Whirlwind (standard:humor, 1495 words)
Author: Julia McGinty	Added: Oct 04 2001	Views/Reads: 3328/2381	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A satire of American disaster movies... just the beginning of a short novel, would very much appreciate feedback...

Biff Johnson downed the glass of ‘Mega Muscles Power Powder’ and let out
a large belch. He always finished his sweaty, three minute daily 
workout with a jumbo energy drink and a peanut butter sandwich. The 
tough, just-divorced, father-of-one, ex-taxi driver was pushing forty, 
but had the body of a well-tanned and oiled elephant seal. His tough 
job at the American Bureau of Universal Meteorology was frequently 
demanding, but provided the money to support his six-year-old son, 
Randy. A thin, high-pitched bell told him the phone was ringing. 
Picking it up, he sighed. It was probably that bitch of an ex-wife 
trying to offload their angelic but intellectual son onto him again. 

“Yo?” 

“Yo, Biff, man, you gotta get down to the bureau pronto. There’s some
heavy shit goin’ down here. The guys need you.” 

“Whassup?” 

“Can’t say, man, just get your ass down here!” 

“Right. I’ll fly if I have to.” 

Two hours later, Biff opened the big glass doors of ABUM. A resounding
cry of “Biff’s here!” echoed through the spacy glass and chrome 
building. Two pretty, young assistants tottered up on their high heels 
and gracefully removed his overcoat. Phones rang loudly, and over two 
dozen frenzied receptionists hurried to reach them. A big, 
wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling satellite screen beeped disconcertingly. 
Biff considered the swirling weather formations for not more than three 
seconds, then yelled. 

“Wilfred! Get your fat ass over here now!” 

Wilfred, who had made the all-important phonecall to Biff, was already
at his side. 

“Biff, my man, I’m ready for action! The Cruncher’s cranked up, three
hundred pounds of the best ordered fresh from Brazil - and it’s coming 
airmail!” 

“Good stuff, Wil! It looks like we’re going to be in for a long, steamy
ride. Now, get on the phone to my EX-wife and let her know that Randy 
can’t come and stay this weekend.” 

“Right on, Boss.” 

“Mirabelle?” 

“Yes, Biff?” 

“Go upstairs, get me ABUM’s top meteorological scientist, down here,
pronto.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Biff charged through the mass of desks, brimming with ringing phones and
silver letter openers. Relaxing in his office, he became engaged in an 
exciting game of Solitaire. Presently, Wilfred lumbered in, his glasses 
fogged up with sweat. 

“Biff, your lady says it’s too late. Randy’s on his way here already.
The train’ll be arriving in three quarters of an hour.” 

“Shit. You’ll have to look after him, Wil. I’m too busy.” 

Biff turned back to his rigorous game of Solitaire. 

“Alright, Boss. Oh yeah, Little Miss Mirabelle has the scientist you
asked for.” 

“Tell her to bring him in.” 

As ABUM’s top meteorological scientist stepped through the doorway, Biff
had to gasp. The scientist, it turned out, was not a he, but a she. Her 
suede suit tightly hugged her fabulous figure, her shapely legs 


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