****
The next day, Balloon decided he would seek advice from the only other person in the world he considered to be his friend: Tom Starley. After making himself a peanut butter and jelly waffle, Balloon made the long trek south to Porcupine Pipe. Driving some 15 miles, Balloon eventually found the familiar dirt road leading to the refurbished pipe super store.
Although he was not an employee of Porcupine Pipe, Balloon had been instrumental to the store's inception, or so he thought. Nine years previously, Tom and Russ conceived the idea, thinking they could make big money by selling "refurbished" pipe to the unsuspecting masses. The scam was this: sell deficient used pipe to desperate start-up companies, extract large sums of money for the worthless goods, and protect against returns by having a no warranty, no return, no refund policy. The only problem was, Tom and Russ couldn't come up with a name. In total desperation, they consulted Balloon for advice.
"That there's a tough'n, y'all," Balloon had said at the time. "Y'all should name y'alls' store after somethin' that travels yonder under the dirt like a pipe does, y'all know, like a mascot whatsit." After a more concerted effort, Balloon had found the solution. "I gots it, y'all can call her Porcupine Pipe. Porcupines travel yonder under the dirt, jist like pipe. Thatta way, when y'all sell y'alls' pipe to folks, they's gonna reckon y'all sell the kind a pipe that can go under dirt, 'n behind walls 'n such, jist like a porcupine."
"But porcupines don't really travel underground, Balloon, you half-wit," Tom had responded.
"Well, I bet a couple of 'em do," responded Balloon, defending his idea.
In the end, Russ had liked the idea of a porcupine as their "mascot whatsit." If nothing else, Balloon's idea of a burrowing porcupine made him laugh every time he thought of it. Although Tom was hesitant, the two business partners eventually agreed on the name "Porcupine Pipe." Ever since Tom and Russ had adopted the title, Balloon proudly thought of himself as a co-founder of the company. Fortunately for Tom and Russ, Balloon was too dim-witted to expect any type of compensation for his supposed contributions to the company.
As he traveled down the seemingly abandoned dirt road, Balloon saw the name "Porcupine Pipe," written in flames above the single door to the warehouse. He smiled with a sense of ownership. Passing dying sagebrush, he found a parking spot between a rusted oil drum and a pile of cracked pipe. Balloon climbed out of his car and carefully walked toward the door, trying not to slip and fall on any garbage in his pathway. He tried the door, confident it would be open. To his surprise, it was locked. After a few moments of indecision, he banged on the door.
"We're closed," was the response from inside the door.
"Hey, Tommy. That you?" asked Balloon, sure that it was Tom.
"That depends. Are you here to buy pipe?"
"I don't need no pipe, but I need y'alls' hep."
"In that case, it's not me. It's somebody else that you don't know, who is completely unwilling to help you."
Balloon hesitated. He was almost positive it was Tom. The voice, nevertheless, had said it was not Tom. Balloon had begun the walk back to his car when the door suddenly opened.
"Balloon, my large friend. Don't leave. I was just kidding." Tom stood in the doorway, waving Balloon toward the warehouse. "Beyond weight loss and rudimentary education, what kind of help do you need?" Since Balloon had developed his special ability, Tom had been much friendlier to him. The charitable explanation was that Tom finally respected Balloon as an intelligent member of the human race. The actual explanation was slightly different: Tom wanted to use Balloon to accumulate as much wealth as possible. Although Balloon was never fazed by Tom's constant barrage of insults, Tom had decided to try and be friendlier to the supergenius.
Balloon smiled at Tom's offer of assistance. "Thanks, Tommy. I gots this thing with Vic 'n I ain't got no idea nohow what I's gonna do."
"What do you mean you don't know? You know everything, Balloon. There isn't anything you can't figure out or understand. You don't need my help." Tom opened the door as wide as possible and beckoned to Balloon. "Come on in. I'll find a chair for you."
Balloon obeyed Tom's command, squeezing through the doorway. In the front of the warehouse he found a seemingly abandoned receptionist desk and a few metal fold-up chairs. Tom disappeared through a semi-gloss plastic curtain, only to return a few seconds later with a lazy-boy on wheels. "Don't tell Russ I let you sit in his chair. He'd have a fit." Balloon, showing the excitement of a small child, displayed a wide grin as he sat down in Russ' chair. Tom grabbed one of the fold-up chairs and took a seat opposite Balloon.
"Alright, Balloon, you said you don't know what you should do. The answer, in my opinion, is simple. Dump that psycho Victory and go on to live a life of happiness. Problem solved!" Tom opened his arms wide as he made his argument.
"But I..." said Balloon sheepishly "like her real good 'n all. And, well, I's hopin' to be her boyfriend. I reckon if I go dumpin' her like you's sayin' she ain't never gonna be ma girl."
"First of all, I wouldn't call her a 'girl.' Nah, she's more of a female-like mass. Second, dude, there are way better actual girls out there for you. Seriously, think about it. You've been chasing that hateful thing for as long as I can remember. And she's always treated you like crap. I say you ditch this ridiculous idea of going to 'space' and saving her daddy. To be honest, it's probably a good thing the old dude is dying; it means there's less of a chance he could spawn another Victory."
"I ain't got no idea what to do nohow, Tommy." Balloon struggled to face the truths presented by Tom. He had been chasing Victory his whole life. She had spurned him time and time again. His thoughts turned to his first encounter with Victory. At the tender, prepubescent age of 12, Balloon saw Victory in the hallways of Alamo Junior High School. She was hard to miss. Her large frame barreled through the hall with the grandeur of Moses, parting the seas of smaller students as she moved forward on empty ground. Balloon had followed her that day, taking a seat behind her in Mr. Jorgensen's seventh grade English class. He was instantly enamored with Victory's air of confidence, and seeming disregard for every other human being. And then she had spoken to him-those first words he would never forget: "get your feet off the back of my chair, you jerk."
"How is it possible you don't know what to do, Balloon?" said Tom, pulling Balloon away from his earliest memories of Victory. "She hates you, man. The best thing you can do is tell her 'you're fat' and walk away."
"I ain't sure on that piece. But I's purty sure this whole astro-space flyin' stuff ain't fer me. What if we gits lost out there er gits a flat tire er somethin'?"
"Of course it's not for you. It's too big of a risk for too little reward. Let the old dude die; it's not your problem. And as for Victory, don't be afraid of her. Take a stand for once, Balloon!" Tom did his best to persuade Balloon to stay. He had his own plans for Balloon's gifts, none of which involved Ned Gold, Victory, or a trip to outer space.
As was the case when he spoke to Russ, Balloon began to feel confident he could say no to Victory. Tom sensed this, and proceeded to make his closing argument. "Think about it, Balloon; if you stay here with me and Russ, we'll do nothing but play Lord Protector, listen to Certain Death, and eat fast food. We could maybe even trade in your mommy's single-wide for something better, like a double-wide!"
Balloon was convinced. "That there sounds awful good. I reckon a double-wide would be purty much all the space I's ever gonna need. Here's what I's gonna do: I's gonna meet up with Vic tonight and tell her I ain't a goin'. I reckon she gonna be real mad, but maybe she's gonna cool down when I tell her 'bout Lord Protector 'n all the other stuff we's gonna do."
Tom shook his head in disbelief, amazed at Balloon's inherent stupidity. "Balloon, you never cease to amaze me." Then, standing up from his chair, Tom gave Balloon one last dose of confidence building rhetoric, carefully crafted in the language of Lord Protector. "Now go to my brave stallion. You will win the fight; you will seize the day; you will conquer the
enemy. Until we meet again, fair soldier of righteousness!" And with that, Tom motioned Balloon out of Porcupine Pipe. As Balloon walked toward his car, he couldn't help but imagine he was riding an armored unicorn while brandishing his own personalized sword of destiny. He had finally made up his mind; he would tell Victory he could not help her father.