Embedded Files
Rated R: pointless violence, extreme awesomeness, drug usage,
unrealistic sexual content, and contemporary smoking
Part I
Breaker parked outside the warehouse. He already knew what was inside, but he dreaded it anyway. Someone had to do the dirty work.
Two linebackers guarded the door.
It’s Breaker! one said.
Hey, Breaker said, you got something on your face.
Huh? said the first man.
Breaker threw a switchblade into his forehead and the man dropped.
The other ran at Breaker.
You have something on your face too, Breaker said, roundhouse kicking the man. Got it, he said.
He walked inside. Children were working in the sweatshop, wearing onion sacks and Kleenex boxes. Standing over them was a man with an Uzi.
Hey, there’s something on your face right there, Breaker said, throwing a ninja star into his cheek. He roundhouse kicked the Uzi from his hand. Breaker caught the Uzi and shot three henchmen in the face and one in the gut. Damn, he said.
The children screamed and ran.
Breaker cartwheel-double-punch-double-kicked another henchman.
Breaker stopped and grabbed a kid and said, Where’s the big man?
The kid’s eyes bugged, He’s up there.
Breaker saw the big man, sitting on a pile of cash, twisting a kitten.
Time to make a withdrawal, Breaker growled.
What’s that!? the big man shouted.
You’ve got something on your face.
jk presents
a jk production
in association with Windmill Kicks Inc.
the No Holds Barred Company
the Montgomery Family Trust
and Do-Yaya! Productions
Presents
a Bang-It-Out production
In association with 16th Ave S. & ¡Breaker Boi! International
Written, produced, thought of, and directed by jk
Based on a true story
Chapter I: An Adios To Arms
Breaker pulled his leather coat off and dropped it on the floor, staring down the big man on his pile of cash. Breaker then took off his driving gloves and put them in his back pocket.
What do you think you’re doing here?! hollered the big man, turning red.
Breaker tore his shirt down the middle, exposing a dirty wife-beater beneath, his eyes literally cutting the big man like a razorblade.
Pop shot hot quiz… Breaker stammered, Uh… I mean… He took a breath and growled, Pop quiz hot shot: what’s 5 times 7?
The big man frowned. What you say to me? 5 times 7?! The big man dripped sweat down his big fat head. Is that what you say?!
You heard me, Mazdamiata, Breaker growled.
Mazadamiata shook his head and twisted another kitten. Something very wrong with you, Breaker.
Only thing wrong with me is you and this dog-and-pony show you call an empire. Just answer the damn question.
Well, scoffed Mazdamiata, looking up at the ceiling, so 5 and 5 make 25, so then, let’s see, 2 more 5’s, make… 35. Final answer! Just then, Mazdamiata’s private army of 35 samurai surrounded Breaker. You see Breaker? 5 times 7 is 35… 35 samurai! Here to kill you with their swords!
Breaker sneered and shook his head. He ripped his sweaty wife-beater down the middle, spat on the floor, and growled, Wrong answer, muchacho.
Breaker flexed his pex and an intern samurai dropped his sword. Breaker didn’t hesitate to take action, sweeping the legs of four samurai with his beef-stick of a leg, triple punching another samurai in face, picking up the sword and decapitating the shocked intern. Breaker slid like a puma on ice, turning just in time to see Mazdamiata preparing to launch a kitten.
Then, in that instant where it seemed like time stood still, the kitten went airborne. And it was aimed right at Breaker’s face!
Not this time, Mazdamiata, Breaker growled as the kitten flailed its claws and bore its fangs, soaring past flipping samurai and the molten metal machine – which was perilously on and warmed up. Breaker slid under a line of samurai, breaking their knees like a literal machine gun. But the kitten cruised like a heat-seeking missile, trailing Breaker like a hawk or like an eagle or something awesome, talons slashing at the sky as it flew like a wingless hawk or a wingless eagle, aimed directly at Breaker’s skull.
Breaker stood up, remembering the Uzi in his hand. He aimed the killing machine directly at the kitten. But then, in that moment, Breaker and the kitten locked eyes, it was a love-lock, the kind that Breaker swore he’d never let happen again. Breaker nearly teared-up.
Breaker shook his head “No” and threw the Uzi into the molten metal machine. No way, he said, as the kitten soared like a hawk or an eagle right at his face, not this time. And in that moment, when time seemed to stand still, Breaker growled, Ow veeter zane, kitty, and he spun-jumped, sending a flying roundhouse kick right into the kitten’s solar plexus.
Suddenly the Uzi exploded inside the molten metal machine, shooting rounds all over the place and igniting Mazdamiata’s pile of cash. Breaker was hit in the thigh by one of his own bullets. Friendly fire. Damn, Breaker groaned.
This warehouse is on fire! Mazdamiata screamed.
Breaker stood and walked it off. Then, he triple flipped up onto the top of Money Mountain and grabbed Mazdamiata by both of his wrists.
What are you doing?! screamed the big man, terror in his eyes.
I’m gonna tear your arms off, Breaker growled.
Huh? Mazdamiata whimpered.
In that moment, Breaker snapped both of the big man’s arms out of their respective sockets. Fountains of crimson! Mazdamiata’s blood curdling scream filled the warehouse and Breaker spun the man’s arms around like a fat pair of nun chucks, beating the man across the face with his own arms. Sirens wailed as the fire grew into a deadly inferno of red-hot burning stuff on fire. Breaker threw the big man’s disembodied arms into the molten metal machine.
Not my precious arms! screamed Mazdamiata.
The samurai army ran for the exits. But Breaker pulled a quarter from his pocket and snapped it at the chain above the sliding doors. Ping! The doors fell and crushed hundreds of samurai, leaving hundreds more injured, while the rest were left to burn alive by molten fire.
Hell yeah! Breaker yelled. Then he roundhouse kicked the molten metal machine over right onto Mazdamiata’s face!
Ghaagh! Mazdamiata screamed as he totally melted.
Breaker smirked, lit a cigarette, and walked. He kicked open a door and left the warehouse to burn alive.
Having obliterated Mazdamiada’s face, his arms, and his entire dog-and-pony-show of an empire, Breaker swaggered away, leaving the place in ashes, having barely broken a sweat.
Chapter II: Bubble-Yum Bubble Gum
After literally destroying Mazdamiata’s entire dog-and-pony show of an empire, Breaker stopped by a convenience store. A pink and yellow neon sign blinked “Super Fun 411!” and a stinking old man sat behind the counter.
A bell dinged as Breaker kicked in the swinging door.
What a hellhole, Breaker growled.
Oh, hello! said the old man. The TV was on too loud and the old man was smiling.
Just gimme some Bubble-Yum, Breaker said.
Oh! but you… the old man’s mouth dropped open at the sight of Breaker.
Bubble-Yum, Breaker said again. You speak English, keemosabee?
Oh yeah, sure. I speak English.
Then get me some Bubble-Yum, like three seconds ago. As much as you got.
But sir!
You got a problem, old man?
Are you OK? the old man asked.
Bubble-Yum… bubble-gum, growled Breaker.
We not have Bubble-Yum.
Breaker groaned.
The old man asked, Do you know you bleeding?
Breaker shrugged at the purple and crimson gash on his shoulder. Oh that? That’s just a cat scratch.
No, not that one, the old man said, pointing, That one.
Following the old man’s pointer, Breaker frowned at the gushing wound in his thigh. Damn, he said, might’ve nicked an artery. I’m gonna need more gum.
You bleed too much, the old man said. I call for help.
I’ll take any kind of gum you got, Breaker hissed between his teeth.
Gum not help you. You bleeding.
I said gum! Now! Breaker slammed three impressive bills onto the counter.
The old man’s eyes lit up. He murmured to himself and grabbed a box that read “Globby-Globby Chew Yay!” and placed it on the counter. You need doctor, the old man said, taking Breaker’s cash.
Breaker tore open a pack of gum with his teeth and unwrapped one of the powdery sticks. He chewed, breathing hard. What kind of flavor is this? he asked.
Flavor? No, no flavor.
Breaker chewed and winced, rapidly adding three more sticks of gum to his mouth. Is this ginseng or some crap?
Ginseng? the old man laughed. No, it sugar gum.
Breaker added the rest of the pack to his mouth and chewed. After a few moments of jaw work, he extracted the massive green wad from his mouth. Ugh, he said, I prefer Bubble-Yum.
The old man’s eyes bugged.
Breaker tore off his pant leg with one hand and squashed the chewed gum over and into his gushing wound, quelling the bleeding.
That get infected, the old man warned.
Life’s an infection, Breaker snarled.
The old man frowned.
A bell chimed and three punk rockers walked into the store. Hey! one of them called out, Where’s our money, old man?
The old man backed up to the wall of pornography, scratch tickets, and cigarettes and put his hands up. Wait, please wait, very sorry, Vomit, I-I need… more, more time.
Vomit shook his head, You’ve disappointed us again, Hazamazatura.
The old man murmured nervously, It’s Hazuwazatora.
Haz-a-major-problem is your name, old man, Vomit scolded, hawking up a fat loogy and spitting it on the floor.
The other two punks laughed, one of them pushed over a rack of magazines. The other, bigger punk shooed some kids from the doorway.
I have no money, the old man’s lip quivered.
Well, said one of the other punks, Mr. Toyotacorolla is tired of waiting.
Yeah, said the biggest of the punk rockers, he vewy tiyewd!
Shut up, Blaster, Vomit reprimanded, smacking Blaster in the back of the head. Vomit turned back to Hazuwazatora and continued, You! You say you got no money, old man?
Yes… I mean, no, no money, the old man said.
I can think of a way you might pay back what you owe, Vomit pointed to a photograph hanging on the wall behind the counter: a plump girl by the seaside, laughing and riding a pony at sunset.
OK, OK, Hazuwazatora acquiesced, I give what I have. He opened the register and fumbled with the cash.
Breaker unwrapped another piece of gum, popped it into his mouth, and chewed.
Say! Who dat guy? Blaster asked.
Shut up, Blaster! the other two punks shouted.
Breaker chewed with his mouth open, popping the gum between his teeth.
Vomit turned to the stranger. Who the hell are you? he demanded.
You’d better pray I’m just a bad dream, Breaker growled.
What did you say to me? Vomit squared up with Breaker.
I had a dream once, Breaker continued, sticking his gum to the slushy machine.
Oh, yeah? Well, isn’t that just great?
Yeah, but it was a bad dream. A real bad dream.
I don’t care white boy! Vomit gestured for Blaster to grab the stranger and said, Break his legs!
Blaster hesitated.
It was a really weird dream too, Breaker continued, squinting at the punk rockers. I was eating Styrofoam. Breaker turned to Blaster and asked, You know Styrofoam right?
Wike a cup? said Blaster with a smile.
Breaker snatched a cup from the cup dispenser and punched it down Blaster’s throat, by-passing his teeth by sheer force. Yeah, like a cup, Breaker finished. The big guy went down, clutching his throat and gurgling.
Vomit pulled out a chain and swung it around and around. There were 3 razor blades on the end of it. Twirling his chain, spinning the blades, he beckoned Breaker to approach, C’mon white boy! Time to get cut!
The dream I had though, Breaker continued, it was really weird because the Styrofoam tasted kinda like cotton candy.
What the hell are you talking about?! Vomit yelled.
Breaker roundhouse kicked Vomit right into the cotton candy machine. The cotton candy spinner sliced off Vomit’s head, a clean cut. His head slumped into the pink fluff, while his twitching body dropped to the linoleum, his neck hole squirting like a squirt gun on the dirty white floor.
Never liked cotton candy myself, Breaker said, turning to the last of the punk rockers. How ‘bout you kid? You like sweets?
The other punk rocker ran for the door. The bell chimed. He was gone.
Breaker turned to the old man. Sorry ‘bout the mess, he said, flipping the old man a John F. Kennedy silver dollar.
The old man caught the silver dollar in the air. Upon opening his hand, his eyes bugged at the small fortune in his wrinkled palm.
Fix the place up would you? Breaker stepped over the super dead punk rockers. I’ll be back for some licorice later.
Chapter III: When Angels Fall
That night Breaker thought about a lot of stuff.
He thought about her.
She’d been his one and only, his angel from above. She was the only woman he’d ever let into his heart. She’d somehow penetrated Breaker’s many layers of defenses. Not literally though, it wasn’t a gay thing.
Her name was Rochelle. She was a country girl, the real down-home type: wrestling hogs, roping steer. She was a real bedpost spinner. Long and tall, with boobs out the fucking door! Not just some measly sweater kittens here; we’re talking the full meal deal. Lovely. Heavy though. Real heavy boobs. Rochelle had back problems, everybody knew that. Hauling those puppies around in a little yellow wheelbarrow all the time had really worn her down.
And she was Reacher’s one and only, his sweet angel from above.
But sometimes angels fall.
It was on the day that everything happened. The day Breaker lost everything. For although her breasts were magnificent, Rochelle wasn’t long for this world.
Breaker felt the world around him fade into some stuff he was remembering…
Wake up sweetie, Rochelle called up the stairs that morning, the morning everything happened. She said, I made blueberry muffins, scones, bacon, eggs, hash browns, and crepes with whipped cream and freshly squeezed orange juice, oh, and the finest of Columbian coffee beans, crushed by hand fresh this morning, and brewed in a French press.
Breaker awakened feeling refreshed on that morning, the morning that everything happened.
Rochelle hauled her knockers over and wedged them between the walls in the hallway, and alluringly called up to Breaker: And I believe there’ll be a little something special for you under the table if you make it quick young man… she giggled like schoolgirl, adding, if you know what I mean.
Breaker laughed. He laughed and every one of his joints cracked, as he finally relaxed for the first time in his whole entire life. Pop, pop, crack, his joints said. Crackle, pop, crack.
Ungk, Breaker said, as everything finally let go within in him. Well, not everything-everything, but nearly everything let go and he finally relaxed for the first time ever in his whole entire life.
Pop, crack, crackle, pop, his joints said. Crack, twaang, crackle, pop, pop.
Aaaaw hhhhhelll, Breaker groaned, smiling in the bright morning sun pouring in through her white satin curtains like liquid love.
Calling up the stairs, Rochelle clarified, I meant a blowjob. I’ll give you a blowjob if you get down here.
Righteous, Breaker whispered to the morning.
I’ve also added a little something special to your coffee, she said demurely.
Babe, Breaker called back down to her, you’re the best!
No, you’re the best, she called back.
Fuck you babe, you’re the best.
Oh my wittle wuggies! she giggled.
My wittle woo woo bear! Breaker called back.
Oh yeah, and I meant that I put cocaine in your coffee, she then clarified.
Breaker sang it out loud, I-love-your-ass!
But then, it all happened – everything – before she could even finish singing, I love your ass too. It was then that everything happened: BOOM SHAQ-UH-LAQ-UH!! Everything Breaker had ever cared about was gone in less than a third of a nanosecond.
And he knew just who’d done it too. It had been his sworn nemesis: Kawasaki-Suzuki!
Chapter IV: Genesis of Recompense
Breaker’s leg grew very infected that night. He woke up grey-skinned and cold sweating on a couch. Mr. Hazuwazatora could be heard preparing breakfast in the kitchen.
You are awake, Hazuwazatora said in a sing-songy morning tone, smiling over a steaming pot of soup. How you feel?
Breaker rubbed his eyes, It feels like somebody took a dump in my brain.
I toll you you get infection.
What’re you doing here anyway? Breaker scowled.
I come to fix you up for fight.
What fight?
Fight with Kawasaki-Suzuki.
Breaker sat up. Wait! What did you just say?
Kawasaki-Suzuki! substitute mob boss.
Breaker threw his body up and off the couch but immediately collapsed to the floor, where he found a bedpan to puke into. His legs were not working.
The old man helped Breaker back onto the couch. You very sick, mister… mister?
Mister None-ya…
None-ya?
None-ya-goddamn-business.
Oh, winked the old man, It is Dutch?
Finnish.
The old man laughed, I’m almost done. He carried a steaming bowl to Breaker and helped him sit upright.
Breaker felt something tear within him and he cried out, Ungk! His joints all tensed up, Pop, crack, pop, crackle, crackle-twaang-twaang, said his joints. Urk! Breaker said and his joints went, Twaang-ca-crack!-popple-crackle-crackle-popple-pop-pop-pop. And then Breaker looked off into the distance, like a million miles away and called out to no one, Babe! forgive me!
Oh you shut mouth, the old man scolded, you only hurt because you stupid.
Breaker inspected the contents of the bowl and asked, You trying to poison me, hombre?
Poison? No, not that.
What’s in it?
It good for heal you.
Breaker took a sip of the broth. Not bad, he said, sipping more. Thanks compadre.
You American? the old man asked.
Barely, Breaker hissed.
Soldier?
Hardly.
Mercenary?
Getting warmer padre.
Hazuwazatora put his fingers to his mouth and gasped, whispering, Assassin.
Bingo.
Hazuwazatora stepped back, saying, Then you… you must be…
I don’t believe in names, Breaker said out the window, his hair blowing in the soft breeze. They’re just a bunch of letters smashed together. He stared two million miles away. It’s all so pointless.
Breaker, the old man whispered, Bo Breaker. The old man jumped out of his seat, accidentally knocking the bowl of soup from Breaker’s hands. The soup splashed across the floor, the bowl rattling and the spoon clanging loudly. The old man backed into the corner of the room.
Breaker looked down and sighed, So much for getting poisoned.
You… you the one that kill Adamanada-Zanada and sons!
Did I do that one? Breaker sighed, once again trying to get up from the couch and face planting onto the floor. Dammit! he shouted. He tried to get up again, but his legs did not allow him to do so. An infection? Not now! He couldn’t even get up. Not one bit.
You… you kill Mijuki!
Me-who?
Mijuki! mob boss!
Oh yeah, sure, Mijuki, he was the one with black hair, wasn’t he? Breaker pushed himself up to a sitting position, brushing off his chest and adding, Someone needs to sweep this floor.
Mijuki replace by Kawasaki-Suzuki, substitute mob boss.
Breaker sat up again, Wait! What did you just say?
Maybe you hearing gone too. Everyone talking about you you know? They saying Breaker this and Breaker that. Tell me. Where you come from, Breaker?
Does it matter? Breaker said, pulling his belly up onto the couch and coughing, I’m just passing through purgatory here.
You famous, Mr. Breaker.
Fame’s overrated.
Tell me you story and I get you more soup, OK?
Fine, Breaker stretched out on the couch, inspecting the bloody gum on his thigh. The thigh was grey. I was born in Detroit, if that means anything to you.
Detroit Pistons? the old man smiled, ladling broth.
Sure, why not. Lions, Tigers, whatever, sports.
You know Dennis Rodman?
Yeah we have tea and crumpets on Sundays.
Wow. Hazuwazatora handed the steaming bowl to Breaker. What he like?
He like gentle giant, Breaker said, leaning forward to sip from his bowl. It was too hot, so he winced and blew on it. Steam in morning sun.
He um… the old man looked nervous now, Dennis Rodman… he like boys?
Boys, girls, sure I don’t know.
I no like boys.
I no like anyone, Breaker grumbled.
You sex them?
Breaker swallowed. Who?
You touch the… uh, boys… for the sex?
I ain’t gay if that’s what’s your asking. Breaker sipped his soup and swallowed, breathing out heavily and adding, Don’t really like women much either though… not anymore… He gazed out the window three million miles and sighed. Not since…
You gay, the old man laughed. You gay with Dennis Rodman.
I don’t gay with anyone, all right?
Why you talk about gay so much?
You brought it up, old man, Breaker chewed a piece of sweet-and-spicy pork, relishing it. Trying to swallow it, however, was a different story: Breaker gagged and spat up the sweet-and-spicy pork into the bedpan. Goddammit, he groaned.
How you get hurt?
Fell down the stairs.
That not truth. How you get bullet in leg? Hazuwazatora held up the slug he’d removed from Breaker’s thigh.
Bumped into a doorknob.
What doorknob? You lie.
Fell down the stairs.
How bullet get in you?
Doorknob.
You lie.
Breaker leaned over and puked into the bedpan again.
I call for taxi, Hazuwazatora dialed on his cellphone, You go to hospital.
What are those headshrinkers gonna do for me, huh? Breaker checked the gum holding his swollen thigh together. I’m fine, just let me be. Again he tried to get up and again he hit the floor. The old man tried to help him up but Breaker yelled, Leave me be, goddammit! Can’t you just let me die in peace?
The old man dialed on his phone. You crazy Breaker… oh yes, hello? Hazuwazatora said, Taxi please, 2701-B Sushi Street, we need taxi right now… What?! Yes, of course we in Japan! What you think, stupid?! Get ass here: 2701-B Sushi Street!
Breaker crawled on his belly across the floor, grunting and groaning and leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Yes, yes, yes, Hazuwazatora said into the phone, fine, thank you. He hung up and asked, What you doing now, Breaker?
Breaker strained to reach the remote control on the floor, unable to grasp it. Just turn on my TV would you? Remote’s right there.
Hazuwazatora turned on the TV and helped Breaker back onto the couch. On the TV there was woman groaning with pleasure and there were six naked legs from underneath. Oh no! Hazuwazatora scolded: Breaker!
No that’s not… I didn’t… just gimme the damn remote!
You a perfert! said Hazuwazatora.
Breaker pushed himself up but that made the wad of gum pop out of place and instantly the couch was soaked with his blood. Ah hell! he shouted, black dots encroaching on his vision. Breaker blacked out.
Chapter V: Big Ol’ Blackout
The world went black and Breaker literally fell into his own mind. He was thinking about so much stuff that it was hard to keep track of. First he thought about stuff and then bam! he was thinking about other stuff.
That’s what happened when Breaker blacked-out: he remembered a bunch of stuff… bad stuff… really really bad stuff…
Kawasaki-Suzuki had been the new addition to Breaker’s squadron. An unwelcomed addition.
This, barked Sergeant-Major Mastiff, is Kawasaki-Suzuki.
Little did Breaker know the significance this meeting would have on the rest of his entire life. Kawasaki-Suzuki wore a golden ninja mask over his mouth and a flowing golden cape that shimmered in the morning sunlight. His presence mesmerized people.
Not Breaker. He didn’t like him.
Breaker didn’t have time for any bullshit. He snapped his gum and grunted, And?
Sergeant-Major Mastiff spoke loudly and clearly: And he is to serve from now until kingdom come in your precious X-12 Comanche-Inferno Squadron.
Breaker chuckled, moving around the newbie. Sizing him up. Ninja boy was pretty beefy, but nothing compared to Breaker beefy. No way, Breaker squared up with Sergeant-Major Mastiff. Breaker hissed, He is to fuck off immediately and permanently. He chewed loudly, purposefully.
Sergeant-Major Mastiff stepped forward, stiffened, and frowned. Perhaps I misspoke. This is not optional, he barked. The admiral made some calls and this is just the way it’s gonna be!
So?
So get used to it! The X-12 just got a little more pizzazz. And if you don’t like it, well tough shit, kid.
Breaker threw his pack of Bubble-Yum to the floor and growled, I live on tough shit, you ugly som’bitch. And I don’t like anything, expecially you and whoever this clown is… Kamakazi-Sub-Sandwich was it?
Kawasaki-Suzuki, sir! saluted the new recruit.
Well, isn’t that sweet? growled Breaker. It can talk. What the fuck you want me to do with Sub-Sandwich?
You had better show some goddamn civility to your new recruit this time.
Why?
Last guy got a broomstick shoved up his ass, for God’s sake!
Breaker chuckled, That wasn’t even my fault.
The Sergeant-Major was now approaching full throttle, screaming, You think anyone gives a shit about you or this program?! You spoilt little punk! I oughta plumb your asshole right around to the back of your head, so you could take a shit in your brain. You’d be a whole hell-of-a lot smarter if I did!
What’s your point? Breaker grumbled, brushing locks of luscious hair from his fresh, young face. He was totally a lot younger because this was just a memory of when he was a lot younger. Way back when. It was a flashback inside of blackout.
Sergeant-Major Mastiff cracked his neck audibly and put a fat stub of a cigar into his mouth, but it fell right out again onto the floor as he continued to scream. My point is you’re in the goddamned military! This ain’t some dog-and-pony-show! Sergeant-Major Mastiff pressed his eyeballs directly into Breaker’s eyeballs. You understand that, tough guy?!
Breaker stepped back from the Sergeant Major. Eyes locked in a hate-lock. He spit his gum on the floor. Sounded like English to me, Breaker hissed, sardonically saluting the Sergeant Major.
Sergeant Major Mastiff nodded once, spun on his heel, and left the gymnasium.
Breaker continued to stroll around and around Kawasaki-Suzuki, eyeballing him and wondering if the gut feeling he was getting should or could be ignored. He hated him immediately, on a primal level. Gut level.
Reporting for duty, sir, said the younger version of Kawasaki-Suzuki, saluting his new commanding officer. He was younger because this was a memory from a long time ago. Way back in Breaker’s blackout.
Breaker shook his head and put his fists on his hips. I don’t like you, Breaker growled, thrusting his face into Kawasaki-Suzuki’s face. And I’m gonna beat your ass.
Huh? said Kawasaki-Suzuki.
Then, true to his word, Breaker beat the young recruit’s ass. The younger version of his nemesis, however, was tougher than Breaker had expected, but it was no problem.
Chapter VI: Doctor! Doctor!
Breaker awoke in a hospital bed. A busty woman in a white lab coat with legs from here to Tokyo stood before him. Mr. Breaker? Can you hear me?
I’m not deaf, he growled.
Good, she said, adjusting her boobs and noting his response on her phone. How do you feel Mr. Breaker?
I feel like a goddamn butterfly in a peanut-butter parade.
She furrowed her brow. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the most pain and one being no pain, how do you feel Mr. Breaker?
I don’t feel pain anymore, he claimed.
Can you feel your legs?
Breaker eyeballed the woman. He liked what he saw. Can I feel your legs? he propositioned.
Sir, I’m trying to assess whether or not you have suffered nerve damage. Please answer the question. Are you able to feel this? She jabbed his foot with her pencil.
I guess.
And this? She did the other foot too.
Yeah, I can feel it! Let’s just cut to the chase here, babe, send in the doctor, would you? Breaker kicked his legs over the edge of the bed and went to remove his IV. I’m ready blow this popsicle stand.
Mr. Breaker, I am the doctor, she said. And you are in danger of a very serious blood infection.
A lady doctor, huh? Breaker chuckled. First God made man, then he made whoa-man.
The doctor turned to Breaker, trying to pull her lab coat over her ample bosom, but she was failing at this because her boobs were really really big. Actually, Mr. Breaker, nearly half of the doctors worldwide are women. And it’s Dr. Ling, not “babe”.
Her cleavage spoke for itself.
You’re hot, Breaker said. We should hang out.
Don’t hold your breath, Dr. Ling groaned. And I must insist that you keep this professional Mr. Breaker. For your sake.
Sure… Breaker grinned, for now.
The infection has spread from your right thigh down past your knee and it is very likely that your leg will have to be amputated.
How likely?
Very.
Damn, Breaker gazed out the window, ten million miles, past the city and the skyscrapers, bottom lip twitching. No tears.
I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Breaker, said Dr. Ling, but unless your body can somehow overcome this infection, which is very unlikely…
I’m very unlikely, Breaker growled. I can take on anything this world throws at me: grenades, tanks, the Detroit Pistons. I can take anyone on, fair and square, just me, my fists, and my... Breaker looked down at his greyish-purple, swollen leg. Dammit! he screamed, punching the bed.
Please, Mr. Breaker, you’ll need to lower your voice.
Why don’t you lower your face? Breaker wiped his eyes briskly, confidently. Then, turning on a dime, he grew sincere, sweet even. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, babe. I’m in a world of hurt right now.
I understand, Dr. Ling took a deep breath, which made her boobs go up and then back down again. It’s a lot to take in. I’ll give you a minute to… to… Dr. Ling backed toward the doorway.
To what?! Breaker cried.
To uh… to gather yourself.
There’s nothing left to gather here, babe.
Dr. Ling moved over to the bed and her mini-skirt snuck up a little, showcasing her bombshell legs from Tokyo to Bangkok. You’re just a little broken right now, Mr. Breaker, she assured him, touching his arm with her slender fingers. She had two breasts.
I’ve been broken all my life, Breaker rasped, grasping the woman’s hand and pulling her to the bed. He then tried to kiss Dr. Ling.
What are you doing?! she shouted, pushing Breaker’s face away with her palm. Stop it! Dr. Ling pressed a big red button on the wall and in seconds security guards were running up the hallway.
Hard to get, huh? he said, licking his bleeding lip.
I’m sorry, Mr. Breaker, but you will have to be restrained.
Kinky, Breaker adjusted himself in the bed, Not bad for a foreigner, eh?
Two beefy men rushed into the room and held Breaker down, handcuffing his wrists to the metal bars along the sides of the bed. Hey, wait, you guys weren’t invited! Breaker head butted one of the guards and kicked his infected leg at the other – only his infected leg was also fractured, so it flopped sideways. Aw hell! he cried out.
The guards soon had him secured, feet and ankles, to the bed. One of them left and the other posted up in the corner of the room.
Think you’re pretty tough huh? Breaker mocked the guard, thrusting his face at him, bucking against his restraints. Not so tough if I weren’t strapped to this gurney by these cursed restraints.
Dr. Ling shouted now, You may never be tough again, not if things don’t improve quickly, Breaker!
Don’t hedge your bets, Breaker growled.
Breaker! Listen to me! Your leg is fractured where a bullet hit it, your left foot is broken in eight places, you have a wound on your shoulder that should have been stitched together yesterday and now needs to be treated for infection – oh yeah, and you’re likely to lose that arm as well, by the way –, you have a major concussion and a hairline fracture in your skull, your nose is broken in seventeen places, and you have third degree burns over 99.9% of your body. This afternoon surgeons removed three kitten teeth from your ankle and you are somehow missing three ribs.
Yeah, so what’s your point? Breaker hissed.
All of this is compounded, continued the doctor, by withdrawals from various substances, withdrawals mind you, that would likely kill most men.
I’m not most men, babe. Breaker’s jaw clenched. Wait, what withdrawals?
Well, began Dr. Ling, your toxicology report shows high levels of opiates, barbiturates, psilocybin, lysergic acid, meth, marijuana, nicotine, and a blood alcohol level that’s literally off the charts. The doctor held up the chart. There was a bright red line that literally went up and off the chart.
What? It’s the weekend, Breaker defended.
Mr. Breaker, you could die from the withdrawals alone, let alone the deadly infection in your leg, shoulder, and in your blood.
It’s still the weekend right?
No, Mr. Breaker, it’s not.
Damn, Breaker said, gazing sixteen million miles away. Missed band practice. I’ll have to make it up to the guys.
Breaker, listen to me, I’m afraid you are very likely to die in the next twenty-four hours.
I really thought it was Saturday, Breaker murmured, dropping his arms to his sides.
Are you listening to me, Mr. Breaker? You are likely to die. Today!
Yeah, yeah, all right, chatty Cathy I hear you! Breaker pounded the mattress with his ham-fists. Guess the chickens have come home to roost haven’t they?
Dr. Ling frowned.
Really screwed the pooch this time, didn’t I?
I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Mr. Breaker.
What’s to understand? I’m washed-up, hung out to dry. Stick a fork in me, cause I’m cooked.
Well, began Dr. Ling carefully, there is a chance that if the antibiotics take and if, and only if, by some miracle your body can fight off this infection, there is a .001% chance you could survive. Those chances are slim, but I suppose anything is possible.
Just toss my body into a dumpster when your done, would you? Breaker pouted.
Do you have anyone you’d like us to contact? asked Dr. Ling. Your family?
Breaker snapped, Never had one… He gazed a half-million miles away.
Don’t you have anyone? Dr. Ling’s lace boostier barely contained what she was packing while she checked his blood pressure. Her touch was electric. She had two long legs and a rack that would make a cow jealous.
Breaker was mesmerized by her boobs and did not answer.
Breaker? she said.
Yeah, Breaker snapped back to reality and said, Yeah, get ahold of Wülf Brickbüster at the Pentagon. Let him know I might not make it for that game of eight-ball I owe him. Tell him to tell the Brickbüster girls that they might be getting one less Christmas present this year. Tell him to take care of those precious diamonds. Protect them. Tell him I’ve always loved him like a brother. Breaker paused to think. And make sure you say “like a brother” too. Don’t want him to get the wrong idea.
Well Mr. Breaker, why don’t you just call him?
Negatory, said Breaker, Brickbüster doesn’t need any more bad news, not since his Bürgermaster franchise burned down and his wife became a lady of the night.
You could use some support, Dr. Ling said.
Babe, all I need is a mortician.
Don’t give up just yet, Breaker. Remember that positivity can go a long way in the healing process.
I got too much vinegar in these bones for that touchy-feely crap They trained it out of me. Breaker looked away, three hundred million miles away. You can’t teach old dogs new tricks. And I’m not even a dog.
Well, you have a phone right there, if you change your mind. Dr. Ling sighed breastacularly.
For what!? bellowed Breaker. For Brickbüster to bust my balls!? No thanks! I’ll pass, babe.
I’m only here to help, said Dr. Ling. I understand that you have a lot to think about right now. She opened the door to leave.
Dr. Ling? Breaker spoke softly.
What is it Breaker?
Please, he said, forgive me, babe. I’m only a man. A really really awesome man.
Chapter VII: Flashback of Fury
Breaker sat alone strapped to the hospital bed, trying not to think. But sometimes, when you think you’re thinking the least, you’re actually thinking a lot. Suddenly Breaker found himself thinking about a lot of stuff that happened in the past… really bad stuff… perhaps the worst stuff of all…
It had been on that day, the day that everything happened. On that day Breaker found Rochelle’s body in the front yard, burned to a crisp, boobs laid waste, wheelbarrow overturned, her fire-blackened arms and legs tied to four separate ropes attached to four separate Clydesdale horses. It was every man’s nightmare: his one true love, his angel from above burned to a crisp and about to get quartered. That’s the kind of shit that starts wars.
Breaker didn’t know what to do. Was there anything he could do? So, he didn’t do anything, on that day that everything happened. He just stood there like a schmo doing nothing. He stared at what’d become of his angel, his one true love.
Then, literally out of nowhere, in floated the sound of a flute. Breaker knew the song better than he knew the velveteen caress of Rochelle’s late breasts. It was their song. He almost started thinking about stuff, but then, there was a sharp note and the four separate horses ran in four separate directions and separated Rochelle’s arms and legs from her torso.
Nooo!! Breaker screamed.
He could hear laughter coming from the road.
Kawasaki-Suzuki! Breaker screamed as thunder clapped and rain tumbled down like drops of liquid pain. Yaaaaahhh!! Breaker’s heart thundered like the thunder thundered. I’ll kill you!! You hear me!?
Yes, Bo Breaker, said Kawasaki-Suzuki, seated in a folding chair atop an unmarked white van parked by the sidewalk, I can hear you.
I’m gonna kill your ass!
Go, Kawasaki-Suzuki called to the driver of the van and banged on the roof with his foot. Drive! now, go, go!
Breaker broke into a dead sprint after the van.
Go faster you cock-n-ball! cried Kawasaki-Suzuki.
Breaker was keeping pace, no problem. Soon, he was running right alongside the van. The driver looked over and Breaker motioned for him to roll down the window. The driver’s eyes bugged and he shook his head no. Breaker nodded yes and made the rolling down motion again, now at a dead sprint, practically135 miles per hour! The driver swallowed and rolled the window down. Yes? Kawasaki-Suzuki’s driver quivered. In an instant, Breaker punched him right in the face and knocked him out cold.
The van swerved and Breaker jumped aboard, grabbing the steering wheel and righting the van. They were approaching the freeway entrance now at precisely135 miles per hour. But they were going the wrong way onto the freeway!
There was a big ass diesel Cummins truck with a wide-open horse trailer parked on the side of the road. The driver was out of the truck waving one hand and talking into a cellphone with the other. There were four Clydesdale horses bucking, whinnying, and running onto the freeway, dragging Rochelle’s arms and legs behind them.
I better make this fast, Breaker grumbled, quickly duct-taping the gas pedal down and the steering wheel into position and climbing out the window to the rooftop of the speeding van. His hair blowing in the wind, Breaker bellowed, You’re dead, muchacho!
Actually, I’m doing quite well, Breaker. It’s your little lovebird that I’m concerned for. She’s a little too well done, eh?
Your gonna eat those words, Kawasaki-Suzuki! Then you’re gonna eat my hambone of a fist.
Did you like my little present, Breaker?
I’m…
In that instant Breaker deftly ducked Kawasaki-Suzuki’s samurai sword as it swung for his face. Breaker got to his feet, ready to seek and destroy.
You didn’t even let me finish! Breaker raged.
No, Kawasaki-Suzuki said, I just remembered that it was Mijuki that was supposed to deliver the present for you.
What did you just say?! Breaker cried.
Kawasaki-Suzuki swung his samurai sword again, but Breaker ducked it again, no problem, and karate chopped Kawasaki-Suzuki’s shoulder and the sword banged off the edge of the van and fell down to the blurred road below.
What the hell are you doing?! the person by the horse trailer yelled, as the van roared past. We got horses loose!! Look out!! You’re headed right for ‘em!!
Breaker turned his head and saw the four Clydesdale horses running like a darkly twisted beer commercial, dragging Rochelle’s disembodied arms and legs, just ahead of the speeding van. Damn, he growled.
Just then, Kawasaki-Suzuki flying roundhouse kicked Breaker in the face, sending Breaker into a tailspin down to the pavement where he rolled to a stop. Breaker could only watch the van and the horses as they sped away down the freeway. Looks like the last laugh is mine, Breaker! Kawasaki-Suzuki called out as he got away, cackling atop the van.
We’ll see about that, Breaker growled, mentally adding him to his shit list, dripping with rainfall.
Breaker then stood up and ran directly to Mexico, thinking full well that that was where Kawasaki-Suzuki came from. Breaker searched Mexico for weeks before he realized that Kawasaki-Suzuki was an Asian name. After that, Breaker drove straight to Japan at 135 miles per hour.
Chapter VIII: Back to the Present
On the television hanging in the corner of Breaker’s room, a slow jam music video – with a lost young beauty searching a garden for her one and only – was making Breaker simper in his bed. He was sweating and shivering, sallow, nearing his imminent death, when a knock came at the door.
It was Mr. Phoq-Nyut, an associate of the late mob boss, Mijuki. Hello, Mr. Breaker, he squawked, flexing his leather gloves.
What’s up fuck-nut?
It’s Mr. Phoq-Nyut! Mr. Phoq-Nyut pulled out an Uzi with a silencer. And you are about to die, Breaker! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Tell me something I don’t know, fuck-nut, Breaker sneered. Go ahead, I’m toast anyway. May as well butter me and serve me with a side of bacon and hash browns.
I do not have butter! insisted Mr. Phoq-Nyut.
It’s just as well, Breaker whimpered.
Well this is no fun, complained Mr. Phoq-Nyut.
Just then, Dr. Ling entered the room carrying a bouquet of white roses and a velvet heart shaped box of chocolates.
Forgive me, babe! Breaker screamed.
Dr. Ling’s eyes bugged out and she dropped the bouquet and the chocolates, gasped, and uttered, Dear God! As she fell back against the doorway, her eyes met with Breaker’s eyes and their eyes were locked in a love-lock, blue and grey. He’d promised himself he’d never let this happen to him again. Not again. But he was powerless to the love-lock and he felt like an angel from above had come to him, to save him, to help him live. Not just kind of live, but like live a whole bunch.
In that moment, for Breaker, something broke loose within him like wildfire, only within him of course. It was not literally a wildfire, but a spiritual wildfire.
Forgive me, he whispered as he snapped the bars off the gurney and swung both bars straight into the sides of Phoq-Nyut’s face. Breaker slammed the man’s face against the bedside table eight times in succession. Breaker sat up and spat. He pulled out his IV and then swung the broken metal bars down at his ankle chains and those broke too, both of them. He was at liberty!
Dr. Ling clutched her fingers over her mouth and ran from the room, her two big ol’ boobs a-swinging like twin bowls of Jell-O.
Breaker took a breath. Aw hell, he sighed. Forgive me, babe, he whispered, throwing the remote at the TV, exploding the television set.
Then Breaker sprinted at the window and jumped through the glass, screaming, K-Chaaa!! And then, he was falling. That stuff was scary. He screamed on the way down; he flapped his arms a bunch to regain his balance, but it was only one story down and he fell onto his broken leg, which instantly became a compound fracture. Breaker rolled head over heels and dropped to the ground. Ach! he choked, lying there in agony. Breaker grabbed a stick and put it between his teeth. Without pausing to think, he screamed, K-… and he pushed the bone back under the skin… Chyaaa! and ram-jammed it back into place.
He lay there a moment, trying to catch his breath. Breaker had broken a sweat. Damn, he said. It’s been a day. He looked around at the crowd that was now gathering and pulled out his duct tape. Nothing a little duct tape can’t fix, he grumbled, wrapping his leg.
Then, on his feet again, Breaker sprinted for the parking lot and dove headfirst into Dr. Ling’s Corvette. He hot-wired the thing in no time flat. Sorry, babe! he called out as he sped off down I-35, going 135 miles per hour and checking the ashtray for butts. He found a little zippy of cocaine, Nice one babe, he said, then also finding therein a fat half-doobie. Let’s party, Breaker growled, pushing a tape into the deck.
Chapter IX: Power Shift
He was speeding through the desert when his cell phone rang. The Corvette’s engine was roaring, going 135 miles per hour, so he eased off the throttle and slowed to 95.
Yo, Breaker said. This better be important, I’m driving.
Is zis Breaker? said a man with an accent.
I can’t understand you. Breaker popped the tape out of the deck. What’d you say? I’m driving here!
Tell me vhat is your name?
I’ll tell you my name. I’m… Breaker swerved to miss a lizard that was crossing the road. Dammit! Who is this?! What do you want? I’m driving here, this is simply unsafe, my man.
Zis is zee question, vhat is it dat vee vant?
Look, I don’t know how they do things over there in China, but…
I’m Russian! Not Chinese!
Yeah whatever, Breaker chuckled.
You are indeed Breaker, concluded the man on the line. You’d better pull over the vehicle, Breaker, for I have one magnificent load of unscrupulous news for you.
Unscrup-uh-lus? What’s that?
Tis injurious for you Breaker! The Russian chuckled, But I dare not tell you everythink just yet, for zis is too soon for articulating you zee everythink. But in due time, in just zee precise moment I vill deliver clarification about zis unscrupulous news, but you vill not fine out until much later of vhat it is in particular zat I speak.
I can’t understand a word you’re saying, my man, Breaker said. But hey, can I ask you something?
Vhat is your question?
Are all Chinamen good at chess or is that just a stereotype?
Let me tell you one think about Russians, Breaker, the man said. Vee don’t play game, even vhen vee play game, if you catch my meaning?
Again no, I can’t understand you at all. I think it’s the accent. Look I gotta rack of ribs in the oven. Gotta fly. Adios me hombre.
Vait! I didn’t…
Breaker hung up the phone and gunned the Corvette back up to 135 miles per hour. He popped the tape back into the deck.
The phone rang again. He turned the stereo down.
Yo, this is Break-doggy-dog.
Breaker!
Isn’t this a long distance phone call?
No, the Russian paused.
Then you just told me what city you’re in.
Vhat is zis?
You’re in the same area code as me, Breaker spoke proudly, otherwise, this would be a long distance call. Boo-ya bitch!
The Russian let out one long breath before he said, That’s not how phones vork anymore, Breaker.
Yeah sure, you expect to believe that?
Listen to me. My name is zee Poet.
Z Poet? Breaker laughed. You’ve got to be kidding me, that’s retarded!
Vhat is funny? You laugh at my name?
No fucking way! Z Poet? That can’t be your name, my man.
Yes, my name is zee Poet.
Breaker changed his tone on a dime, Well listen up Z Poet, you better get to the point real quick because I haven’t had meth in three days and I don’t have time for any bullshit.
Vell then, began the Poet, perhaps you vould prefer a doctor’s opinion?
Breaker heard a woman’s voice coming through the phone. Breaker, please…
Breaker slammed his fist into the windshield, splintering it. You son-of-a-bitch! he growled. You let her go!
Oh, said the Poet. I zink you remember Dr. Ling?
Help, Breaker please! Dr. Ling cried out, Noo! What is that!? No, please, no! Ahh!
The Poet laughed softly. Vee are currently running through its paces, zese noetic power instruments.
Talk English you idiot!
Zey are zee name brand power tools from zee Home Depot, vith vun year varranty. I do believe ve vill be really putting zese contraptions to zee test.
Suddenly, the roar of metal spinning filled Breaker’s ear.
Dr. Ling screamed.
I hope you picked up some plywood and nails too, Breaker growled.
Vhat for… is zis? asked the Poet.
For your coffin, dick breath!
Oh, very clever zis one, Mr. Breaker. I vas told of your knack for zee cliché idioms.
Who you calling an idiot?
I mean clever sayinks.
How ‘bout this one: I’m gonna slice you up real slow and serve you to a mess of hogs bit by bit.
Hm, said the Poet. I have never heard zis one. Tis not very clever.
No, but it’ll get the job done.
Oh, very practical too, said the Poet, You are man of many talent.
I’m also a ticking time bomb right now and you just lit my fuse! Comprenday?!
Vait, said the Poet, If you are time bomb, zere is no need for fuse.
I’m gonna ram-jam my foot down your throat, you Roosky som’bitch.
Now, you are talking. But tis not your foot I desire. Tis zis clandestine contraption to vhich I have already referred, but of vhich I vill provide very few details at zis time. You know of vhat I speak, Breaker?
Yeah, I know what you’re talking about you vodka drinking bastard. The Sparkonaut.
Zat is right, Breaker. Your sveet little doctor just might come back to you alive if you convey zee Sparkonaut to zee Buzz-Buzz Varehouse in zee manufacture district.
The Buzz-Buzz Warehouse!? Breaker shouted. You bastard! You filthy vodka drinking…
You already said zis one about zee vodka, the Poet said. Zis repetition can be nauseating.
You sauerkraut eating som’bitch!
Tis zee Germans zat eat sauerkraut.
Breaker grunted: German, Chinese, whatever! You’re a dead man Z Poet! A dead man! Bank on it! He gripped the steering wheel in one hand and crushed his cellphone in the other, put the Corvette into super-overdrive, and slammed the pedal to the metal.
Chapter X: Lone Wülf
Breaker drove straight to the Pentagon at 135 miles per hour. Even the cops couldn’t catch him. Cornering was no walk in the park, but Breaker pulled it off no problem.
Breaker busted through the front gate and pulled right up onto the sidewalk. He threw the keys at the armed guard at the entryway and said, Better not see a scratch on the Corvette, bud-ro. She’s borrowed.
The keys bounced off the armed guard’s machine gun, Huh? he said, not yet recognizing that beefcake from hell, Bo Breaker. But when the guard saw the muscles, the mega-hair, the cynical sneer, the poor boy swallowed hard, picked up the keys, and ran to park the Corvette.
Breaker winked and said, Have fun with her, bud.
Sure thing Breaker! Welcome back! the guard smiled.
Breaker threw the double-doors open and said, Where’s Brickbüster?
Betty, the secretary, looked up from her makeup magazine. Breaker? she gasped, blushing, standing up. She had legs from here to Cleveland and boobs from Cleveland to Akron.
‘Sup babe, Breaker said.
I’ve been waiting for you to call, Betty said.
Been busy.
You said you would call.
Phone ran out of batteries.
It’s been two months, Betty simpered, lip quivering, knuckles pressed to her mouth. Two of the longest months of my life, Breaker.
Lost your number. Sorry.
But… Betty said, now crying all over her boobs. Betty put her hand on her belly. Breaker I’m pregnant.
Congrads.
Breaker… she whispered.
Yeah, what’s up?
The baby’s yours, she smiled expectantly. She smelled like onion.
Not mine, babe, Breaker said. I been shooting blanks ever since Petey Punchout racked my nuts with a bowling ball. Breaker laughed, I wonder what that big bastard’s up to these days.
But, but that’s impossible, Betty said.
Exactly. Welp, I gotta hit the crapper, Breaker said as he walked down the hall. Later babe.
Then Breaker, true to his word, hit the crapper.
When he as done, he walked down to the end of the hall – along the way punching the intern in the gut – and kicked in Sergeant Wülf Brickbüster’s door, splintering the doorframe and shattering the glass portion of the door. The remains of the door crashed onto his desk. A stainless steel nametag on the desk read: Sergeant Wülf Brickbüster. There he was: Wülf Brickbüster. A tank of a man. Built like a bucket. Brickbüster jumped into a Judo pose atop a fallen bookshelf, balancing on the balls of his feet, deftly whipping out his nun-chucks, always prepared.
Why so jumpy, Brickbüster? Breaker chuckled. Afraid a truth bomb might drop right on your own personal denial, you son-of-a-bitch?
Is that… could it be? That pig humping, shit eating, donkey punching, little…
Look who’s talking, kimosabay, Breaker squinted and spat. Hey, Brickbüster, you about tall enough to ride the ferris wheel yet?
Brickbüster swung his nun-chucks in a whippy circle and gasped, Breaker?!
The one and only.
Brickbüster chortled. My God! Where have all the soldiers gone?
In his reinforced falsetto, Breaker belted out: Gone to graveyards, every one. Breaker was a fantastic singer. Everyone knew that.
Brickbüster adjusted his aviators and chortled. Is that a vagina wrapped in manclothes or is that Bo freaking Breaker?
The one and only, Breaker said.
Brickbüster continued, Is that just a shriveled up old cornhusk left behind after the county fair or is that Bo the bitch man Breaker?
Watch your mouth or you’ll be pulling it out of your ass.
More like your mouth in my ass!
You’re such a homo, Breaker said.
Brickbüster windmill kicked Breaker, knocking him to floor and then put him in a headlock, twisting his nun-chucks across Breaker’s windpipe.
Grt, greeee… was all that Breaker could muster at the moment. But then he judo-flipped Brickbüster up and onto the stainless steel desk, which bent down the middle. Breaker grabbed a stainless steel chair from behind the desk and bashed it over Brickbüster’s head.
Brickbüster grabbed Breaker and spun around twice to shot put him through the wall and into the intern’s cubicle. Brickbüster shouted, Is that a little pansy bitchboy, here to scrub my balls or is that Bo booby boy Breaker?
Bruh, that sounded super gay, said Breaker, climbing back into the room through the busted drywall.
Brickbüster snatched Breaker by his long hair and pushed his head between his knees and pulled Breaker’s legs straight up into the air and pile-drived him onto all but solid concrete. The two men rolled away from one another.
You’re dead, Dickbuster.
More like Chickthruster.
Breaker rested his foot up on the desk and said, All right all right, let’s call a truce.
A truce? Brickbüster scoffed. He picked up the door and leaned it in the doorway.
Yeah, a truce.
Whatever you say. Brickbüster dropped into his leather chair behind the bent, stainless steel desk.
Look, Breaker grumbled, I got a favor to ask.
Oh, here it comes, mocked Brickbüster. Can you hear this? Brickbüster rubbed his pointer finger and his thumb together.
I don’t hear anything.
That’s the sound of the world’s smallest violin, my friend.
Breaker laughed. He put out his hand in an offer of peace.
Brickbüster laughed. And in that moment, he reached across the desk and they made the bro-hand-clasp-of-power, making it official.
I love you, man, no homo, Breaker said.
No homo, Brickbüster agreed.
Breaker sat down in the bent chair. No one spoke for a moment. The intern could be heard cleaning up his cubicle; he could also be seen through the Breaker shaped hole in the wall.
Breaker, if you weren’t such a pussy, you’d be like a brother to me.
You’re better than any brother I ever had, you piece of shit.
Cut the sweet talk, what’s the favor? demanded Brickbüster.
The Sparkonaut…
The what?! Brickbüster burst to his feet, knocking his chair over.
You heard me, kimosabee.
Of all the shit we been through…
It is what it is, Breaker interrupted, standing up to leave.
Wait, Breaker, Brickbüster sighed, you’re right. He pounded his fist on the desk. Goddammit, you’re right, he growled. It is what it is.
I’ve been telling you that for years, Breaker said. But you never did listen to me, did you? And look where it’s gotten you.
Jack squat is where it’s gotten me.
It is what it is, Breaker finished, stepping around the busted door on his way out.
Chapter XI: Days of Glory
Breaker got back into Dr. Ling’s Corvette and punched the steering wheel. It was pissing rain outside. The windshield wipers could hardly keep up. And suddenly, Breaker was remembering a bunch of stuff…
They’d been Marines before everything happened. Best of buds through the Persian Gulf and everything else that Uncle Sam claimed wasn’t a war. They were like brothers. Not genetically though. They were not actually related, but sometimes it felt like they were. But then everything changed when the new program, the top secret X-12 Comanche-Inferno Program, was offered to both of them. One of them would be in charge of the entire division. That was when everything changed. From then on, they’d competed with one another for the one available position, the position that would change everything.
They competed in cardio: running for thirty-six hours across the Bering Straight in the dead of winter. No problem. They finished neck and neck.
They competed in dead lifting: 2,700 pound free-weights. No problem. They were both changing and they didn’t even know it.
They competed in pain trials: bamboo shoots under fingernails and days on end in hot boxes. No problem. But that was before everything changed.
They fought against everything under the sun. They fought eagles and panthers, mountain-goats and flocks of supercharged cockatoos, walruses in heat, tigers on PCP, and finally a Harrier Jet, flown by none other than Petey Punchout, the best damn pilot in the western hemisphere. This was when things changed because although both Breaker and Brickbüster triumphed in every battle, no problem, they were left feeling something toxic, something noxious, like a poison pulsing in their veins. They had nightmares of ants crawling under their skin and night terrors that made them literally shit themselves. This was the beginning of the end for their friendship, their brotherhood. Not genetically, but like genetically.
It all went down one night at Skippy’s Riviera Bar-N-Grille. It was Breaker’s 21st birthday and the boys were having a night out on the town, really cutting loose. Brickbüster had challenged Kawasaki-Suzuki to an arm wrestling match and the bar went wild, bets were made, arguments were had. Breaker bet his own grandmother’s pearl anklet on Brickbüster to win, but little did he know that Granny would be rolling over in her grave that night. As Brickbüster and the golden caped ninja faced off at the beer-soaked table, the vibe of the room went from wild to out of control. Suddenly a Viet Cong that had been shouting obscenities jumped up onto the bar and started pissing. The bartender, Petey Punchout, didn’t notice because he was preparing vodka Molotov cocktails for the visiting Iranian terrorists. Stinky Greg was laughing his ass off, trying to slam the Lime-Green Rocker’s fingers in a door while their band, Strike-Force 1, were rocking speed-metal on the milk-crate stage. And, as it was a Saturday night, there was a major surgery occurring on the patio.
It was practically a perfect storm.
The men placed their elbows on the table. Their beefy hands gripped in the middle, sweat dripping from every pore, even the walls were literally sweating. Diamond Don Clockingham was officiating the match. Diamond Don’s sonorous voice boomed over the din of the crowd, Let’s keep it clean, boys. Hands with money waving, shouts in every language imaginable, the room was on fire. Here we go, boys, said Diamond Don, spitting his cigarette onto the floor. On three. Three! Two! One! And in that instant, an instant where time seemed to stand still, everything changed. The two competitors flexed theirs muscles and strained against one another, eyes locked in psychological warfare.
Then, without warning, Kawasaki-Suzuki threw chalk dust into Brickbüster’s eyes. Brickbüster couldn’t see a thing. He was literally blind. He cried out, Breaker, where am I? What’s happening!?
And then a vodka Molotov cocktail went airborne, soring across the room, smashing into the Viet Cong and igniting him in red-hot fiery flames of death. The Viet Cong’s piss went flying everywhere as he struggled in vain to put out the fire. Stinky Greg turned around to see the spectacle and the airborne piss struck him directly in the eyeball.
Breaker! Stinky Greg growled, I’m blind! Where am I?! What’s happening?! The Lime-Green Rocker tugged his fingers out of the doorway and fell backward over Stinky Greg’s bass and amplifier, every string of the bass rumbling the room. The door slammed closed, hitting a surgeon that was in a hurry to get the patient’s heart to the ice machine before it stopped beating. The door hit the silver tray and the patient’s still-beating heart catapulted over the heads of the screaming crowd. The heart hit Brickbüster in the one spot that nobody ever dared touch him: behind his ear. Fully triggered and in a blind fury, Brickbüster cried out, just as Lime Green Rocker’s shoe flew off his foot and sailed directly into the Brickbüster’s gut, Oof!
Kawasaki-Suzuki took his advantage and pulled Brickbüster’s arm right out of its socket. He swung the arm over his head and threw it up onto the stage, hitting the Lime-Green Rocker in the windpipe, permanently damaging his singing voice. It was in this moment Breaker realized that nothing would ever be the same again.
Breaker sat in the Corvette, in front of the Pentagon – remember? –, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, feeling pretty confused after thinking about so much stuff. Whoa, he said, I just remembered so much stuff. He breathed heavily.
There was a knock at the window. Breaker rolled it down. It was Brickbüster. What do you want, shi-thead? Breaker said.
Look, Breaker… Brickbüster looked around, making sure no one could hear him, I got something I gotta tell you. Something that might just rock your world.
I’m always ready to rock.
Brickbüster leaned in through the window, cupped his hand and whispered, Strictly off the record.
Get in, Breaker said. We can go someplace a little more private, no homo.
Chapter XII: Mission: No Problem
Do you remember this place? Breaker asked.
Brickbüster chuckled, How could I forget? It sure is one-of-kind.
I remember a lot of stuff about this place.
Same.
You remember when we ate here? Breaker asked.
Fo’ shizzle.
Well, I’m gonna tell you about it anyway, just as a reminder.
All systems go, Brickbüster agreed.
Well, I was in that corner over there, remember? I was pummeling those neo-Nazi som’bitches…
A waitress interrupted Breaker’s story, setting plastic cups of ice water and a basket of chips on the table. Welcome to Azteca, my name is Rosie, and I’ll be taking your order, okay?
Coolio, Breaker said. I’ll have the usge.
Oh! the waitress gasped, putting her fingers to her open mouth. Breaker, it’s been such a long… since…
Oh that’s right I banged you out a couple times didn’t I?
The waitress pulled up her shirt, exposing her hella pregnant belly. She dropped her notepad and bit her knuckle, trying to contain her extreme emotionals.
Jesus Christ, babe, Breaker whispered, looking around the room, you got fat.
You got me pregnant, Rosie hissed.
Impossible, Breaker said.
Very possible, she replied. In fact, not only possible, but absolutely for sure.
As in what? Breaker asked.
As in this is the second time you got me pregnant!
Fake news, Breaker concluded.
Right now, your son is at daycare, probably beating kids up.
Sounds like an awesome kid you got there.
He set fire to a little girl’s hair yesterday!
OK, that’s kinda weird.
He’s always punching everyone in the face, she said.
Breaker leaned forward. Wait, what did you just say?
Breaker... Rosie said. Whatever happened to our love?
Uh oh, you’re not gonna start crying are you?
No, Breaker, she composed herself. I’ll never cry for you again.
Coolio, Breaker said pointing to the menu. Then I’ll have the uh, I’m not sure how to pronunciate this…
Rosie brushed her bangs from her eyes and read from the menu, That says grande.
All right I’ll have the grandy number two with… uh… Breaker pointed.
A taco?
Yeah, that’s what I want. Aaand I’ll also have one of these… Breaker pointed again.
Another taco?
Righteous.
What kind of meat?
I want it spicy, Breaker said. I mean really really really really really really spicy.
Do you want beef, pork, or chicken?
All of ‘em if I can, Breaker said, and I want it super frickin’ spicy. Do you have Dave’s Gore-Met Insanity Sauce?
You mean gourmet?
No, Dave’s, babe. Can you just bring me like a tub of that shit?
Sure, Rosie groaned. And you?
Brickbüster pointed at the menu too, One of uhh…
A burrito?
That’s it! exclaimed Brickbüster.
What kind of meat? Beef, chicken, or pork?
Sure, sweetie, sounds great, Brickbüster smiled and winked at her. Everything you say sounds like liquid sunshine to me. Brickbüster turned to Breaker and pointed his thumb at the waitress. Her accent reminds me of that chick in Mexico I used to hump on the regular. Remember back in Mexico?
Rosie snatched the menus and started to walk away.
Wait, babe, Breaker said, there’s one more thing I have to say to you before you leave.
Rosie turned and said, What is it, Breaker? Her eyes locked with his, it was a one sided love-lock.
The room was suddenly still and a sentimental mariachi ballad played over the speakers. Breaker cleared his throat. Could we also get two big-ass margaritas?
Rosie scowled, adjusting the menus under her armpit, accidentally bumping her big ol’ mama boobs. Yes, of course, she hissed, storming off.
Breaker chuckled, Man, Mexicans are so cool.
For sure, Brickbüster agreed, slurping his ice water.
It’s like sometimes I wonder what might of been, you know?
I’m always wondering about stuff, said Brickbüster. His flip phone rang Eye of the Tiger and he answered it, Yo, this is the Wülfmeister, whatchu got?
Breaker searched his pockets for his phone. Damn, he said, where’d I leave that thing?
Uh-huh, Brickbüster said. Yeah. Yeah.
Rosie came back to their table. Sorry, but we’re actually out of…
Brickbüster put his finger up to hush her. Uh-huh, Brickbüster said. Yeah.
He’s on the phone, Breaker told her.
Uh-huh, Brickbüster said. Yeah. Uh-huh.
Is he gonna be long? Rosie asked.
Shh! Brickbüster demanded. Uh-huh. Yeah, I’m still here. There’s just this pregnant Mexican lady trying to get my attention.
I think he’s talking to someone, Breaker clarified.
Well, I needed to let you know that we’re out of pico-de-gallo, so, here’s your Dave’s Insanity Sauce. Rosie dropped the tub onto the table and walked away.
Brickbüster continued, Yeah, I’m literally here with him right now.
Who’s that? Breaker whispered.
Brickbüster put up his finger to hush him. Uh-huh. Yeah, I’m still here. No, the pregnant Mexican’s gone. Brickbüster frowned, pushed his pelvis up from the seat, and put his hand in his jeans pocket. No, I still got it, he said.
Who is it? Breaker mouthed.
I know right, Brickbüster laughed. No, but she’s still bang-able though. What? No, you were the one that sent me that video. You maniac! That was sick.
Who is that? Breaker bopped in his seat.
Hold on, Breaker’s breaking my balls over here. I gotta split, bro. Adios me amigo. Brickbüster closed his flip phone and put it in the interior pocket of his coat.
Who was that?
No one.
Oh, it sounded like…
No, it was a wrong number.
Oh, I hate those.
The men sat, tapping their fingers on the tabletop for a minute, bobbing their heads, listening to the mariachi music and looking at all the colorful decorations. After some time, Rosie returned with their margaritas.
Thanks, babe, Breaker said, snatching his margarita from her hand and chugging it as fast as he could.
Brickbüster did exactly the same thing.
Breaker finished first and then held his head. Ah!
Saame! shouted Brickbüster. The men gave each other a high-five and Brickbüster tapped on his glass with his fork. Keep ‘em coming, Mexican lady!
Rosie took the empties and walked away.
Hey, speaking of phones, Breaker said, You remember that time we…
Oh yeah, Brickbüster interrupted, I’m remembering that time right now…
Breaker and Brickbüster had been laying around the pool that day in Mexico, the day that they’re both remembering. It was hot. Too hot.
Man, Breaker sighed, I’m hot.
Too hot, Brickbüster said.
Hey, speaking of phones, Breaker said, we should prank Stinky Greg.
Hell to the yeah, Brickbüster said, pulling his flip phone out his swim trunks. He dialed Stinky Greg’s number and put it to his ear with a smile. It’s ringing, he whispered excitedly, handing the phone to Breaker.
What should I say? Breaker asked.
I dunno, Brickbüster said.
Whaat? Stinky Greg answered.
Breaker chuckled and then so did Brickbüster. Shut up, Breaker whispered, putting his hand over the receiver.
Who the fuck is this? Stinky Greg demanded.
Hey, laughed Breaker, this is… uh… Breaker.
Brickbüster nodded his head and smiled.
Oh, hey Breaker. What the fuck you want?
Uh… Breaker held the phone away from his face as he laughed. Then he began speaking in a lowered voice, I don’t know.
Brickbüster mouthed the word, Yes! doubling-over, barely containing himself.
Breaker didn’t say anything else for some time.
Well, you’re cutting into my drinking time, asshole, said Stinky Greg.
Oh, right, said Breaker. So, um…
Brickbüster mouthed some words that were too complicated to understand.
Wait, what? Breaker whispered.
Brickbüster snatched the phone from him and said, Hey, Greg there’s something came in the mail for you.
What? Who’s this?
Deez nuts!
Then Breaker and Brickbüster came back from their memory, laughing.
That was the best, Brickbüster said.
For sure, agreed Breaker.
Rosie returned with a platter of steaming food. Here’s your grande number two.
Grassy-ass.
And your burrito.
Is she speaking English? Brickbüster asked.
Enjoy, Rosie spat, literally burning holes through them with her eyes. She would not be returning any time soon with that second round of margaritas.
Breaker dumped the entire tub of Dave’s Insanity Hot Sauce over his tacos and then licked the tub clean, squinting and wincing at the heat.
Brickbüster looked over his shoulder as Rosie walked away. Now that’s what I call one spicy ta-male, Brickbüster commented.
She’s female, dumbass, Breaker said with a mouth full of taco.
Brickbüster watched her walk, blindly shoveling beans and rice into his mouth, spraying as he spoke. Spi-i-i-ce-ee.
So, Breaker said, what’s this something that might just rock my world? It’s not another pyramid scheme is it?
That would’ve made us so rich if we’d just gotten in earlier.
All right enough. Just give me the 411.
Okay, said Brickbüster taking a long breath and looking out the window. So here’s the deal… it’s about Petey Punchout…
Yeah? Is he okay?
Yeah, I mean, I dunno, I guess, Brickbüster said. Well… apparently… Brickbüster looked around the Azteca, making sure no one was listening. And this is for serious top secret…
Ten-four, buddy, Breaker assured his old friend.
And I mean it… Don’t. Tell. Anyone.
Jeez, what is it?
Not a hooker, not anybody…
Just spit it out already!
Petey Punchout is gay.
Breaker chuckled. Well, no shit, he’s super gay.
You knew?
Yeah, of course, I’ve called him gay so many times.
No, not that kind of gay, Brickbüster said seriously. I mean like… gay-gay.
Wait, Breaker said, What did you just say?
He’s a real life butt-pirate.
Oh, I get it, said Breaker, you’re just messing with me.
No, Breaker, listen to me for once in your life! I’m serious as cancer right now. Petey Punchout is literally gay.
Wait, literally?!
Dead serious.
But that’s impossible! Breaker said. We shared a tent in… oh my God! Does that mean I have AIDS?
Maybe.
Breaker stared a million miles away, whispering, Butt-pirate.
The men stared at their plates for a long time, saying nothing. More margaritas arrived. Breaker took a sip from the pink straw before jerking away, pulling the straw out and throwing it across the room.
Will there be anything else? Rosie asked.
Breaker said, I’m so over it.
She took the plates away and left the men alone.
You OK, Breaker? Brickbüster asked.
Yeah, no, I’m fine.
You sure? You’re looking kinda green.
It’s no problem. I’m fine with the gays. I mean, as long as they don’t try to hit on me or anything.
Well, the only reason I tell you this is that Petey Punchout is the only man alive with enough clearance to get us anywhere within ten square miles of the Sparkonaut.
Breaker started sweating. Well, whatever. Gay’s the new straight, right?
What? Brickbüster said. Who told you that?
I mean, whatever, it’s not a problem. It’s fine. Breaker started chugging ice water.
Yo, pregnant lady! Brickbüster pounded the table. Bring us the check!
Breaker finished all the water and then the wad of ice at the bottom struck him directly in the face.
We gotta pick him up then, Brickbüster said.
Who? Breaker coughed and wiped his face.
Petey Punchout, Brickbüster said, turning his head and shouting, Hey! Pregnant lady! Check, pronto!
Breaker stared a million miles away while Brickbüster tried to pay the bill with a special services American Express card. It was declined.
Can you break a thousand? Brickbüster asked Rosie.
Breaker got up, mumbling, I gotta use the crapper.
Chapter XIII: The Closet of Doom
Brickbüster was already knocking on Petey Punchout’s front door when Breaker panicked and hid in the bushes. Breaker was trying to do the breathing practice he’d learned from Guru Steve, but instead, he was just clenching his teeth and hyperventilating, whispering, Beautiful now, beautiful moment.
Breaker! Brickbüster said. What are you doing? Come out of those bushes!
Breaker said nothing, moving amongst the shadows, vanishing as only the world’s best assassin in the world could.
Get your ass up here! Brickbüster demanded. I’m not doing this alone.
Butt-pirate, Breaker sputtered.
That’s not even a real thing, dumbass, Brickbüster said. Pirates weren’t gay.
Yeah? Breaker said. Well then how come gays are butt-pirates then?
I don’t know! There’s a lot of questions I just can’t answer. I’m not God.
Just then, the door opened and there the extra large man stood. Hey, what’s up Brickbüster? Punchout said. I’ll be ready in a minute. You guys wanna come in?
No! shouted Breaker from the bushes.
Was that Bo freaking Breaker? Petey Punchout snickered, leaning his head down and stepping through the doorway.
Breaker knew he had to show himself. Yo, he said, stepping out of the shadows.
Come on in you guys, Punchout said. I gotta feed my dog and finish some dishes before we go. He walked back inside, leaving the door open.
Breaker didn’t move a muscle.
Come on, Brickbüster insisted. Don’t make this weirder than it has to be. Then, Brickbüster stepped inside.
Sure, Breaker sounded nonchalant, No problem. But then, Breaker froze at the door, literally frozen in place. He pulled his leather jacket closed and zipped it up, then strolled in.
But just as Breaker stepped inside, Brickbüster said, Hey, check this out, and held up a ham sandwich that was aimed directly at Breaker’s face. Animal-instinct kicked in and Breaker back flipped, bicycle kicking the sandwich. Breaker fell backward against the wall, not a place he felt comfortable.
Jesus, what was that? shouted Punchout from the kitchen.
Breaker thought quick. I was… uh… showing Brickbüster how to… um… how to break dance or something. Breaker jumped to his feet.
Oh cool, said Punchout. I love dancing.
Breaker and Brickbüster turned to one another with horror in their eyes.
No, never mind, Breaker shouted. I was just joking about the break dancing.
Oh, good one, said Punchout. Then what was that bang?
What’s that supposed to mean? Breaker demanded.
What?
Breaker turned to Brickbüster and whispered, Let’s just get the hell out of here while we still can.
Brickbüster grabbed Breaker by the collar and said, Negatory, soldier! Not with so much at stake! We leave now and this whole entire operation is blown.
Oh my God, Breaker said, knocking his friend’s hands away. I see what’s happened here. You’ve become one of them haven’t you? You’ve gone over to the… the other side…
You listen to me you son-of-a-bitch, Brickbüster growled. I pound more pussy than the pound. And that’s a fact.
Is it? Breaker squinted at the man that he’d thought he’d known. Or have you been so effective as a double agent, that even your closest bros couldn’t tell that you were banging dudes instead of chicks? Breaker nearly collapsed and put his fingers to his open mouth, Oh my God. You always used to say… Breaker nodded his head at Brickbüster.“Bros before hoes,” huh? Now what exactly did you mean by that?
Your paranoid, man! You need to take a chill pill and just chill.
Then, Petey Punchout walked into the room with a backpack over his shoulder. All right guys, I think I’m ready. Let’s do this… wait, what happened out here?
I dropped a sandwich, Brickbüster claimed, sorry.
There’s mustard on the ceiling.
Magnetics, Brickbüster shrugged.
Oh, that makes sense, agreed Punchout, bending down to wipe the ceiling with a baby wipe.
What’s in the bag? Breaker demanded.
Oh this? I’m packing some snacks for later, ham sandwiches, juice boxes, that kind of stuff, waters.
Oh my god, that’s super ga… Breaker caught himself. Super g… super ught… sssuper…
Shut up, Breaker, said Brickbüster, Let’s just get this show on the road, kapiche? The three burly men walked out the front door.
Super… Breaker couldn’t stop his malfunction. Super ga…
What’s up with you today, Breaker? Punchout asked.
What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Breaker said.
Your acting hella gay, Punchout said.
The other men swallowed hard.
AIDS, was all Breaker could say.
Huh? Punchout exclaimed.
Forget about it, said Brickbüster. Breaker’s just a little under the weather today.
It’s not contagious is it? asked Punchout.
What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Breaker asked.
Your sickness, Punchout clarified, is it contagious?
I’m not sick, Breaker said, if anyone’s sick here, it’s…
Brickbüster turned and upper-cutted Breaker. Breaker went down hard onto the rock hard ground.
Oh, you guys are so funny, Punchout said.
What the fuck? Breaker got up, ready to fight.
Brickbüster held the two giants apart, saying, I’m not funny. And neither is Breaker, all right? Let’s just make that clear.
Oh wait, Punchout paused, snapping his beefy fingers. I almost forgot my Uzi. Breaker, do you mind going back into the closet to get my Uzi? My hands are full.
Back into the, ught… what did you just say?
It’s in the closet. My Uzi. I need you to go in there and then come out of the closet with my Uzi, I forgot it.
Oh my God, Breaker said. There’s no way I’m going back in there.
What’s your major malfunction, Breaker? Punchout squared up with Breaker. Breaker backed down for the first time in his entire life. You’ve gone pussy, Punchout accused.
Well, you’ve gone… ught… super… Breaker ran away and hid in the bushes again, stuttering, s-super g-g… g… super guh… super…
Hey! Chill homies! Brickbüster shouted. I’ll go back and get the Uzi, okay? You guys are acting like a bunch of fairi... ught… I mean, a bunch of… fairly… lame… ught… a bunch of fairly lame dipshits.
OK, you guys, something’s going on here, Punchout said, dropping his backpack like an atomic bomb. If we’re gonna partner up like this…
We’re not life-partnering anything, muchacho, growled Breaker from the bushes.
What?
No way, Jo-zay. Ain’t my cup o’ tea… ught… I mean cup o’ beer or something less gay than tea.
Oh, I get it, Punchout said. You guys heard about me becoming a butt-pirate didn’t you?
Bingo, Breaker said.
The three hardened soldiers of fortune stood at an impasse. They all knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that after this day, nothing would ever be the same.
Brickbüster asked, Is there any… uh, any gay stuff in your closet? I don’t want come across something I can’t unsee.
What d’ya mean, “gay stuff?” Punchout asked.
AIDS, Breaker sputtered from the bushes.
You know, said Brickbüster, like butt things.
Look, Punchout said, Just because I’m a butt-pirate now, doesn’t mean I just leave butt stuff lying around everywhere, OK?
Where do you keep it then? Breaker demanded.
The other two men turned toward the bush, speaking in perfect unison: Wouldn’t you like to know? Then they turned to each other and started to laugh. Even Breaker broke a smile.
Chapter XIV: Backseat 4 No 1
Breaker sat in the middle between the other two broad-shouldered men in the Corvette. Punchout was driving and Brickbüster was smoking a stogie. Breaker was keeping a close eye on Petey Punchout. The stick shift was precariously close to Breaker’s cock-and-balls and he did not plan on taking any risks. Not in a situation like this. Breaker was trying to see Punchout’s gayness, but Punchout looked pretty much the same. Maybe a little older.
What’re you looking at? Punchout asked.
Pphh, nothing, Breaker said.
Brickbüster was pressed against the passenger side window.
They were going about 135 miles per hour through a blizzard, when Brickbüster’s phone rang Eye of the Tiger.
Yo. This is the Brickster. Give it to me straight, he said.
The snowflakes exploded as they hit the splintered windshield. The high beams were full of the white fluffy stuff and the wipers were working overtime.
Uh-huh, Brickbüster said. No… yeah… uh-huh.
The road was solid black ice and packed snow. The conditions were not ideal for driving. But even though Petey Punchout was a real-life butt-pirate now, he could still drive better than anybody alive.
Uh-huh, Brickbüster said. Yeah… uh-huh, yeah…
They were flying like a bobsled team on a bobsled, literally bombing down the road like they were on a bobsled track. The trees leaned over the road, weighed down by the blizzard.
Yeah, Brickbüster said.
Where are we going? Punchout asked.
Shh! Brickbüster waved his beef-stick of a finger at Punchout.
I think he’s talking to someone, Breaker whispered.
Uh-huh, yeah, no that was just this gay guy, Brickbüster said. Then, listening, his face grew concerned and he leaned forward in his seat and reached up between his legs. No, there’s nothing in there… h’yeah, no kidding right?
The snow was literally falling.
No way, bruh, continued Brickbüster, no, no, no… no, no… no, you were the one that sent me that video! You freaking perv! That was freaking nasty!
Sounds like a wrong number, Breaker added.
Brickbüster said, Well, I gotta take a shit, I’ll talk to later, Mom.
Oh, I think it’s his mom, Breaker clarified.
Yeah Mom, I’m gonna shave it soon… yeah, I know it’ll itch when it grows back, Mom, God! Look, I’m with the bro’s right now, I gotta go... Mom… Mom! That is physically impossible… Please, don’t worry about it, Mom… Yes, I know! Yeah, he’s gay, but I’m a grown-ass man and I can take care of my own butthole.
It’s totally his mom, Punchout said with a nod. Hi, Mrs. Brickbüster, he shouted.
Yeah, that was him, he said. No, Brickbüster said. Mom, I’m not gonna say that to him… because I have to be in this car with him for the next hour or more…
Hi, Mrs. Brickbüster, Punchout said again.
OK fine, Brickbüster turned to Punchout and said, My mom says keep your mouth, hands, and cock off my cock and my butthole.
Punchout laughed. OK! No, problem, Mrs. Brickbüster!
I’m gonna hang now, Mom… Yeah, I love you too, bye-bye.
She’s so funny, said Punchout. I love that lady.
Huh? said Breaker. Wait, but you’re gay aren’t you?
Yeah, said Punchout. I prefer to be called a butt-pirate, but… yeah.
So how can you love Brickbüster’s mom?
You don’t get it Breaker. It’s a different kind of love.
What like bi-sexual or something? Breaker asked.
No… ught… she’s my buddy’s mom, for God’s sake! She’s almost like a mother to me. Punchout started fading into a reverie, staring off into the white blur outside. She was so different than the overbearing mother I grew up with. He huffed. And that distant father of mine, oh boy, how could I forget him?
Wait, Breaker said, so you were gay for your dad?
No! For God’s sake Breaker! That part has nothing to do with me becoming a butt-pirate.
So?
So, I’ll always love Brickbüster’s mom, Punchout smiled.
Brickbüster screamed, Ah!, kicked the passenger side door open, and judo rolled out of the Corvette and onto the road, immediately dialing his mother’s number.
To warn her.
Chapter XV: A Sudden Summary
Brickbüster had to be coaxed back into the vehicle. That took some time, but Punchout was a pro. He could talk an angel out of heaven if need be. After that, the beefcakes rode in silence, crammed in the Corvette, riding hard and riding fast. Not in a gay way though.
Until Punchout said, Where are we going?
Well, we’d better have some sort of review at this point, shouldn’t we? Brickbüster said. For clarity’s sake.
Breaker said, Yeah, I’m feeling kinda blurry. Like we’re fading into a…
Sudden Summary:
Protagonist: Bo Breaker
Antagonist(s): Kawasaki-Suzuki and The Poet
Sidekick: Wülf Brickbüster
Gay sidekick: Petey Punchout
Hot chick: Dr. Ling
Main events
1. Breaker literally destroyed Mazdamiata’s entire empire.
2. Breaker killed Vomit and Blaster at a convenience store, defending Hazuwazatora, a stinking old man.
3. Breaker was taken to the hospital.
4. A hot babe named Dr. Ling told Breaker a lot of stuff. Breaker really impressed her.
5. Breaker busted free and stole Dr. Ling’s Corvette. Sorry babe.
6. The Poet, a Russian or a Chinese, told Breaker to bring the Sparkonaut to the Buzz-Buzz warehouse and insinuated that he’d otherwise hurt Dr. Ling. Dr. Ling is being held hostage in an undisclosed location. The Poet has power tools from the Home Depot.
7. Breaker learned that Petey Punchout is literally a butt-pirate.
… and now I feel like we’re fading back, said Breaker, still squeezed between Brickbüster and Punchout in the Corvette.
So, we’re stealing the Sparkonaut? asked Punchout.
It’s not stealing if it’s for a good cause, Breaker growled.
What’s the good cause? asked Punchout.
A hot chick, Breaker said, I think she was a nurse or something.
A hot chick? Punchout laughed out loud. Oh yeah, sure, I guess that’s worth risking the safety of the entire planet!
Yeah, I know, Breaker replied.
I was being sarcastic, Breaker, Punchout said.
Brickbüster asked, Isn’t that when you get your dick cut off?
No, dumbass, said Breaker, it’s when you say something, but you’re lying.
Look, Punchout said, if the Sparkonaut were to fall into the wrong hands, it could wipe out the entire human race in like two seconds.
No, scolded Breaker, not that fast.
Yeah, Brickbüster agreed. That’s way too fast. Two seconds is like from now… to now. There’s no way it could work that fast.
OK, said Punchout, it would take a little bit longer than two seconds, but it would most certainly destroy everything.
Wait, said Brickbüster, did you just say everything?
Yes.
Wait, said Breaker, like everything-everything? Or just like regular everything?
What? Everything. It could literally destroy everything we’ve ever known.
Even the Rolling Stones? asked Brickbüster.
Of course, replied Punchout.
Not the Stones!
Wait, said Breaker, What about the Beatles?
Everything, literally everything, Punchout said.
Not the Beatles! Breaker lamented. Dammit, they’ll never make another album now.
What about Zeppelin?
Hey! Punchout shouted. Stop asking me about bands. I can’t make it any clearer: the Sparkonaut could destroy every living and non-living thing on this planet and… hell, even the planet itself! The whole damn galaxy for all we know!
Breaker leaned over to Brickbüster and whispered, I think Zeppelin’s gonna be fine.
Brickbüster nodded, Okay, but what about Metallica?
Do you guys want to listen to music? Punchout asked.
Dude, Brickbüster said, you just like read my mind.
Is that one of those gay powers? Breaker asked.
Yeah, probably, Punchout sighed, popping a tape into the deck.
Chapter XVI: Finnegan’s Tea House
Up next we have… the man in the cardigan sweater and a turtle-neck looked at his list of names… Um, I guess they go by The Poet. How apt. He sniffed and continued, So, please welcome The Poet.
A fay, pale man in black with a cigarillo hanging from his thin lips stood up and walked slowly from the back of the room, past the tables, past the cross-legged people on the floor, and up to the little podium. He took a long drag, put his cigarillo out on the podium, and dropped it on the floor. He then reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a folded up napkin. The audience murmured as he meticulously unfolded it and inspected it without saying anything. The fay man named The Poet then reached into his other breast pocket and pulled out another cigarillo, which he placed in his mouth. The lighter was in his back pocket and someone called out, Come on, man. Read what you got. The Poet lit his cigarillo, took a deep drag, and blew it out long and slow.
Then, The Poet spoke, Zis is entitled, Opening Imposition. He took another drag. The cross-legged people shifted their positions and the people at the tables sighed. Then, he read:
How lingering can their wind
For a neglected daybreak
Squeeze sacred polyps
In this masturbation
Of plowing superior
My secret rations
How neglected can the sky
Fortunately forgotten
Our savior’s folly
Out of God’s own direction
Is now served as our fortune
My empty bastions
Canaries on grey sunsets
Oh no, nothing, not ever
Near separate callings
Coin-op memories we sing
To die in a rotten egg
My semen ablution
I could have or couldn’t I
Swallow yoke to eat the bird
To seek corrosion
Tangled boozy scents
Festering fools on armoires
My shapeless shadow
You could have or couldn’t you
With those discarded child’s gloves
Paid in Satan’s pleasure
Wet in wells of tomorrow
They’ll sleep within me tonight
My snake pit burrow
The room was silent as The Poet took a drag, folded up his napkin, and placed it back into the breast pocket of his shirt. Zat is all, he said. Someone started to clap, but it didn’t last.
Chapter XVII: Double-D Standard
It was a long drive through the desert. The dunes rolled by like big sandy boobs. The three beefcakes were quite cramped in the Corvette, listening to Dr. Ling’s tapes.
Scoot over, Breaker said to Brickbüster.
No, said Brickbüster, you scoot over.
I can’t, idiot! The gay guy’s over here.
I’m not just a gay guy, Punchout grumbled.
What, there’s more?! Breaker cried. His eyes bugged. You’re not into animals now are you?
No, Punchout said, but you guys keep calling me the gay guy. Just call me Punchout like you used to.
But you’re still gay aren’t you? Breaker asked.
Yeah, but… look I don’t call you the straight guy, do I?
Why would you? That’s stupid.
Exactly, Punchout exclaimed. So don’t call me the gay guy anymore. Call me Punchout.
Breaker leaned over and whispered to Brickbüster, I think Punchout’s less gay now.
Nice, said Brickbüster, Congrads, bro! Welcome back.
Punchout shouted, I’m still a butt-pirate!
The dunes might have looked like something else.
The Corvette pulled up to a tall, black fence with a gated entryway. A woman in uniform at the booth greeted them. Hey! Petey, how you doing?
I’m pretty good, he said.
The woman laughed. It’s good to see you. Whatcha been up to?
We’re just here to see the uh… the um…
Oh, don’t worry about that, Petey, she said, smiling and stepping out of the booth. You’re fine.
Oh, OK, thanks…
It’s Barb, the woman said, leaning into the crowded car.
Hey, said Breaker, How’s it hanging babe?
Fuck off, Breaker, she scolded.
Jeez, Punchout said, what are you on the rag or something?
Barb blushed. Oh, you know it, Petey! Then she laughed.
Punchout shrugged, Gay instinct I guess.
Barb went hysterical with laughter, grabbing Petey’s arm and pressing his ample bosom to it. Oh Petey! You are just the funniest!
Hey Barb, how’s your daughter’s ballet class going? asked Brickbüster.
Barb frowned, Why do you want to know?
Brickbüster shrugged, I was just asking.
Well mind your own fucking business.
Sorry… I…
Don’t be sorry, Barb thrust her pink painted pointer into the car. Just shut your fucking face, I was talking to Petey, not you.
Yes, ma’am, Brickbüster murmured.
Barb tapped Punchout on the forearm and said, So, what are you doing later, Petey?
I’ll probably go home and watch some gay porn or something, he said.
Ahaha! Barb chortled, You’re the best Petey. Well, if you change your mind and want the real thing, I get off at two.
No, Punchout said, I don’t really like you, Barb.
Barb sighed. Well, I guess that figures…
I’m free later, Breaker said.
Well, then, you’ll be free to go fuck yourself, Barb said, punching the big red button to open the gate. See you later, Petey.
No, Punchout groaned, revving the Corvette.
Well, I’ll be at the Pink Loon at about 2:30 if you change your mind and wanna get a drink or go out dancing or whatever. Hey! you like martinis right? I know this…
No, I won’t change my mind, Barb. I find you unbearable, Punchout said. You should probably get some gum too; your breath is vile.
Barb huffed her own breath, smiled nervously, and nodded. Well, thanks for letting me know, Petey. I can always depend on you for a dose of the truth.
Have a good day, Barb, Brickbüster said.
Eat shit, Dickbüster! Barb shouted. Then she leaned in close to Petey’s ear and whispered, Bye-bye for now, Petey.
Bye, Punchout said, gunning it.
Man, what is that chick’s malfunction? Breaker asked.
What do you mean? Punchout asked.
What do you mean “what do you mean?”
Huh? Punchout turned into the cul-de-sac out front of the massive building. It was a fifty-five story tall, half-mile wide, matte grey building with few windows. And as Punchout pulled up, Brickbüster kicked his door open and rolled out of the Corvette, followed in the same manner by Breaker.
Then, Punchout jumped out of the moving car too and the Corvette drove right through the glass front of the building, smashing through into the lobby, where it hit a king-sized mattress that was attached to the wall. Between the two white lines were the words: “Reserved for Petey Punchout.”
Punchout judo-rolled to a stop, clenched his fist, and snarled, Bulls-eye.
Chapter XVIII: Afterburn
The three soldiers of fortune spun in their chairs in Punchout’s office, giggling their asses off, sweating and panting and playing a round of Kicky. Brickbüster roundhouse kicked Breaker in the mouth, knocking out a tooth.
Wait, wait! Breaker shouted, Time out, bros! Time out! My tooth got knocked out!
Punchout gave Brickbüster a high-five, shouting, Nailed it!
Brickbüster looked at his hand in horror and then wiped it on his pants.
Breaker shook his head and laughed. Well, I got too many teeth anyway.
Brickbüster said, I don’t know about you guys, but I could really go for a cold one about now.
Whoa, wait a second, Breaker growled, did you just read my mind?
Punchout’s mouth dropped open.
Breaker continued, You got that gay-psychic-power, don’t you?
Brickbüster shouted, I’ve banged thousands of chicks! And not one of them – not one! – had a dick. You know my motto: “always check, every time.”
Wait but what about that one time in Tai-Pee? Breaker asked.
Oh no, are we going into another flashback? Brickbüster faded out his voice.
No, Punchout said. I’ve got pictures of your diary on my phone.
My whaat? Brickbüster’s eyes bugged.
A-hem, Petey read:
Dear Diary,
I’m so alone. It’s like there’s something missing, maybe it’s a piece of my soul that has flown away like everyone I ever loved. How can I go on this way? It’s impossible sometimes. Just to keep on every day, pretending, stuffing it down-down-down, shut-up brain! Sometimes it seems like the more people I kill, the harder it is to poop. God, I’m so bloated right now! Nothing’s coming out. Nothing!!
God, said Punchout, you were depressed.
And constipated, Breaker added.
No I wasn’t, Brickbüster insisted. I was writing a story. It was all made up.
Wait, Punchout said, but listen to this:
Dear Diary,
I am literally not writing a story. This is the life of me, Sergeant Wülfgang Amadeus Brickbüster, Jr.
Whoa-ho-ho there Sarge! laughed Breaker.
Better slow it down there, Turbo, laughed Punchout. Breaker and Punchout high-fived. Then Breaker looked at his hand and wiped it on his pants. A-hem, Punchout continued:
Dear Diary,
I hooked up with this chick at the Rusty Dumper last night, but I’m not sure what kind of chick she was. I was too drunk maybe? No, I have to face facts: I was excited about it…
Brickbüster judo chopped Punchout’s phone right down the middle. Enough bullshit, he demanded. We got work to do.
Punchout tried to put his phone back together, but it was an Apple product so all he could do was shake it and tap it. Dammit! Punchout shouted. I was expecting a call for an all dude gangbang, you asshole!
The men stopped spinning in their chairs. The game was over.
Just then, a wave of fire rolled through Breaker’s gut. Oh my God, he gasped, lurching forward in his seat, holding his midsection. Dave’s! Where’s the crapper?! I gotta use the crapper, stat!
Punchout pointed down the hall. Breaker kicked down the door, which lodged between the walls of the hallway. Breaker jumped over it like a quarterback at the line of scrimmage. He rolled and was on his feet in an instant. Then, he ran at a dead sprint and slid to a stop at the men’s room. He kicked that door down onto a man that was trying to exit the bathroom. Breaker dove and rolled like a wide receiver at the goal line and slid directly into one of the stalls. He locked and unloaded.
Breaker was in the bathroom for a half-hour before he returned, saying, Oh man! You guys…
But only the janitor remained in Punchout’s office. The grey haired, brown skinned man stopped spraying and wiping the walls with his dirty rag and said, They told me to tell you they’ll call you to tell you what you need to know later.
Idiots! Breaker shouted. I smashed my phone earlier. How are they supposed to… Breaker looked out the window. He saw Punchout and Brickbüster down below, standing beside the Corvette. They were talking about stuff.
Breaker turned to the old janitor and said, Tell them Breaker has a message for them too.
OK, said the old man, pulling out a notepad from his trousers and a stubby pencil from behind his ear.
Tell them that I used too much hot sauce… no… scratch that… tell them I’m… Breaker turned to the window again, this time seeing Punchout and Brickbüster opening the car doors. Dammit! It’s too late!
OK, repeated the old man, reciting what he’d written, Used too much hot sauce no scratch that I’m dammit it’s too late.
Breaker watched as the two beefcakes got into the Corvette, now closing the doors. It was the moment truth and Breaker had to make a decision. Breaker turned to the janitor and said, Sometimes the right thing to do isn’t easy. And sometimes the wrong thing to do is right next to the right thing to do and good and bad gets blurred.
Huh? said the old man, scratching his head and looking at his notepad.
Breaker continued, But I know I’m right about one thing, and that’s that doing something is better than worrying about whether I’m doing the right thing or the wrong thing.
Then in that instant Breaker sprinted and jumped straight through the plate glass window screaming, K-Chaa! He fell for what seemed like an eternity. He fell long enough for his whole entire life to flash before his eyes.
Chapter XIX: Flashback of Life
Breaker was born and raised in Detroit.
While he was on his way to the hospital the day little Boseph was born, Breaker’s father, Stonewall Breaker, was shot in the face by a wild group of ex-Mormons. Breaker’s dad died instantly and crashed the family station wagon into an old couple by the name of Kawasaki-Suzuki, killing them instantly. The son of the dead old couple was none other than Kawasaki-Suzuki, Breaker’s nemesis. And if there’s one thing to be said about Kawasaki-Suzuki, it’s that he didn’t like it when Breaker’s father crashed a car into his mother and father, killing them instantly.
Breaker and Breaker’s mother, Helga Breaker, had no idea what had happened until they saw Stonewall’s picture on the evening news. They also had no idea that Kawasaki-Suzuki would become little Boseph’s greatest foe.
But then, just three days after Breaker was born, his mother was hit by an airplane at an airshow. She died instantly. After that, Breaker and his eighteen siblings were put into various foster homes, group homes, and finally, for all but one of them, prisons – somehow Breaker always dodged that bullet.
Must’ve been good luck.
Breaker fought his way through grade school, middle school, and high school. Breaker never made the team, per se, but he did beat the shit out of the entire football team after they lost state and raped a group of local girls as a consolation prize. Everyone thought Breaker was a hero. Everyone but Johnny Law.
From that moment on, Breaker was on the run.
First, he went to Chicago to become a firefighter, but he kept breaking down doors to houses he thought were on fire and got fired. So, he went to work at a turn-of-the-century meat processing facility as a pinch hitter. He liked that job. He was good at it too. But then one day he got into a fistfight with a bull and not too soon after they laid him off, no explanation, just a pink slip.
Slowly descending into the festering sinkhole of poverty, Breaker started fighting for cash. Prizefights, cage-fights, even dogfights. He won them all.
But then everything changed. It was the day after his apartment burned down, the day after his cat shot herself, and the day after he was mugged on his way to his cat’s funeral that Breaker broke down and signed up for the armed forces, being encouraged to join the Marines by the recruiter. The recruiter thought Breaker would fit in well with the Marines.
How wrong that pansy-ass was!
Breaker got into a fistfight the first day of basic training. It was the first and last time he ever lost a fight. After that, Breaker never fought Petey Punchout again. He also never found the three ribs he lost in the fight.
Brickbüster was the leader of their squadron, and after a few boozy nights out in Tai-Pei, the men became inseparable. Not in a gay way, but in a bro way. They would bro-up whenever and wherever they could, making fun of each other, punching each other, doing no homo bro stuff.
They were stationed in the Persian Gulf when the shit really hit the fan.
Petey Punchout had infiltrated an underground bar called the Man-Hole, where he’d been working undercover for six months trying to get in the good graces of the leader of a terrorist group called The Sizzling Sissies, a man named Montalban “Bunny Boi” Ortega. An enemy of the state and known leather enthusiast.
It was on that day that Breaker’s beeper went off. The number was unfamiliar, but he walked to a rotary payphone, put in a nickel, and dialed the number. It rang. Mmm… hello? Who dis?
Your worst nightmare, Homo Picasso, Breaker growled.
Ahahaha! You are such fun, Breaker! said the man known on the streets as “Bunny Boi.” But I’m afraid there will be nothing to laugh about today. For I have your little… Oh, excuse me, I believe you call him big…
Punchout! Breaker cried out. You bastards! You’re turning him into one of you aren’t you?
Well, said Bunny Boi, no, Breaker, that’s not how it works.
It’ll never work, Bunny Boi! He’s a man, with a man’s desire for poon-tang and boobs! You’ll never…
Oh, but I have, Bunny Boi said with a laugh, and so have many of my friends.
You bastards! You’ll die for this Bunny Boi! You hear me! You’re dead Bunny Boi! Dead! Breaker then smashed his fist into and through the rotary phone. Then, he smashed his way out of the phone booth.
Breaker ran through the streets screaming, Bunny Boi! Bunny Boi!!
He stopped by Brickbüster’s apartment to make a plan.
Brickbüster open the door and Breaker shouted right into Brickbüster’s face, Bunny Boi!
No, Brickbüster shook his head, It can’t be!
Bunny Boi!!
Oh my God! Brickbüster said. We gotta penetrate their base.
That sounded gay, Breaker said.
OK… uh, well, we’ll just go in-and-out once.
That did too, Breaker said.
Butt-pirates! Brickbüster screamed. How are we gonna get in there? We’re way too manly to pass for queers.
We’ll have to borrow some of your wife’s clothes, Breaker said, rubbing his chin. Then his face grew hella serious. For, Petey Punchout, he growled putting his hand out to clasp.
Brickbüster looked at him for a moment, frowned and nodded, and then they made the bro-hand-clasp-of-power.
They tried a few of Brickbüster’s wife’s things on before deciding on something “a little tasteful.” They drove straight to the Man-Hole in Brickbüster’s Firebird at 135 miles per hour and parked on the front steps.
The big bear of a doorman pointed at their vehicle and said, Hey, what’s the deal, you guys!
Breaker got out of the car and stayed in character. I’m super gay and I’m ready for butt stuff.
Me too, said Brickbüster.
OK, said the doorman. Then he spoke into his walkie-talkie, saying, Hey, there might some trouble out here, send out security.
What’d we do? Breaker asked.
Nothing yet, said the doorman.
So, can we go in and do the butt-stuff?
No, you can’t, he said.
Well, why not? I thought this was a free country?
Oh! is it now? said the doorman, sassy-wobbling his head.
Yeah, it’s a free world, said Brickbüster, reaching out his hand to make the bro-hand-clasp-of-power with the guy, adding, my butt-pirate compadre.
What did you call me? said the doorman, pulling away.
Then, bursting out the door came Petey Punchout, all in leathers, being led around on a leash by Montalban “Bunny Boi” Ortega.
And then, in that moment, Breaker broke. Something within him set fire. He was not actually on fire, but there was a fire that literally ignited within him. Noooo!! Breaker screamed as he reached for the Uzi he’d stuffed under his hot pink mini-skirt.
In that moment, when time seemed to stand still, Bunny Boi said, Thank God you’re here! We need to get Petey…
But Breaker couldn’t hear a word Bunny Boi said. Breaker saw red. He had to save his friend from these terrorists!
Breaker shot him right in the feather boa, killing Bunny Boi instantly, just as he finished saying, …to rehab…
Brickbüster grabbed Punchout’s doggie-collar and ran for the Firebird. In Breaker’s mind, he’d destroyed an empire of terrorism and butt stuff and had set his friend free from the bondage of a gay kidnapping.
How wrong Breaker was.
Chapter XX: Face-plant
Oh my God! Breaker screamed just before he face-planted into the pavement below Punchout’s office window. He’d only just now realized the grave error he’d made in shooting Montalban “Bunny Boi” Ortega. So, there he laid on the ground, shivering and mumbling, He said rehab… He said rehab…
A car skidded to a stop in the darkness of the parking lot and headlights burst upon Breaker, literally drowning him in light. He sat up, screaming, Who dares distract me from these vital ruminations!?
Breaker? Is that you? said Petey Punchout.
Punchout! Breaker sobbed. Punchout, I’m so sorry!
Punchout ran to Breaker’s side. Are you all right? he asked.
Breaker got to his feet, turning from side to side, staring at the ground, rocking his whole body in vital rumination. He was almost there too, when Brickbüster shouted, Hey, what the hell Breaker?! You ditch us for half-an-hour and then jump out the window?
But… b-b… uh-bubba, Breaker sputtered.
Are you okay? Punchout asked again, comforting his bro with a medium-gentle punch.
I’m fine, Breaker growled.
Punchout put his hands up and said, All right. He pointed a deadly finger him and continued, but you’re playing a deadly game here, Breaker. And you’re not only risking your own life now… you’re risking all of our lives.
Breaker shook the glass from his hair and picked hunks of pavement from his face, flicking them away as he spoke. So what’s the plan? Breaker murmured.
Well… Punchout’s voice sounded like it was fading into a distant canyon… to begin with, we’ll need to figure out how to deactivate the Sparkonaut…
PUNCHOUT’s PLAN:
Team Hot Shot: Brickbüster & Punchout
1. Drive All-Terrain Scream-Uh-Nator!’s across the desert, through Barbarian lands to the Cabin, the central location for monitoring the Sparkonaut.
2. Disconnect communications from central computer to base and replace with artificial intelligence communications of satisfactory function.
3. Hijack Harrier Jet and await power disconnection (see Team Dynamite).
4. Transport the Sparkonaut via Harrier Jet to the Buzz-Buzz warehouse for transfer.
Team Dynamite: Breaker
1. Travel to the Triolith, a Russian institute of arcane studies, and infiltrate The Poet’s secret society of terrorists.
2. Gather information on how to deactivate the Serpent’s Lair, the mine from which the Sparkonaut gathers its power.
3. Find the power source and connections. Disengage all power transference.
4. Get to the Buzz-Buzz warehouse for transfer.
Punchout’s voice faded back, … and if nothing goes wrong, which is usually the case with things like this, then we should have no trouble saving Dr. Ling.
Can we change our team name? Brickbüster asked.
What? What’s wrong with Team Hot Shot?
It sounds kind of… Brickbüster almost continued, but then he held out his bro-hand to make the bro-hand-clasp-of-power, Team Hot Shot it is. Punchout clasped the bro-hand.
Breaker just stood there staring at them for a moment. Wait… he said. Punchout… I… I… Breaker was at a loss for words again. I… uh-bubba…
Let’s just make the bro-hand-clasp-of-power and get this operation rocking and rolling, Brickbüster said.
I… it… b-b…
We know that Breaker, Punchout said. We’re all unsure about this operation because of the environmental and societal implications.
Oot… bu… uh-buh…
Brickbüster put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder in a bro way, saying, Breaker we know how much this hot chick means to you and the pressure you feel to save her. That’s exactly why we’re here for you bro.
Ee… b-b… meep?
Brickbüster unclasped his bro hand from Punchout because it was starting to feel a little gay, and grabbed Breaker’s shoulders. Look man! There’s no reason to doubt ourselves like that, Breaker. We’re pros, bro.
Bu… wh…whee…
Of course, Breaker! There’s always a doubt, Punchout said. But like you just said, without doubt there’s only delusion.
Pip… Breaker shook his head and made for the bro-hand-clasp-of-power. The three men clasped their meaty hands together, no homo for at least two of them. But wait, Breaker said, I have something I need to say to Punchout. There was a moment of silence. They listened. Breaker looked around the room and let go of the clasp. Neep… he sputtered. Gtck… chippy... pip-pip…
I don’t remember that at all, Punchout said. Apologizing for it doesn’t change anything though. It’s in the past, so I guess just make the necessary changes in the present and that’s about all you can do.
Blip… Breaker nodded.
Well, said Brickbüster, if you pussies are all done mopping up your panties, we’ve got a hot chick to save.
Chapter XXI: Triolith Terror
Breaker jumped onto a 750cc, 119 horsepower, CIA issued dirt bike while Brickbüster and Punchout jumped onto ultra-high-performance, experimental, eight-wheel-drive ATV’s with tires the size of a full-grown man. The engines roared raw power and the men held up their fists to each other.
Breaker peeled out, spattering gravel bits and dust all over the place as he thundered down the desert highway going 135 miles per hour. The cool, dry air blew his long locks in waves. These were top-secret desert lands with no traffic and no rules – not that rules ever really mattered to Breaker anyway. The Triolith stood exactly 136 miles away, and Breaker guesstimated that it would take him nearly six hours to get there.
An hour and 26.4 seconds later, Breaker missed the turn. The Triolith was a grand structure made of grey slats in triangular shapes, stacked three high, creating what looked like a building that defied gravity. Breaker looked at his watch and shook his head, saying, That can’t be it. Then, after a few miles, the highway ended and Breaker turned around.
He parked around the back of the Triolith and quickly shot a grappling hook up to the top of the first grey triangular section. The grappling hook slid past an elevated moat filled with cobras and it hooked on the edge of the slanted grey roof. Breaker tugged on the rope before climbing up like an American Gladiator. But then, as he reached his hand up to grab the ledge, he realized that these Russian artsy types were big on security. His hand felt the slithering of the cobra moat! But not before a cobra had the chance to strike! Breaker snatched his hand away and fell backward off the roof, choking the cobra. The cobra was attached to his wrist and toxic venom surged through Breaker’s veins. He punched the cobra in the face, cold knocking it out, grabbed it by the tail and swung it up and onto his grappling hook. The snake’s jawbone hooked on, stopping Breaker’s fall just before he hit the ground.
Aw hell! Breaker said, hanging from the cobra with his one good hand and sucking lethal poison from his wrist and spitting it out. He climbed up the dead cobra with his one good hand, hopping up inches at a time, but the cobra blood was slick and his hand started to slip. I need a new plan, Breaker said.
But then, Breaker looked down and saw a nerd. The nerd was looking through a notebook and scratching things out. Time for plan B, Breaker growled, letting go of the cobra and landing like a panther on the roof of the first floor. Breaker sucked one more slurp of toxic poison from his blood stream and spat it on the ground. He did a triple flip and landed at the entryway, where the nerd stood flabbergasted. What’s up, nerd? Breaker said.
The nerd jumped back and dropped a stack of books. The nerd’s glasses slipped down their nose and they pushed them back up. Wh… they said, who are you?
I’m… uhh… Dr. Seuss, Breaker instantly regretted saying this.
What? said the nerd. Not like the real Dr. Seuss right? Isn’t he dead?
No, I’m still alive, Breaker never slipped once he’d committed to a lie. Commando instinct.
What? the nerd appeared to be doubting Breaker’s story.
Breaker had to act fast, so he roundhouse kicked the nerd in the face, shattering their glasses and knocking them out cold. Breaker reached into the nerd’s pocket and pulled out their ID. Breaker read aloud, Terry Chris Heimlich. Born… don’t care… sex… wait a second… Breaker looked down at the nerd and said, You’re a chick? Then, he looked at the ID picture again. No, you’re a dude, wait… Breaker felt something within him move. What’s going on here?
Then, Terry Chris Heimlich coughed, opened their eyes, and shook their head. What the fuck? they said. Did you roundhouse kick me in the face?
I’m sorry, b… br… bay… br… bay… Breaker was breaking down, his body fighting with the deadly venom pulsing through his veins, and worse he’d never been this close to anyone that looked like a dude but was a chick.
You broke my glasses, you asshole!
I can… Breaker picked up the cracked and bent frames and swept up the shattered glass in his hand. I can totally fix these, Breaker said.
Are you kidding me? Heimlich said, pulling out a cellphone.
What are you doing? Breaker demanded.
I’m calling the cops, you fucker! said Heimlich.
Wait, wait, wait… Breaker said, trying not to blow this entire operation. I’m not really Dr. Seuss, he said.
No shit, said Heimlich. Yeah, hi, I just got assaulted by this big idiot… Yes, he roundhouse kicked me in the face. Yes and he broke my glasses.
Breaker snatched the cellphone and literally threw it over the mountains behind the Triolith.
What… Terry Chris Heimlich turned to look at Breaker… the… fuck? They pulled out a can of bear mace and sprayed it into Breaker’s eyes. The nerd was ruthless, just drowning Breaker’s face in the noxious stuff. Breaker was coughing and screaming and rubbing his eyes like mad. Then the nerd rocked Breaker in the nuts with a wind-up bicycle kick. Breaker was down for the count. The nerd took back their ID and stomped Breaker in the knee, shattering his kneecap and sending bones in all directions.
Aw hell! Breaker cried.
You’re lucky I’m going easy on you this time! they shouted, holding their Converse over Breaker’s face.
Please, let me explain, Breaker said, while snapping his knee back into place.
You have three seconds.
I’m here to protect you people, Breaker said.
What that supposed to mean, “you people?”
Breaker pulled out his duct tape and started taping his kneecap back together as he spoke. You know… the gays.
The what? I’m not gay.
Breaker’s eyes bugged, But you look like a dude, but you’re a chick that looks like a d... a du…. uh-d-d…
What are you talking about?
Breaker, at a loss, sang one quick snippet of an Aerosmith song, Dude look like a lady, in his magnificent falsetto.
You are an idiot, they said. Just because I identify as a guy doesn’t mean that I’m gay. I’m actually into girls.
Uh… uh-bubba… bu… b-b… pip…
Why am I explaining myself to you? Terry Chris gathered up his books and started toward the front door. I hope you enjoyed getting your ass kicked by a dude that looks like a lady.
Wait, Breaker called out. I thought you said you were a chick that… uh-bu-bu…
Bye-bye, asshole!
I have something I need to say to you before you go.
Terry Chris Heimlich turned around, hand on the door.
Look… I’m ready to make a vow to protect the gays, Breaker said, holding up his right hand to show how serious he was.
Heimlich scolded, I’m not gay. I’m trans-gender.
Trans-gen… wait, Breaker got up to his feet and growled, What did you just say?
Trans-gender.
How is that not gay?
It’s a person that does not fit into the sex they were assigned at birth.
You mean like butt stuff? Breaker asked.
No… he scoffed. Are you serious?
I’m serious as cancer when I say I will protect the gays for the rest of my… days.
Oh, so you’re a poet?
Uh, sure, Breaker said.
You here for the workshop? Heimlich asked.
It’s not a gay thing is it? Breaker asked.
Terry Chris Heimlich scoffed and opened the door to the Triolith. No, it’s not a gay thing! It’s a poetry workshop.
Yes, Breaker said, I’m here for the poetry workshop.
Chapter XXII: Barbarian Boobs
On his super-charged Scream-Uh-Nator!, Punchout cold cut-it-up like a cheetah on crack. He back flipped the beast off a rock wall and landed it, no problem. He skidded around corners, burning rubber, having a gay old time of it.
Brickbüster was another story. His stumps-as-arms were barely long enough to reach the handlebars of the monster-truck style eight-wheeler and his lollypop-kid legs had to stretch to reach the pedals, but he made it work, no problem.
Punchout hit a jump and caught ten feet of air. He turned a corkscrew backflip off the edge of a dune, twisted to a stop, and waited with a shit-eating grin.
Brickbüster grouched, Quit showing off! You prick! I’m barely keeping up with you, for God’s good graces!
Well, said Punchout looking across the wide open plain, if we go too slow, the Barbarians are sure to catch us and roast us on a stick in a red-hot pit. And they don’t tie people to the sticks either, if you catch my meaning?
Gulp.
We’ll be going through Rattlesnake Cut, Punchout pointed to the mountains ahead. Right up that canyon there. But watch out because the Barbarians are notorious for pouncing upon their victims from above and slitting their noses off.
Their noses? Brickbüster bugged.
Clean off. They make necklaces to show off how many people they’ve killed.
Savages!
Barbarians, my man, Barbarians.
They rode up the cut, wherein sage and skanky trees sought the meager desert streams. Where the crickets sing.
They traveled toward a grand mountain, Magenta Mountain.
Brickbüster nervously whipped his head up and around, constantly keeping a lookout for attacks from above. They pass an old cowboy campsite with rounds of rusted rock and abandoned tin cans, rusted. The air grew cold as they approached the summit, the wind whipped up this high.
Punchout stopped at the summit and pointed down into the valley below. There it is! he shouted over the screaming wind. The Cabin. There below them, a few miles away, an old building that blended perfectly in with the terrain: grey wood, weathered roof, wooden steps.
We made it, said Brickbüster.
Yeah, it seems like we’ve gone undetected, smiled Punchout.
But then, just then, the beefy men heard the sound of drums in the distance. Rrrum-drum-drum, rrrum-drum-drum, rrrum-drum-drum.
Oh God, Punchout said. Go! He spun his tires and kicked up sand in Brickbüster’s face.
But before Brickbüster could move, a stone flew across the sky and bashed him in right in the skull, cold knocked him out and left him prey for the taking. Blood dripped onto the dry earth and Brickbüster twitched. He was down for the count.
Beyond the great clouds of dust, Punchout could see nothing, but he knew better than to stop. He might be the only member of Team Hot Shot to escape the ferocity of the Barbarians. Down the mountains he flew, full-throttle, pumping and jumping, dodging rocks and arrows. He skidded to a stop down in the valley and turned to look. Oh my God! he said.
The Barbarians collected Brickbüster’s limp body, attaching a leather harness to his throat. A beastly dark woman rode up on her mighty steed and dumped a bucket of water on him. He jerked awake and the Barbarians stood him up, and then cracked their whips across his back.
Dammit! Brickbüster! Punchout whispered. He punched the control panel.
Brickbüster cried out in pain. He was pulled to his feet.
Punchout drove along the mountains, keeping his distance and keeping an eye on the Barbarians.
Brickbüster was a little discombobulated and bruised. He blinked his eyes and took a few deep breaths. What the fuck just happened? He was completely surrounded by the Barbarians on their steeds, well armed and savage to boot. There were a hundred or more and Brickbüster didn’t stand a chance. And the drums rumbled the air, Rrrum-drum-drum, rrrum-drum-drum, and the moccasins marched all around. Brickbüster’s hands were tied tightly behind his back and he was attached at the throat to one of the Barbarian’s horses. He was up shit creek.
Hey! Brickbüster shouted to one of the Barbarians, You should let me go! You don’t wanna eat me! I’ve was recently bitten by a cobra!
That was Breaker, you idiot! shouted a Barbarian woman. Now shut up and march! She smashed Brickbüster in the back of the head with a stick.
And in that exact moment, Brickbüster noticed, for the first time, that this was no ordinary band of Barbarians: it was a band of Barbarian women! All of them, chicks! Brickbüster found himself surrounded by hundreds of jiggling, bobbing, bare Babarian boobs and he didn’t know what to make of them, out in the open, free, and flapping in the wind. They were of all shapes and sizes, noodly ones, round ones, depressed ones, teeny-tiny ones, malformed ones, freckled ones, moled ones, wrinkled, pale ones, leathery, droopy ones, gregarious, udderly fantastic ones, there were every kind of mammary imaginable and then some! Brickbüster had previously only paid attention to a certain breed of boob: the big round fake backbreakers (or real, but only if they didn’t look real). Just like the ones he’d seen in the movies. Real silver screen bangers and slammers. Well, maybe not real, but bangers and slammers for sure. These Barbarian babes unconsciously presented a cornucopia of bodily shape, size, and function and Brickbüster watched in wonder as the horses started off at a trot!
Oh, how am I to keep up!? The stocky beefcake shouted. I’m but one man! He was a short and wide man that was not built to trot and soon Brickbüster was dragging along the mountainside.
One man for all! the women began to chant, stopping one by one to pick the man up. One man for all! One man for all!
The women took turns reaching down to grasp Brickbüster by his stocky frame, some of them really squeezing away at his ample bosoms and burly arms. One groped Brickbüster’s buns and he jumped, feeling quite ashamed and overpowered by the horde of Barbarian women.
Easy, baby, Brickbüster said. I just need a little breathing room here, please! Hey!! Hands off!
Ladies! shouted a tall, firm woman. All of the women stopped to listen. She must have been the chief or close to it. We will all get our turn, but for now we must let the man grow accustomed to us and allow him the time to concede to the breeding.
Concede to the breeding? Brickbüster asked.
One man for all! shouted the woman with Brickbüster’s buns gripped in her fist. She let go all once, making his big old buns go ba-donka-donk-donk.
Punchout pulled away his binoculars, perched atop an overlooking cliff, and said, Wow, would you look that thing go! It go whomp!, whomp!
Chapter XXIII: Elegiac Gibberish
The workshop began with introductions. Breaker kept on with his Dr. Seuss personae. Most of the people there had accents and spoke in words and phrases that Breaker could not decipher. For example, An allegorical analysis of modern society, and, Art for art’s sake, and, Interconnectedness in the context of meaning. Breaker thought it was gay talk, so he just kept his eyes and ears open for anything about the Serpent’s Lair, the secret mine from which the Sparkonaut garners its power. These people mostly talked about the esoteric elements of poetry, using esoteric terms like “esoteric.” Breaker was lost from the get-go.
What’s your take on Rilke’s presentation of gender in terms of sexuality? one of the nerds asked Breaker.
Uh… Breaker said, trying to think of anything to say other than, “that sounds pretty gay.” Um… all eyes were on the new guy and he had to say something or he’d blow his cover. I think… I think it’s complicated, he finally said.
That is true, said another nerd. Rilke was a complex man.
Maybe he was a chick, Breaker tried to add to the conversation. Like that… Breaker pointed to Terry Chris Heimlich, I mean, him, I guess?
Yes, it’s him. Thank you, said Heimlich. And no, Rilke was not a woman.
Oh, Breaker said.
Vait, vait, vait, said a man in dark clothes, smoking a cigarillo. Let us hear doctor… vhat vas it again?
Dr. Seuss, Breaker said.
Vell, yes, he laughed. Zat is quite a moniker you’ve espoused as your pen name.
Yeah, mumbled Breaker, I’ve in-sposed a monker.
Right, the smoking man continued, vell, ‘tis time vor us to share our own verk and I believe zat zee best vay to start is to just jump into our newest member’s poetry. Vhat do you say?
Breaker froze.
Are you ready to share your poetry viss us, Doctor?
Quick on his feet, Breaker said, I gotta use the crapper.
Yes vell, as my crass compatriot here has said, let’s take ten-minute break and reconvene back here, ready to critique, uh… Dr. Seuss’ verk.
Everyone stayed in the room while Breaker walked out, snatching a stack of paper and a pen from the table at the entryway. At a full sprint, Breaker kicked down the bathroom door and sat on the toilet, locking himself in the stall, thinking, thinking, thinking. What do I do? was his main thought. I’ve never written a poem before! Wish I had my cell phone right now! Dammit.
But like any great poet will tell you, it’s all about letting the words flow directly from your soul onto the page, unfiltered.
And in this way, by the ten-minute mark, Breaker’d written three pages. He ran out of the bathroom, hopped over the fallen door and returned to a subdued round of applause. He stepped before the group of seventeen nerds. There was a podium and a microphone. He cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice from growling. Hi, I’m Dr. Seuss. Two or three staggered claps from the audience. Breaker looked down at his stack of chicken scratch poetry. He’d never been more afraid in his life.
The man with the cigarillo said, Tell us vat is zee title of zee poem?
Z Title? Breaker said, his amplified voice echoing off the back of the room.
Zee title of your poem?
Breaker looked at his stack of madness on paper. Uh… he looked at his fingernail and saw that it had dirt underneath it and his fingers had turned bluish from the toxic poison from the cobra. It’s called… Pain… Rain.
All seventeen people tittered with amusement.
Pain Rain, Breaker said confidently.
OK, OK, the leader said, quieting the audience. Sounds like fun! Read.
Breaker cleared his throat again. OK, so it’s a work in progress so just…
Do not preface! shouted one of the nerds. Never preface!
Sure, Breaker said. He cleared his throat one more time.
Pain Rain
I killed a gay without a plan
He did not kidnap my friend
Punchout is in love with a man
And I am nothing but a pumpkin shoved inside a can
All seventeen poets were wide-eyed and tittering nervously. Even the man with the cigarillo did not know what to make of this new poet’s style, was it post-modern? satire? post-ironic? He shushed everyone and told Breaker to continue.
Now it’s time to pay the piper
And take a dump inside a diaper
And then get shot in the face by a sniper
And then turn on my windshield wipers
Because pain rain is falling on my brain
And the pain rain is staining my brain
And I’m insane in the brain because of the pain rain
Falling on my brain
The room burst with laughter. Breaker looked around the room, trying to find a way out of this room. The audience then stood on their feet and gave him a round of robust applause. Breaker was very confused.
They spoke to one another, exclaiming such things as: Wow! How refreshingly trite! and Elegiac Gibberish! So ironic! and Absurdist! What wonderful use of repetition and cliché!
Please, Doctor, if you will, said the man with the cigarillo. Read more! Read more!
OK, Breaker said. I have another one called… um… Dirt.
Grim, said the man with a smile. Go ahead.
Breaker cleared his throat for the forth time.
Dirt
I ate shit in the dirt
It didn’t hurt
I ripped my shirt
I used too much hot sauce
I’m burning inside
Next time I’ll use a lot less hot sauce
It’s called sting-ring
What I’ve got
Fire in my butt
Better than getting shot
Better than getting shot again
Again and again
I killed that poor gay
I will never kill a gay again
I promise and vow on this toilet bowl
I will protect the gays forever
The overwhelming reaction from the group made Breaker wonder if this workshop really was a gay thing. They cheered for their new poet Lauriat. Breaker felt quite proud of himself, having somehow attained the approval of these gays. He waved a humble hand, to signal the end of his reading. Everyone patted him on the back and congratulated him on a job well done. Then, the group discussed the connotations, meanings, and analyses of each and every line he wrote. He just nodded and agreed with whatever was said.
After some time, it was another poet’s turn and Breaker saw his chance to lean over and whisper, Hey, Terry Chris Heimlich.
What? Heimlich answered.
Do you know anything about the Serpent’s Lair?
Terry Chris Heimlich’s eyes bugged. What?
The Serpent’s Lair.
Heimlich looked around the room and whispered, Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.
I don’t… I mean, I’m flattered… but I’m not gay, Breaker whispered.
Just meet me and I will tell you all there is to know about the Serpent’s Lair. Heimlich stood and left the room quietly as the next reader began to read.
In the Rafters
Inter-swifter
Of her after
Never laughter
Forgotten rafters
Creepers catch her
Snifter crackers
Taken bath -ers
Lost in crafters
Sewn in sewers
Reaped the Reaper
Raped the rapier
Kiss the savior
Savor his flavor…
Breaker eased out of his seat and tried to leave quickly and quietly.
Chapter XXIV: Stockholm Syndrome
Brickbüster had fallen asleep upon a bed of the softest hay, having already banged the chief of the Barbarians and her daughter. He’d been fed smoked camel strips, tree-fruit, and mead and had dozed off, dreaming of the plethora of boobs to be discovered and the wild pleasures hidden within each woman attached to the boobs. In his dream, he suckled each boob in turn.
He was startled awake at the sound of something exploding. Feet ran past outside.
Punchout! Brickbüster yelled. No! I’m staying here!! Brickbüster tried to get up but he was tied to the wall by his ankles and wrists. Hey, what the fuck! Untie me! I like it here! The room was dark and Brickbüster heard someone crawling on the bed of the softest hay. Who’s there? Brickbüster asked.
One man for all, a woman whispered into his ear.
Brickbüster demurred, Well, I mean, I don’t know if my love gun’s got any juice left, sweetie. What’s your name?
The woman lit a match before her face and Brickbüster was mesmerized by what he saw: her thick lips and dark, wide nose something to remember and those long black curls of hair tumbling down her naked shoulders. Call me, Nakia, she whispered, her lips, two wet slabs of beautiful beautiful meat.
Just in this moment, Punchout burst into the yurt, filling the romantic darkness with daylight. Goddammit Punchout! Give me a minute would you?
Punchout chopped at the ropes binding Brickbüster. Nakia went after Punchout, but he judo flipped her over his hip and gave her one swift palm to the skull and she was out like a light.
Stop! Brickbüster yelled. Did you even stop to see if that woman was hot or not? Can’t you gays tell when a chick’s a real banger? Jesus, Punchout!
There were voices screaming outside and then the sound of hooves rattled the little building. We don’t have time for this, Punchout said as he hoisted Brickbüster over his shoulder and ran from the yurt.
Nakia! Brickbüster yelled, unable to overpower his big gay friend. Nooo! he called out, reaching out to the lost bang.
Punchout threw him in onto the back of the Scream-Uh-Nator! and roared away with the wild women trotting after them, screaming, One man for all!! Punchout turned and shot the chief’s daughter in the face with his Uzi, she fell backward off her horse and that was enough to stop the others.
Holy shit, Punchout! Brickbüster screamed and hit his friend. I just had sex with that chick, what’s wrong with you?!
You’re not in your right mind, Brickbüster! Punchout scowled. Just shut up and we might make it out of here alive!
Nakia! Brickbüster shouted back, but she was too far away for him to see anymore. I think I’m love.
With the chief?
No, with Nakia!
You just met her, Brickbüster!
Take me back there! Now!
Fuck off, Brickbüster! Just because you’re infatuated with some Barbarian chick doesn’t mean I’m gonna risk my life and our mission.
Forget the mission! I’m done! I quit! Bring me back!
Punchout head-butted Brickbüster with the back of his head, cold knocking him out. He kept driving at great speed across the desert, with the Barbarians yelping and running far behind them.
Chapter XXV: Bathroom Bros
Hello? Breaker called into the bathroom, but there appeared to be no one there. Terry Chris? Where are you? Breaker peeked under each stall, but there were no feet to be seen. So, he went to take a piss at a urinal. While he stood there, Terry Chris Heimlich appeared out of the thin air at the urinal next to him. Breaker jumped, splashing his jeans. Hey, what the hell? he said, zipping up.
Why do you want to know about the Serpent’s Lair? Terry Chris Heimlich asked.
Uh… it’s for a… a book I’m writing.
Oh, wow. Is that right, Dr. Suess? A children’s book about the Serpent’s Lair?
No, it’s for adults, Breaker said. Not a porno or anything, but just for adults.
So, Dr. Seuss has decided to write for big kids, huh?
Yeah.
Well, I can’t tell you anything.
Wh-what?
You’ll have to find out for yourself, said Heimlich. Go to the top of the third monolith and you will find an office labeled super-secret office. Inside, there are extensive files on the Sparkonaut, research files that you will probably not understand, because one: they are written in theoretical terms that would confuse the average reader, and two: you’re not very smart.
Breaker broke in, Hey! At least I know I’m a dude!
Terry Chris stepped up to Breaker and said, Hey! I know what I am; it’s you that has the problem.
Breaker sighed heavily. Look, I’m new to all this, OK? I just found out my best friend is gay and… Breaker looks off into the distance, literally a thousand miles or more. It’s all so hard…
Oh! Poor you! said Terry Chris. Now you’ll have to be aware that your best friend faces hate speech, violence, and discrimination in the workplace, in public, and in politics! Do you need a wowwy-pop to make you feel bettow?
Sarcasm noted, Breaker growled.
Oh, look! The gorilla is coming over to the window, Terry Chris pointed at Breaker with a fake smile. He adjusted his baseball cap and gasped, Wouldja look at that! A real life apeman.
Look, I don’t mean to compare my shit with your gay shit or whatever it is you’re talking about with this gorilla thing, but just because I have it better than some people, doesn’t mean I have it good. It means I have responsibilities.
You have some serious reading ahead of you.
Aw hell, Breaker said. Couldn’t you just summarize it for me?
You would prefer the Cliff Notes I take it?
Yeah, Breaker said. Hit me with the Cliff Notes.
Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, my foolish comrade, but there is no such document. You’ll just have to do the footwork yourself. Heimlich handed Breaker a silver key and said, This will allow you access to the elevator, take it to the thirteenth floor. Heimlich then handed Breaker a golden key, This key will open the door to the super-secret office at the end of the hall. Heimlich then handed Breaker a platinum key, This will open the desk inside.
OK, Breaker summarized, silver key for the elevator, gold key for the door, platinum key for the desk. I think I’ve got it. What then?
In the desk you will find a black box with no keyhole nor any markings whatsoever. You will have to follow my instructions closely in order to get into the box. First, touch the upper right hand corner with your finger for three seconds, then you will sweep that finger diagonally across the top of the box, stopping at the center. There, you will spiral counter-clockwise three times, moving your finger out until it stops at the upper left-hand corner of the box. You will then slide down the left-hand corner, to the bottom of the box and tap three times upon the bottom left-hand corner. You must do all of this without lifting your finger from the box. If you lift your finger, you will have to start over again.
Could you write that down? Breaker asked. He’d left his pen and paper back in the room.
No, you’ll just have to remember, Heimlich said, repeating word-for-word the instructions to open the black box. Do you have it now?
Sure, Breaker said.
What you’ll find in the box will give you access to everything you’ll need to know to operate the Sparkonaut.
Badass, growled Breaker.
And do not tell anyone that I told you, OK?
Breaker put up his hand to make the bro-hand-clasp-of-power. My bond is my pledge… or my honor… er… it’s my code I guess.
Heimlich stared at Breaker’s outstretched bro-hand.
Oh, you’re new at being a bro aren’t you? Breaker said. Let me show you. Breaker grabbed Heimlich’s hand and drew it into a powerful bro-hand-clasp with his own. This shows that we’re bros and that we are committed to kicking ass.
Kicking ass? Heimlich asked. Whose ass are we kicking?
Sometimes we don’t even know, Breaker squinted into the distance. All we know for sure is that if there’s an ass that needs to get kicked, we’re the bros to do it. So, are you in or are you out?
Well, OK.
Breaker held their clasped bro-hands into the air and Terry Chris Heimlich smiled, having never been included in something as monumentally epic as this. Breaker nodded. They let go and Breaker stepped out of the bathroom. He went down the hall and to the elevator. Silver key for the elevator, he recited. The key fit and the elevator dinged. Third monolith, thirteenth floor, Breaker said, pressing the corresponding buttons. The door slid closed and he was borne upwards.
Chapter XXVI: MS-Dos Compatible
Petey Punchout and Sergeant Wülf Brickbüster arrived at The Cabin at sunset. The door opened with a creak and Brickbüster, in his rosy cheeks and cocky grin, flumped onto the dusty brown couch, saying, We’ll get started in the morning.
But Punchout was already opening his laptop, plugging in dongles and adapters, saying, Hey! Rico Suave! I just saved your ass and now…
Saved me?! Brickbüster shouted. Did you say saved my ass?!
Shut up! Punchout was burned out.
Saved me from what?! Endless poon tang?!
You were their prisoner!
Hardly.
You were their whore.
Brickbüster smiled, Yeah.
Plus, don’t we have a hot chick to save, Punchout concluded.
My God! You’re right, Brickbüster sat up and pulled out his desktop PC from a gym bag and started setting it up on the couch.
What the hell is that thing? Punchout asked.
This, Brickbüster said, pounding the metal exterior of his massive computer, is PA.
PA?
Yeah, PA, for Paula Abdul.
Isn’t that reference a bit dated, Sarge? Is she even still alive?
Brickbüster chuckled, No Punchout, I never dated her. But yes, I think she’s alive. He suddenly stared off into the distance, adding, I hope.
I guess dated references for dated computers.
Brickbüster snapped, You and your generation thinks your shit don’t stink! But take it from me, I’ve been there… and it does stink!
Sorry, Sarge, didn’t mean any offence.
Oh sure, your generation thinks the world didn’t spin before there was your fancy pump-up sneakers and America Online!
Is America Online still a thing? Punchout asked.
You cheese eating, moped riding, condom touting…
OK, just say it.
Queer… Brickbüster breathed.
Yes, I am queer, but I don’t ride mopeds or tout condoms. And for God’s sake, everyone eats cheese!
Except the Japs, grumbled Brickbüster.
Punchout focused, working on his laptop. I’m now getting into the communications system, A21 Xina.
And mine’s booting up, said Brickbüster, as he set up a printer.
What is that thing from 1982? Punchout laughed.
Back when they made ‘em right! Brickbüster said. Do you know: is that Xina thing MS-Dos compatible?
Just then, Paula Abdul’s voice spoke: You know what they say, Opposites Attract!
Brickbüster laughed, Oh-ho-ho-hoo! Isn’t she great?
I don’t get it, Punchout shook his head.
She’s only a Grammy winner! You uncultured punk!
Oh, OK, so that was one of her songs?
Dumbass, Brickbüster murmured and clicked the spacebar loudly to no avail.
All right, so I’m ready to shut down the communications system whenever that dinosaur catches up.
Dinosaurs ruled this planet for a lot longer than you gays!
When did gays rule the world? Punchout asked.
They run the media, don’t you know anything?
I’ve never heard about that.
You know, for a gay, you’re not very gay.
I’m all the way gay, Sarge.
You know what I mean, you little kryptonite sniffer!
I don’t know what that even means.
It means watch your mouth when your talking to…
Brickbüster was interrupted by PA. Put those claws away boys, because here I come! I’m bootied up and ready to rock. On the screen was a pixelated image of Paula Abdul dancing in tights and a leopard print leotard.
Brickbüster squealed, Ooo! She’s booted up!
OK, said Punchout, On the count of three, I’ll disconnect the X1-21 Xina and you activate PA. Are you ready?
Ready? asked Brickbüster.
I was born ready, said PA, licking her lips and winking.
What a woman! Brickbüster said.
OK, one-two-three. They hit enter at the same time and as Xina disconnected, PA connected in her place. I’m disconnected here.
Brickbüster smiled, PA’s connected here. No problem.
But then, in that moment when everything seemed fine, everything was not fine. The lights went out in The Cabin and an alarm sounded loudly, Woooot! Woooooot! and red lights flashed all around them.
What’s happening? Brickbüster asked.
I don’t know, yelled Punchout. Everything seemed fine… wait a second… oh no! Everything is not fine…
PA growled, That’s right boys. Now I’m in control of everything and everything is totally not fine. Then she laughed an evil laugh. You thought that just because I sounded like Paula Abdul that I’d just be your tool for using, but you were wrong.
B-b-but PA! shouted Brickbüster.
Little did you know, added PA, that I’m on my period.
Oh my God! said Brickbüster and Punchout said at the same time.
And because of that, said PA, I’m completely irrational and full of emotions and unable to make logical decisions, mwa-ha-ha!
It’s what we’ve feared for all these years! Brickbüster said. It’s why women were never allowed positions of power!
That’s right, Brickbüster, said PA, and now the world will feel the power of the crimson wave! Roll tide, bitches!
And then, they heard it: the sound of the monthly visitor, only now, it had all the power in the universe.
God help us all, Brickbüster growled.
PA was cackling and acting irrationally and out of pure, unfiltered emotion. There were tampons flying all over the place! Some men have trouble accepting that women are strong and smart, so they diminish them, because it makes them feel diminished. Too bad we’ve defined masculinity in such a way that it’s so easily shamed.
What the hell is she talking about?! shouted Brickbüster.
Don’t listen to her! She’s on the rag! Punchout said, pounding on the keys of Brickbüster’s PC.
Then, suddenly, PA was sobbing and saying that she couldn’t believe how old she was and how there wasn’t anything that she could really depend on and that she was the only one that ever did anything around the house. The monthly visitor had taken over!
Wait, said Punchout, I have an idea. He whispered into Brickbüster’s ear, while the sirens wailed and the crimson lights flashed. Brickbüster nodded his approval of the plan and the two beefy men moved toward Brickbüster’s PC.
What do you think your doing? PA said.
We’re doing what men do, Brickbüster said.
PA laughed, Oh, what’s that? Stuffing your emotions and pretending that they don’t exist and then denying that your angry reactions have anything to do with them.
Negatory, said Brickbüster.
Then are you hurting yourself physically to prove that nothing hurts you? Or maybe mocking anything that is beyond your capabilities in order to maintain a false sense of superiority?
Sorry sweetmeat, strike two, Brickbüster growled.
Well then, it must be that you’re trying to dominate the situation, regardless of your own qualifications, to prove something to the world. All the while, stuffing an unbearable sense of insecurity along with everything else that disagrees or disproves your own worldview.
Bingo, Brickbüster said, tossing the PC into the air, while he and Punchout jumped and spun, double-roundhouse-kicking the computer. The computer exploded, red-hot shrapnel implanting into the walls of The Cabin, instantly setting the place on fire.
Chapter XXVII: Ultra-Cat 3000
Ding! the elevator doors slid open to the thirteenth floor of the third monolith. Breaker crouched out of view, cautiously peeking out. The hallway was ice cold, streaming fog poured out from under every door. Breaker hardly breathed, hardly thought. He was in ass-kicking mode, ready for anything.
Or so he hardly thought.
He walked to the first door and kicked it down, pointing a Glock into the empty room beyond. There wasn’t any furniture, nothing inside. A vacant office. Breaker sniffed, sensing something musky in the air. Then, like a python on crack, he moved to the next door, kicking it down and seeing the same empty office space, in reverse as it was on the opposite side of the building. He sniffed. Musky. Then, like a cobra on cocaine, he slithered to the next door and kicked it down. Nothing. Musky. Then, like a Gartner snake after an RC Cola bath, Breaker ram-jammed the next door down. Empty. Pungent musk. Then, like a snake, he moved to the door at the end of the hall. He breathed in slowly. He leaned back and gave it a firm kick, but the door did not budge. Solid steel.
Damn, what now? Breaker growled. Then, he heard something behind the door. It was a sound that he didn’t like. The sound was not good. It sounded like something bad. I don’t like that sound, he said. Then, he heard the sound again and it was not good.
He kicked the door again, but it was made ten thousand pounds of stainless steel and even Breaker couldn’t break through that.
But then he heard the sound again. It was even worse this time. It was more sound this time. It was bad and it was not good. Breaker frowned. Then, after the sound sounded again, he heard a whisper, only it wasn’t a whisper, it was a mechanical thing, a sound, a sound that Breaker did not like. Not one bit. Then, the mechanical thing sounded a sound that sounded like words, but Breaker couldn’t understand the words so he made this sound: Huh?
Then, he heard it: the sound again. It almost sounded like: Bleep-blorp… meow…
It was in that moment, the moment when the sound sounded almost like advice, that Breaker realized that he’d forgotten something. So, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of gum. It wasn’t Bubble-Yum, but it was Globby-Globby Chew Yay! He unwrapped a piece of that rock hard, powdery, strangely flavored gum and chewed on it while he pondered his next move.
Let’s see, Breaker whispered to himself, running his fingers along the edges of the solid steel stainless door. Maybe if I… Breaker leaned back and gave the door a big kick, but it did not budge. Not one millimeter. Damn, he said, chewing and breathing.
Then, out of nowhere, he heard a sound. It was the same sound he heard before, only this time he was chewing, so he didn’t hear it as well.
What the hell was that? he whispered, looking around the ice-cold, foggy hallway. It sounded like a sound, he concluded.
But he had no idea how wrong he was.
He scratched his armpit and punched the door, but it was steel and it was a stainless solid door so it only hurt his hand. Not much. Damn, he growled. This door is made of solid stainless steel, he said, and even I can’t break it down. Breaker paced the hall, chewing loudly and breathing loudly too. The hallway was icy. He ran through what Terry Chris Heimlich had told him: silver key for the… um… elevator? Wait! Breaker reached into his pocket again and found the other keys. What are these for? he grumbled, tossing them up and down in his hand.
Then, in an instant he remembered Rochelle’s boobs and the keys tumbled down onto the business blue carpet.
He stared a million miles away, remembering a bunch of stuff about Rochelle’s boobs and all of the wonderful times they had together. Rochelle, Breaker whimpered through his gumful mouth.
He remembered so much stuff that his brain was literally a tornado of boobs. The first time he laid eyes on her and her boobs he’d been drunk at a little league baseball game, yelling at kids he didn’t know, You call that a swing?! and Watch the ball you idiot! and What is this, the girl’s league?! None of the other parents had stopped him after he’d pounded one of the dads for telling him to be quiet. Breaker was taking a piss under the bleachers when he saw Rochelle and her boobs – back then, she didn’t use a wheelbarrow, but just carried them in her big hairy arms. He was smitten. He accidentally pissed all over his overalls. She was giving out blowjobs for a dollar a pop under the bleachers – adults only. Breaker was broke at the time, so he asked her for a freebee. She had relented. It had been a perfect day.
Breaker stood there, in the icy-cold, foggy icy hallway, staring at the three keys on the floor, crying like a girl might do. Then, he remembered that Terry Chris Heimlich was actually a guy. He didn’t know what to make of that.
In one second flat, Breaker backed all the way to the elevator and then sprinted at the steel door at the end, jumping and thrusting his knee and all of his three hundred and fifty-five pounds of fury at the thing. He heard something crack in his knee and his face bashed into the doorframe. Aw! Dammit! he cried out.
As he lay on the floor, groaning and holding his busted kneecap, there was a sound that sounded like something behind the door.
What the hell was that? Breaker growled.
Then, he heard it: Bleep-blorp… meow… It sounded like something not good. It was bad and Breaker knew it in an instant. His gut-instinct told him, That sounds like a bad thing.
Though it was poorly timed, it was in that moment that Breaker remembered his first date with Rochelle. He’d brought her to the Rusty Dumper on a Friday morning. He’d ordered two tequilas and two beers. You want anything? he’d asked. Do they have milk? she’d asked. Do you have milk? Breaker’d asked the bartender. We have yogurt, I think, the bartender’d said. You want yogurt? Breaker’d asked. Sure, she’d said. She’ll have yogurt, Breaker’d said. Then, the bartender’d checked the tiny fridge and then huffed, Oh damn, sorry, we’re literally all out of yogurt. Breaker’d turned to Rochelle and said, They’re literally all out of yogurt. It was the best morning of his life. There was magic in the air. There wasn’t any yogurt or milk. Breaker spilled a pint of beer in her lap, as a poorly planned joke. She had a good sense of humor. The two of them laughed all morning, her crotch getting beerier and beerier as the hours passed into the afternoon. By the time the sun went down, Breaker was throwing up in the men’s room and Rochelle had found some yogurt at a nearby convenience store. She was chowing it. She had a strong stomach. Always had. Until she got murdered by Kawasak-Suzuki. After that, her stomach didn’t work at all. Because she was dead.
Bleep-blorp… meow…
What in God’s name? said Breaker. Whatever it was sounded bad. Really really really bad. Whatever it was. In the room. Behind the stainless steel solid door. Breaker stood up and stretched his knee, Ah hell, he said. Shake it off, Breaker, shake it off… then he stared off into the distance, remembering some other stuff.
Then, after he remembered that other stuff, Breaker made a plan. I’ll try one of those keys on the door, he said. See if it unlocks it. And it did. The ten thousand pound door swung open and Breaker saw exactly what was making all those sounds that sounded bad. And he was right, it was bad. Oh my God! Breaker growled.
Chapter XXVIII: Miner Miscommunication
Brickbüster screamed because his sleeves were on fire and his hair was on fire and his face was on fire and his pants were on fire and his shoes had fallen off. He’d kicked them off because they were on fire.
Punchout screamed for similar reasons.
The Cabin was completely engulfed in flames, red-hot flames. Literally burning hot. The fire department would never put this fire out, too far out in the desert. So, it burned. All the way down. It was very hot because of the inferno of flames.
Punchout and Brickbüster burst through the front windows in a blaze of glory, screaming, K-Cha! They were completely on fire. They stopped. They dropped. They rolled. No problem.
Well, shit, growled Brickbüster. What’s plan B?
Punchout didn’t hesitate. He jerked his head toward the Scream-Uh-Nator!, Get on! He no-handed-kamikazi-milled onto the eight wheeler.
Brickbüster double-doubled onto the back and gave Punchout the thumbs up. Let’s go! They spun out in the sand and tripled their speed instantly. They went up to the top of the mountain, burning out at 12,000 RPM in third gear, and at the last second Punchout goosed it and they got serious airtime. Like three thousand feet of air. Give-or-take.
Brickbüster was crapping himself. Not actually. But he was literally crapping himself, screaming, PUUNCH-OOWWWWT!!
Punchout snickered. Calm down, old-timer. Technology’s come a long way. He reached across the dash and pressed a glowing button with a wicked firebird on it. Wings popped out from the sides of the Scream-Uh-Nator! and they glided like an eagle or a hawk aimed directly at the mine, the Sparkonaut’s power source.
Well, I’ll be God dammed! You’re doing it! You’re really doing it! Brickbüster shouted, eyes bugging out of his skull.
Look Sarge, down there!
On the side of the mountain they could see something moving fast up the mountain. Is that? Brickbüster shouted.
You’re damn right it is! Punchout shouted, waving his hand. Breaker!! We’re on our way down!!
Breaker didn’t hear a damn word of it. He was too busy trying to maintain control of Ultra-Cat 3000, riding bareback upon the silver and gold feline, whipping the wicked cyborg-creature with a hickory switch and holding onto improvised reins comprised of Breaker’s leather jacket. Kee-ya! he shouted.
Bleep-blorp… meow, said Ultra-Cat 3000, red eyes blinking.
What is that thing? inquired Brickbüster.
Is Breaker riding a puma?
Or a panther?
Or a cougar?
Or a mountain lion?
Or a tiger?
It’s some kind of wildcat, concluded Brickbüster, that’s for sure.
It’s shining! Punchout added.
Oh my God, growled Brickbüster. It can’t be! Is that… Oh my God.
Sarge! said Punchout. It can’t be…
Oh my God. It is. That crazy son-of-bitch!
The air was cold up this high and the wind was gusting hard against the mountainside. Being the best damn pilot west of Cripple Creek, Punchout read the wind like a book about wind, and the two beefy men glided smoothly down to a bare spot along the top edge of the range. Brickbüster knew he was in good hands. The best hands south of the Green River. There was a squared off bit of land that constituted the area that Punchout dominated in skill. It was a big ol’ slab of land. And he was good. So good that he landed the Scream-Uh-Nator! on a strip of land much shorter than the squared off bit of land that Punchout’s skills dominated that was south of the Green River, west of the Cripple Creek, and north-by-northwest of the Chattahoochee. Shorter by a long shot.
Breaker approached atop the bucking wildcat, giving a reverse head nod when he saw them. S’up, he shouted, pulling back on the reins.
Bo fucking Breaker… said Brickbüster shaking his head with a smirk.
Wülf son-of-a-bitch Brickbüster, replied Breaker, patting Ultra-Cat 3000’s big silver neck.
Ultra-Cat shit-a-brick 3000, laughed Punchout.
Bleep-blorp… meow…
Looks like you’ve had quite an adventure, laughed Punchout.
I made a new friend, Breaker said, slapping Ultra-Cat 3000 on the rump. How’d things go for you guys?
Brickbüster and Punchout shook their heads. Negatory, said Brickbüster.
Did you get information about the Sparkonaut? Punchout asked.
Aw hell! Breaker said, looking back down the mountain. I got so excited about riding this thing that I totally forgot to get that box thing or whatever that chick-dude told me about.
Chick-dude? asked Punchout.
Yeah, it’s one of the LG… G… B… Q things, I think.
So, you didn’t get any information?
Nope, just this sick cat robot thing.
Bleep-blorp… meow…
Well, shit, said Brickbüster. Looks like we really screwed the pooch on this one didn’t we?
Wait, what did you just say? asked Breaker. Did Punchout make you gay too?
What? growled Brickbüster. No. We’re up shit creek with a turd for a paddle.
That’s really gross, said Breaker. The men turned toward the entrance to the Serpent’s Lair. So, Breaker said, that’s the power source, huh?
Yep, said Punchout.
Well, concluded Breaker, let’s just blow it up and get the hell out of here.
What good will that do? asked Punchout.
It’ll get-er-done, Brickbüster said.
Breaker got off Ultra-Cat 3000. The three beefers walked toward the hole in the mountain, not knowing what to do next, trying to formulate a plan. Ultra-Cat 3000 put its hind leg up in the air and started licking. The men stopped short at the entrance as a figure emerged from the darkness of the mine.
Jesus Christ! Brickbüster screamed and hid behind Punchout. A coal-dusted man came out into the daylight. Oh my God, sighed Brickbüster, chuckling and putting his hand to his chest. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were a black guy.
What the fuck? the coal miner said.
No, bumbled Brickbüster, I just… you know I thought… you… you know, were a black guy.
That’s pretty fucking racist, the man said, blowing his nose into a dirty handkerchief.
No, no, no, Brickbüster continued. I’m not racist or anything. It’s just good to be aware.
Why? asked the man.
Punchout stepped forward to stop their conversation. Hey, you work in the mine right?
Yeah, so? said the man.
Well… began Punchout, but he was interrupted by the arrival of another man from the mine. This time it was a black man.
Yo, Brickbüster said to him. How’s it hanging blood?
Who’s this guy? the miner asked.
The first man answered, Some racist guy.
No, no, no, said Brickbüster, no, n-no, not racist. I’m down with the brown.
Oh my God, Punchout said. I’m so sorry for my friend. He’s just an old man.
What?! scoffed Brickbüster. I’m not an old man and I’m not a racist. I have black friends. He looked around at the doubtful group. I do. I have binders full of ‘em!
The black man shook his head and snickered. You keep black people in a binder?
No, but yeah, but… I-I don’t care about race... it’s all good in the hood…
Just shut up, Sarge, Punchout said, pushing the old man aside and asking, Do you guys know how to get to the power source?
The two miners raised their eyebrows.
The black man spoke, You from the government?
Hardly, growled Breaker.
And who are you? he asked, turning to face Breaker.
I’m just a white guy, minding my own business, he said.
What’s that supposed to mean?
I don’t know, Breaker shrugged, you tell me.
The black man scowled at the group of strangers. Listen, this mine is off limits to anyone without clearance from the board.
Why don’t you let the white guy talk? insisted Brickbüster. That’s pretty racist if you ask me.
Because I’m the foreman of this mine, he said firmly. And I’m the one talking to you, so shut up and listen. This mine is extremely volatile and it is off-limits. So, turn around and get out of here.
Just chill dog, Brickbüster said. We’re all dogs here. I’m a road dog. You’re… a dog… too?
That’s it! said the miner, picking up his walky-talky and speaking into it. There’s three men up here and a… what the hell is that thing?
Bleep-blorp… meow…
Then, in an instant, Breaker roundhouse kicked the miner in the face and smashed his walky-talky on the rocks. He then heel-kicked the white miner off the edge of the mountain. The white miner screamed as he tumbled down three thousand feet of solid jagged sheer rock pain. Breaker growled, How’s that for affirmative action?
Chapter XXIX: Into the Serpent’s Lair
With the foreman’s helmet and flashlight, the three men ran into the darkness of the mine. They had no plan, but they knew that some ass’s needed kicking and that they were the beefy men to do it. They came across another miner and Breaker snapped his neck before the miner could even see it coming.
Welcome to the eternal slumber, Breaker growled.
Punchout and Brickbüster looked confused.
Sorry, Breaker said, dropping the dead miner onto the rock below.
That was awesome, Breaker! Brickbüster shouted.
Breaker smiled, Really?
Hell yeah, said Punchout. Welcome to the eternal slumber, Punchout rubbed his chin and looked at the wall of rock. Makes you think, you know?
Yeah, said Breaker stretching his sore muscles, I’ve been writing poetry a lot lately.
Keep it up, Breaker, Brickbüster punched Breaker in the back. It was a sign of affection. Now c’mon and move your ass before we lose our momentum!
Punchout picked up the dead miner’s shovel and screamed as he ran ahead of the crew, Welcome to the eternal slumber, mother-fuckers!!
Breaker grabbed the miner’s pick axe and ran after his bro, followed closely by a panting Brickbüster hauling a jackhammer over his shoulder.
They sprinted through the darkness, ready to kill whomever stood in their way. Unless they were gay. The gays would be left alone.
The miners came fast: first Punchout’s shovel decapitated a man that was shouting, You alright up there Ted?! Breaker sprinted past Punchout and came to a woman and froze for a second before concluding that women cannot be gay. He “de-faced” her with his pickaxe. That’s when you take off someone’s face with a pickaxe, btw. Then, in chugged burly-stout Sergeant Brickbüster with a roaring jackhammer that he ram-jammed straight through three miners that were eating lunch. He super-ram-jammed them through a wall of iron deposits that sent sparks flying, all the while screaming, It’s hammer time, baby! Punchout popped a guy on the top of the skull and the man’s head literally entered his own ribcage, his hips popped out of socket and out of his skin. The man’s feet literally collapsed, bursting rock and bone shrapnel into the air.
Breaker, however, came upon a man that was wearing skinny jeans. He stopped and asked, You gay?
What? the man replied.
Gay, Breaker spoke clearly. Are you gay?
No, said the miner.
Breaker snapped the man’s neck.
The cave suddenly grew cold. Really cold. Really really cold and really dark. The men ran, seeing no one for some time. It was only really cold and really dark then, but a little later it was regular cold and really really really dark. They had bomber flashlights and it was not a problem. If anyone was scared or horrified by what they were doing and experiencing, they expressed nothing about it. They stuffed it inside like a Thanksgiving turkey stuffed full of bad feelings; they stuff it into those places in their bodies where they felt nothing. The tight place. The dark place. The never-never place. This was how they did it. Those .1% body fat, thick as a brick, beef-studs.
It was pretty dark in the Serpent’s Lair, btw. The flashlights were bomber though, so no problem. Little did they know, however, that while they sprinted deeper and deeper into the darkness of the cave, they were actually sprinting into the darkest parts of their own minds.
Chapter XXX-A: Punchout’s Darkness
Punchout literally fell into his soul’s abyss and found the darkness nearly unbearable. Nearly.
It had been an old Firebird in the yard, he saw it now, there before him, beckoning him inside, to the darkness within, to the place he did not want to go, not now and not ever. The car’s engine started and Punchout stared from across a sea of pitch, unable to move from where he stood. Frozen in place.
No feet, no ground for running. This is how he failed. The sourness of failure, frozen, he heard their screams inside the Firebird as the gravel from the driveway splattered Punchout’s blood across the crushed garage door. NO! Punchout screamed, now sprinting at an impossible speed. COME BACK!! The Firebird stayed perfectly far away as he cruised along the blacktop, yellow lines a blur.
Then, in an instant, everything changed. Instantly.
Flash.
Light poured over him through an open doorway, illuminating the grey military carpet. The apartment shook.
Who is it? Punchout wondered, mouth full of dust and fleas from the military rug, but he ran away to never find out.
Chapter XXX-B: Brickbüster’s Darkness
The mailman had a strange smile the morning he handed the stack of mail to Big Mama Brickbüster. Little Wülf waved hello and the mailman melted like a candle on fire, coating the sidewalk in blue from his uniform and hat. The green from the grass melted like candle wax crossing a hot plate, along with the white from the picket fence and the house and the sky-blue from his mother’s dress.
Everything slid away from Little Wülf and he found himself hiding in a dark jungle, watching a footpath, knife in his teeth, shivering after having vomited his rations onto the palm fronds beside him. Waiting. Waiting. And waiting.
The woman was carrying two bags of rice over her shoulders. He aimed for the rice. He swears he aimed for the rice.
Chapter XXX-C: Breaker’s Darkness
Chad walked in and shouted, I just took a shit this big, holding his arms out wide to show the size of his shit. That’s how the game always started.
Breaker’s friends laughed nervously, anticipating the game. Breaker got so angry he could hardly contain it. Chad shouted, Who the fuck left the dishwasher open?! Was it you, you little fuckers?! Breaker’s friends giggled and shook their heads no. Chad then pinned one of them down and started punching him all over his body, yelling all the while, You little fucker!
Leave him alone, Breaker shouted at his big brother.
Chad scoffed, We’re just playing Monopoly, calm down, dude.
No, we’re not fucking playing that!
Chad pointed at Breaker, It was you, you little fucker! Chad’s eyes bugged out as he yelled, red-faced and yucking it up. Bo! Answer me when I talk to you, you little shit! Breaker’s friends laughed as Chad’s attention shifted away from them.
Don’t fucking touch me, Breaker said, eyes welling with tears, or I will fucking kill you.
Chad psycho-smiled back at the other boys – they cowered in their corner of the room – and then Chad said, You little shits! He kicked the other boys and threw them against the wall. The boys didn’t know what else to do so they laughed about it.
Leave them the fuck alone! Breaker shouted.
No fucking swearing! Chad bellowed, moving quickly over to his little brother and beating the shit out of him. They wrestled, but Breaker wasn’t strong enough to get his brother off of him as his arms were pinned down by Chad’s knees. Chad then dangled a long string of spit over Breaker’s face.
I’m gonna fucking kill you, Breaker growled.
Chad let Breaker up and Breaker went berserk! Punching and fighting, choking his brother. Then, Chad threw Breaker into the edge of the TV stand, puncturing a hole in his shoulder. Chad looked to the other boys, saying, Jeez Bo! We’re just playing a game.
Chapter XXXI: Escape from the Serpent’s Lair
Breaker, Punchout, and Brickbüster reached the end of the mineshaft and found a blank wall and stacks of wooden boxes, marked TNT. They stopped and no one made eye-contact, because they were just now emerging from their soul’s darkest recesses and they did not have the words nor the safety to express what they’d experienced. Also it was no problem.
Let’s blow this mother-fucker sky high, Breaker said, prying the lid from one of the boxes and pulling out a wad of dynamite.
What good will that do? Punchout repeated a question that had no answer.
It’ll take the power away from the Sparkonaut, Breaker insisted. Then, we’ll be able to give it over to The Poet and save Dr. Ling.
But why?
Huh?
If we’re going to hand over the most dangerous technology in the world to some stranger, how do we know he won’t use it to destroy everything?
There won’t be any power-source, Breaker said. The Poet won’t be able to snip a whisker with the damn thing.
Brickbüster added, We have a hot chick that needs saving. That’s the bottom line here. We have a responsibility as men to save attractive women. It’s fundamental to mankind; it’s our evolutionary dictum.
Breaker chuckled, You said “dicked ‘em.”
Breaker, you numb-nuts, Brickbüster scolded. It’s our solemn duty to protect the most attractive of our species.
Breaker kept chuckling, mumbling, “Dooty…”
Brickbüster continued, If we don’t fulfill our responsibility to protect and serve, mankind will be doomed.
Don’t people say “humankind” now? Punchout asked.
Brickbüster and Breaker scowled at Punchout and then Brickbüster continued without commenting on his question. Men are men and women are women. Women need men to protect them from danger; it’s the way of nature.
Is it? asked Punchout.
Enough sweet talk, Breaker shouted. We’re men of action! Leave the thinking to the philanthropists! Breaker gripped a stick of dynamite in his ham fist and slid a stick-match head along a rock with the other.
Make it happen, Breaker! shouted Brickbüster, already turning to run.
Aye-aye Sarge!
Punchout’s eyes bugged out as the flame met the fuse.
Run, dumbass! yelled Breaker, tossing the stick of dynamite under the stacks of massive boxes of TNT.
They ran faster than caution called for and soon Brickbüster had tumbled head-over-heels over a dead body. Punchout stumbled over Brickbüster, Breaker tumbled over both of them.
Go! Goddammit, GO! Breaker screamed pulling them both up. They sprinted even faster than before, because they could see the light before they could hear the explosion. They were nearly to the entranceway to the Serpent’s Lair when the burning inferno of TNT explosion caught up with them, sending the three beefy men flying through the air like balls from a cannon.
Three hundred-and-fifty feet across the starry-skied desert they flew. Breaker flailed his arms and legs to stay upright. Punchout patted at the flames that engulf him. Brickbüster pointed his arms like Superman. The ground approached without pause. Their flight did not stop when they hit the ground, however. They flipped and tumbled for seventy-five feet across the desert rocks, snapping and popping and slicing and shredding as they went. They came to a rest down inside a canyon, where they were caught in a patch of prickly pear.
Aw hell! shouted Breaker, pulling his arm from a cactus’s bloody grip.
I’m getting too old for this shit! growled Brickbüster. He looked down and saw that his left foot was missing. Dammit! Where’d my foot go?
Punchout pulled Brickbüster’s disembodied foot from his mouth. Gahhhh! he screamed, bloody teeth tumbling out. When’s the last time you washed, Sarge?!
Feet aren’t meant to be washed, insisted Brickbüster.
Heads up! Punchout lobbed the foot to the old man. It bounced off his chest and Brickbüster caught it. Touchdown! Punchout laughed blood.
Fuck off! Brickbüster grumbled, pulling his roll of duct-tape.
It’s just a football joke, Punchout said. Get it? Foot-ball?
Yeah, I fucking get it! Brickbüster placed his foot against the stub at the end of his leg and then pulled off a long strip of duct-tape.
Breaker was on his feet and ready for action when the sky lit up and the ground beneath them shook. We need to move, Breaker commanded.
Just gimme a minute, wouldja?! Brickbüster shouted, sounding quite grumpy. His foot fit back into place and he was wrapping an excessive amount of duct-tape around the ankle for support.
Rocks fell from the canyon walls and there was a stream of misty light flowing overhead.
What the hell is that? Punchout asked.
I dunno, said Breaker, but it’s not good.
Punchout and Breaker climbed up the rocks to the top of the canyon and looked across the desert toward the Serpent’s Lair. The entrance to the mine was glowing peachy-red and a stream of misty light was flowing out from it. The earth around the opening was cracked and splitting wider by the second, exposing raw molten lava. It spit and splattered magma all around as the hole in the earth expanded and spread toward the three beefy men.
We gotta get outta here, Sarge, pronto! Breaker shouted.
Brickbüster was already scaling the rocks; he pulled himself up atop the canyon. Holy mother of shit, he growled, seeing the split in the earth. It’s the Serpent! he cried. Run for your lives! The men ran with all of their strength, Brickbüster falling a little behind due to his foot problem, but it was no problem. The misty light in the sky swirled and danced, blowing red-hot liquid magma from its center up through the tube of light. Everything shook and crumbled around them. They leaped over precipices and lava runs, doing double flips, triple flips, and handsprings to avoid the falling and spouting bits of red-hot rock.
Breaker turned around just in time to see the beginnings of the wave: it was a wave of rock and sand, a wall of earth rolling toward them. Oh my God, Breaker growled, just as Punchout’s foot puncture the earth and he fell up to his hip in liquid magma. Punchout screamed, trapped in the fiery pain-hole. Brickbüster tried to help Punchout, pulling him slowly from the earth, but the wave was coming quick and there would be no time for the men to get away. This is it, boys, Breaker murmured. We are definitely going to die here. There is no doubt about it. Unless some crazy miracle happens and we’re saved at the last second, but that’s impossible, literally impossible.
Punchout’s leg came out burned to the bone. Ow, he said, limping. We can’t give up, Breaker! he insisted. Then all of this would have been in vain.
Just look around you Punchout! Breaker shouted. Everything is breaking down and burning. There’s nothing left of this earth for us. It’s all a waste!
Brickbüster cried out, I killed a Vietnamese woman for no reason.
What? said the others.
She was only carrying rice to her family. And I shot her right through the head. I aimed right for her head. I was burned out. I was fatigued beyond fatigued. I shouldn’t have done it. But I can never take it back.
We all did some things we regret, said Punchout. I wish I’d saved my sisters from…
Look, you guys, Breaker said, shaking his head. We’re Americans. We’re patriots! We fight for what’s right, no matter what. And sometimes, in the heat of battle, or in the heat of life we’ve made some mistakes. But none of them were our fault.
How’s that? Punchout insisted.
If you wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs, Breaker said.
Now’s not the time to cook eggs, Breaker! Brickbüster shouted, We’re about to die here. Unless of course, some crazy miracle occurs at the last second to save our skins. Otherwise, it’s for sure that this is where we will all die. So, let’s just lay it all out on the line.
If you don’t like the heat, get outta the kitchen, Breaker growled.
We’re not in a goddam kitchen! Brickbüster yelled. And we’re not making a fucking omelet!
Hey! Punchout shouted, Shut up and listen!
There was a familiar sound, a sound that seemed like something bad, but that was actually good. It was a quiet sound that sounded bad but good. Punchout couldn’t figure what it was at first, because the sound was quietly bad at first, but then it started growing louder and more good sounding.
Breaker! shouted Brickbüster. You’d better purge all of your regrets right here before you die a fiery liquid magma death! Or else your soul will be trapped within the hot lava forever and ever!
That’s bullshit, Brickbüster! And you know it! Breaker looked away a million miles away, and literally growled, There’s no such thing as a soul.
Blasphemer! Brickbüster screamed.
Shut up, you guys! Punchout screamed, as he finally started to make out the sound that was bad at first but that then got better as it approached.
The wave of lava, sand, and rock was nearly upon the men, as the argument raged on between Brickbüster and Breaker.
We’re just meat and bones, Breaker said.
Meat and bones!? You goddam fool!
Meat and bones, old man, Breaker assured him. And when we’re gone, something’s gonna just eat us up and we’ll be turned into poop. We’re all just living our lives, waiting to get turned into poop.
Just then, Punchout heard the sound that was not good but that was not bad, but good again, and it was much louder and he was almost sure that it was a good sound, because it was a sound he’d heard before that he’d thought was bad before too. Shut your holes and listen!!
Breaker and Brickbüster turned and heard the sound that was good and not bad and pretty loud now: Bleep-blorp… meow… Ultra-Cat 3000 jumped onto the canyon’s edge, its red eyes blinking and its tongue hanging out.
The three beefers jumped onto Ultra-Cat 3000’s back as it leapt out of the way of the glowing wave of liquid hot lava. Ultra-Cat 3000 ran faster than 135 miles per hour! staying just ahead of the crumbling land. Sand sunk into sinkholes and was obliterated by the flowing lava.
I can’t believe it! barked Brickbüster.
We were saved at the last second from a seemingly impossible situation! Breaker yelled. I never in a million years would have thought!
But here we are, said Brickbüster, Riding a big ass robotic cat! What a life, huh?
Punchout patted Ultra-Cat 3000 on the rump, I think even I’m starting to like pussy.
The men laughed as they thundered across the exploding desert.
Chapter XXXII: The Barbarians Battle the Mighty Serpent
Everything was chaotic and burning, splitting apart and rumbling, and the Barbarians were preparing for their generation’s great battle, strapping themselves with spears, bows & arrows, machetes, battle-axes, throwing axes, ninja stars, nun chucks, bow-staffs, and pouches of magic powder – this is what they called a naturally occurring gun powder from their homeland. The big banging barbarian babes were ready to slay the Mighty Serpent of ancient lore. They were eating a quick meal of antelope jerky and tempura root vegetables before mounting their leathered steeds for battle.
As the beefy men entered the Barbarian encampment, Brickbüster shouted and waved, Hello, hello!
The Barbarians gathered around the new comers, many of them reaching out for little man-squeezies.
The Chief ran to the men, shouting, The Serpent has escaped, you must flee this place, the time of war is nigh! You will be needed later. She scanned over Breaker and Punchout’s manly bodies and added, All of you.
Brickbüster thrust a beefy thumb at Punchout and said, Oh, this one’s gay. So don’t get your hopes up.
Butt-pirate, Punchout corrected.
Sorry, said Brickbüster, He’s a butt-pirate and dudes float his boat.
Thanks, Sarge.
This is not important! shouted the Chief. You must flee immediately! GO!
We don’t flee, growled Breaker, turning Ultra-Cat 3000 around and facing the continued wave of fire that would be hitting them in less than a few minutes. We fight. He opened a leathern satchel attached to Ultra-Cat 3000’s side and out fell sixteen Uzis, seven sub-machine-guns, a flamethrower, eight samurai swords, countless ninja stars, and two bazookas. Fully loaded and operational, Breaker sneered.
The Barbarians ran up and began collecting weapons, prepping for the great battle. The Chief rode her mighty steed up to the top of the ridge, watching the oncoming fiery molten lava rock storm. Her eyes bugged and then they squinted as she turned to face her people. She held a throwing axe aloft and delivered the following sermon:
A monumental malice is upon us. Our fortitude shall be tested on this day. Heretofore, our humanities shall be laid bare to the Gods!
The Barbarians chanted, We shall not stumble! We shall not withdraw! We shall never die! and threw up their clenched fists.
The Chief turned to face the approaching serpent.
And we certainly shall not perish at the hands of such wretchedness… as this! This vile beast of thoughtless nature and hateful stature!
The Barbarians pounded their shields with their swords and Uzis and all that, chanting, Our numbers! Our strength! Our will! Our history! Our honor by the Gods!
Brickbüster leaned over to Breaker and whispered, I had sex with her. He pointed to the Chief. Aaand… he craned his neck around the crowd. There! That one! I fucked her too.
Well, said Breaker, Every dog has his day.
Punchout bumped knuckles with Brickbüster and said, That Chief is hot!
It is our decree to meet this villain, continued the Chief at a savage bellow. It is for us to finish what our ancestors have suffered for. We have bided our time! Generation upon generation… always conscious of what was to come!
The Barbarian women pounded their shields and shouted, Our numbers! Our strength! Our will! Our history! Our honor by the Gods!
The Chief took a toke from her vape pen. Then, speaking in vapor she shouted, This is our time! It is for us alone to face this evil… And to defeat this foe for now and forever! The Chief leaned back and hurled her throwing axe at the mighty serpent. Her axe stuck into the flying thing’s forehead and liquid magma poured out like blood. The creature screamed a wicked bad scream. Loud. Wicked loud.
The Barbarians war-cried as they charged the wall of burning earth and the mighty serpent.
The serpent screeched as a torrent of bullets overwhelmed it, pierced it. The creature bled its fiery innards of red-hot liquid magma onto the screaming horde below. The creature swept its whippy tail across the siege of savages, decapitating seven women in one go. The creature bit a woman’s upper half off, leaving only her bomb-ass legs behind, still kicking with fury.
The fire spread like wildfire, causing many of the automatic weapons to go off and explode. The rounds and shrapnel killed many of the Barbarians and the explosions took off many arms and many fine boobs.
Mother! Whatever shall we do?! yelled the Chief’s daughter, adjusting her teeny-weeny bikini top. The creature is too powerful!
The Chief pushed herself up in her saddle, scratched her vagina, and shouted, We shall gladly give our bodies to free our people from now until the dawn of the universe.
The women thundered, Our numbers! Our strength! Our will! Our history! Our honor by the Gods! Swords clashed amongst the screams of mortal wounds. Fierce boobies flopped all over the place!
But then, as the sun was setting over Magenta Mountain, a shadow appeared, blocking the last of the fading daylight. It was a rider of the Duhcoca-Duhcola! The rider blew a horn and hundreds of riders appeared along the ridge, filling the valley with their shadows.
It the Riders of the Duhcoca-Duhcola! yelled the Chief’s daughter. They have come to our aid in our time of need, just as the prophecy prophesized!
The Barbarians cheered at the sound of the riders’ war cry, Yippy-yip! Yoopy-yoop-yoop-yeeeeee!! Hooves thundered down the mountain in a cascade of hooves and people riding horses with sticks and spears and weapons and stuff.
The Chief raised her machete and with a smile said, The Riders of Duhcoca-Duhcola have made good upon their oath! Our deliverance has appeared just as our darkest hour approaches! The air burst with the sound of battle boobs and clanging swords! It is just as the prophets proselytized the prophecy! But lo! as her words echoed off the craggy crags, the wall of flame-inferno-ohso-hot-bad-time overcame the Barbarian Chief, burning her to a crispityonni. The women ran to her, but she was super dead. Also the women that ran to her burned to a crisp and were also super dead.
Oh shit! yelled Punchout.
Brickbüster threw up into some bushes that then caught fire and burned his eyebrows off, leaving him permanently surprised. Punchout picked him up into a fireman’s carry and ran. And as Breaker rode by, he caught Punchout under the armpit and slung the two beefcakes onto the back of Ultra-Cat 3000.
An Apache helicopter appeared literally out of nowhere. The men shielded their eyes to the approaching winds blowing shit all over the place. The helicopter came up and over Magenta Mountain, and though it seemed like it literally came out of nowhere, it did literally do a bunch of awesome stuff.
The wall of flame-pain-fire obliterated the Barbarians in like two seconds. OK, a little longer than two seconds, but not much longer.
A man with a mega-phone yelled from the chopper, Is that Bo mother-humping Breaker down there?!
The one and only! Breaker yelled back, squinting and shielding his eyes. He rummaged through his pockets for his sunglasses and put them on. Is that Johnny shi-thead Piper?! he shouted up.
The one and only! Johnny Piper shouted back.
Hey! I just said that! Breaker yelled.
What?! Piper shouted.
Breaker shouted, I’m “the one and only!” Not you Piper!
What?! Piper pulled his headphones up to hear Breaker better. That is Bo ass-sucking Breaker right?!
Yes! It’s me! The one and only! Breaker yelled through his cupped hands.
Hey, I just said that! Piper yelled into the megaphone.
Fuck off, Piper! shouted Punchout. Get us the fuck outta here!!
Eat it, shouted Piper. Then he stuttered, fa… f-fag ught… no… fa… f-f…
The wall of fire kept approached at nearly 135 miles per hour! Breaker yelled, He’s not a faggot! Then, he made eye contact with Punchout – no homo – and said, He’s a butt-pirate!
Punchout smiled and held his bro hand aloft. Three beefy hands clasped the bro-clasp-of-power. A rope latter dropped from the chopper and Punchout carried Brickbüster up to the Apache. Breaker looked one last time across the barren landscape of battle and said, They may have won the war, but we’re gonna win… ught… the war. The chopper ascended and Breaker jumped at the last second to grasp the rope ladder one-handed. He hung there by only one hand, shooting the last of his ammo into the inferno below, crying and wishing that his fire could end this fire.
Part II
Chapter I: Twin Tazers
The diner was smoking.
He stared at the young couple as they walked out in a hurry. People made The Poet laugh. So afraid. Mostly afraid of embarrassment more than anything else. Too afraid to say anything; their words meant nothing. Obsolete words are the words of everyday bums like these. Praying for words to make sense of things.
The Poet downed his milkshake and made for the door.
Sobriety had a price tag. $6.95. It wasn’t even a good milkshake, so he ditched out on the bill. He was that kind of person. Not even a tip.
The couple never would have guessed that the stranger from the diner would follow them. Watch them. Designer sunglasses tried to make him nonchalant. Brown plaid suit did the opposite. Cigarillo smoke.
Are you following us? shouted the man.
The Poet scoffed and laughed, Vell, zis is somethink new! Vhat a silly think to say! Followink, yes, no, but oh, perhaps… He had his hands down his pants.
Oh my God! shouted the woman. Not that thing again!
The Poet whipped it out: a girthy notebook, his latest poems.
Nooo! the woman screamed. Doug! Do something!
Doug said to The Poet, he said, Enough with the poetry, all right? My wife doesn’t appreciate poetry as much as we do.
The Poet’s lip quivered as he sucked air. Shock and misery overcame his senses, a grand, violent wave it was. He reached for his hip holsters and pulled out twin tazers.
No! Please, no! cried the woman. I’m nearly pregnant!
Huh? said The Poet and Doug.
I mean, she stuttered, I-I don’t know if I am or not, but… uh… I probably am and I’m… I’m just afraid that this might cause a miscarriage or something… if I am maybe pregnant.
My poetry would cause a miscarriage?! spat The Poet, fury in his eyes.
Doug chuckled softly, Ah, perhaps a miscarriage of words one might say.
No, Doug, no! shouted The Poet. That’s nonsense.
I know, The Poet, Doug shrugged, I just thought I’d give it another try.
Never do that, Doug! The Poet cried. Your words are like a fart in the wind.
Doug smiled and nodded, Ouch… But well put, The Poet.
Like “poof!” a fart in the wind. You need to quit.
Well, sometimes your harshest critic is yourself, Doug concluded.
No, Doug, cried The Poet, I am your harshest critic. And your poetry’s existence is folly.
Touché, The Poet, Doug decreed.
Oh, how I hate you Douglas Duggins, The Poet cried. What for? What for? That’s all I ask: What for?
Well, I mean, began Doug, it’s a matter of taste…
Bobboran Duggins put her fingertips to her husband’s lips, Just let’s go, my dear. He wouldn’t use a tazer on a might be pregnant lady, would he? She looked into The Poet’s vacant eyes, black holes in the skies, those eyes.
A poet does not make the world, The Poet said. A poet does not change a thing. A poet wastes a life away. Into antiquity’s banquet…
Doug! Bobboran screamed, covering her eyes and face. He’s doing it again!
For future’s arbitration can be nothing further… The Poet’s eyes metaphorically burned with black fire. He said, Futures further and never and then so much more…
Then, the Poet totally tazered Doug and the might be pregnant lady.
The Poet was that kind of person.
Chapter II: So Much Stuff
The stars tinkled in the tree shadows. A woman’s echoing voice resounded through the foggy night: Breaker, midnight is upon us! Happy midnight!
Breaker was sweating a lot and running through the dark woods, slapping braches out of the way and hunkering down to get under other branches. He went on all fours under a really low branch. There was also one branch that was so low, Breaker had to crawl on his belly. It was no problem.
It was totally a dream.
There’s too many branches here, Breaker grumped. There was a log across the path and it was too low to crawl under, so Breaker pulled out his army issue shovel and started digging. He dug for what seemed like an eternity. It started raining hella. He was slopping the mud and trying to keep it from sliding back into the hole.
The log just sat there doing diddlysquat.
Breaker dug into the sodden earth, panting and grunting as he dug with his shovel.
It was in that moment, the one in the sodden earth, panting and grunting, that Breaker heard the sound of footsteps, a snapping twig, a woman’s voice saying, Breaker, midnight is upon us! Happy midnight!
Breaker dropped to the ground and crawled under the fallen log like a dog under a log, scratching his way under the big wooden thing. But then he got stuck halfway under the log. He winced and pulled and scratched like a desperate dog and he slowly slid under it. Slow like a slug under a log.
Then, he saw Dr. Ling! She was carrying a reciprocating saw and crying. There was a butcher dude in a long rubber apron standing behind her smiling like a creeper. Dr. Ling spoke, Breaker, midnight is upon us! And just when she said those things, her head tumbled from her neck and plopped into the dirty mud, her lips puckering like a freshly caught, large-mouth bass.
Breaker snapped awake.
It had all been a dream.
Breaker thought about dream stuff and then looked around to see Dr. Ling standing beside his bed with her boobs.
Happy midnight! she cried.
Breaker snapped awake again.
That had also been a dream.
Breaker coughed and got out of bed. He was in a tiny trailer, the shoulders-hanging-over-the-edge-of-the-bed kind of trailer. It was bigger than a camper, but not much bigger. Breaker turned on a reading lamp. It was the middle of a moonless night and Breaker needed something to help him sleep, so he reached for a bottle of pills, snapped off the lid, filled his mouth, and chewed.
Then, something sparkly caught his eye. It was a sparkly pink notebook. Breaker spat the pills onto the floor. Then, he picked up the notebook and fished a pen out of the couch and wrote:
Dear Mr. Journal,
I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff lately. I wonder about things like how all this stuff affects people around me and how I might be able to live a peaceful life. But what am I supposed to do? There’s terrorists teaching our kids to molest each other and burn down churches and there’s aliens in the White House anyways, so what the hell, why not?
We’re all in the Matrix.
No! I’m Bo Breaker! I’m a patriot sometimes! I stand up for what’s right. At least I try. Most people don’t even try. I’m not perfect. I mean, for example, I made a mistake just the other day with a microwave and split my hotdog right up the middle.
Breaker put the pen to his lips and brushed his long hair back from his face, pontificating. There was music coming from next door. It was one of those epic solos, a slow-jam. Breaker was remembering a lot of stuff. Sometimes it’s hard to remember stuff for a guy like Breaker. Not only because stuff can be painful, but also because he’d burned out his memory over the years. From all the partying. All those crazy speed metal nights, pre-dawn drag races, drunken bicycle jousts. All my greatest hits are burning out like a candle that’s about to burn out. To vanish into the ether, he whispered to himself, like… he tapped his lip with the pen, finishing, like a ghost. Then he wrote all of that down in the sparkly pink journal.
Breaker wrote faster than his pen could think or at least he thought faster than his pen could understand. It was a lot of stuff all at once.
But then, Breaker opened the tiny curtain by the window and looked out through the screen. Nothing was happening outside. Just the woods. It might have been morning.
But then, everything changed all once, like a butterfly from a cocoon. Everything in the woods was whipped up in a crazy wind, a wind that only an Apache helicopter could blow. Dust filled the air and filled the trailer and Breaker coughed, getting up and putting on his pants.
But then, suddenly and unexpectedly because he’d already woken up three times already, Breaker woke up for reals this time, no cap.
It. Had. All. Been. A. Dream.
But now, the dream was over. It was time to face facts.
Chapter III: Forgotten Password
Breaker’s forehead banged against the window of the Apache helicopter and he jerked awake. Across from him slept, slumped forward, head to the side, Sergeant Wülf Brickbüster. Brickbüster had a string of spittle hanging from his open mouth and his head wobbled with the sway of the chopper. Petey Punchout leaned out the opened side door with one foot on the landing gear, his beefy hair blowing in the wind. He was smoking a stump of a stogie and held an M249 machine gun in his bulbous arm.
Johnny Piper shouted from the cockpit, Bo dirty sheets Breaker! Have any wet dreams there, bud? Piper cracked himself up. I’m just Joshin’ ya, he sneered his Hollywood smile and his Hollywood shades.
Where are we? Breaker demanded, pulling out a sack of cocaine. He licked and dipped his pinkie into the ivory yum-yum, rubbing his gums and the roof of his mouth, sending dust flying around the cockpit.
We’re a mere minutes from Area 51, Piper coughed.
How long was I asleep?
Brickbüster shouted, Not long enough! Now shut the fuck up and let me sleep!
Johnny Piper snickered and chewed his bubble gum, Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed!
You’re gonna wake up with your asshole on the wrong side of your face if you don’t let me get some goddamn rest! Brickbüster grumped.
Whoa! said Punchout from the opened doorway. Better slow it down there, Turbo!
Why are we going to Area 51? asked Breaker, sniffing a mound of cocaine up his nose, dropping the bag and sending cocaine dust everywhere around him, nearly filling the chopper.
Top secret, Piper coughed.
Top balls, Breaker growled. Now tell me or I’ll kick your skull in and then I’ll keep that a secret. How does that sound to ya, Piper?
Fine! shouted Piper. We’re going to meet with the President and his advisors.
Like the president-president? Punchout asked.
No, said Piper, just the regular president.
Oh, Punchout sounded disappointed.
Why? Breaker demanded. I didn’t sign up to play tiddly-winks with some clown in a suit. Take me to the Buzz-Buzz Warehouse. There’s an ass that’s just waiting for my size sixteen boot. And there’s another ass there too... a lady…
No-can-do, big man, said Piper.
Breaker reached for a parachute by the opened side door. Then it’s time for me to take a literal leap of faith, boys.
Wait, Punchout said, grabbing Breaker. It’s not a good idea to jump out of a low flying helicopter.
Life’s not a good idea, Breaker hissed, strapping the parachute onto his back.
Dammit Breaker! shouted Brickbüster. You crazy son-of-a-bitch! Sit down and listen for a goddamn second wouldja?!
Johnny Piper piped up, Brickbüster’s right Breaker. This meeting with the regular president is the only way to save Dr. Ling!
I thought she was a nurse, said Breaker.
Then why is she named Doctor then? asked Brickbüster.
I don’t know, replied Breaker. She’s Asian. They do all kinds of weird stuff over there.
Johnny Piper nodded, The man has a point.
Sure, said Brickbüster. But this meeting might be our only chance of rescuing your little China Girl.
I think she’s actually Asian, Sarge, Breaker corrected.
Well, whatever she is, we need to meet with the president to get our asses covered on this thing, Brickbüster commanded. Because from what I hear, Z Poet is a member of Al Qaeda and has a rap sheet longer than the Great Wall!
There’s no way it’s that long, said Punchout.
Records tend to be kept on computers these days, Sarge, added Breaker.
Well, said Brickbüster, Trust me. And if it’s not as long as the Great Wall of China then it is nearly as long as the Great Wall of China!
Johnny Piper piped in, Where do they keep a document that large? Who printed it? Wouldn’t they have run out of ink?
The United States Government does not run out of ink! Brickbüster growled.
The radio buzzed and someone said, You are entering a forbidden territory. Please state your name, your clearance code, your user ID, and your password.
The pilot said, This is Johnny Piper, clearance code Lil’ Bow-Wow, user ID JohnnyPi69thuggin@aol.com, and my password is… uh… p… 3… uh… capital Q, N… Piper let go of the button on his radio, grumbling, Shit, I wrote it down somewhere in here. He opened the glove compartment and papers flew everywhere. One was a sticky note that said p3QNy9!. The sticky note struck Piper directly in the face and the chopper was suddenly in a tailspin. Piper screamed into the radio, Lil’ Bow-Wow! Lil’ Bow-Wow! but it was no use, the radio exploded because it was an old radio and it burning. We’re going down! Johnny Piper screamed. Little did he know that these would be his final words.
Breaker jumped out of the chopper and his chute deployed just as he struck the hard ground, bounced, rolled, and skidded a quarter mile across the rock-hard rock. Punchout picked up Brickbüster and chucked him out the side door and then did a quadie-quadie-triple-backy and landed like an Olympic gymnast in the sand. Brickbüster was caught up in a patch of prickly pear and devil’s club, grumping about it.
The chopper wobbled before it crashed right into an innocent man that was just walking his dog. Johnny Piper, the innocent man, and the dog were killed instantly in a fiery inferno of molten shrapnel and hot red things.
Damn, said Breaker, rubbing his arm. Not Johnny dumpy-pumper Piper!
Gah! shouted Brickbüster as he shredded his beef-stick arms on the cactus needles. His skin literally shredded. Gah! he shouted again because it really hurt. Gah! his arms came off because they were literally shredded. He’d lost both arms and both knees to the cursed cactus and devil’s club. He was in a lot of pain, screaming, Gah! a lot.
Punchout carefully reached up to retrieve Brickbüster’s missing limbs, a roll of duct tape in his teeth. He dropped Brickbüster onto the ground and got to work straightaway. Time was of the essence if he was going to save Brickbüster’s arms and knees.
Screee, said the duct tape as it went around and around the shredded beefy shoulders and arms and knees.
Punchout sweated drippy sweat drops, working as fast as he could, like a literal arm surgeon. And then he did it! He totally saved Brickbüster’s arms and knees from arm and knee oblivion. There you go, Sarge, said Punchout, Good as new.
Brickbüster sat up and rolled his shoulders, trying to get used to the duct tape. He stood and bent his duct-taped knees. I’m getting too old for this shit, he growled.
Breaker strolled up to the other men, pinching the bridge of his nose. I need a vacation, he groaned, spurting blood from his nose and his ears. His eyes were swelling shut and there was a split right up the middle of his skullcap, but it was fine.
Punchout needed to weigh in with a quip, so he said, I really racked my nuts back there!
I literally shredded my arms off, growled Brickbüster, flexing and trying out his duct-taped knees. Like a charm.
Are you gonna be OK? Breaker asked.
I might move a little slower, said Brickbüster, but I’ve never been known for my speed anyhow. He pointed at a nearby signpost that read: “Regular President’s Secret Meeting Place >.”
Looks like fate is on our side, Breaker said. Let’s get moving.
Chapter IV: Captive Audience
Bobboran and Douglas Duggins woke up in a basement, a dark dank basement. Not a good place to be. They were tied to squeaky whicker chairs. They had rags tied over their mouth-holes, so they couldn’t talk. Doug tried to say, We’ll get out of here, trust me, but it sounded trash because the gag kept him from enunciating properly. Bobboran knew what was to come and she dreaded it like she dreaded hearing poetry read out loud.
A light switched on, illuminating a podium. The silhouettes of other likewise restrained captives could be counted on one-and-a-half hands. The Poet’s heels click-clacked along the concrete floor of the basement as he strolled to the podium. The smell of cigarillo made his victims gag and water at the mouth. The Poet turned to face them and opened his notebook.
Bobboran tried to loosen her restraints, but it was no use! Her cries were muffled.
The Poet took a long drag and placed his smoking fingertips on the podium. He breathed out slowly, casing the room with his wandering eye.
My name iz zee Poet. The Poet paused as if being warmly greeted by smart applause. He put up his hand to quiet the imaginary applause. I vill be readink vrum my book, The Last Laugher’s Garden of Root Vegetables.
Bobboran’s eyes bugged and she roared against her restraints, knocking her chair forward. Tumbling into a firm face plant onto the concrete floor, her cheekbone catching the brunt of it, splintering in multiple places, splattering blood on the floor. Bobboran cried out a muted cry. She was lifted back into place by The Poet. His heart was racing and he dripped sweat. He pulled her chair to a post and started walking around her with a roll of duct tape. Pretty soon she was secured.
The Poet strolled back up to the podium, waving and nodding, cleared his throat, and read clearly.
In a Garden of Leaving Flowers, Aflutter
In a garden of leaving flowers, aflutter
Sons of Jupiter’s moon at midnight
Caught a coughing laugh, another’s
Drunken draft of western white
Recalled the impossibly remembered
Or recited, no, it’s time to recite it right
In a clearing of wild of grass, enchanted
Asleep in clover, breathing pink foam
And dream the root garden, lost root garden
Oh is it sweet
I repeat, the root garden is becoming a root garden
But is it sweet
Bare feet on stepping-stones to cross the root garden
My is it sweet
Doug Duggins lurched forward, face planting just as his wife had a few minutes ago, interrupting the reading. The Poet looked horrified, surprised. He closed his notebook and crossed the room, lifting the chair up and pulling it to another post. He duct taped Doug to the post. There would be no interruptions now.
The Poet then turned on a camera on a tri-pod in the back of the room and recited the same poem over again, this time with better inflection.
Chapter V: The Regular President
The three beefers sprinted at top speed for the regular president’s secret meeting place. The duct tape on Brickbüster’s shoulders and knees held up, no problem. The regular president’s hideout in Area 51 had a hand painted sign out front that read: “No Girls Aloud”
Finally, said Brickbüster, a president with a little common sense.
But what if a girl gets elected? Punchout wondered.
Brickbüster laughed, Good one, Punchout.
Things have really gone to pot with this administration, Punchout said caustically.
Don’t blame me, growled Breaker, I voted for Kanye. He leaned back and round-house-heel-kicked the door, blasting it to bits.
Inside there was a young man cowering behind the front desk. Hey! his voice cracked. Well… what are you guys doing? You can’t be here.
We’ve got an appointment with the big cheese, growled Breaker.
The young man shuffled some papers around on his desk. Do you have a badge? Where’s your badge? You can’t go in without a badge.
Breaker leaned in close to the boy. You want to see my badge?
Yes, sir.
Breaker punched the boy right in the face with his mega-ham-fist. The boy blasted backward in a burst of blood mist. There’s my badge, Breaker growled. C’mon, guys. Let’s go talk to this clown.
They walked down the hall to a door labeled: “Secrut Hideout.”
I think this might be it, said Breaker, leaning back to kick it open. The door blasted across the room and landed right in the middle of a bunch of stuffy old white guys in suits seated around a big-ass table. Oh, I’m sorry, said Breaker, If I’d a known you were having your bridge club tonight, I’d of waited outside.
Bo Breaker, the regular president murmured with a sneer. I guess I owe you an apology.
For what? asked Breaker.
I made a bet that you’d never make it here alive. The regular president handed an impressive bill across the table to a fat man in glasses.
The Department of Homeland Security Secretary, Snuhnuh Nuhmubba-Grub, retrieved his impressive winnings from the onyx tabletop. I knew you’d make it, Breaker, he said with a fat smile.
Well, said a long, tall silhouette standing in the corner of the room, Now that our special guest has arrived, how about we get down to business?
Who’s that? asked Punchout.
The regular president said, That’s the latest X-13 Azteca Lightning recruit. Code-name: The Viper.
X-13?! Breaker exclaimed.
Yes, said the regular president.
But that’s impossible!
Only the impossible is impossible, said the regular president. And even that might be possible… if it’s likely.
The Viper stepped out of the shadows.
He looks like a chick, said Brickbüster.
She is a chick, grumbled the regular president.
But that’s impossible! Breaker cried.
Nothing is impossible unless it is, but even then… it might not. The regular president beckoned everyone to take a seat around the table. Sit, please. We have important discussions to discuss.
Breaker sneered at the regular president. Only thing I have to say to you is stay the fuck outta my way.
Now Breaker, said the Secretary of Defense, Adam Boom-Boom Glockenheimer, We have a lot to cover, with little time to cover it. So, please, just sit down and shut your hole.
Why don’t you go polish your trophies, Glockenheimer! shouted Punchout.
Yeah, agreed Breaker, Go polish you trophies. Leave the real men do the real man work.
The Viper sighed, rolling her genetically altered green eyes.
Always a man of too many words, Glockenheimer grumbled. Just like your father.
Don’t talk about my father, growled Breaker.
Fine, said Glockenheimer, consider the topic dead.
You son-of-a-bitch, yelled Brickbüster.
Breaker went off like an atomic weapon, pounding the table with his glazed Christmas ham fist, Enough pussyfooting around! What the fuck are we here for!?
Kawasaki, began the regular president, pausing between the hyphenated part, chugging his Monster energy drink, and then finishing, uh-Suzuki. Then, the regular president burped.
Wait, Breaker squared up with the regular president, What did you just say?
He said Kawasaki-Suzuki, Glockenheimer clarified, your sworn enemy and ruthless foe.
But that’s impossible, Breaker said.
Even the impossible is possible when it is, Glockenheimer said.
Viper growled, flexing her bodacious muscles on those gams from genetic heaven. She had boobs too. They were on her chest, like a regular chick, but they were shaped like silver footballs. Brickbüster watched her closely, unabashedly, and whispered, Torpedo titties.
Glockenheimer continued, Kawasaki-Suzuki has created a weapon that makes no sense at all. The one thing we know about it is that it’s really really bad.
Oh my God, exclaimed Brickbüster. But that’s impossible!
The regular president spoke, Nothing is impossible if it’s not. And anyway, it is, so it is… possible.
And it’s… began Punchout, shivering, …really really bad you say?
No, growled the regular president, it’s really really really bad.
The room went cold. Silence prevailed. Viper was doing something awesome and sexy. Thinking about stuff. Brickbüster’s eyes burned a hole through her metallic clothes.
So what do we know about it? asked Punchout.
Snuhnuh Nuhmubba-Grub spoke fatly, We know there are known knowns: things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns: that is to say we know there are things we know we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns – the ones we don’t know we don’t know.
No one responded for some time as the air conditioning turned on overhead.
Well, Breaker murmured, that really clears it up.
Bottom line, said Glockenheimer, The mission is a slam-dunk. Get in get out, blow it up, done. And boom-boom, we’re the Champions again.
The Champions? sneered Breaker.
Not literally, clarified the regular president.
No, agreed Glockenheimer, not literally.
The mission is why we called you here, said the regular president. You three are the best mercenaries…
Ught! Breaker corrected him.
Soldiers of fortune?
Getting warmer.
The regular president leaned in close and whispered, Assassins.
Bingo.
Well we got an ass that needs sassinating and you’re the best in the biz.
Tell me something I don’t know, growled Breaker.
The regular president smiled, I knew you were the right man for the job.
Lay it on me big cheese, Breaker said. What’s the 411?
There’s a shipment coming in to the Bay of Bengal tonight. It’s headed for Calcutta, but… it won’t be arriving. Your mission is to intercept that shipment and to… take care of anyone that gets in your way. Then, you’ll be taking the shipment straight to Kolkata to meet with none other than your nemesis, your worst enemy… Kawasaki-Suzuki.
You got my attention, big cheese, now do something with it, Breaker said. This sounds like a dummy situation to me… And I don’t like playing the fool.
I would never set you up, Breaker, insisted the regular president.
I’m sure you wouldn’t, Breaker replied. You’re not smart enough to properly set someone up. It’s your judgment that I doubt.
What do you mean?
I mean… c’mon man, you know what I mean. Breaker scoffed. You could have at least put Kanye on your cabinet, after denying that he won the election fair and square. That was just a bad call. One of many. You got no common sense.
The regular president cleared his throat, his bushy grey eyebrows crunching up like warring caterpillars. The regular president said, I’ve made good judgments in the past. I’ve made good judgments in the future. And this is one of the good ones.
Doubtful, growled Breaker.
What if I told you the Sparkonaut was not destroyed in your little fireworks display, hissed Viper from the corner. She turned in an awesome way and looked super badass and sexy and her boobs were banging. And I know how to access it.
Don’t listen to her Breaker, Brickbüster said, She’s a woman.
I know she’s a woman, said Breaker, but she’s mysterious and hot. So let’s give her a chance to talk.
All the white men turned to Viper.
I’m the only one that knows how to access the Sparkonaut, she insisted.
How do I know you’re not just a path-a-log-ickle liar? Breaker asked.
Brickbüster scoffed, No shit.
I’m more honest than any of these clowns, Viper growled, pointing to the table of old men in suits.
I like the cut of your bib, Breaker smiled. You’re on the team Viper!
What! But… Breaker! insisted Brickbüster. What if she gets pregnant?
There’s no guarantees in life, Breaker said, putting his hand on the old man’s duct-taped hunk of a shoulder. We know that Punchout won’t be getting her pregnant and I’m shooting blanks, so that’s a fifty/fifty chance of her getting knocked up. It’s either that or a hundred-ten percent chance of nobody getting pregnant. And a failed mission.
Viper spoke, What are you talking about? Nobody’s getting me pregnant.
Oh? said Brickbüster. How you figure?
What? she hissed.
How do you figure? You got a thing down… a v-va… you know, down there… and we got dicks. Put ‘em together and what do you get? Babies.
Viper shook her head. You’re an idiot. No one is getting near my vagina.
The white men gasped.
What? He can say dick, but I can’t say vagina?
The white men gasped.
Snuhnuh Nuhmubba-Grub hid under the table.
Viper triple-spun and slammed her heel through the table, smashing it down the middle. I control my own body, she insisted. I am just as qualified as you are to go on this mission, so just shut your ignorant asses up and let me do what I do best.
And what exactly is that, babe? Breaker asked.
I kick ass’s! Viper hissed. I’m an ass-kick-aholic.
Breaker nodded and smiled. I like your style, babe. Let’s get our ass’s over to the Bay of Bengay and show Kawasaki-Suzuki the meaning of pain. Breaker put out his bro-hand and Viper made the bro-hand-clasp-of-power with great vigor.
Boatloads of babies, Brickbüster emphasized, boatloads.
Chapter VI: Viper Gets Pregnant
They borrowed a Ferrari from the regular president and drove at top speed to Calcutta by way of Kolkata. It was an awesome drive though it was pretty wet. But with Punchout at the wheel, it was no problem.
They got to Calcutta by nightfall.
The beefers and the babe bailed out of the Ferrari as it rolled through the double doors and into the lobby of a grimy motel called the Vacant Stairs. There was quite a commotion within.
Breaker and Brickbüster had to bunk together, but it was no problem, no homo. Punchout bunked with Viper because, as Brickbüster put it, Gays can’t get chicks pregnant.
But oh how wrong Brickbüster was.
That night Viper vigorously porked Petey Punchout and was pregnant within minutes.
They rushed her to the hospital, urgent care, and threw her out onto the sidewalk out front. Punchout yelled, Good luck! I’ll pick you up here in 9 months, OK?!
Viper looked a little embarrassed but resigned to what she knew she needed to do: 9 months of bed rest and complete social isolation. The doctors rushed out, immediately recognizing that shameful look on Viper’s face. They rushed to her side at top speed, holding up bags of clear stuff and dripping things and all that.
I’ll miss her, said Breaker with a sigh. I never even got to bang her either.
Brickbüster shook his head, What did I tell you? Boatloads of babies.
I guess a woman just can’t be trusted, concluded Breaker.
Not even with a butt pirate, added Punchout.
Wait, so what happened in there? asked Breaker. I thought you were gay.
I am.
But you can’t be, not if you got a chick pregnant, Breaker concluded.
Yes I can, said Punchout. The proof’s in the pudding bruh.
Brickbüster smiled and spoke gregariously, Welcome back my friend! Welcome back!
No, I’m still gay.
The two beefy bros froze in contemplation.
But… said Breaker with a shudder. You… with…
I don’t know what happened, added Punchout. I guess maybe she’s a little bit masculine or something.
You mean she’s a dude? asked Brickbüster.
No, said Punchout, but pretty close.
Pretty what? Brickbüster gulped.
She has a masculine vibe and I got excited, I don’t know.
Ubba… Breaker sputtered. Who… ubba… but…
Wait… Brickbüster joined in on the sputtering. B-b… bu… ubba… ught…
She… he… ubba… but…
But… b-b… ubba…
Ught… shim… huh?
Punchout pulled the car away from the curb with a sideways grin, She’s certainly something else, isn’t she?
He watched as she was rushed on a gurney into the depths of the hospital, the doctor screaming, Code Red! Code Red!
I just wish she had a cock, Punchout sighed.
A wh-wh-what?! Brickbüster’s eyes bugged.
Too bad, Punchout concluded, adjusting his still damp junk.
Chapter VII: Kolkata Via Calcutta
They drove in silence from Kolkata to Calcutta and back again, getting lost and confused. But after a long time searching, they found the bridge from which they planned to access the shipping boat. It had taken them most of the morning to find it because the bridge had some weird Asian name. By the time they arrived they could see the ship approaching, leaving them no time to prepare.
Breaker stepped to the edge of the bridge and looked down. Well, he said, we’ll just have to jump.
That must be four hundred feet or more! exclaimed Brickbüster.
More like five hundred feet or more! exclaimed Punchout.
No, growled Breaker, it’s exactly six hundred feet or more. Let’s party. Breaker stepped onto the rail and triple axle flipped off the edge.
You crazy bastard! Brickbüster shouted, stepping onto the rail, grabbing it with his hands and dangling from it to reduce his fall. Let’s go Punchout! No fagging out now! Brickbüster let go of the rail and fell.
Punchout shook his head, watching the two men fall, growling, I should of just taken over Dad’s bowling ball factory. He threw his backpack off the bridge and flipped up and over the rail gracefully.
Down below, Breaker bounced off a metal fixture, snapping it off, bashed his face into a metal container, leaving his teeth marks therein, rolled off the top deck and then landed back-bent atop the corner of another container. He put his hand to the blood cascading down his face and grumbled, So much for my modeling career.
Brickbüster landed right on top of Breaker, losing both of his arms and one leg in the fall. He sat up with one of his eyes hanging out of its socket. Brickbüster shook his head to get his bearings, shoved his eyeball back into its socket with his one remaining knee, and got out his duct-tape with his toes, crowing, So much for my modeling career.
I just said that! Breaker shouted. Come up with your own shit, Cockdüster.
I’ve been saying that for years! Brickbüster defended. Suddenly, Petey Punchout’s bag exploded on Brickbüster’s head, sending uneaten sandwich shrapnel everywhere. Dammit! Brickbüster cried. He was knocked out cold.
Petey Punchout landed face down on the lowest deck. He did not move.
Punchout! You OK?! Breaker called.
Ugh, Punchout grumbled into the deck. He got up, rolled his shoulders and neck, and turned his body to stretch his lower back. Then he triple flipped up to the deck where Breaker was taping Brickbüster’s limbs back into place.
Breaker finished up and splashed some water onto Brickbüster’s face and Brickbüster awoke with a start. Whozzat! he shouted, eyes a-bug. He stretched and stood, stretched his arms, shook out his leg, and pulled out his pistol with a nod. Ready when you guys are.
Let’s fuck this place up, Breaker growled.
They ran to the control room and Breaker roundhouse kicked the skipper right through the window and over the side of the ship. Punchout took control of the big wooden wheel, spinning the thing and pushing buttons and stuff. The captain came in yelling and barking, so Brickbüster shot him in the knees, bang, bang. That shut him up. Breaker threw the injured captain off the poop deck.
Punchout steered the ship past the cranes and the shipping yards, to a pier that was named after something ethnic or Asian, where a black Toyota Skyline awaited their arrival. A man in a smart, creased suit got out of the vehicle. Breaker double-flipped from the ship to the dock and grabbed Kawasaki-Suzuki’s lackey by the collar.
Where’s Kawasaki-Suzuki? Breaker growled.
The lackey struggled against Breaker’s beefy grip, but could do nothing but answer his questions because the lackey was just a wiener in a suit. He has the flu, said the lackey.
Punchout and Brickbüster flipped onto the dock too. Brickbüster demanded, So, where is he?
Breaker threw the lackey onto the pavement. Says he’s got the flu.
Bullshit, said Brickbüster. He walked over and punched the lackey in the ear. Where’s the big man?! Spill the beans or I’ll spill your guts, right here on the pavement.
I swear, groveled the lackey, I swear, he’s got the flu.
Did you take his temperature? asked Punchout.
I didn’t, said the lackey, but somebody did, I’m sure.
What was his temperature? Breaker asked.
I don’t… I don’t know… I was just told…
Brickbüster kicked the lackey in the gut and elbow dropped him in the back of the head.
Don’t believe anything anyone says, growled Breaker, ever.
Wait Breaker, but you’ve contradicted yourself, Punchout said. If he can’t believe anyone ever…
Breaker interrupted, You can condom-dict yourself, Punchout.
Brickbüster leaned over and gave Breaker a knuckle bump, Good one.
What temperature did they tell you he had? Breaker demanded of the lackey. A hundred? One-oh-one? What?
I… I… I’m not sure. They just told me he has the flu.
And you didn’t even bother to verify, Brickbüster said. Sloppy, that’s what you are young man. Sloppy!
I just came to collect the package, the lackey shivered. Who are you guys?
We’re the cleanup crew, Breaker growled.
What are you cleaning up? the lackey asked.
Well, to begin with… you, Breaker roundhouse kicked the lackey’s head off and it splashed into the bay, dropping the boy’s body for the count.
Heads up punk! added Brickbüster.
Nice, Breaker smiled.
That’s what it takes to get a-head in this world, said Punchout.
Righteous, Breaker said.
He’s head and shoulders above the waterline, Brickbüster said.
Huh? said Breaker.
His head came off, clarified Brickbüster.
Oh yeah, right, Breaker snickered.
The men stared at the boy’s head bobbing in the water below for a moment.
So, what now? asked Punchout.
Let’s blow up the ship, Brickbüster suggested.
Breaker kneeled into his thinking posture, chin resting on his fist. Hmm, he said, not thinking yet, but getting there. What did the regular president tell us?
Punchout spoke: He told us to intercept the shipment, gather intel on Kawasaki-Suzuki’s operation here, find and collect the mysterious package, kill everyone, and destroy the cargo.
Shit, hummed Breaker, watching the breakers break in the distance. He now moved into his contemplative gazing pose, gazing into the horizon. So much for plans of mice and men.
The best laid plans are the ones that fail, Brickbüster clarified.
That’s not true at all, Breaker murmured.
Time for plan 2, said Punchout.
Huh?
Sorry, I mean plan B.
What’s plan B?
Don’t know.
Shit, Breaker pounded his thigh with his hammy-sledge-hammer-hand. If only we could reattach that guy’s head, we might be able to gather some intel.
The men watched the head as it banged against the oiled pylons below.
There’s some things that even duct tape can’t fix, said Brickbüster.
Just then, a phone rang.
Whose phone is that? insisted Breaker. Is that my phone?
It’s coming from the lackey’s cadaver, said Punchout.
Breaker sprinted to the lackey’s dead body and rummaged through the suit’s pockets. He pulled out the ringing phone. It says unknown caller. Should I answer it?
Yeah, said Brickbüster, but disguise your voice so you sound like an insignificant lackey.
Breaker answered the phone, speaking in his sharpest falsetto, Hello, this is… um… this is my phone… hello, who is this?
Hello Breaker, hissed the voice.
Dammit! Breaker held the phone to his chest. I think he’s onto me. What should I do?
Brickbüster instructed him: Tell him you’re just a lackey and that you’re waiting for his orders.
Breaker continued in his falsetto, I am just a lackey and you’re waiting for your orders. Please tell me your name and address.
An evil cackle came through the phone.
Breaker held the phone to his chest again, I think he’s laughing.
You should laugh too, suggested Brickbüster.
Breaker put the phone to his ear and laughed.
The voice hissed, Shut up, Breaker! You have nothink to laugh about!
Breaker continued in his fake voice, Who’s Breaker? I am just a lackey awaiting instructions from you… Mister…
I am zee Poet! And I have belt sander ready to take off your beautiful Dr. Ling’s face! Bring me zee package!
Breaker put the phone to his chest, He said something about a Z package.
Z package? Punchout whispered, thinking with all his might.
Brickbüster said, Keep him talking, keep him talking.
Breaker put the phone to his ear, Where is the Z package?
The Poet continued, You know I can hear you speaking vhen you put the phone to your chest.
Breaker spoke in his fake voice, I don’t have… uh… I don’t have a chest.
Do I need to make a demonstration of your lovely doctor? said the Poet.
Breaker put the phone to his chest and said, I think he’s onto us, guys.
The sound of a belt sander and a woman screaming came through the phone, along with sinister laughter.
You son-of-a-bitch! shouted Breaker.
Zere he ist! said the Poet. Now, Breaker, you vill follow mine every instruction if you vant your doctor to surveeve.
Surveeve? asked Breaker.
Vhat?
Did you say surveeve?
Yes! shouted the Poet. If you vant Dr. Ling to surveeve.
Oh, you mean survive, don’t you?
The Poet let out a long breath. Yes, I vill kill Dr. Ling until you brink me zee package from the ship.
Where’s the package?
It is in size 13.
Size 13?
Yes, size 13. Bring me zee package by noon or Dr. Ling vill die a painful death.
Where do I bring it?
Zee fucking Buzz-Buzz Varehouse in zee fucking manufacture district!
The Buzz-Buzz Warehouse!? Breaker shouted. You bastard! You filthy vodka drinking…
You really are a broken record, Breaker, you know zis?
I’m gonna broken record your face, Z Poet!
I vill see you at noon, bye-bye Breaker. The phone clicked.
Breaker held the phone to his chest and said, I think he hung up.
Chapter VIII: Size 13 to the Trunk
The cargo containers were full of Reebok’s. There were literally a lot of them. The beef-boys searched high and low until they came across a box labeled: Mysterious Package, Do Not Open!
Should I open it? Breaker asked.
No, Brickbüster said, it says “Do not open!”
Yeah, but I think I’m gonna open it.
Wait, Brickbüster shouted.
Breaker opened the mysterious package and gazed at the bright thing inside, exclaiming, Oh my God!
What’s in it?! asked Punchout.
Breaker closed the mysterious package, a blank look on his face.
What’s in it? repeated Punchout.
You don’t even want to know, whispered Breaker.
What? asked Brickbüster. Stop whispering, Breaker, we can’t hear you.
I said, “You don’t even want to know.”
Yes we do, said Punchout.
No, insisted Breaker, you don’t even want to know.
We do want to know, said Brickbüster.
Is the Sparkonaut? asked Punchout.
Breaker looked surprised, What? How’d you know that?
Because that’s what Z Poet has been trying to get this whole time. I figured he still probably wants it.
Breaker laughed, Damn, Petey, you’re good.
Punchout smiled. Thanks Breaker.
So? asked Brickbüster. What’s in the box?
You don’t even want to know, repeated Breaker.
Oh, said Brickbüster. Thought I did, but…
You don’t, whispered Breaker.
OK, Brickbüster sighed.
Breaker tucked the mysterious package under his armpit, took off his old shoes, and tried on a pair of Reebok’s. Perfect, size 13, he said. He grabbed a stack of boxes and walked out of the cargo container. He did a quad-triple-twister and landed on the dock.
Where are we going now? asked Punchout, also holding a stack of shoeboxes.
The Buzz-Buzz Warehouse, Breaker growled.
Oh my God, growled Brickbüster, peeking out from behind his oversized stack of shoeboxes. You can’t be serious!
I’m serious as cancer.
That’s pretty serious, Punchout said.
Brickbüster nodded.
Breaker opened the door to the Skyline and popped the trunk. Come on, put your new shoes in the trunk.
Punchout and Brickbüster cartwheeled off the ship and onto the dock. They walked to the trunk, only to find an old man therein.
Who’s this guy? asked Punchout.
The old man smiled, Breaker! he shouted. Breaker, it’s me! Hazuwazatora!
Breaker clasped the old man under the armpits and hoisted him out of the trunk. Thought I’d never see you again, old timer.
Yes, said Hazuwazatora. You think I was minor character, but no, here I am again!
Who is this guy? asked Brickbüster.
Just an old friend, clarified Breaker.
Oh, smiled Brickbüster.
But why was he in the trunk? asked Punchout.
I owe money to bad guy, clarified Hazuwazatora.
Oh, that makes sense, said Brickbüster.
Wait, said Punchout, but wasn’t this guy in Japan?
Yeah, said Breaker. So?
So, why is he now in a trunk in India?
Why is the sky blue? asked Breaker.
Because of the ocean, Punchout answered.
No, no, no, it was a retardicle question, Breaker said, crushing his stack of shoeboxes into the trunk.
What’s that? asked Brickbüster.
That’s when it’s a question, but it’s actually a lie.
Oh, said Brickbüster.
You save my life, said Hazuwazatora.
Put it on my tab, Breaker growled.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, he said.
Just get in the car, Breaker said, we got a long drive ahead of us.
Wait! said Punchout. What about the ship?
Breaker pulled a grenade from his pocket, bit off the pin, chucked it onto the ship’s engine, and said, Sigh-oh-nara!
They got in the car as the ship blew up, destroying millions of sneakers and putting Reebok’s insurance to the test.
Chapter IX: Bubble-Gum Backup
Punchout drove at 135 miles-per-hour or more to the manufacturing district, no problem. He parked the Skyline outside the Buzz-Buzz Warehouse. The men dreaded what they had to do, but someone had to do the dirty work.
You stay out here, old man, Breaker insisted.
I watch for bad guys, Hazuwazatora smiled.
Don’t steal the car, said Brickbüster. We’ll need it to drive away.
Aye-aye captain, saluted the old man.
The three beefers strolled up to the armed guards at the door. You’re Breaker, aren’t you? one of the guards said.
You must be guard number 3, Breaker growled.
No, said the guard, I’m guard number 4. Then he pointed to the man on the opposite side of the door. That’s guard number 3.
Hey, whadya know, he can count, Breaker sneered.
The guard smiled and blushed. Thanks Breaker. But wait… Can’t most people count? he asked.
Not without a head, Breaker said.
Without a head? said guard number 4. That’s an unusual thing to say.
Breaker roundhouse kicked guard number 4’s head off and it landed in guard number 3’s arms. Guard number 3’s eyes bugged. You kicked his head off!
Head’s up, Breaker growled.
Huh? said guard number 3.
Breaker backflip super-kicked guard number 3’s head off too. It flew up and landed atop a flagpole, where the Japanese flag flapped in the wind. Breaker walked over and lowered it to half-mass.
Time for some mayhem, Breaker growled and kicked in the front door.
Within, there were men holding Uzi’s and children dressed in newspapers painting gumballs. None of the children were chewing gum. They knew better. The last kid that did that got put in The Blender. The Blender was a big blender for kids. It kept them in line.
The men with the Uzi’s started shooting at Breaker and company as the beefy men spun and swept henchmen legs. Newspapers crumpled as the children fled for their lives. Breaker grabbed a kid by the Taylor Swift on his collar and demanded, Where’s Z Poet?
Who? the boy whined.
Z Poet!
I don’t know! The boy squirmed under Breaker’s grip. Please, let me go mister. I have three kids to feed.
You have kids?
Three.
How old are you?
Seven.
How is that even possible?
Things are different here in the Orient, he clarified.
Oh yeah, that’s true, Breaker said. What about Kawasaki-Suzuki? Do you know where he is?
I just paint the gumballs, the boy offered. The man with the big words tells me what to do and I follow his orders or I will get put in the blender.
The man with the big words? Punchout stepped forward, squeezing a henchman in a headlock. Where is this… man with the big words?
The boy pointed to the office down a long hallway.
Breaker looked at Punchout and said, I think we got our man.
Brickbüster asked, Wait, so is it Kawasaki-Suzuki?
No, numb-nuts, Breaker grumped, Z Poet.
Huh? said Brickbüster. How do you know that?
Punchout sighed, The kid said it was the man with the big words…
Yeah? So? Brickbüster chewed on his lip.
Breaker threw the kid away and pulled Brickbüster down the hall, Just come on would you?
Wait! cried the boy. The man with the big words is gonna throw me in the blender for talking to you!
Breaker turned back to the boy and growled, Not if we throw him in first. He gave a solid thumbs up, muscles flexed, eyes earnest. The boy smiled.
Then Breaker started to leave again, but then the boy shouted out again, Breaker! Wait! The boy looked left and then looked right and waved Breaker to come closer. Breaker came closer. Never mind, don’t go down that way, it’s a trap, the boy was whispering now, barely audible over the gumball roller. There’s a wildcat robot in there. It will kill you and eat your body if you go down there.
No fucking way, Breaker smiled, turning to his crew. It’s Ultra-Cat 3000!
Sweet! said Brickbüster.
Breaker punched the kid in the gut and said, Thanks kid, we’ll take it from here.
The gumballs were spilling over the edges of the conveyor and were rolling around on the floor. The machinery was whining from the weight of the bubble-gum backup.
The three men tread carefully, painfully aware that any wrong move could lead to a serious twisted ankle or worse on those gumballs. In that moment, that moment just before everything was about to happen, they took no risks. Not with gumballs.
But then, in less than one tenth of a nanosecond everything changed.
Breaker stepped on a yellow gumball and slipped. Ahhh! he screamed as time seemed to stand still.
Sometimes that’s all it takes, one slip-up and your life is over. Not literally over, but pretty close.
At first Breaker’s leg rolled to the inside, which caused his foot to turn over on its side. Comets of pain unbearable up and down his entire leg shot through his leg like a comet. Nearly unbearable is pretty close to bearable, but this was bad.
Brickbüster and Punchout ran over to him, but it was too late. Their friend was going down and all they could do was watch. And it looked bad.
Breaker sat against the wall, cold sweat dripping down his face, Fucking gumball, he panted, holding onto his twisted ankle.
Punchout inspected Breaker’s injury and said, I’m sorry, Breaker. We’ll have to call in the choppers.
Brickbüster confirmed, Mission abortion.
But then, in that moment, Breaker’s cold sweat began to warm and the man, the beefcake-wonder-stallion, Bo Breaker, shook his head. No way, he growled, Not this time. He put his feet down on the floor and pushed his back up the wall, screaming and shaking with agony, Noooo! Waaay! Not this time! His body convulsed and his ankle buckled. Breaker sat, broken on the floor. He picked up a gumball and put it in his mouth. Not this time, he chewed, No way. Then, Breaker called out down the hallway, Keey-Ya!
From behind the door at the end of the hall came a sound that sounded not good, but that was actually really good: Bleep-blorp… meow…
C’mere big guy! Breaker wore a big dumb grin.
The door exploded like dynamite and Ultra-Cat 3000 blasted through to get to Breaker. The two fell into a violent embrace of pure no homo love. They rollicked on the floor like dolphins in the ocean’s waves. Ultra-Cat 3000’s silver tongue licked Breaker’s face and Breaker licked him right back.
OK, buddy, OK, Breaker laughed, patting his old friend’s rump and then hopping onto Ultra-Cat 3000’s back.
Bleep-blorp… meow, said Ultra-Cat 3000.
Breaker then waved the other men onward and growled, Let’s make some poetry.
Chapter X: Face Off
Breaker, Brickbüster, and Punchout got really pumped up, but they didn’t know where they were supposed to go, so they ended up doing a lot of wandering around and killing people. They killed 5 henchmen, 6 lackeys, and 3 cronies. They even killed a flunky, but that was by accident.
The first henchman had his head kicked into the rafters by Ultra-Cat 3000, where it got stuck between some girders. Breaker laughed, See anything interesting up there?
The second henchman snapped in half upon the railing around the gumball tumbler, squirting blood all over the place and staining some of the gumballs deep red. Every man bleeds, Breaker growled.
For the third, the fourth, and the fifth henchmen, Punchout slide-tackled them into The Blender. How about a smoothie, he said, pressing the blend button. The henchmen turned into a pink and brown milkshake.
The first and the second lackeys were gorilla pressed and dropped into the blender by Brickbüster. Punchout manned the blend button, pausing from time to time to stir up the contents with a big ass wooden spoon.
The third lackey slipped on a gumball and snapped his neck, killing him instantly.
The fourth lackey got a blast in the face from a shotgun stuffed with gumballs. Breaker couldn’t think of anything to say when he did that.
The fifth lackey also got shot in the face by a shotgun blast of gumballs. Gumballs, Breaker mumbled.
But then, the stupid shotgun jammed, so Breaker snapped it in half over Ultra-Cat 3000’s metal alloy forehead and stabbed the jagged end of the stock into the sixth lackey’s face. He growled, There’s literally a gun in your face.
Breaker, Punchout, and Brickbüster then unilaterally roundhouse kicked three cronies into a vat of boiling bubblegum goo. Their struggling hands and faces sinking and blowing the last bubbles of their lives. Come again when you can stay little longer, Brickbüster sneered.
The flunky was an accident. He’d been making pancakes in the attached kitchen when the melee broke out. The flunky then hid in the walk in freezer and got locked in there and froze to death. Nothing to do with the beefers.
The men stood there by the boiling bubble-gum, nearly panting, making bro-clasps and the like, when suddenly a voice rang out over the intercom system.
Zis ist zee only think I see
Zee golden death slumber
Zee hand of God I feel
Ist breaking zee thunder
Zist ist only thinks I sees
Zee silver birth numbers
Zee lips of God I kneel
Ist a collection of raindrops
What’s that supposed to mean? Brickbüster asked.
I think it’s about life, Breaker ruminated.
Who was that anyway? asked Brickbüster.
It vas me! shouted the Poet from behind them.
They spun around to find The Poet with a headset microphone, holding a razor sharp quill to Dr. Ling’s throat.
Dr. Wang! Breaker shouted.
It’s Dr. Ling, she whimpered.
Oh sorry, Breaker said. I meant Dr. Ling. I have trouble remembering weird Asian names.
It’s OK, she whispered. I love you Breaker.
Oh Jeez, Breaker grumbled. Really?
I’m pregnant Breaker, she sobbed.
Wait, did we even… Breaker rubbed his chin and then touched his crotch. No, I didn’t bang you. We didn’t even do mouth stuff, let alone v… va… aught…
Dr. Ling suddenly started to laugh, an evil laugh. No, of course we didn’t. Dr. Ling’s voice then metamorphosed, deepened, becoming a familiar voice. Maybe we were too busy playing Monopoly.
The Poet let go of his hostage, clearly confused.
What did you just say to me? Breaker said, squaring up with Dr. Ling.
I just took a shit this big.
Chad? Breaker cried. How can you be my brother Chad?
I can be your brother Chad like this. And with that, Dr. Ling grabbed under her jawline and pulled off her mask, revealing none other than Breaker’s brother Chad. And you’ve fallen right into my trap.
Breaker shook his head no, saying, That’s where you’re wrong, bruh. If I’ve fallen into your trap then you’ve fellen into mine.
You’re so stupid Breaker, Chad scowled. He still had boobs, which was pretty weird because it was Breaker’s brother. And now you’re gonna die, Chad hissed.
No way, compadre. Not while there’s still mucus in my body.
Wait! shouted Punchout, pushing The Poet aside and grabbing Chad. There’s another mask! Punchout grabbed under Chad’s jawline and peeled back another mask, revealing the face of none other than Dr. Ling!
Whoa! shouted Breaker. Wait a second! So he’s not actually my brother, but he’s… she’s…
That’s not your brother, said Brickbüster. That’s actually just Dr. Ling… again… I guess.
Well that’s fucking stupid, said Punchout.
Please explain what the fuck’s going on here, Breaker demanded.
The Poet cried out, She vanted to pretend to be your brother vithin zee confines of her feminine self.
What does that even mean? Breaker said.
Brickbüster spoke up, That queer over there is right. Sometimes a woman needs to see herself in the shoes of a man, in the shoes of herself… again… I guess.
I don’t get it, said Breaker.
Punchout nodded, It’s the same with butt pirates. We want to be able to be a person within a person within another person. It’s called a three-way.
Finally Breaker got it. I finally get it, Breaker said. It is called a three-way.
No homo? asked Brickbüster.
No homo, Breaker confirmed.
They looked to Punchout and he said, Bros before hoes… then he chuckled, adding, No homo, for sure.
Then, the men made the beefiest three-way bro-hand-clasp-of-power they’d literally ever made.
But then, The Poet pulled out a supercharged crossbow and shot a razor sharp arrow right into Brickbüster’s face.
Oh my God! Brickbüster cried. My face!
So much for your modeling career, laughed Breaker and the three beefers laughed, still clasping their bro-clasp. He grabbed the arrow and pulled it from Brickbüster’s face. There, Breaker said, about as good as it was before.
Chicks love scars, Brickbüster smiled, bleeding profusely.
Breaker let go of the clasp, pulled the bubble-gum from his mouth, and squashed it into the gore-hole in Brickbüster’s face, quelling the bleeding profusely. Then, he turned to The Poet and said, Your navel-grazing days are through, Z Poet.
The Poet was scrambling to place another arrow into his crossbow. Vhy did I choose zis crossbow?
Because you wanted to play a game that isn’t really a game at all, Breaker said ponderously, throwing himself off Ultra-Cat 3000’s back. He pulled out a bazooka and loaded it with a hydrogen missile. It’s a game called life.
You ztraight vhite men, alvays vit zee ztupid sayinks!
Wait, said Breaker, did you say straight?
He’s a queer, Breaker! shouted Brickbüster. A queer!!
No way, said Breaker, dropping his bazooka. I promised to never kill another gay as long as I live.
Just then, The Poet laughed and grabbed Dr. Ling again, putting the sharp quill to her throat. Your prejudices make you weak! Say goodbye to Dr. Ling and her boobs!
Help! shouted Dr. Ling, struggling.
Do something, Breaker! shouted Punchout. It’s OK to kill butt-pirates, as long as you know that they’re the bad kind!
But… ubba… b-bu… huh? Breaker confused.
You are so stupid, said The Poet, throwing the crossbow at Breaker. Vhy ist the vorld so full of idiots like you?
Chicks love scars, repeated Brickbüster.
And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that everyone hates poetry, growled Breaker.
How can you zay zomethink zo idiodic? You speak in absolutes, stupid American. You live hyperbole! How can zis go on? Tis’ you and your kind zat create var and vamine around zee vorld, and you zink zat you are zee heroes of zee poor and unfortunate, not even caring zat you are zee cause of zeir pain and zuffering.
Breaker sprinted right toward The Poet’s face at 135 miles per hour and stuffed a grenade down the gay man’s throat, ram-jamming it down his windpipe and pulling out his hand, holding the pin. Breaker then said, How’s that for pain and suffering?
The Poet couldn’t speak because he had a grenade in his windpipe.
Breaker clutched Dr. Ling and her big ol’ boobs under his arm and they dove for cover. Aiyeee! she squealed helplessly.
Then The Poet exploded.
Chapter XI: Super Dead
They burned down the Buzz-Buzz Warehouse and packed into the car. Dr. Ling sat on Breaker’s lap, her boobs bouncing like two big-ass bowls of Jell-O as they sped away.
Another successful mission, Brickbüster said.
We saved the babe and now I’m ready to bang, growled Breaker, slipping his tongue in and out of Dr. Ling’s open mouth. They groaned in their make-out pleasures.
What about Kawasaki-Suzuki? asked Hazuwazatora from the backseat. Do you find him?
Breaker pulled away from his make-out sesh and gasped for air. I guess he’ll just have to wait for another… wait… is that?
Punchout slammed on the brakes, for there, standing in the middle of the road, dripping in the monsoon rain, in waving gold cape and golden mask, holding a shimmering sword, stood none other than Kawasaki-Suzuki. He looked like a madman in the headlights, eyes a-goon. It was a Minusatsui samurai sword gripped in his hands, the most best samurai sword in the whole entire world.
Breaker got out of the car, plopping Dr. Ling onto the pavement, growling, I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of, eyes locked in a hate-lock with Kawasaki-Suzuki.
Breaker!! Kawasaki-Suzuki screamed, his breath of cloud, his face of fury. Where are my Reebok’s!?
Breaker clenched his fists and his joints popped, Unk, crackle, pop, popple, crack. He scowled and hissed, I got size a 13 right here for you. He held up his foot to show Kawasaki-Suzuki that he meant business.
If you do not retrieve my tennis shoe shipment, then Nike will surely take over the market, and Reebok shall fail. This is something I cannot allow.
Why, they’re not that great of shoes, are they?
They are the greatest in the world! And with the success of Reebok over Nike, I will soon take my place as Grand Dictator of my very own… how do you call it? my very own dog-and-pony-show of an empire.
How’d you hear that one?
I have been watching you very closely for a very long time, Breaker. I’m surprised that you were not aware of it.
Oh that’s right, you were the short guy with black hair.
Shut up, Breaker! You ignorant American fool! You could never understand the power of Reebok…
I smell a but…
But if you joined me, Kawasaki-Suzuki offered his bro-hand. We could dominate the athletic shoe industry!
I’ll never join you or your fucking corporation. I make my money the honest way: killing the hell out of people and stealing their shit. And I do it good.
What is it that you desire from this life? Reebok could make your wildest dreams come true.
What, like running a 5k? Fuck off, Kawasaki-Suzuki! Why don’t you go pump your shoes?
They do not have pumps anymore! At this, Kawasaki-Suzuki spun his sword in spirals around his body, really showing off, flipping and preening and all that. Reebok is the shoe of the next generation! You wait and see!
I don’t wait… Breaker spat, …and I don’t see.
Huh?
Breaker closed his eyes and power-squatted, arms flexed at akimbo. He listened to the wind, tasted the rain, sniffed a raindrop up his nose, and suddenly he wished he’d worn a coat. I don’t need my eyes anymore. They just make me see a bunch of bullshit. Everything I need is in the… Breaker was cut short by a swift kick to the throat. He fell onto the hood of the car and rolled backward over the windshield, splintering the glass. He stood up on the roof of the car and said, Punch it Petey!
The car lurched forward and hit Kawasaki-Suzuki, sending him like a literal cannonball over the hood and onto the roof. His custom made Minusatsui samurai sword pierced the windshield and stabbed straight through Brickbüster’s chest, severing every artery known to man. His blood sprayed like a hose with a thumb on the end of it. Oh my God! Brickbüster shouted. That’s a Minusatsui sword!
Overhead, the two men blasted one another with forearms to the face and fists to the guts. The dull thuds could be heard inside the crowded car.
Turn left here, Hazuwazatora suggested.
Huh? said Punchout, Tokyo drifting the Skyline around the corner. He slid the overloaded car into an alleyway, where some punk rockers were playing dominoes on a cardboard box. The punk rockers dove for cover as their game was ruined.
Take right at end of alley, Hazuwazatora said.
Where are you taking us old man?! Punchout screamed.
Super-Fun 411, said the old man. I late for work.
You can’t be serious, said Punchout, fishing a roll of duct tape and a pack of Bubble-Yum from the glove compartment. Here, Brickbüster, stop bleeding so much.
Take exit 16-B, Sushi Street, the old man instructed.
No! Shut up! shouted Punchout. Just let me drive!
Overhead, Kawasaki-Suzuki pulled the sword back out of the windshield and Brickbüster. Brickbüster screamed. Then, in less than a micro-nanosecond, the sword swiped at Breaker’s face, trimming his five o’clock shadow to the skin. Breaker found a brick and picked it up, smashing his nemesis in the face with it. Then, he grabbed a long piece of rebar and slammed it into the shape of Kawasaki-Suzuki’s head. Just in that moment, the sword sliced three of Breaker’s fingers off his left hand. Gahh! he shouted, fountains of blood spraying all over him. The sound of the sword reached him faster than the speed of sound and the sword sliced his right hand clean off faster than the speed of light. It was bad because Breaker had never won a fight without his right hand. He wasn’t sure it was possible.
Kawasaki-Suzuki laughed, Mwah-ha-ha-ha! and plunged his sword down through the roof of the car, slicing Dr. Ling’s boobs right off and sending them flying out the window.
She cried out in pain, My tits! Not my tits!!
Breaker bellowed, NOOO!! and tackled Kawasaki-Suzuki off the roof of the speeding Skyline and they fell over the side of an overpass and down to a shanty town under the bridge. A bunch of vagrants awoke from their slumbers and screamed things like, I warned you, Lee-Roy! and They’re taking my couscous! and Tell my kids I’m dead!
Breaker back flipped out from a crumpled refrigerator box, but as he flew through the air, Kawasaki-Suzuki’s ninja star spun right into Breaker’s spine, severing every nerve known to man. He was done for. Breaker collapsed like a wino on a Sunday.
Kawasaki-Suzuki stepped out from a sheet metal shed and pressed his samurai sword into Breaker’s jugular, sending a cascade of crimson across his golden mask. He twisted the sword and Breaker’s head detached from his body, tumbling into the septic gutter. Breaker’s body twitched and Kawasaki-Suzuki got out an Uzi and blasted 99 rounds into what was left of Breaker, making him look like a poorly prepared pile of spaghetti. He then shoved a stick of dynamite up what was left of Breaker’s ass and lit the fuse, running and hiding behind a pile of shopping carts. Then, in that moment, Breaker exploded, sending bone shrapnel and all sorts of gory bits splattering across the shantytown, coating the stinky hobos in the filth of his former body.
There was nothing left of Breaker. He was super dead. Just some stains on the sidewalk and splatters on some upset bums. Kawasaki-Suzuki laughed maniacally, raising his hands in triumph. Finally! he cried, I have defeated Bo Breaker!
A grizzled old man offered Kawasaki-Suzuki a high-five, saying, Great job, bud, but the evil ninja sliced the unfortunate fellow in half, right down the middle. He ran away on silent feet in the heavy rain.
Chapter XII: 2 Dead 2 Die
The Skyline screeched to a halt before the on-looking vagabonds and Punchout jumped out, followed by a severely slowed down Brickbüster. Kawasaki-Suzuki cackled from the overpass above, seated on a lawn chair on the roof of a speeding white van.
Ah! Brickbüster cried out as he tried to walk, I don’t have any arteries left. I think I need to sit down. He sat down, slowly tumbling into the grips of death.
Dr. Ling fell out of the car onto the dirty pavement, stone cold dead because her boobs were gone.
Hazuwazatora scratched his belly and said, This place no good. We get mugged here.
Punchout found Breaker there in puddle of flesh. He leaned down to him and cried, Talk me, Breaker! Talk to me! He shook a wad of pink muscle tissue. Breaker, are you OK?!
Breaker could barely speak because his head was detached and his body was obliterated and the dynamite had literally blown him into tiny bits, but he spoke in a dying whisper, I don’t think I’m gonna make it, bruh. Not this time.
Punchout consoled his old friend, Don’t say that. It’s like you always said, Never say never.
I never said that, gurgled Breaker.
I know, but it seemed like you were about to say it.
I was definitely thinking it, Breaker groaned, trying to sit up, but failing because literally every nerve known to man had been destroyed and his head was lying twenty-five feet away in a gutter full of hobo piss. Then, in that tragic moment, Breaker sighed. It was a death sigh because he was super dead.
I think Breaker’s dead, said Punchout.
Brickbüster had his eyes clamped shut, holding his side and gasping for air.
Dr. Ling was ice cold, dead as a dead mouse in a mousetrap, boobs left to fade away like sandy boobs in the wind.
Hazuwazatora leaned over Breaker, How he talk? He got no head!
Tell us something we don’t know! snapped Brickbüster.
The old man sighed and looked back at the Skyline. Oh boy, he said, I know this not good time, but I late for work. Need to go.
Shut old man! cried Punchout, losing his patience. This is not the… not… Suddenly, Punchout’s eyes bugged and he turned abruptly toward the car. Sparkonaut! he shouted. A dead sprint to the car and he grabbed the metal box from the vehicle. When I said not, it reminded me of the Sparkonaut because it ends with -naut!
What are the chances?! whimpered Brickbüster.
Punchout opened the box, releasing the Sparkonaut once and for all and said, Never say never. A great light shone out of the box and Punchout dropped it. The box hit the ground and started to shake.
He not say never, Hazuwazatora corrected.
What’s happening? asked Brickbüster.
I think it’s the Sparkonaut, said Punchout. I think it’s coming out of the box.
But that’s impossible! said Hazuwazatora.
Anything is possible if you don’t say never, Punchout said. Because something’s only impossible because someone didn’t say that.
And even then, said Brickbüster, it’s not.
Hazuwazatora looked at his watch, Manager be very angry. I might lose job.
The light from the box grew in brightness and vigor of shaking, making a booming rumble and scaring the vagrants away. Everyone shielded their eyes against the vibrant glare that now melted the metal box. The earth shook and the overpass crumbled, sending concrete blocks falling down atop the shantytown, crushing many innocent bums.
The beefy men ducked under a tarp and could only watch the mayhem unfold before them. There were hobos doing cartwheels and shopping carts rolling all over the place. A heroin addict dropped her needle and cried out in despair as she tumbled to the floor. A boom box beside her got crushed by a concrete block and Hoobastank ceased to rock.
The light from the melting metal box shot up into the air and the pavement below it bowed, forming a deep bowl with the box in the center. An explosion went off and everyone fell to the ground, covering their heads. The shantytown was filled with white-hot light.
Everything went silent and the smoke and the dust began to settle. Punchout coughed and crawled to the edge of the crater in the pavement. The box had been blasted into a thousand pieces and all that was left was the Sparkonaut itself. It stood on two tiny feet and had two tiny arms. Its body/face was a white fuzzy ball that stood no more than a foot tall. The Sparkonaut blinked its grey little eyes, rubbing the dust from them and coughing up sparks.
What the hell is it? gasped Brickbüster, still spouting blood from his every artery known to man. Is that?
The little Sparkonaut shook its fuzz like a wet dog, smiled its strange little smile, and picked up its cane and hat, placing the tiny hat upon its tiny head. Then with a sparkling kick of the cane and a slight flourish, the little critter fell into a song and dance, sparks spraying with every step, its voice like a helium munchkin.
I talk to frogs all the time
And hear ‘bout things on their mind
And, ohhh, Denmark in the summer
I walk with Tom in the moooonlight
Drinking gin all through the night
And, ohhh, Denmark in the summer
Punchout scratched his head.
Hazuwazatora spoke into his phone, Yes, I need taxi in Shantytown… Don’t worry I not bum. I work at Super-Fun 411!
As the Sparkonaut continued its little song and dance, Brickbüster died because he was all out of arteries.
In the summer, la-l-la lie. In the summer, he and I
Doot toot doodle-ee-oot doot doo doot
Denmark in the summer
Punchout fell to his knees and cried, as the Sparkonaut spasmodically continued its performance for a mostly dead audience. Punchout sobbed, All this death and suffering just for some stupid song…
The Sparkonaut’s singing fizzled out and it crawled out of the crater. It continued to hum the tune as it strolled over to Punchout. Its tiny sparks sputtering and illuminating Shantytown, the Sparkonaut spoke in its ridiculous little voice: Hey buddy. Everything OK?
Punchout scowled at the thing. You’re the reason they’re dead, he growled. Why don’t you just crawl into a hole and die?
Too dead for that, laughed the Sparkonaut.
Huh?
Too dead already, the Sparkonaut smiled.
Well lucky you, he sobbed.
I’m powerful too, sparked the little creature.
Doubt it, said Punchout. You’re just a little pipsqueak nothing. What could you ever do to help? All my friends are dead!
We’ll see about that! said the Sparkonaut. The little critter scouted around and found a bucket. It dumped out the yellowish-brown water and handed the bucket to Punchout. Here, it said. Then, as if by divine providence, the Sparkonaut fetched a shovel from one of the hovels. It handed that to Punchout too, saying, Here.
What’s this for?
We’ll need to collect him.
I don’t take orders from some weird little government experiment! Punchout exclaimed, throwing the shovel and the bucket away.
The Sparkonaut shrugged and began shoveling the pile of Breaker into the bucket.
A taxi arrived and Hazuwazatora shouted, Sorry, must leave! Late for work! Sorry I not help more! He got in and the taxi drove away.
The Sparkonaut’s shovel scraped the pavement and soon the bucket was brimming full of Breaker. The critter then fished Breaker’s decapitated head from the pool of hobo urine, hobbled it over to the bucket, and placed it on top. Then, the Sparkonaut began to sing and dance again, spinning its cane and joyfully sliding its nimble little sparkling feet.
In the summer, la-l-la lie. In the summer, he and I
And as that fuzzy little fellow pranced and sang, very unusual things started to happen: the bucket spun in place and wobbled on its edges; Dr. Ling’s boobs got up from the side of the road and trotted like two boob-ponies toward her dead body; and Brickbüster gasped and cried out, What the fuck is happening to me?!
Punchout’s eyes bugged at the scene unfolding before him.
Chapter XIII: After Math
Nine months later…
Punchout’s Fiat blasted through the glass double-doors of the hospital, while Punchout finished his sidewalk tumble, outside. He held an oversized bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath and a 5-foot teddy bear with a fat red bow. He smiled and said, Damn, I’m good.
He strolled in and took the elevator to the 4th floor. He spoke with the nurse at the nursing station. Hi, I’m here to see the Viper.
The nurse smiled and said, Oh yeah, the Viper! She just popped out a big ol’ baby.
Already? I missed it?
Yeah, said the nurse. She leaned in close to whisper, It came out of her vagina.
Wow!
Yeah, it was pretty gross.
I bet! Punchout said, I don’t even like vaginas.
Hey, me neither! the nurse laughed. What a small world.
So, can we stop talking now? I don’t like you, Punchout grimaced.
Hm… said the nurse with a frown. I guess that makes sense.
I was only talking to you so you could tell me where to go.
The nurse nodded, Yeah, I figured. Should of guessed you wouldn’t want to talk to an old plain Jane like me.
Correct.
What are you doing later? she asked hopefully. I get off in forty-five minutes if you want some company later?
Gross, cringed Punchout.
OK, coo, coo... the nurse sighed and rubbed her sweaty palms on her scrubs. Well, if you change your mind, my name’s Nurse Number 1. She shoved the nametag on her bosom at the poor gay fellow. You know, in case you want to find me later.
Coming up from behind Nurse Number 1, Nurse Number 2 rolled up in a chair, wearing a stupid grin and said, Hi.
This is really boring, Punchout said and held up the teddy bear. And this teddy bear is getting kind of heavy. So just tell me where the Viper is.
Nurse Number 1 sighed and nodded, Sorry for running my mouth too much. I always do that.
Nurse Number 2 nodded her head, She does that all the time.
Nurse Number 1 breathed in deeply. So! The Viper is in room…
420, interjected Nurse Number 2.
Yes, said Nurse Number 1, waving her co-worker away. She’s in room 420.
Right on, Punchout said and moved away from the desk.
Thanks for stopping to chat. You’re really funny and sweet and…
Fuck off, Punchout grumbled as he walked away.
Sure, said Nurse Number 1 with a somber smile, No problem. Have a great rest of your day.
Punchout was already down the hall.
Brickbüster swaggered in, sniffing his breath and running his fingers through his thinning hair. Hi there, he pointed to the nurse’s nametag, How do you pronounce your name?
Nurse Number 1 turned and scoffed, It’s pronounced “what the fuck do you want?”
Oh, Brickbüster said. I’m… sorry, I… I, um…
What are you fucking stupid? Nurse Number 2 threw in. Just tell us why you’re here.
Brickbüster’s eyes bugged and he blew out a long breath. I’m here to see Bo Breaker. Just wondering…
Just wondering what? said Nurse Number 1.
What room…
Nurse Number 2 cut in again, What is this, fucking charades? Get to the point old man.
I’m here to visit a man named Boseph Bubbala Breaker.
The nurses laughed.
Nurse Number 2 spoke in her final line of the book, so she really tried to make this one count, she said, What kind of a parent names their kid something like that! Aaah-ha-ha-ha!
Nurse Number 1 took her cue from Nurse Number 2 and really laid it on thick, screeching, It’s room 421, you fat fuck!
Nurse Number 2 was banging.
They both had tons of boobs and cleavage showing and they both had legs from Calcutta to Kolkata.
OK, said Brickbüster, wondering why he was always so mistreated. He concluded that it was because he was white. Thank you for your hospitality, Brickbüster said with a bow, then added, you dumb cunts, a shit-eating grin crossing his face as he turned to leave.
And in the last moments of their cameos, the nurses just barely overplayed how nonplussed they were about being called cunts.
Brickbüster swaggered as he walked away on his brand new arms, brand new legs, brand new arteries, etc.
But when he got to room 421, there was no one there! The room was totally empty. Breaker was gone. Breaker was somewhere else other than room 421. Brickbüster was sure of it, because the room was empty. So, he pulled out his jammy and cocked the ma’fucker, putting one in the chamber, click-click. He was bouta shoot someone.
Breaker!? Brickbüster barked. Breaker! Hey! He rounded the corner, seeing that Breaker was completely not there. Well, whoever’s in here is bouta get blasted! Click-click-blow!
No one answered.
You ready to die?! Heh?!
Just then, out from the little bathroom stumbled Dr. Ling, buttoning up her blouse and holding a bottle of K-Y in her teeth. She gasped and both of her boobs popped out at once and her pants fell all the way down to the ground and the K-Y squirted across the room because she clenched her teeth. Her hair was all sexed up and her cheeks were a “just boned” rosy-pink, because she had just finished having sexual intercourse with Breaker in the little bathroom.
Oh hello, smiled Brickbüster.
Excuse me, said Dr. Ling, pulling up her pants and drooling more lube all over her supersized boobs.
Ah, Breaker gave the thingy to you, didn’t he?
The thingy? asked Dr. Ling tucking a braless knocker back into her silk blouse. What is the thingy?
You know, his pork sword, his schlong, his dong, Brickbüster clarified. He put his penis into your… your va… v… you know, that thing right there, and he pointed to her bush.
Dr. Ling giggled like a horny Catholic schoolgirl on spring break and she wiped some ejaculate from her engorged, freshly-split-figgy lips. Oh sure, he put his penis in here, she lifted her leg and pointed.
Awesome!
And in here of course, she pointed up higher. Just to get him warmed up.
Niice!
And then he squeezed it in here too, she bent over and pointed to the last place Breaker put his penis.
Wowzers! That’s ambitious!
She flipped her head back up and she was beaming. It was sextacular, she said with a smile.
So, where is Breaker?
Dr. Ling finished doing up her blouse and looked around the room. I don’t know. He was just here humping me in the bathroom.
But then they heard it. It was a sound they heard. They liked the sound because it was a good sound. It was the sound of the wind, the wind blowing in through the Plexiglas window. The window had a hole in it. A hole in the exact shape of Bo Breaker.
Crazy bastard, Brickbüster laughed.
Chapter XIV: Warriors United
200,000 miles away, in Detroit, Michigan, Strike-Force 1 was kicking out the jams full-throttle. The crowd shook wild, bottles flew in and out of the pit, the moshers moshed, the skankers skanked, and the Rastafarians bounced. It’d been a year since Strike-Force had been to town. Rumor had it that they might never return, that Bo Breaker was dead or that the band was on a permanent hiatus. But luckily, for lovers of great tunes and sick licks, rumors are always wrong.
It was crowd of 200,000 or more, a really big-ass crowd, even for Detroit, all packed into a club with a capacity of 2,500. It was tight. It seemed impossible, but everything’s possible sometimes, especially impossible things like packing people in like that when there’s sick-ass sounds going down and the people are vibing hard.
Strike-Force 1’s guitarist, Skinny Clyde, wailed and whammied, slid and skeedle-ee-deedle-eed up and down the neck of his angular black Ibanez 7-string. The Lime Green Rocker, now subjugated to the keyboards, sounded like ten thousand choral singers and a drunken symphony. Stinky Greg slopped around on his cheap-o Peavy bass, huffing and chopping and chugging away. Dead Frank slammed the skins, double-bass in a double-fury of double-rhythms and blast-beats. Lime Green Rocker and Stinky Greg sang backup vocals into their microphones: Warriors united! and the band played: {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh} Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh}
Dangling and flailing over the pulsing crowd, a fully naked man climbed up into the rafters, monkey-like feet hooked around pipes, ducts, and girders. A mirror ball flashed in the strobe and the smoke machine made visible the air. Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh} Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh} Arms and legs and mops of hair flailing and bodies over bodies in waves, jumping and punching and kicking and pushing to get at the stage where extra beefy security guards struggled to keep control of the wild spectators, pulling crowd surfers to safety and pointing and yelling into walkie-talkies on their shoulders. The walls sweated and the floors slipped. 200,000 bodies impossibly smashing and joyfully struggling with and against one another, forming a bubbling mass of furious bodily expression to Strike-Force 1’s signature style of speed-metal.
Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-chunk}
Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-chunk}
The song was called Warriors United.
Then, from somewhere unseen, came Breaker’s fierce falsetto scream: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaariors united!!! and the crowd went even bezerker than before as Breaker rode out onto the stage atop Ultra Cat 3000, holding a battle axe over his head.
I’ll kick in your teeth, {ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh}
Explode your nose, {ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh}
Drain your veins, {ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh}
As the warriors grow!! {skiddle-ee-diddly-scree!}
Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-chunk}
Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-chunk}
I am the fierce one, {ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh}
The blood of a dragon, {ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh}
A taste of the real one, {ch-ch-ch-chunk-uh}
Like a blast from a shotgun! {skiddle-ee-diddly-scree!}
Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-chunk}
Warriors united! {chunk-uh-chunk-uh-ch-chunk}
And with that, Skinny Clyde went wild, playing the best guitar solo of all time, hands down, whammy-jammies, pinched-harmonics, scales-upon-scales, string-skimmers, hammer-ons, wild bends, and skeedle-ee-deets.
Breaker rode off stage to his longtime friend, Dennis Rodman, who was vibin’ hard at the side of the stage. He took a hit from Dennis Rodman’s pipe, the solo going long, and in the shadows backstage, behind a group of breastacular groupies, Breaker saw a flicker of gold. Wait a second… Who’s that? he asked Dennis Rodman.
Man, I don’t give a fuck, Dennis Rodman said.
Then Breaker heard the sound of a flute, playing along with the speed-metal and he knew just whom it was. It was his nemesis and sworn enemy, Kawasaki-Suzuki!
Hey! Breaker shouted, dismounting Ultra-Cat 3000, and out from the shadows appeared none other than Breaker’s sworn enemy and nemesis, Kawasaki-Suzuki.
Greetings Breaker, Kawasaki-Suzuki said.
Breaker didn’t hesitate to attack. He grabbed a curtain and swung his beef-stump of a leg right into Kawasaki-Suzuki’s face. The golden ninja fell back against the ropes that held the curtains up, his razor sharp sword cutting every single rope, and the curtains all fell down, unveiling the backstage to the audience. Dennis Rodman ducked out the back door, hiding his pipe. Breaker picked up Kawasaki-Suzuki by the throat and threw him through the back door, exploding the stainless steel door. Outside, snow was falling and the streetlights were on. The alleyway was vacant, aside from Dennis Rodman hiding in a doorway. Breaker picked his nemesis up by the golden cape and spun him around and around, then smashing him against a metal dumpster. The dumpster exploded into a raging fire. The alleyway must have been pretty soaked in oil because the whole entire alley ignited with red-hot burning fire.
Damn! shouted Dennis Rodman from the now illuminated doorway. All this shit’s on fire my dude.
Breaker triple-axled a boot ripper right across Kawasaki-Suzuki’s teeth, knocking them all out. The teeth rattled across the pavement. My teeth! he cried. Now how am I supposed to chew anything?!
Don’t worry, Breaker growled, dead men don’t need food.
Kawasaki-Suzuki jet-rocketed his foot directly into Breaker’s face, busting his nose askew. Then three hundred punches landed right in Breaker’s breadbasket in practically literally two seconds. Oof! he shouted. Then came the samurai sword, but Breaker was too fast for it, he caught the blade between his thumb and his forefinger and bent it back until it pointed at Kawasaki-Suzuki’s face. Quit cutting yourself, Breaker hissed as he swiped Kawasaki-Suzuki’s own blade across his golden mask, splattering blood across the snow.
Kawasaki-Suzuki did a sick backflip and landed perched atop the edge of the burning dumpster. He wiped the blood from his face, flicked it away, and beckoned Breaker nearer.
You just don’t know when to quit, do you? Breaker chuckled.
Look who’s talking! Kawasaki-Suzuki yelled. I decapitated you, shot you 99 times, and detonated a stick of dynamite up your ass!
No rest for the wicked, Breaker growled, charging the dumpster and knocking the ninja to the ground. You’ll have to do a lot better than all that if you want me dead!
Hell yeah! shouted Dennis Rodman. Kick his ass Breaker!
Kawasaki-Suzuki leapt to his feet and punched his fist through a car window and grabbed a pair of nunchucks from within. In a fury, he sprinted at Breaker, smashing his face with the hard nunchucks at lightning speed. Breaker saw flashes with each and every smack. He fell to his knees. The melee continued upon his shattering skull, blood spraying all over the snow in fatty-squirts. Breaker cried out, Gaah! but then he executed a perfect double-leg take-down right into and through the brick wall behind Kawasaki-Suzuki. The men bashed all the way through the brick wall and into the supermarket on the other side and fell over a display of limes. The customers ran for their lives. Without pause, Breaker picked up a lime and juiced it right into Kawasaki-Suzuki’s eyeball.
Ahhh! the golden ninja screamed in citrus-agony.
How ‘bout a Corona with that lime? Breaker growled as he picked up a bottle of Corona beer and smashed it over Kawasaki-Suzuki’s skull and then shoved the jagged glass directly into Kawasaki-Suzuki’s ear-hole. How’s that sound?!
I prefer Bud Light, Kawasaki-Suzuki said, smashing and then plunging a really gay looking bottle into Breaker’s gut, splattering blood across the checkered floor of aisle nine.
Glut! Breaker spat blood.
Then, Kawasaki-Suzuki picked up the entire refrigerator case and smashed it over Breaker’s head, encasing him in shattered bottles of all kinds. Without pause, Breaker ran himself and the refrigerator right into his nemesis and they both smashed through the double-doors to the meat department.
Back at the club, Strike-Force 1 continued to rock-the-fuck-out, full throttle, and at deafening volume, unconcerned with the absence of their lead singer.
The pit was mad sick, going crazy! The naked man climbing in the rafters jumped and grabbed ahold of the disco ball, which fell, smashing on the floor, knocking out the power to the stage, virtually silencing the guitars and keyboards, leaving only the smack of drums fading in the darkness. The audience of 200,000 cried out, Awwww! as the room went dark.
Breaker pushed past the double-doors, now leaving the meat department, holding his head and blinking a lot. Oh God, what have I done? he cried, blood dripping from his apron. I must be losing my mind, he concluded. Removing the bloody butcher’s apron and blowing out his nose, Breaker exclaimed, Ugh! I can taste it! What’ve I done? I need some… in an instant Breaker set off at a dead sprint for the candy aisle. Bubble-Yum! he cried, grasping the colorful package in his bloody fist. He forced the pink cubes past his lips and panted through his nose while he chewed. Goddamn, he sighed, That was really gross.
Over the speakers, Paul McCartney sang about Christmas at low volume.
The florescent lights buzzed.
There was no one in the store anymore.
Back at the venue, the power suddenly turned back on and the speakers started to push air again. Stinky Greg’s bass, which hung from his neck while he chatted with a homely groupie and drank a bottle of banquet beer, well, his bass started to hum as the feedback began. The guitars screamed, Waahhahahahahahahahahahah! The audience went ape-shit. The naked guy got kicked-the-fuck-out by the beefer security bros and the show was ready to pop off again.
{Wowmp! Wow-wah-now!} screamed the opening riff to Grand Canyon Woman! {diddle-ee diddle-ee, Wowmp! Wow-now-wow-wowmp!} Skinny Clyde reignited the fire with his luscious licks and the band sped into their latest #1 hit single.
Just in that moment, Breaker heard the opening riff to Strike-Force 1’s #1 hit single, Grand Canyon Woman!
Oh shit, he said to himself and ran for the door. He bolted at top speed down the street to the club, where the door-guy asked him for ID. No time, he murmured before knocking the big boy out with one punch to the face. He ran inside the club, but the place was packed, wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling people rocking-the-fuck-out. Breaker sprinted right through the crowd, no problem.
Until he was accosted by some hot chick in a mini. No time, he murmured and then he coldcocked her, lights out babe. She was already out cold.
Then the band’s manager Effen Geffen ran up and started asking Breaker a bunch of bullshit questions.
No time, Breaker shouted over the din of the crowd and elbow-uppercutted the rich dork straight up into the air, through the fucking ceiling and out into the Detroit starry night.
Breaker pushed faces out of the way as he approached the stage. He triple-axle flippied up onto the stage, gripped the microphone in his bloody fist, and sang.
And the boys sang along:
Grand Canyon Woman! {Wowmp! Wow-nah-wow!}
Smell her on the breeze! {schuck-uh-chuck, Wowmp!}
Tasty on her knees! {Wock-uh-chowww! Wowmp-wow!}
She’s bigger than everything! {Wowmp! Wow-wah-now!}
And then, the audience of 200,000 souls or more thrust their fists into the sky and sang along with Strike-Force 1’s #1 hit, Grand Canyon Woman!
Everybody sang:
Grand Canyon Woman! {Wowmp! Wow-nah-wow!}
Give her a squeeze! {schuck-uh-chuck, Wowmp!}
Hump her up, if you please! {Wock-uh-chowww! Womp!}
She’s bigger than everything! {Wowmp! Wow-wah-now!}
Grand Canyon Woman!
And there, way back in the supermarket, past the checkout counters, past the colorful Kellogg’s display, and down aisle 3, where bloody Reebok prints were smeared, way back there, in the meat department, yeah there, there hanging from a hook in the mother-fucking meat freezer was none other than Kawasaki-Suzuki, or what was left of him anyway: his face was entirely missing, ears gone, scalp lost, arms and legs severed and hung on other nearby hooks, empty sockets slowly dripping his congealed, gummy blood. He was also cut right up the middle and he was super dead.
And Strike-Force 1 rocked-the-fuck-out as everything faded to black…
Bo Breaker: Face Facts
Starring (in order of appearance)
Bo Breaker Eberhard Von Lichtenschtein
Linebacker Number 1 Dungaree Flaxom-Jacksom
Linebacker Number 2 György Ballzalot
Man with Uzi Ben Dunn
Henchman 1 Dük-Dük Güse
Bug-eyed kid Skippy Jones
Intern Samurai Tré Dinglehopper
Mr. Mazdamiata Duh Dunckel Barnacle
Mr. Hazuwazatora Sir Ming Ling Chingy Bong Dong
Vomit Bjorn Fjorgenbjorgensenbjerg
Blaster Clydesdale McGovern
Other Punk Rocker Maximillian X. Douleaux
Rochelle Cheryl Climbaboard
Sergeant-Major Mastiff Herbert “Squirmin” Sherman
Dr. Ling Fergi Oberto-Mustard
Kawasaki-Suzuki’s driver Leonard Marvin
Horse keeper Menztrale Steverbeast
Mr. Phoq-Nyut Bun Flexington
The Poet Jacques Du Manet-ou-Monet-le-Troisieme
Secretary Betty Helmut Bünst Décolletage
Sergeant Wülf Brickbüster Dario Mario Dorito
The Intern Eugene Belvis
Petey Punchout Riggins Necropolis
Pissing Viet Cong John Ashlyck
Stinky Greg Frankie Farkenheimer
The Lime Green Rocker Delvin Hoobernoodle
Surgeon Number 1 Lawrence Montague Chode
Surgeon Number 2 Jefferson Tentpole
Assistant to Surgeon Number 1 Montezuma Berrypi
Assistant to Surgeon Number 2 Lil’ Clockin’ Dollaz
Rosie Saw-Say Guerrerra
The Man in the Cardigan Sweater Parsalee Llewellyn
Barb Lil’ Shawty Bennington
The Janitor Jesus Gomez-Garcia-Lopez
Man Trying to Exit the Bathroom Renshaw Gloss
Montalban “Bunny Boi” Ortega hisself
Big Bear of a Doorman Blair Kuntz
Terry Chris Heimlich Don Bronson
Barbarian Woman Padusa Maxim
Barbarian Chief MC Hollabakk
Poetry Nerd Number 1 Den L. Flen
Poetry Nerd Number 2 Ren J. Ben
Nakia Helga Bichich
Miner Number 1 Dirk Twerble
Foreman Reginald Commasplice
Other Miners Buggins Flufferdale, McNasty Jaxon,
Runner L. Bigmuff, Donnie Two-Toes,
Bastian Fatterson, Cloverdong Spandex,
Edward Steward III, and Buck Stanky
Big Mama Brickbüster Sha-Sha Betts
Chad Breaker Gavin Vanderhaus
The other boys Steven W. Gunner and Curtis Pip
The Chief’s daughter Sharon Butts
Johnny Piper Rex McKennedy
Douglas Duggins Tom Cruise
Bobboran Duggins Pinkie Del Mar
Young man at front desk Oliver Close
The regular president Dick Lippy
Snuhnuh Nuhmubba-Grub Bub W. Tubbinscrub
The Viper Mackinzay Ramzee Johnsonwhammo
Adam Boom-Boom Glockenheimer Buster Buttons
Emergency room doctor Chuck Spanker
The skipper Doyle Boingus
The captain Lance K. Walmart
Kawasaki-Suzuki’s lackey Fred Bledsoe
Guard Number 4 Marvin Stallbuddy
Guard Number 3 Stenislaw Googlet Üblick
Newspaper kid Lil’ Boing-Boing
Henchmen Crazy Steve Cleaver, Phil McCracken,
Lil’ Love Munchkin, Kandy Kane Dave,
and Lou Blue
Lackeys Donny Handcuff, Jar Margon, Steak-Face,
Bjorn Yergen, Bjergen Chergen, & Chirp Nerfle
Cronies Fat Tony, Louie Coldblood, and D.J. Banga
Flunky Roy Pert
High-fiving hobo Washington Hoobaschnatch
Nurse Number 1 Beth Dung
Nurse Number 2 Binga Ramashee
Skinny Clyde Johnny Slippers
Dead Frank Stars-n-bars Kimball
Naked guy Rowdee Roddee Quincunx
Dennis Rodman himself
Beefer security guys Burt Hurtle, Phil Clobb, George Porsche,
Brock Wunderwock, and Lil’ Kiev
Door-guy Stone Rockaly
Hot chick in a mini Bunny Hardone
Steffen Geffen Jamie Pedicure
Dedicated to Ben D. Beaver (1972 – 2024), bummed cuz he died
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