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Description
Fog enveloped the town with its sinuous tendrils and dreamy presence when the rat family arrived.  The trees surrounding the lively Idaho town were barely visible through the fog's dense body.  The mountains vanished unknowingly.  The smell of sawdust and moisture hung in the air.  What was believed to be the sound of a mewling cat formed around the distant Bartydom's Gorge (why the locals call it that the rat family did not know).

Furtown, Idaho was a normally cheery outpost in the spring.  Thousands of furs would scurry about their everyday business all over the main plaza.  The sun was usually out and the sky was bluer than the deepest ocean.  The shops were busy all day long and the daily news was to be found everywhere.  Cubs frolicked the streets as if the whole world was their playground.  Not a single overweight fur occupied Furtown.  Today, however, the town was as active as Harrison Ford in a real life conversation.

The rat family was disappointed to have to spend their vacation in a truly dismal environment.  The dad wrinkled his tiny muzzle in bewilderment.  The best chance the family had was to locate the tourist shop and forgo some travel brochures and hopefully get a tour of the town.  It didn't seem like much was to be seen, though, so they decided to gather information about nearby landmarks.  If that didn't work, well, shit happens.  But first, directions were called for.

The rats zigzagged the street asking any and all locals in sight….to no avail.  "Daddy, when can I use the bathroom?" the rat son whined.

The dad sighed.  Great!  Just as our luck runs out, he thought profusely.  "Just as soon as we get some damn directions!"

"Mark!" the rat mom lashed out.

"What?  He's eleven and she's sixteen," he stated as he indicated their two children.  "It's not like they're being exposed to rotten language every day.  I just wish we could find someone with half a mind to tell us where the fucking…."  He froze in midsentence.

"See!  Now you've gone off the deep end."

"No, it's not that.  Look!"  He pointed towards the nearby newsstand.  As a badger furry prepared to set up shop, the most exotic scaly the rat family had ever seen approached the stand.  Even though the red lizard-like thing conveyed a scheming grin, they sensed a trustworthiness emanate from him.  His movements were lively compared with all the other locals.  Horns jutted out of his skull like some sort of dragon.  A black star covered the outside of his right eye.  The glasses he wore made him look intelligent.

"That's an interesting-looking fellow," stated the rat mom.  "He sure doesn't seem all that gloomy."

The rat dad scratched his chin.  "Well, if he can show us where the tourist shop is, I won't mind giving him a big kiss.  Come on kids!"

As the rat family approached the lizard, he cut the strings on the newspaper stack and grabbed a copy.  He began to look through the national affairs section when his starred eye caught sight of a group of rats.  He smirked.  "Well, that's been six weeks since we got one of them," he said facetiously.

The dad only came closer, not knowing if he meant tourists or rats.  If the rats thought they sensed an odd behavior from the scaly they did not show it.  "Hello, sir.  Hope we don't intrude.  Our family is on vacation."

"Vacation….in Idaho?!  Ha!" the lizard retorted, still smirking and reading the newspaper.  "I have to meet your travel agent someday.  He sounds like a bigger bullshit artist than my old Paleontology professor."

This sudden outburst of negativity came as a shock to the rats.  But they acted like nothing happened.  "I'm sorry, we didn't catch your name," the rat mom pointed out.

"Borg is my name, and don't worry, I don't assimilate objects," Borg joked, holding out his hand.  The rats were slow in reacting to his remark.  "I didn't catch your names, either, but alas, I don't give a shit.  Great!  Now that we understand each other," he stated blatantly, "hear this: Idaho is pretty much all that it's being said about."  His smile faded.

"I don't understand," said the rat dad.

"The only thing relevant in this mountainous shithole is the fact that the bovine population exceeds the combined population of humans, furries, and scalies by nine times."

Just as Borg finished his informative statement, a civilized cow walked by.  "Good morning Borg," she greeted.

"Good morning Mrs. Phyllis," he responded joyfully.  The cow turned a corner and walked out of sight.

"Look, Borg!  You sound like a well educated lizard.  We just want to find where we can examine your town's roots and landmarks of history.  That's all we ask."

Borg pondered for a moment.  "Alright!  If you say so!  What you would do is south down that dirt road over there," he pointed towards a dirt path on the edge of town, "until you hit Bartydom's Gorge.  All you have to do is jump off and Hell is just straight down."

"Hahaha!  Very funny!" the rat dad sarcastically exclaimed.  "I meant where can we find your tourist shop?"

"Oh, come on!  I was just fucking with you," Borg laughed.  "You can't possibly take that seriously."  He only received negative expressions.  "Fine!  I'll talk!

"Actually, are you very eager to get to this shop?"  His tone was practically cynical.  The smirk formed on his face again.

The rats nodded, not understanding the implication in his tone.  "Excellent!  Now follow through with me.  From the direction you're facing me," his tail tensed up to indicate confusion, "shift thirty degrees counterclockwise.  Head in that direction at a velocity of half a meter per second for a minute.  Ahead of you will be a 'one way' sign.  At ten degrees south of that sign, move forward, making sure that your speed starts at six meters per second.  At constant acceleration, make it so that when ten seconds has passed, your final speed is half a meter per second again.  Shift to your right eighty degrees afterwards."  The rats did not know whether to be amused or baffled, but the lizard was too fun to leave alone.  "Head in that direction until you're seventy meters from a gigantic oak tree five degrees to your left.  Take a complete ninety degree turn towards the east.  Head in that direction for five minutes at an acceleration of point-zero-one meters per second squared.   Shift ninety degrees again towards the north and move forward sixty-five-plus-thirty-two-point-five-sine-ten-degrees meters.  Slightly to your right you'll see a shop that sells fabric."  The dad thought he heard Borg snicker.  "One-hundred-five degrees to the west of the 'F' on that sign, move forty-five-plus-thirty-two-point-five-cosine-ten-degrees meters.  After that, move in such a way that you're going thirty meters to the west and fifteen meters to the south at the same time.  The tourist shop is right at your nose."

He only met blank stares when he finished.  He wasn't surprised.  Most of those directions took him two years of college calculus to formulate.  If this furry family could catch all of that, then it would make Borg look like an academic nitwit.

"This is not funny Borg!"  Oh, Thank Jesus! Borg thought.  "We just want simple ass directions!"  The rat dad sounded more than infuriated.

"I'm not joking this time."  Borg's grin receded again, implying sincerity.  "Yeah, I know that was a little too much to digest, but trust me, it works.  All you need to do is write that motherfucker down."

"I wrote all that down!"

Borg and the rats turned their heads towards the sound of the newcomer's voice.  A small, but wiry white gerbil stood before the crowd holding a clipboard and a pen and wearing a red and black striped scarf around his neck.  His smile only made him look even more eccentric.

"Uhh, who exactly are you, meener?" Borg asked curiously.

"Me?"  The gerbil seemed skittish.  "Oh, I'm just a lowly explorer contemplating physical theories in my travels."

"I like that name," Borg retorted.  He gave a sign of assurance to the gerbil that they'll be good friends.  The gerbil doubted that claim.

Suddenly, Borg focused his attention to the rat family, who still needed proper guidance.  "Well, this is great!  Normally, I would repeat my instructions and make sure people caught everything, but now that we have a Buddhist physicist here," he indicated the gerbil, whose smile receded in contempt, "those instructions are now recorded.  All you have to do now is follow Just-A-Lowly-Explorer-Contemplating-Physical-Theories-In-My-Travels' every word and you'll be stuffing your paws with inky brochures in no time.  Farewell!"  He then waved goodbye to everyone, grabbed a hold of his newspaper and headed for the nearby bench.

"God, what a dick!" the gerbil swore violently.  "I'm the Buddhist physicist?!  I'm sorry, but who was the one giving directions in vector form?  If I wasn't only forty pounds, I would…."

"Uhh, sir?" the rat mom gestured impatiently.  "Can we get going, please?"

"Huh?  Oh, yes!  Right, let's get started."  The gerbil referred to his clipboard.

Over by the bench, Borg began to hum the lyrics of Tool's "Rosetta Stoned" while reading the weather section.  The visual he displayed emanated a sense of instability and disregard of mental discrepancy.  His tail was swaying wave-like.

"Is it me, or is there something….wrong with that lizard?" the rat boy asked innocently.

"No, dear, I sense it too," the rat dad responded.  "But I'm not all that worried.  He did give us what we needed, if not in some odd fashion, so I'm grateful.  Alright, sir, what do we do first?"

The gerbil began flipping through his notes.  "He said shift thirty degrees…."

If they were six feet closer to the bench, they would've heard Borg, after humming the words "but this shit never happens to me," snicker vehemently.

********

Randy was enjoying his delicious white, peppermint mocha while striding down Furtown Drive when he spotted a white gerbil leading a family of rats to….wherever.  The grey wolf was perplexed by the gerbil's syntax when they got closer to him.  Phrases like "sine ten degrees" were only the words that came out of his mouth.  The gerbil stated them in listing format.  Why would a furry like that engage in a conversation like that to a family?  He decided to approach them.

Randy was a short, but stocky wolf with few ambitions.  The yellow "T" shaped design on his belly shown in the sunlight even through the thick fog.  He wore that symbol with dignity, which solely belonged to the members of the ancient Sokikte Wolves that once roamed all of North America.  No one knew of their demise, but Randy believed that the mark was a symbol to do good to all humanity and furs.  If it meant coming out as vindictive in the process, so be it.

He arrived at the group and greeted them.  "Good morning everyone!"  His appearance stopped the group in its place.

"Oh, uhh, good morning to you too, Mr.…." the rat dad responded, befuddled briefly.

"Randy!" he answered.  "Just call me Randy."  He did his best to display a positive mood to the newcomers.  "Ya' new to this place?"

"No," the rat mom stated, "we're just on vacation traveling with our family."

"This one doesn't seem to be your type."  He indicated the skittish gerbil.

"I'm just interpreting some directions to some tourist shop they were given," the gerbil implied, anticipating the expected division.  He seemed like an intelligent rodent.

"Directions?  I don't recall using trig functions to associate with GPS.  Who on earth gives directions like….?"  He froze in midsentence, realization colliding with him.  "Holy shit!  Don't tell me Borg was the one you spoke to."

The rats merely looked at each other.  "Why, yes it was.  Why?  Is that bad?"

"I don't know.  It depends on his attitude.  But hear me out on this, okay?"  Randy held his hand like a college professor.  "Whatever you do, do not do what Borg tells you to.  He is a nasty piece of work.  He's off his fucking nut!  Am I getting through to you?"

Despite his best efforts, it did not seem to be effective.  "We kinda figured he was a bit….odd," the rat mom clarified.  "But he couldn't be that insensitive to us as to not give us directions.  Even loony badgers can have a chance to be Good Samaritans, can they not?"

"True only that I believe his idea of 'Good Samaritan' is distorted as hell."  He shifted his stance to assume a more informative presence.  "Borg is not a known species of this world.  We don't know how his kind is like.  But I do know this: his one sole form of amusement is to frolic around, catch sight of a victim, and mess with his or her mind.  Smart lizard, though, and that is why I believe he can catch anybody in his grasp.  Everyone assumes he has a vast mind that cares about others.  Now, I repeat: do not follow his directions."

"Well, Randy, if what you say is correct, then he succeeded in doing just that," the gerbil rebuked.  "His original idea was to display the directions in vector form to confuse the family and send them down a roaring creek with no paddle.  But then I came along and shoved that plan down his throat.  We outsmarted him.  How's that?!"

At that moment, Randy lost all composure and gripped his forehead.  They're misinterpreting what I say.  It's like I'm stuck in a Monty Python sketch.  "Listen!  You're underestimating this guy because he's a scaly.  He obviously outsmarted you.  I don't know how, but I promise you, you will find out."

"Well if it makes it easier, can you tell us where the tourist shop is?" the rat dad asked.

Randy thought for a moment, then said, "No!  I'm sorry!  I'm afraid I don't get around as much as Borg."  It made him sick to even mention the fact.

"Okay, then we'll be on our way.  Later, Randy!"  And just like that, the group was off.

The wolf was left behind to contemplate the current predicament.  If those poor furs were still thinking and breathing, then Borg must not have finished with them yet.  Randy then thought about locating the lizard before Borg found them.

********

Ten minutes have passed since the fiasco with Randy.  Already the gerbil was running short of breath.  The rat family had started to walk rigorously forward by the time they reached the last segment of Borg's instructions.  Even though rodents do not usually sweat, the fog surrounding them acted as an insulator for at the time.  The rat daughter, who was usually quiet and isolated, tripped over her own feet.  She slowly rose in humiliation.

They were footsteps away from their destination.  All they had to do was, according to the directions and the gerbil's seemingly reliable calculations, move slightly over thirty-three-and-a-half more meters in the direction they were going.  They would collect the brochures in the shop and leave town in no time.  The rat dad was relieved.  They would be rid of empty buildings, fucked-up reptiles and touchy wolves.

The gerbil looked just as anxious as them.  He was probably expecting to see the pretentious expression on Borg's face when he returned.  The rat dad noticed aggravated tension permeating from the gerbil's presence as they ventured together.  It must've been hard for him to have a stationary scaly insult him in public and then leave without allowing any comebacks.  In fact, it seemed that the longer Borg was out of the picture, the more agitated he was.  Poor fellow!

"We're almost there, everyone," the gerbil stated nonchalantly.  "Borg said that the shop would be right in front of our faces, didn't he?"  The rat family nodded.  "Great!"

In fact, they reached their destination in a matter of seconds.  Ecstatically, the gerbil looked away from his clipboard to look back at his company.  All four rats, however, displayed an aura of befuddlement rather than joy.  The gerbil did not understand their unexpected behavior until he looked forward….to end up gazing at a bench.

"So how'd it go?" boasted a cynical and familiar voice.  All five heads turned in the direction of that voice.  Indeed, Borg stood by the same newspaper stand holding a massive three scoop ice-cream cone, smiling unstably.  The stance he displayed told the company that he was expecting them.  His tail swayed in excitement as if he was stoked to speak to the group….most likely to the dismay of the rodents.

The gerbil was flabbergasted.  "Buhh…whahh…how?  I mean, where's the tourist shop, you bastard?!"  Did I forget to mention he was also pissed?

"Tourist Shop?!  Ha!"  Borg's vindictive attitude permeated the streets.  He took a lick of his ice-cream before speaking.  "You honestly believed that they're called that?  I'm your fucking tour guide, dingbats.  Without me, you would've been sick of this town."

"We still are!" the rat dad exclaimed furiously.  "Why did your directions bring us back where we started?  Answer!"

"Oh, don't get me started."  His smile receded.  "If any of you were as smart as you thought you were, you would've caught on very quickly.  Just-A-Lowly-Explorer-Contemplating-Physical-Theories-In-My-Travels," he called, indicating the gerbil, who was surprised to find the lizard remember the previous conversation. "Sketch a vector diagram of those directions.  That will explain things."

Confused, the gerbil nevertheless did as he was told.  When he finished, he was quick to notice the diagram come to a closed shape.  "Oh, shit!  The nutcase is right.  We do end up back where we started."  The gerbil retracted.  He was defeated.

Nutcase? Borg thought.  I take it they ran in to Randy.  "That's right!  Simple, first-year calculus screwed you over."  He snickered, his smile forming again.

"But why would you that, sir?" the rat son pointed out.

"Well, it's not like it didn't benefit you as well.  I made you go on a path near certain landmarks around town, if you were paying attention, that is.  Did you notice Bartydom's Gorge, or did you have your heads up your asses?  Also," he continued, "I gave your kids a little taste of college."

"We didn't need no stupid lecture, toad face," the rat daughter lashed out.

Borg only looked more confident.  "It talks!  Well, it was about time.  See, your kids are getting smarter."  Nobody took that remark nicely.

Just as things were about to heat up, the sound of claws touching the pavement approached the group.  It was Randy.  The wolf arrived exhausted and panting heavily.  He stopped to rest his lungs and bent down to rest his arms and legs.  "It's about time….I found you….you degenerate piece of shit."  He referred to Borg.

"Randy!  Watch your language," Borg joked.  He took another lick at his ice-cream.  "Boy, do you look beat!  Did you participate in the gay parade already?"

"Fuck you!  I've been hunting your tailbone all throughout town.  I've been meaning to catch you before you did anymore damage to these nice people."

The rodents acted as spectators throughout the argument.  Indeed, most of the group was baffled.  The gerbil was still fixated in his thoughts over his defeat.  The rat family couldn't believe that they were manipulated by a loony scaly.  It wouldn't have surprised most furries to see the group shaking in discomfort.

Suddenly, Borg and Randy turned their attention to the rodents.  "Everyone, you do honestly believe me that no actual harm was done to you, don't you?" Borg requested.  "It's still all good."

Everyone nodded in Borg's favor….to Randy's disbelief.  "Wonderful!" Borg exclaimed.  He then took the entire cone and shoved it down his throat.  Everyone watched in amazement (and disgust) as the ice-cream cone disappeared without a trace.  "Before you people leave, how 'bout getting yourselves a bite to eat.  Anyone who passes through this town without trying some of Mr. Frost's chili is a sore dimbo."

Surprisingly, everyone agreed.  Suddenly, the weather began to clear.  The sun shone brightly as noon approached.  Birds were heard not long after.  The smell of rhododendrons replaced the sawdust odor.  It was as if the group cast a vote for gay weather.

"Hmm….interesting!" Borg pointed out.  "Well, the restaurant is just right behind me. Randy and I will meet you there."   The rodents left, leaving the lizard and the wolf alone.

As soon as the rodents entered the building, Randy's apprehension returned.   "You're such a jackass!  That sort of intense behavior doesn't leave a good impression on us to tourists."

"What!  Does your 'doing good for the sake of being good' mindset get in the way of fun?"

"No!  What I'm saying is that when you imbed in tourists' minds you doing this sort of shit, it spreads.  Pretty soon, our town will set aside the Bartydom's Gorge attraction and start showing off the 'World's Most Vindictive Lizard.'  What even drives you to do something like that?"

"That's easy!"  He flexed his knuckles.  "I feel that it's my responsibility to contribute to our community by engaging in respectable communication with our visitors and help them in any way possible."

"You don't just mess with people while doing that.  Insulting others?  Confusing them?  Showing off your eating habits?  That's totally unconventional."

"Unconventional, you say?  Well then, listen to this.  You have lived in this town all of your twenty-five years.  I have lived here the last three of my twenty-eight years.  Yet, I know every damn nook and cranny of this area.  You couldn't tell me where the nearest restroom was at from here.  I think I deserve to give directions to anyone who asks."

This touched Randy's nerves.   "Well, in the wise words of Kirkwood Smith, 'give my foot the directions to find its way up your ass.'"

Borg grinned heavily.  "My pleasure!"

Description
Fog enveloped the town with its sinuous tendrils and dreamy presence when the rat family arrived.  The trees surrounding the lively Idaho town were barely visible through the fog's dense body.  The mountains vanished unknowingly.  The smell of sawdust and moisture hung in the air.  What was believed to be the sound of a mewling cat formed around the distant Bartydom's Gorge (why the locals call it that the rat family did not know).

Furtown, Idaho was a normally cheery outpost in the spring.  Thousands of furs would scurry about their everyday business all over the main plaza.  The sun was usually out and the sky was bluer than the deepest ocean.  The shops were busy all day long and the daily news was to be found everywhere.  Cubs frolicked the streets as if the whole world was their playground.  Not a single overweight fur occupied Furtown.  Today, however, the town was as active as Harrison Ford in a real life conversation.

The rat family was disappointed to have to spend their vacation in a truly dismal environment.  The dad wrinkled his tiny muzzle in bewilderment.  The best chance the family had was to locate the tourist shop and forgo some travel brochures and hopefully get a tour of the town.  It didn't seem like much was to be seen, though, so they decided to gather information about nearby landmarks.  If that didn't work, well, shit happens.  But first, directions were called for.

The rats zigzagged the street asking any and all locals in sight….to no avail.  "Daddy, when can I use the bathroom?" the rat son whined.

The dad sighed.  Great!  Just as our luck runs out, he thought profusely.  "Just as soon as we get some damn directions!"

"Mark!" the rat mom lashed out.

"What?  He's eleven and she's sixteen," he stated as he indicated their two children.  "It's not like they're being exposed to rotten language every day.  I just wish we could find someone with half a mind to tell us where the fucking…."  He froze in midsentence.

"See!  Now you've gone off the deep end."

"No, it's not that.  Look!"  He pointed towards the nearby newsstand.  As a badger furry prepared to set up shop, the most exotic scaly the rat family had ever seen approached the stand.  Even though the red lizard-like thing conveyed a scheming grin, they sensed a trustworthiness emanate from him.  His movements were lively compared with all the other locals.  Horns jutted out of his skull like some sort of dragon.  A black star covered the outside of his right eye.  The glasses he wore made him look intelligent.

"That's an interesting-looking fellow," stated the rat mom.  "He sure doesn't seem all that gloomy."

The rat dad scratched his chin.  "Well, if he can show us where the tourist shop is, I won't mind giving him a big kiss.  Come on kids!"

As the rat family approached the lizard, he cut the strings on the newspaper stack and grabbed a copy.  He began to look through the national affairs section when his starred eye caught sight of a group of rats.  He smirked.  "Well, that's been six weeks since we got one of them," he said facetiously.

The dad only came closer, not knowing if he meant tourists or rats.  If the rats thought they sensed an odd behavior from the scaly they did not show it.  "Hello, sir.  Hope we don't intrude.  Our family is on vacation."

"Vacation….in Idaho?!  Ha!" the lizard retorted, still smirking and reading the newspaper.  "I have to meet your travel agent someday.  He sounds like a bigger bullshit artist than my old Paleontology professor."

This sudden outburst of negativity came as a shock to the rats.  But they acted like nothing happened.  "I'm sorry, we didn't catch your name," the rat mom pointed out.

"Borg is my name, and don't worry, I don't assimilate objects," Borg joked, holding out his hand.  The rats were slow in reacting to his remark.  "I didn't catch your names, either, but alas, I don't give a shit.  Great!  Now that we understand each other," he stated blatantly, "hear this: Idaho is pretty much all that it's being said about."  His smile faded.

"I don't understand," said the rat dad.

"The only thing relevant in this mountainous shithole is the fact that the bovine population exceeds the combined population of humans, furries, and scalies by nine times."

Just as Borg finished his informative statement, a civilized cow walked by.  "Good morning Borg," she greeted.

"Good morning Mrs. Phyllis," he responded joyfully.  The cow turned a corner and walked out of sight.

"Look, Borg!  You sound like a well educated lizard.  We just want to find where we can examine your town's roots and landmarks of history.  That's all we ask."

Borg pondered for a moment.  "Alright!  If you say so!  What you would do is south down that dirt road over there," he pointed towards a dirt path on the edge of town, "until you hit Bartydom's Gorge.  All you have to do is jump off and Hell is just straight down."

"Hahaha!  Very funny!" the rat dad sarcastically exclaimed.  "I meant where can we find your tourist shop?"

"Oh, come on!  I was just fucking with you," Borg laughed.  "You can't possibly take that seriously."  He only received negative expressions.  "Fine!  I'll talk!

"Actually, are you very eager to get to this shop?"  His tone was practically cynical.  The smirk formed on his face again.

The rats nodded, not understanding the implication in his tone.  "Excellent!  Now follow through with me.  From the direction you're facing me," his tail tensed up to indicate confusion, "shift thirty degrees counterclockwise.  Head in that direction at a velocity of half a meter per second for a minute.  Ahead of you will be a 'one way' sign.  At ten degrees south of that sign, move forward, making sure that your speed starts at six meters per second.  At constant acceleration, make it so that when ten seconds has passed, your final speed is half a meter per second again.  Shift to your right eighty degrees afterwards."  The rats did not know whether to be amused or baffled, but the lizard was too fun to leave alone.  "Head in that direction until you're seventy meters from a gigantic oak tree five degrees to your left.  Take a complete ninety degree turn towards the east.  Head in that direction for five minutes at an acceleration of point-zero-one meters per second squared.   Shift ninety degrees again towards the north and move forward sixty-five-plus-thirty-two-point-five-sine-ten-degrees meters.  Slightly to your right you'll see a shop that sells fabric."  The dad thought he heard Borg snicker.  "One-hundred-five degrees to the west of the 'F' on that sign, move forty-five-plus-thirty-two-point-five-cosine-ten-degrees meters.  After that, move in such a way that you're going thirty meters to the west and fifteen meters to the south at the same time.  The tourist shop is right at your nose."

He only met blank stares when he finished.  He wasn't surprised.  Most of those directions took him two years of college calculus to formulate.  If this furry family could catch all of that, then it would make Borg look like an academic nitwit.

"This is not funny Borg!"  Oh, Thank Jesus! Borg thought.  "We just want simple ass directions!"  The rat dad sounded more than infuriated.

"I'm not joking this time."  Borg's grin receded again, implying sincerity.  "Yeah, I know that was a little too much to digest, but trust me, it works.  All you need to do is write that motherfucker down."

"I wrote all that down!"

Borg and the rats turned their heads towards the sound of the newcomer's voice.  A small, but wiry white gerbil stood before the crowd holding a clipboard and a pen and wearing a red and black striped scarf around his neck.  His smile only made him look even more eccentric.

"Uhh, who exactly are you, meener?" Borg asked curiously.

"Me?"  The gerbil seemed skittish.  "Oh, I'm just a lowly explorer contemplating physical theories in my travels."

"I like that name," Borg retorted.  He gave a sign of assurance to the gerbil that they'll be good friends.  The gerbil doubted that claim.

Suddenly, Borg focused his attention to the rat family, who still needed proper guidance.  "Well, this is great!  Normally, I would repeat my instructions and make sure people caught everything, but now that we have a Buddhist physicist here," he indicated the gerbil, whose smile receded in contempt, "those instructions are now recorded.  All you have to do now is follow Just-A-Lowly-Explorer-Contemplating-Physical-Theories-In-My-Travels' every word and you'll be stuffing your paws with inky brochures in no time.  Farewell!"  He then waved goodbye to everyone, grabbed a hold of his newspaper and headed for the nearby bench.

"God, what a dick!" the gerbil swore violently.  "I'm the Buddhist physicist?!  I'm sorry, but who was the one giving directions in vector form?  If I wasn't only forty pounds, I would…."

"Uhh, sir?" the rat mom gestured impatiently.  "Can we get going, please?"

"Huh?  Oh, yes!  Right, let's get started."  The gerbil referred to his clipboard.

Over by the bench, Borg began to hum the lyrics of Tool's "Rosetta Stoned" while reading the weather section.  The visual he displayed emanated a sense of instability and disregard of mental discrepancy.  His tail was swaying wave-like.

"Is it me, or is there something….wrong with that lizard?" the rat boy asked innocently.

"No, dear, I sense it too," the rat dad responded.  "But I'm not all that worried.  He did give us what we needed, if not in some odd fashion, so I'm grateful.  Alright, sir, what do we do first?"

The gerbil began flipping through his notes.  "He said shift thirty degrees…."

If they were six feet closer to the bench, they would've heard Borg, after humming the words "but this shit never happens to me," snicker vehemently.

********

Randy was enjoying his delicious white, peppermint mocha while striding down Furtown Drive when he spotted a white gerbil leading a family of rats to….wherever.  The grey wolf was perplexed by the gerbil's syntax when they got closer to him.  Phrases like "sine ten degrees" were only the words that came out of his mouth.  The gerbil stated them in listing format.  Why would a furry like that engage in a conversation like that to a family?  He decided to approach them.

Randy was a short, but stocky wolf with few ambitions.  The yellow "T" shaped design on his belly shown in the sunlight even through the thick fog.  He wore that symbol with dignity, which solely belonged to the members of the ancient Sokikte Wolves that once roamed all of North America.  No one knew of their demise, but Randy believed that the mark was a symbol to do good to all humanity and furs.  If it meant coming out as vindictive in the process, so be it.

He arrived at the group and greeted them.  "Good morning everyone!"  His appearance stopped the group in its place.

"Oh, uhh, good morning to you too, Mr.…." the rat dad responded, befuddled briefly.

"Randy!" he answered.  "Just call me Randy."  He did his best to display a positive mood to the newcomers.  "Ya' new to this place?"

"No," the rat mom stated, "we're just on vacation traveling with our family."

"This one doesn't seem to be your type."  He indicated the skittish gerbil.

"I'm just interpreting some directions to some tourist shop they were given," the gerbil implied, anticipating the expected division.  He seemed like an intelligent rodent.

"Directions?  I don't recall using trig functions to associate with GPS.  Who on earth gives directions like….?"  He froze in midsentence, realization colliding with him.  "Holy shit!  Don't tell me Borg was the one you spoke to."

The rats merely looked at each other.  "Why, yes it was.  Why?  Is that bad?"

"I don't know.  It depends on his attitude.  But hear me out on this, okay?"  Randy held his hand like a college professor.  "Whatever you do, do not do what Borg tells you to.  He is a nasty piece of work.  He's off his fucking nut!  Am I getting through to you?"

Despite his best efforts, it did not seem to be effective.  "We kinda figured he was a bit….odd," the rat mom clarified.  "But he couldn't be that insensitive to us as to not give us directions.  Even loony badgers can have a chance to be Good Samaritans, can they not?"

"True only that I believe his idea of 'Good Samaritan' is distorted as hell."  He shifted his stance to assume a more informative presence.  "Borg is not a known species of this world.  We don't know how his kind is like.  But I do know this: his one sole form of amusement is to frolic around, catch sight of a victim, and mess with his or her mind.  Smart lizard, though, and that is why I believe he can catch anybody in his grasp.  Everyone assumes he has a vast mind that cares about others.  Now, I repeat: do not follow his directions."

"Well, Randy, if what you say is correct, then he succeeded in doing just that," the gerbil rebuked.  "His original idea was to display the directions in vector form to confuse the family and send them down a roaring creek with no paddle.  But then I came along and shoved that plan down his throat.  We outsmarted him.  How's that?!"

At that moment, Randy lost all composure and gripped his forehead.  They're misinterpreting what I say.  It's like I'm stuck in a Monty Python sketch.  "Listen!  You're underestimating this guy because he's a scaly.  He obviously outsmarted you.  I don't know how, but I promise you, you will find out."

"Well if it makes it easier, can you tell us where the tourist shop is?" the rat dad asked.

Randy thought for a moment, then said, "No!  I'm sorry!  I'm afraid I don't get around as much as Borg."  It made him sick to even mention the fact.

"Okay, then we'll be on our way.  Later, Randy!"  And just like that, the group was off.

The wolf was left behind to contemplate the current predicament.  If those poor furs were still thinking and breathing, then Borg must not have finished with them yet.  Randy then thought about locating the lizard before Borg found them.

********

Ten minutes have passed since the fiasco with Randy.  Already the gerbil was running short of breath.  The rat family had started to walk rigorously forward by the time they reached the last segment of Borg's instructions.  Even though rodents do not usually sweat, the fog surrounding them acted as an insulator for at the time.  The rat daughter, who was usually quiet and isolated, tripped over her own feet.  She slowly rose in humiliation.

They were footsteps away from their destination.  All they had to do was, according to the directions and the gerbil's seemingly reliable calculations, move slightly over thirty-three-and-a-half more meters in the direction they were going.  They would collect the brochures in the shop and leave town in no time.  The rat dad was relieved.  They would be rid of empty buildings, fucked-up reptiles and touchy wolves.

The gerbil looked just as anxious as them.  He was probably expecting to see the pretentious expression on Borg's face when he returned.  The rat dad noticed aggravated tension permeating from the gerbil's presence as they ventured together.  It must've been hard for him to have a stationary scaly insult him in public and then leave without allowing any comebacks.  In fact, it seemed that the longer Borg was out of the picture, the more agitated he was.  Poor fellow!

"We're almost there, everyone," the gerbil stated nonchalantly.  "Borg said that the shop would be right in front of our faces, didn't he?"  The rat family nodded.  "Great!"

In fact, they reached their destination in a matter of seconds.  Ecstatically, the gerbil looked away from his clipboard to look back at his company.  All four rats, however, displayed an aura of befuddlement rather than joy.  The gerbil did not understand their unexpected behavior until he looked forward….to end up gazing at a bench.

"So how'd it go?" boasted a cynical and familiar voice.  All five heads turned in the direction of that voice.  Indeed, Borg stood by the same newspaper stand holding a massive three scoop ice-cream cone, smiling unstably.  The stance he displayed told the company that he was expecting them.  His tail swayed in excitement as if he was stoked to speak to the group….most likely to the dismay of the rodents.

The gerbil was flabbergasted.  "Buhh…whahh…how?  I mean, where's the tourist shop, you bastard?!"  Did I forget to mention he was also pissed?

"Tourist Shop?!  Ha!"  Borg's vindictive attitude permeated the streets.  He took a lick of his ice-cream before speaking.  "You honestly believed that they're called that?  I'm your fucking tour guide, dingbats.  Without me, you would've been sick of this town."

"We still are!" the rat dad exclaimed furiously.  "Why did your directions bring us back where we started?  Answer!"

"Oh, don't get me started."  His smile receded.  "If any of you were as smart as you thought you were, you would've caught on very quickly.  Just-A-Lowly-Explorer-Contemplating-Physical-Theories-In-My-Travels," he called, indicating the gerbil, who was surprised to find the lizard remember the previous conversation. "Sketch a vector diagram of those directions.  That will explain things."

Confused, the gerbil nevertheless did as he was told.  When he finished, he was quick to notice the diagram come to a closed shape.  "Oh, shit!  The nutcase is right.  We do end up back where we started."  The gerbil retracted.  He was defeated.

Nutcase? Borg thought.  I take it they ran in to Randy.  "That's right!  Simple, first-year calculus screwed you over."  He snickered, his smile forming again.

"But why would you that, sir?" the rat son pointed out.

"Well, it's not like it didn't benefit you as well.  I made you go on a path near certain landmarks around town, if you were paying attention, that is.  Did you notice Bartydom's Gorge, or did you have your heads up your asses?  Also," he continued, "I gave your kids a little taste of college."

"We didn't need no stupid lecture, toad face," the rat daughter lashed out.

Borg only looked more confident.  "It talks!  Well, it was about time.  See, your kids are getting smarter."  Nobody took that remark nicely.

Just as things were about to heat up, the sound of claws touching the pavement approached the group.  It was Randy.  The wolf arrived exhausted and panting heavily.  He stopped to rest his lungs and bent down to rest his arms and legs.  "It's about time….I found you….you degenerate piece of shit."  He referred to Borg.

"Randy!  Watch your language," Borg joked.  He took another lick at his ice-cream.  "Boy, do you look beat!  Did you participate in the gay parade already?"

"Fuck you!  I've been hunting your tailbone all throughout town.  I've been meaning to catch you before you did anymore damage to these nice people."

The rodents acted as spectators throughout the argument.  Indeed, most of the group was baffled.  The gerbil was still fixated in his thoughts over his defeat.  The rat family couldn't believe that they were manipulated by a loony scaly.  It wouldn't have surprised most furries to see the group shaking in discomfort.

Suddenly, Borg and Randy turned their attention to the rodents.  "Everyone, you do honestly believe me that no actual harm was done to you, don't you?" Borg requested.  "It's still all good."

Everyone nodded in Borg's favor….to Randy's disbelief.  "Wonderful!" Borg exclaimed.  He then took the entire cone and shoved it down his throat.  Everyone watched in amazement (and disgust) as the ice-cream cone disappeared without a trace.  "Before you people leave, how 'bout getting yourselves a bite to eat.  Anyone who passes through this town without trying some of Mr. Frost's chili is a sore dimbo."

Surprisingly, everyone agreed.  Suddenly, the weather began to clear.  The sun shone brightly as noon approached.  Birds were heard not long after.  The smell of rhododendrons replaced the sawdust odor.  It was as if the group cast a vote for gay weather.

"Hmm….interesting!" Borg pointed out.  "Well, the restaurant is just right behind me. Randy and I will meet you there."   The rodents left, leaving the lizard and the wolf alone.

As soon as the rodents entered the building, Randy's apprehension returned.   "You're such a jackass!  That sort of intense behavior doesn't leave a good impression on us to tourists."

"What!  Does your 'doing good for the sake of being good' mindset get in the way of fun?"

"No!  What I'm saying is that when you imbed in tourists' minds you doing this sort of shit, it spreads.  Pretty soon, our town will set aside the Bartydom's Gorge attraction and start showing off the 'World's Most Vindictive Lizard.'  What even drives you to do something like that?"

"That's easy!"  He flexed his knuckles.  "I feel that it's my responsibility to contribute to our community by engaging in respectable communication with our visitors and help them in any way possible."

"You don't just mess with people while doing that.  Insulting others?  Confusing them?  Showing off your eating habits?  That's totally unconventional."

"Unconventional, you say?  Well then, listen to this.  You have lived in this town all of your twenty-five years.  I have lived here the last three of my twenty-eight years.  Yet, I know every damn nook and cranny of this area.  You couldn't tell me where the nearest restroom was at from here.  I think I deserve to give directions to anyone who asks."

This touched Randy's nerves.   "Well, in the wise words of Kirkwood Smith, 'give my foot the directions to find its way up your ass.'"

Borg grinned heavily.  "My pleasure!"