Mortimer, the Drop of Goo
by Headley Hauser
He was born at 10:15AM the Saturday that Fred the dad, watched the kids. He didn’t know his origins. Was he grease? Was he jam? Was he syrup?
It didn’t matter now. From the moment he dropped from Fred’s plate and hit the floor, he was goo. He was Mortimer, the Drop of Goo.
Mortimer surveyed the great plain of ceramic tile. He was in a vast world, full of sights and smells. One smell was particularly pungent.
Mortimer didn’t know it, but his life nearly came to an end only moments after it began, for that pungent smell was none other than Barkie, the Labradoodle whose fell tongue had consumed myriad goo drops before him.
“Barkie, come here,” said Fred. “I can’t have you messing up the kitchen or Loraine will never let me hear the end of it.”
And so, Mortimer was spared. Mortimer felt lucky – maybe even a bit crafty to have escaped death. “Beware, cold tile world,” said he, “for I am Mortimer, the lucky, Mortimer the Drop off Goo.”
Nothing much happened in Mortimer’s existence until 11:03AM. Ethan, six-years-old, and barefoot, entered Mortimer’s domain. Ethan entered it so completely that the boy stepped on little Mortimer, creating a tiny sound and transferring half of Mortimer’s goo to the bottom of Ethan’s foot. Surprisingly, Mortimer didn’t feel at all reduced. There was something magical about the bottom of a little boy’s foot that made a small drop of goo multiply into dozens of equal, even greater drops of goo.
“Grow, My People,” shouted Mortimer, the Drop of Goo. “Multiply and subdue the great plain of ceramic tile!”
When Ethan left the kitchen, Mortimer observed his world from a new perspective. “Beware world of Greater Kitchen,” said he, “for I am Mortimer the fruitful, Mortimer the Drop of Goo.
And so things remained until 1:22PM when Isabel, fourteen months and crawling, entered the kitchen. Isabel crawled right through Mortimer the Drop of Goo, distributing much of his substance unto her hands and knees. Perhaps Isabel had the same magic as her brother, or maybe it was a function of toddler drool (and other fluids best not mentioned,) but Mortimer was not reduced, but multiplied many times. He spread upon the kitchen chairs and cabinet fronts, he formed perfect fingerprints on the edge of the table. He even coated the bowl belonging to Barkie the Labradoodle – the very beast that might have ended his existence. By the time Isabel crawled out of the kitchen, Mortimer was everywhere!
“A HA!” shouted Mortimer. “I have conquered the kitchen! It is all mine. Let the world beware, for if I have conquered this vast kitchen, I can conquer every kitchen. I can conquer the whole world” said he, “for I am Mortimer the Mighty, Mortimer the Drop of Goo!”
And so for three hours, Mortimer gloated, he plotted, he sang to himself little ditties of world domination. Mortimer was happy in the way every evil tyrant has been happy from the days of Nimrod the Hunter, to Vlad the Impaler, to George the Yankee Owner.
Mortimer kept his evil gleeful revelry until 4:45PM when Loraine entered the kitchen from the door that led to the garage.
“It is through that door that I will spread to the outside world,” thought Mortimer. “Go ahead, Loraine – touch me, spread me, increase my domain,” said he, “for I am Mortimer the Dominator, Mortimer the Drop of Goo!”
“Fred!” shouted Loraine.
RIP, Mortimer the Drop of Goo.