I picked up the command vehicle from the rent-a-tank store on Friday. It was painted a nice shad of metallic babyshit brown. After acquainting myself with it for the weekend (which mainly consisted of driving it to a July 4th party up streets in the Roxborough section of Philly which were laid out in the 1600's for horse and buggy) and now serve as training roads for Tour De France hopefuls who need practice in the mountains. I took the deluge on the way home as an omen.
Come Sunday i was prepared at teh crack of dawn for our trek. Unfortunatley I wasn't scheduled to pick up Reaper til 3:30 p.m. (To you Europeans that would be 30 ounces after 3 dimes).
I left early to stop at Canal's discount liquors in Marlton in order to buy an assortment of good locally brewed beer and McGoogan's ghastly request of Bud Ice. The Bud Ice wasn't hard to come by (though I did have to ask for a wet paper towel to wipe off the cobwebs) but it seems most of the good local beer had left for the holiday already.
I bought gas from the only non English speaking Indian in all of South Jersey and he put in $5 US (4 pounds, 3 ounces) instead of filling it up as I asked. No problem I thought I can always get more later.
I made it to Reaper's only 20 minutes late. I should have realized at that point that never has followed his own directions. I was surprised to find he looked like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction. He even had a gun. I was thinking he'd look more like Jerry Lewis in the Nutty Professor. I thought the border guards would treat me like the nutty professor if they saw that paintball gun. We took the long route through north Philly to the airport. It didnt' matter as the genius' that schedule planes into the Philly Airport saw fit to have 4 land at the same time leading to massive backups at the baggage claim area. Gungho evidently packed several formal dresses, her armor, those damned titanium laced panties and God know what else in her steamer trunk because I had to orbit the airport concourse in the command vehicle until I almost ran out of gas waiting for them to grab her gear.
Finally we got Gunny and all her stuff loaded on board all the while being glared at by several of Philly's finest (well maybe not finest, they are aiport cops after all) who no doubt were wondering what a couple of seedy looking characters were doing with such a fine example of American womanhood.
Then we were off. On out of the city past the naval base where old remnants of the US Navy reside. 2 battleships, 3 aircraft carriers and the rest of a fleet, that by the way, is available for sale. Those aircraft carriers would look awfully good sailing off Newfoundland keeping Greenland safe for democracy. But I digress.
West onto the PA turnpike to Harrisburg and then north on Route 322, a fine 4 lane highway along the scenic Juaniata River in some nice hills as dusk fell. What did it matter that Gunny and Reaper were smacking each other and generally acting like 2 puppies from the same litter fighting over a bone. I wasn't going to let their snarling and yelping bother me. I was on vacation! But once they turned on me and Gunny held a buckknife to my throat and demanded I stop singing along to my favorite Little Feat album I had enough. I slammed on the brakes and had Reaper kissing the windshield and sent Gunny ass over teakettle into the dash. I guess that showed them ( and the trucker behind me who swerved around us and then went a good 60 feet (4000 nickels) down the embankment) because they just stared at me with newfound respect for awhile after they realized I controlled the electric doorlocks. My attempts at humor joking about what I like to do with chainsaws at night in the woods didn't seem to loosen them up.
--- To be continued when Mark decides to get up off his ass and write!!--
"Don't do that!!!" barked Reaper as he swatted McGoogan's gun barrel out of his face. McGoogan muttered an apology and absently swung the barrel into Smider's rump. Smider lowered his field glasses and asked that McGoogan wait until this evening before goofing around with people's butocks.
Smider raised the glasses and trained them on the opposing spires of Pimply-Faced Castle. Even from here he could see several figures moving about the parapets, throwing debris and attempting to shoot it before it hit the ground. The occasional bark of teenage laughter carried over to the quarry where a crack squad of Dicks and Chick lay in wait.
Smider snorted and turned to his squad. "Now's as good as time as any. Everybody set?" Gungho nodded and applied one last swipe of camo across her chin. Gungho had applied an intricate pattern of camoflauge make-up across her face rendering her virtually undetectable if she decided to set up her sniper rifle in a thicket. Glynis on the other hand had merely held his breath and immersed his face in a mud puddle. His face now had the consistency of pudding skin. His eyes would have looked remarkably white were it not for a complex spider web of red vessels criss-crossing the orbs. "Let's rip the shit!" piped Glynis as a gob of mud dripped from his Elvis-like cowlick. Markg who had been perusing a copy of the Tampa Bay Tribune, silently folded the paper into an origami Heron and placed it by a mud puddle bearing Glynis' facial print. Markg spun a baffler onto the end of his rifle barrel and checked to ensure that the fuel switch was open on his collapsible chainsaw. Reaper pushed a cartridge of metal jackets into his rifle and lit a DuMaurier off the one that was already in his mouth.The butt dropped onto the ground and joined a dozen other butts, testament to Reapers' claim that oxygen was overrated.
The object of the squad's interest was Pimply-Faced Castle It had once been the home and headquarters of Herr Juan Foo Desjardins, self-proclaimed despot of the micronation Transabacedonia. Desjardins was an important figure in Smider's network of Global Domination. With Desjardins inactive, Smider was losing a quarter of a billion dollars a week to lost Contraband Canned Turbot sales. Desjardins had forced his citizens to buy 8 tins of turbot a day or else face the Nine Iron Death Squads ( a vicious secret police unit that bludgeoned their prisoners by practicing bunker shots on their breast plate). The suppossed high demand for turbot kept tensions very high on the Grand Banks where Canadian and Spanish fishermen vied for the last remaining fish in the Atlantic. The mounting tensions promised to boil over into Spanish-Canadian War where Smider stood to make trillions selling 30 year old British and American ships to the foundering Canadian Navy.
Two months ago, during the 7th period half-time show of the Transalbecedonian Spotted eel Football Match, thousands of Transalbacedions took ill simultaneously due to the consumption of tainted Turbot Dogs. The incensed (and queasy) mob pointed the blame directly at Herr Desjardins and vowed to overthrow the crooked despot who didn't know a Turbot from a Kibbutz. With overwhelming numbers, the citizens overthrew Desjardins Palace guard and promptly stowed Desjardins in a London flat. Now, two months later, Smider was ready to right the wrong of the coup. (Actually, the new government had devised the most simplistic, efficient health care system on the planet and all it's citizen's were gainfully employed).
Smider looked over his crew one last time. He decided to stick close to Gungho, more for her reputation as a level 89 marksman than for the nice view she provided. "Move out!" Smider ordered. The crew scaled the side of the quarry without pause and quickly closed the gap to the palace. They fanned out as they had practiced. McGoogan and Reaper went left, Glynis and Markg the right and Gungho crept straight towards the palace, with Smider following almost too close behind. Just as they were hunkering down to get a closer look at the castle, a warning flatulence erupted from the left flank. McGoogan stood up in full view and fired a burst at the palace gates. There, a swarm of Transalbacedonians poured out the gate towards the Dicks and Chick. Of course, these were teenagers who had virtualy now combat experience, had spent the morning vigorously masturbating and like most teenagers, suffered from acute retardation. A few even paused at the moat to fire on the cans they had been seen throwing from the parapets. Braying and giggling ensued. But a few were up for a fight and haphazardly fired at the bushes thought to contain the heros.
At the first sign of conflict, Markg had backed up and found a grassy knoll to fire from. His first shot found it's mark, but the recoil sent the butt of the rifle into his glasses, rendering them useless. Markg continued to fire on to what he assumed was the Transalbacedonians, but was really a row of recycling bins. Each bin suffered crucial losses of aluminum... Splinters of glass protruded from their Rubbermaid sides. Some were so badly disfigured that afterwards some could be identified only by their pull-tab fillings.
For reasons byond the scope of normal human thought capactiy, McGoogan began assembling Bangalore torpedoes, a useless tactic considering the only wire beteen the Dicks and their objective was of the fiber-optic type, and it was already buried 18 inches deep. None the less, the explosion McGoogan created was no less than spectacular. Every combatant took pause to watch lama-sized peices of turf flop back down to Earth. From behind the smoking muck charged Reaper and McGoogan. Reaper fired a sharp staccato burst from the hip. McGoogan would have done similarly had the safety been off. Instead he dove into the smoldeirng crate that his Bangalore had created, catching Reaper on the heels as he went. Both Dicks tangled into a heap. Reaper cursed vehemntly as he produced a crumpled cigarette package containing loose tobacco and wrinkled paper. In thoughtless rage the butt of Reaper's rifle found McGoogan's temple. McGoogan managed to mutter something about being caught under the Blarney Stone, and fell into a drooling slumber.
Glynis was making swift progress to the palace. Constantly berating the Transalbacedonians with language that would make Andrew Die Clay blush, Glynis advanced from cover to cover, mowing down Transalbacedonians with a wanton disregard for human life or ammuition. Usually able to count his shots, Glynis had lost count when he chastised a bewildered Transalbacedonian for his numerous encounters with a friends' fathers and their livestock. So it was with surprise that the firing pin on his rifle twanged it's regret or further shells to fire. Glynis swung his hand around his back to find a replacement cartridge. The hesitation permitted a gangly Transalbacedonian to fire a clean shot at Glynis. The bullet had ovbiously heard of the fleshier placed on the body to pass through, and did precisely that as it parted Glynis' testicles.
Seeing the assault go sour instilled in Gungho a glowing ember of rage. She leapt to her feet, readjusted her titanium kneecaps and plunged headlong at the remaining Transalbacedonians. The youngsters didnt see her coming... Gungho emptied her rifle into the first four teens in her path and plucked two of their weapons as they passed. Two young men saw that their fate was about to be decided and turned on their heels screaming. Their backs collected 16 bullets between the two of them. Sensing a change in the tide of battle the remaining Transalbacedonians retreated towards the safety of the palace. As most would know, a teenager often has severe difficulty operating feet 4 sizes too large for their bodies. This factor compounded by deadly marksmanship resulted in a messy pile - up at the palace gates.
Through the fog of the battle, Smider strode up and declared it his own.
The End
Epilogue:
Smider- After reinstating Herr Juan Foo Desjardins in his former positon, Smider escalated Canadian-Spanish tensions by tainting Canada's maple-syrup reservoirs with a dead pack mule wrapped in a Spanish Flag. Enraged Canadians talked amongst themselves. Prime Minister Jean Chretian bludgeoned Portugese Ambassador Hector Gomez with an egg timer at a lunch in Halifax. Mr. Gomez had mentioned his preference for Spanish onions over the turds Ontario tries to pass off as a good onion.
Gungho- After slaying dozens, Gungho took up tap dancing and is now appearing in the London theatre district. She's been arrested twice fro vagrancy. Shortly after the palace attack, Gungho was approached by Playboy to pose for their February issue. She did so and recieves dozens of letters a day from white-knuckled teenagers around the planet.
Reaper- Reaper spent another year with Smider learning the Ins and Outs of political fixer trade. worried about lung cancer, Reaper went to see the finest doctors in Zurich. He got a clean bill of health. He spent that evening celebrating but died from a lethal combination of Mountain Dew and Clove cigarettes.
Glynis- Recovered quickly in an Austrian hospital. With the help of Nobel prize winning doctor Jurgen Von Schpleinbecht, Glynis was equipped with 2 synthetic testicles that produced a concoction quite similiar to taste to a mint milkshake. Glynis claims that "They always swallow."
MarkG- Disgusted with Smider's evil plots, Markg vowed to impede Smider's progress at every step. Markg became a popular top advisor to the UN, NATO, the European Economic Union and Girl Guides of America. Two weeks before Markg planned to draw in the net on Smider, he was implemented in Contraband Cookie Ring, which of course was a division of Smider Impurities Inc.
McGoogan- Remained in a coma for 17 years after the battle of Pimply-Faced Castle. He was the subject of intense media scrutiny when the face of Jesus Christ appeared in a drool stain on his bedsheet. After some time an orderly came forward and admitted to makeing the Holy Resemblance for lack of anything better to do. McGoogan was a vegetable when he came out of his coma, but is always delighted when his ward-mates play "Go Fish" by his bedside
* This story was extracted from deep within McGoogan's brain*
This little msg is brought to you by our own McGoogan!
T'was the night after Flame Game, and all through the bunk' the Dicks were carousing and feeling quite smug. The Panthers were all piled in the depot with care In the hopes that the new Scorpions soon would be there
The Little Old Ladies, who met our nuclear wreath, were getting used to life without the use of their teeth. With Smider in his silk kahki's, and I feeling drab, had just finished de-lousing SickPuppy, who had a bad case of crabs.
When from KS server, there arose such a clatter, we rushed to Knightspy to see what was the matter. Away to the Hawkeye, Glynis flew like a flash, He sat on his medical pillow to avoid irritating his rash.
The moon on the breast of the new fall-out snow, Gave the offspring of Axiom a healthy day-glow. When what a sight to our eyes they did burn, t'was Miss Piggy hoping to sneak in a double-turn.
With turn-passing that was so lively and quick, Gungho muttered to herself, "Why that little prick!" More drunk than a lizard, our Marshall he came, while he pissed and he farted he shouted our names.
"Now, Smider! Now, Kingsize! Now Markg and Gungho! On Wilson! On Suede! On Tecumseth and Darko! To the guns on our ships! To the Bar by the wall! We'll boot-fuck these bastards 'til they can't walk at all!"
As dry weed before the wild bong fries, When they meet with an obstacle, they blow it into the sky, So in their rusty old Herc's the Dicks and Chick they flew, With a Cargo full of Patriots and Artillery too.
And then, by MIDI, I heard on the 'Spy, The Rough Riders were thinking of giving us a try. As I clutched at myself and started to laugh, I slipped off my kilt and joined Gunny in the bath.
The Dicks were dressed all in black, from their head to their foot, and their kevlar they wore all over except for the knife in their boot; An AR-33 assault rifle was strapped to their backs, And they looked like devil spawn, 'cept for Gunny, who had a "great rack".
The pin of a 2nd grenade, Blight held tight in his fist, The first one he'd lost, he was feeling quite pissed. Darko had a broad range on the Tiger he fired, He blew up P.o.L., one of the cronies The Reds hired.
CS was grumpy and pumped, a right surly old soldier, His barrage of artillery left nothing of Sparhawk but smolder. A wink of his eye and a key-turn from Smider, transformed The Red's base into a nuclear pyre.
We spoke not a word, but went looking for medals, We had to move quick, the fall-out was beginning to settle. And passing his gun-butt down his solid jawline, Reaper squealed like a girl when he happened upon medal nine.
We lept to the Hercules, Gungho hammered the throttle, We rushed back to the base to finish the bottle. But the MK world heard us exclaim as we flew out sight, "Try as you might you half-witted bastards, we're the finest in a fight!"
Happy Holidays MK! May your stockings be stuffed. P.S. No foul intended to our rivals from Miss Piggy.