vuhdeskisimar de unt

Big Wuhdeski had the strength of an ox, maybe ten thousand. When he sneered at danger, his teeth squealed like the grinding of twenty ton icebergs. His fists were occasionally hailed by hurried businessmen.

Wuhdeski was, in a word, Big.

And to say he was big was to minimize his true size, to discredit the jaw-dropping spectrum of his being in favor of his admittedly dizzying body mass. Indeed, since his youth, passersby would spy his muscled bulk from afar, gliding above some bicycle shop, and ponder the occasion for a parade.

But Big was also grand. His reputation overflowed and dumped like buckets of steaming myth onto the heads of the nation’s citizens. He was an entity unsurpassed, a dauntless megalith, a planet-killing asteroid, and whispers of his feats inspired fantasies in every child.

“You know Billy,” a mother would confide, beginning herself to sway at the recollection, “if you remember not to use your sleeve, maybe someday you’ll be able to put out volcanoes. Wouldn’t you like that, to put out huge fucking volcanoes?”

But while a courageous man-mountain and character of living lore, Big was not widely considered “bright.” The marathon of webbed neurons required a five second passage from eye to brain – and from brain to mouth — so Big’s thinking was, to the untrained, witless. But Big spoke.

Big spoke slowly. The soft rumble of his voice echoed like the warmth of a chorus through a heavy wooden wall. His words wound to gradual conclusion like a giant copper plate wobble-walking to a subtle thud. But conversations occurred as required, such as a request he spackle a dam or try not to stomp. And between all who engaged Big in conversation it was agreed that, given equally massive amounts of time, Big could express a great degree of substantive thought.

Time just moved faster than Big.