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Frank Weathers pointed to something in the newspaper which he thought would interest us at the bar. Apparently, a man in France was trying to break the record for the most snails eaten in ten minutes.
"Did he break the record?" Joe T. asked.
"Yes," said Frank, "but. . . ."
Personally, the Sardine didn't care about records, especially. . . .
". . .but that's not really important. The guy. . . ."
"What's his name?" asked Wal-Terr.
"I don't remember," said Frank, getting a bit irritated at all the interruptions.
. . .especially those Guinness Book of World Records. Most of the accomplishments in the thing are. . . .
"The guy ate sixty-three snails and was. . . ."
"Were they cooked?" asked Wal-terr.
"Of course they were," Frank was nearly shouting, then calmed to say, "but eating all of them caused him to die the next day."
"What he die of?"
. . .are done just to break the records established in the book. And for no other reason. This snail eating thing just goes to show the lengths people will go. And for what? To get a little fame the guy dies.
"The thing is what he died of."
"What?" we asked.
"Indigestion."
Did he say indigestion? Who ever heard of such a thing? Did the paper say that the man got to keep the record?
"No, it didn't," said Frank. "I didn't think you were interested."
The Sardine really wasn't. But as a matter of curiosity, I wanted to know whether the record-keepers thought that the death invalidated the record.
"Maybe because it was the next day that he died," Wal- terr volunteered.
"Yeah, but the Sardine's got a point," said Frank. "I never heard of anyone dying of indigestion."
Maybe the paper had meant to say "in testate."
"The paper was right," said Father Grindgrad.
Guess his death will discourage anyone from trying to break that record!
"Eating snails," said Frank, "you sort of deserve something like that."
He was as big a fan of the French as the Sardine was of the Guinness Book. But you have to admit, the story made a great metaphor for our Age. Useless records, non-books, pseudo-events (hyped or over-hyped happenings of no real significance--namely, most of the items you read in a newspaper, like the fact that a guy breaks a record for eating snails, or a guy trying to go around the world in a balloon). It's all waste. When real news happens nobody's able to differentiate it from the garbage. Is it any wonder why the Sardine tries to be a great non-participant in the culture and politics of contemporary America?
"I wonder what the record is for eating the most sardines," Frank wondered.
"I bet nobody's read all of them," said Wal-terr, ignoring his real customers in order to comment on our conversation. He had a special knack for irritating Frank and Joe. And the Sardine.
He said "eating," Wal-terr, Besides, these articles aren't meant to be consumed like cans of tuna. What's completely insane about this snail eating record, though, is that there was a time limit on it. There's no end to records one can break snail-eating. And think of the infinite categories. Foods. The time it takes to eat, say, five heads of lettuce, or twenty tangerines. Or the time it takes to read a Stephen King novel. Or the person who holds the record for the fastest reading of the King novels.
"Would that include his Bachman books?" asked Frank.
"I think it would have to," said Joe T.
The Sardine wanted to leave but Wal-terr stopped him. The Logged-In Public had left a message. They wanted to know when my trial would begin. I was planning to do several travel articles and delay the trial.
"You can't leave the city," said Frank.
On the contrary, this was my feature and I got to call the shots.
"You must know that you are going to be found innocent," said Frank. "You wouldn't be so nonchalant."
Not necessarily. The Health Utopia is a powerful force in the United States. It would not have sanctioned the snail-eating record within our borders. Moreover, a theoretical snail-eater's life has been saved.
"You're foolish to fight against it," Frank said.
Just as I'm ready to ignore the latest pointless world record.
"You also just got a Fax from your Pun Pal," said Wal-terr, handing me the glossy paper with slightly smeared print.
"What's he say?" asked Frank.
My Pun Pal has been reading the column and sent a comment on the whole thing.
"Did he comment on my being in your column more than anyone else?" asked Frank.
Had you actually counted the times?
"I think there have been more references to me than to anyone else who hangs around here."
"What about the Logged-In Public?" Wal-terr asked.
"I'm not counting them. They're not really real, like us. You know, they aren't a character but a bunch of characters."
My Pun Pal writes:
Re: news item. My response: Fast snail eater dies slowly.
The Sardine's essays, articles, and stories have appeared around the Internet in the last few years at 3 A.M., Facets, Eclectica magazine, Fiction Funhouse, The Fiction Warehouse, 5_trope, and several film journals. Who and what he is probably will be revealed at various points through the articles appearing at this site. The first fifteen installments of his saga can be viewed at the old Unlikely Stories.