy Slows Down is the fifth published novel by Wred Fright. The other four are The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus, Blog Love Omega Glee, Frequently Asked Questions About Being Dead, and Edna's Employment Agency. More info about the author and his work is available at WredFright.Com.

Praise for Fright's previous novel, Edna's Employment Agency:

"The kooky cast of Edna’s Employment Agency will almost make you wish you were out of a job just so you could have them find one for you." - Mark Justice, author of Gauge Black: Hell's Revenge

"The book is short, humane, gentle, absurd, and should put a smile on your face." - Steven B. Smith, author of Stations Of The Lost & Found

"[Edna's Employment Agency] is worth some attention. You could classify it as asort of post-industrial novel. Which is something fitting for America’s post-industrial age. It doesn’t have what you’re supposed to expect in a book, and for us GG Allin fans this is cool because like he said, 'with GG you don’t get what you expect, you get what you get'. . . . Which I find refreshing because every book you read about it says every story must have structure, a three part structure, or a five part structure embedded in a three part structure, a seven part structure embedded in a five part structure embedded in a three part structure. The inciting incident is Godot not arriving, the midpoint is Pozzo and Lucky arriving instead of Godot, and the climax is that Godot is probably never going to arrive. These are just the lowly middleclass of America slowly sinking into the smoking drugs on the sidewalk class." - James Nowlan, author of Shock And Awe.

"Wred had me laughing out loud by page 3. . . . Check this book out. You'll be glad you did." - Joe Smith in Alt

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wred Fright
• Release date: Mar 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005798574

Wred Fright

Wred Fright is the penname of one of the many Fred Wrights in the world. A longtime zinester, blogger, and pal of the small press, he lives near Cleveland, Ohio USA. He is the author of the novels Blog Love Omega Glee, Edna's Employment Agency, Fast Guy Slows Down, Frequently Asked Questions About Being Dead, and The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus. Please visit WredFright.Com for more information and for more of his writing.

Book preview

Superman was first published in 1938, so how come he still looks to be about 25 years old in the stories set in 2022?  Ditto for all the other superheroes from The Golden Age Of Comics still being published today.  Why isn't Captain America collecting Social Security?  Why isn't The Flash using a walker to get around?  Why isn't The Human Torch complaining about his hip replacement?  Why isn't Wonder Woman deciding what Medicare plan she wants?  Why isn't Batman retired?  Why isn't Plastic Man stretching his dollars to afford his nursing home bills?  Why isn't The Green Lantern The Green Flashlight by now?  Er, never mind about that last question.  But the answer to the other ones is money.  As long as the corporate comics companies can milk money out of them, these characters will be kept forever young, aside from the occasional imaginary story or whatnot.  But in stunting their growth, only half the story gets told.  What does happen when a superhero ages with the times and eventually becomes elderly?  What's so super about getting old?  Well, it probably beats being dead.  Just ask Bucky.  Er, never mind.  Anyway, leave it to one of America's worstselling authors who hasn't given up yet to venture in and tell the rest of the superhero story.  In the case of Harry Fox, the superhero known as Fast Guy, he finds he can't outrace time or death.  His worst foe though is an existential crisis brought on by saving the world numerous times only to have it result in a shallow, selfish place populated mainly by morons and jerks, and sometimes even moronic jerks and jerky morons.  Living alone in his old ranch house in a town filled with new McMansions, he is wondering what to do with himself and worrying about what will happen to the world when he is gone.  And the reader is left wondering if Harry is really a superhero.  Although he claims he's saved the world more times than he can remember from nuclear annihilation, he delights in pooping on world leaders, which sounds more like a supervillain, or, at the very least, a person with issues than it does a superhero.  Or maybe he's just a lonely old man with a very active imagination.  In a world less than super, can a senior citizen still be a hero?  Find out in Fast Guy Slows Down!

Fast Guy Slows Down is the fifth published novel by Wred Fright.  The other four are The Pornographic Flabbergasted Emus, Blog Love Omega Glee, Frequently Asked Questions About Being Dead, and Edna's Employment Agency.  More info about the author and his work is available at WredFright.Com.

Praise for Fright's previous novel, Edna's Employment Agency:

"The kooky cast of Edna’s Employment Agency will almost make you wish you were out of a job just so you could have them find one for you." - Mark Justice, author of Gauge Black: Hell's Revenge

The book is short, humane, gentle, absurd, and should put a smile on your face. - Steven B. Smith, author of Stations Of The Lost And Found

"[Edna's Employment Agency] is worth some attention. You could classify it as a sort of post-industrial novel.  Which is something fitting for America’s post-industrial age.  It doesn’t have what you’re supposed to expect in a book, and for us GG Allin fans this is cool because like he said, 'with GG you don’t get what you expect, you get what you get'. . . . Which I find refreshing because every book you read about it says every story must have structure, a three part structure, or a five part structure embedded in a three part structure, a seven part structure embedded in a five part structure embedded in a three part structure.  The inciting incident is Godot not arriving, the midpoint is Pozzo and Lucky arriving instead of Godot, and the climax is that Godot is probably never going to arrive. These are just the lowly middleclass of America slowly sinking into the smoking drugs on the sidewalk class." - James Nowlan, author of Shock And Awe.

I was told (and not necessarily by Wred) that the book is 'laugh-out-loud funny' and, because I'm a bitter, cynical fuck, I didn't believe it. I should never have doubted him. Wred had me laughing out loud by page 3. . . . I think you'll like it too, assuming you like to laugh and you don't mind some foul-mouthed dialog. Check this book out. You'll be glad you did. - Joe Smith in Alternative Incite #2

This novel is for mature readers, though those mature readers can be kind of immature in that they enjoy fart jokes and whatnot.

This is a work of fiction.

Copyright Fred Wright 2022

Published by Frighty LLC

Fast Guy Slows Down

by

Wred Fright 

For anyone else tired of waiting for the corporate comic book companies to tell the end of the story

Table of Contents

Fast Guy Slows Down

by

Wred Fright

1

1940s

2

1950s

3

4

1960s

5

1970s

6

7

1980s

8

1990s

9

10

2000s

11

2010s

12

Afterword

1

It was the third groundhog that caused Harry Fox to spit out his morning coffee.  The dang things kept digging up dang holes in front of the dang house and moving in.  Harry wasn't going to be no dang neighbor of no dang groundhogs.  Or worse, the dang landlord of dang groundhogs.  It wasn't Harry's dang fault that the dang developers kept knocking down the dang woods and building more dang McMansions for rich fudgeheads to move into so the dang groundhogs had to find new dang places to live because with all the dang hazardous chemicals dumped on the dang industrial lawns of the dang McMansions, no dang groundhog wanted to live there to get no dang cancer.  So they moved to Harry's neck of the woods, or what used to be woods, and dug up a dang hole in Harry's dang organic lawn.  He had already disposed of two other dang groundhogs this dang week, an occurrence he initially chalked up to dang coincidence and his own dang bad luck because no dang developer was building dang McMansions that dang quickly.

But a third dang groundhog?  In the same dang week?  The universe was clearly trying to tell him something, but he couldn't make out what.

Dang!

Harry said dang a lot.  He used to have a pottymouth, but he was forced to change his fudgeing ways while taking care of the grandkids and now he seemed stuck in perennial G-rated profanity.  He thought about that, then he sniffed his old red flannel shirt that he was wearing.  It didn't smell, so he was probably OK to wear it for the fifth day in a row.  He tried to remember if he had showered today or just skipped it.  He sniffed himself again.  If his nose was working all right, he had probably showered, but he couldn't remember showering.

Then he remembered the dang groundhog.  What was the universe trying to tell him?  Maybe it was just to give him something to do.  He was a bit bored living on his own now that his second wife had died and the grandchildren didn't need babysitting anymore.  He just puttered around his old ranch house sorting through his . . . their . . . now just his again possessions.  This one for the trash, this one for Goodwill, this one for the grandchildren, and so on until he felt hungry enough to eat another meal.

Hmm . . . he wondered what groundhog tasted like.

Shaking that thought from his head, he looked at the coffee on the kitchen floor, then out the window at the groundhog in the driveway, who was chewing on some plants by the fence.  He decided to clean up the coffee first.  An older person needed to be extra-vigilant about falls.  A fall could be dangerous, and Harry didn't need a dang broken hip.  If he went after the dang groundhog first, he might forget about the dang coffee and slip later on it.  But, to make sure the dang groundhog didn't get away, Harry stopped time first.

A robin flying by outside the kitchen window stopped in the air.  Harry grabbed a paper towel from the roll and bent down.

He heard a creak.  He looked around to see if he hadn't stopped time correctly.  That had happened a couple of times recently, another sign he presumed of growing older and older, but no, time was stopped, the robin still stayed frozen in the air, and Harry heard the echoey unchanging vibrations of the other sounds around when he had stopped time.  The creak had come from him.  Somehow, sounds he made in Stoptime, as he liked to call it, could be heard normally.  Harry couldn't feel pain in Stoptime, but he bet he would feel plenty when time began again.   Another thrill of growing old.  One sounded and sometimes felt like a creaky old staircase.  Harry wiped up the dang coffee with the paper towel and threw it in the trash.  He shuffled over to the basement door and opened it.  He bent down again and heard another dang creak.  His conspiracy theorist friend, Boisterous Bob, said that the government was going to kill off all the old people so the government wouldn't have to pay out money on Social Security and Medicare because the government was going broke with all the debt obligations, and the rich people who ran the government didn't want to pay taxes since they thought rich people did enough for society already.  If the government was planning on killing off all the old people, Harry hoped it'd hurry up, so he could skip some of these dang aches and pains.

Though he didn't feel any pain, Harry groaned, a down payment on the groaning he would be doing when he felt pain when time started up again.  Afraid of toppling forward and falling, Harry crawled down the basement stairs backwards.  He couldn't get hurt in Stoptime, but he had gotten into the habit of going down stairs that way.  It was also less painful that way.  It just looked weird, like Harry was a giant wrinkly spider.  His daughter, Alfreda, had seen him do it one day and exclaimed, Dad, what are you doing?!

Harry had replied, Something you'll be doing in thirty years.

Then Alfreda had muttered something about assisted living or Harry moving to a place where he didn't have to use stairs, but Harry tuned her out.  He had no intention of ever leaving his dang home.  That crap was just the modern postindustrial society way of setting some old people on an ice floe and sending them off into the ocean so you didn't have to be bothered with them anymore.  Harry was staying put.   He just adapted.  So he had to crawl to use the basement stairs, so what?  He could still get down there.  People ought to stop being so fussy about how things were done.  At least the things got done.

Harry paused at the bottom of the stairs and shakily rose to his feet.  It was dark in the basement being morning and the light coming from the east where there were no basement windows, but Harry had lived here for over thirty years.  He knew his way around the shelves and piles of stuff in the basement.  He shuffled across the basement to the far southwestern corner where a slightly rusting animal cage trap sat on the edge of a beaten card table.  He picked up the cage trap and shuffled back to the stairs.  Remembering he was in Stoptime where he couldn't get hurt, he walked up the stairs.

He tumbled over and fell down twice, once ending up with the cage trap over his head, but the third time he made it upstairs.

Going outside, he picked up the groundhog, it springing to life briefly when he touched it before returning to suspended animation once he let go and dropped it in the trap.   He closed the door on the trap and started walking.  It was going to be a boring, long trip, but he saw little point in taking the car.  He always had to stop too many times moving other cars off the road out of his way.  It was easier to walk.  It was a little boring, but he didn't get tired in Stoptime.  He also didn't get cold, so he didn't need to go back in the house to get his jacket for the late winter/early spring morning.  Given all the benefits of Stoptime, he wondered why he didn't stay in Stoptime all the time, but as he walked, he quickly remembered.

It was fudgeing boring.

He remembered the first time he had learned this in the . . .

1940s

True gen, I remember I was reading a Whizzer comic book when Grandfather stopped time and gave me a bunch of stuff.  He was holding my hand and telling me about each item while he gave me it, but I wasn't paying much attention because I wanted to read the story.  The Whizzer wasn't as good as The Flash, but I still liked him.  I always liked the fast characters, maybe because I was a kid and I didn't like always being told what to do so I wanted to grow up, but that seemed to take forever, so I wanted to speed up.  You know, a typical childhood power fantasy.  I would just nod and look at grandfather, then sneak a glance at the story.  I tucked all the things he gave me into a box except for the staff which didn't fit, so I stuck it under my bed.  The first thing was a metal helmet with wings on either side.  It looked like the one The Flash wore, but Grandfather said that this one belonged to Mercury.  I put it on, but it was too big.  Grandfather said that was all right, and I would grow into it.  I beat it like a drum a couple of times, but Grandfather said to stop, so I did and went back to The Whizzer.

The next thing was the staff.  It was weird.  It had two snakes curling around it, which were kind of scary.  I didn't want to touch it, but Grandfather shoved it into my free hand anyway.  It was way too big, taller than me.

Whoa!  One of the snakes seemed to move!  I dropped the staff and backed away.

Grandfather sucked in his cheeks and made a tsk sound.  He was wearing his usual dark suit, so he pinched and pulled up his pants above the knees to bend down before he picked up the staff and shoved it back into my hand.  I swear one of the snakes winked at me.  I tucked it under my bed as quickly as possible.

Next he dumped a robe on me.  I couldn't see The Whizzer anymore, and I flailed to get it off me.  Grandfather laughed as I stuck my head out of the robe's folds.  It was way too big for me.  It was a coarse cloth and itchy.

Grandfather said that I would grow into it, but I couldn't imagine ever wearing it.  I'd look like some brown blob wandering around.

The last thing Grandfather gave me was a pair of sandals.  They were also way too big for me, but Grandfather insisted that I try them on.  I managed to walk three steps before one fell off, flying across the room.

Grandfather laughed again and rubbed my hair.  He said everything was all right.  Then he let go of my hand.

Mother yelled from downstairs about how it was time for dinner, which was weird because I thought Grandfather had stopped time.  He must have started it up again.  Then Grandfather said this would buy us some time.  I asked him how much time was because my comic books cost a dime each, a nickel if I bought them at John's Shoeshine where he sold old ones on the side along with the new ones and newspapers, magazines, candy, gum, cigarettes, and whatever else he thought people might want and he could cram in his tiny shop.

Grandfather just muttered something in Italian that I didn't understand and grabbed my hand.  He told me to stop time, and I told him I didn't know how.  He said to remember what he had taught me, which I didn't, but I just thought real hard and he seemed to be happy with the result because he smiled.  He told me to hold onto his hand and we walked downstairs.  I could hear echoey sounds from the dining room where mother must have been setting the table.  We didn't go in to eat though; we went out the front door into the twilight.  I looked back at Mother, but I didn't see her because Grandfather was walking us so fast.  It was like he was in a hurry.  I had a feeling we were going to try to stop the war again.  Every once in a while we did that.  I don't know why he took me along, but he seemed to be trying to teach me something.  It was always terrifying though.  I would start crying, and Grandfather would mutter and end up taking me, us, home.

I was always glad to get home.  I couldn't wait to sleep.  Even though I didn't ever get tired while time was stopped; I was always exhausted when it started up again.  Even Grandfather would yawn, so I could tell that he was tired as well.  Sometimes I wanted to yawn when time was stopped, but I wasn't tired, so I couldn't, like when we would stop at a newsstand, bookstore, or library, and Grandfather would spend an eternity reading and studying things.  Before I learned how to read, I would just read comics by looking at the pictures.  I liked the drawings.  I thought it was cool how someone could take stuff in the world and run it through the brain to put it on a page so I could run it through my brain.  But even I could only look at so many comics, and Grandfather would take forever.  I wished I could just throw a ball against a wall outside, like I did when I was sometimes bored in regular time, and bounce it off the wall and run and catch it, but Grandfather said I had to keep holding his hand.  I don't know why, but when he wasn't touching me I guess I would stop like everything else.  I don't know why he just didn't let me stop also sometimes; at least, it wouldn't be so boring.  This time when we went to the library, it was the worst.   The worst!  If I stopped holding his hand, this time he would stop like everything else.  I let go of him a couple of times, but he got real mad at me when I grabbed his hand again like he could tell I had let go, so it wasn't a lot of fun.  Finally, I just found a new Cosmic Counter comic at the newsstand down the block which made me happy, and I read it while hanging on to Grandfather's leg.  I had to stick my hand past his sock up his pant leg to get the skin.  His skin was real wrinkly and felt weird.  It was also all blotchy and red like the blood was about to come spilling out.  I didn't like rolling up my sleeve and wrapping my arm around his leg, but it was easier to read that way than continuing to hold hands.  I just paid attention to my Cosmic Counter story.  I must have read it ten times.  The Cosmic Counter's this guy who has to go around the galaxy counting people for some political reason.  I tried telling Grandfather about it once and he just said it was like the census, but I said no, it was outer space.

Grandfather didn't understand.  Anyway, in this story, The Cosmic Counter has to fly out to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.  He's been to this guy's cave like ten times before, and the guy always hides from him. One time, The Counter caught the guy outside and they almost got into a fistfight, but the guy slipped away.  This time, The Cosmic Counter turns himself into a stray cat.  Well, kind of like a cat, like an alien cat.  No, an alien spooky cat.  The Cosmic Counter is real tired of having to come out here to try to get the guy to fill out his government form, and he has figured out that the guy likes cats.  Well, the guy isn't really a guy.  He's like this squid thing.   I mean he has arms and legs, but he has a squid head with tentacles.  Anyway, the squid guy sees the cat and he comes out.  I don't know if he's going to eat it or what.  Maybe he just wants it as a pet.  Just then, The Cosmic Counter turns back into himself.  He's like a normal looking guy with dark hair, but he wears a spacesuit like Buck Rogers or Flash Gordon.  Anyway, the squid guy finally fills out the form, so The Cosmic Counter is happy.  I was happy also.  I really like The Cosmic Counter stories.  One time I tried to count to infinity, but I got bored around 827, so I quit.  I was also disappointed that no raygun battles broke out while I was counting because that usually happens to The Cosmic Counter.

After the tenth read of the comic, I thought about taking a nap, but I didn't think we could sleep during Stoptime because I never felt tired.  I never tried though, so I closed my eyes.  Instantly, Grandfather shook his leg and woke me up and told me to cut it out.  He didn't explain, but I'm guessing that he didn't want me to sleep.  Maybe time starts again if we fall asleep.  At this point, I wanted time to speed up, but whatever Grandfather was studying must have been important.  He was probably trying to find another way to stop the war.  I hoped it worked.  I wanted Father to come home again.  And, of course, I wanted our side to win!  Grandfather laughed when I said this, telling me no one wins a war.  People only can lose.  He got particularly sad about Italy.  He said America doesn't have it too bad.  Though men such as Father were overseas fighting, no one was fighting in our neighborhood.  In Italy, he said the Allies and Axis were fighting in the towns and the mountains.  It's all mixed up with some Italians fighting for the Allies and other Italians fighting for the Axis.  Basta! Grandfather said and stood up.

He grabbed the hand I had around