Subject: [ASVS-POLI] El Boydo Date: Thu, 05 Jul 2001 07:48:10 GMT From: Kynes Newsgroups: alt.startrek.vs.starwars He stood staring meekly into the South American sun. Which South American country was not actually clear in this part of the story; for plot reasons, the narrator had decided to leave this open until later. His military uniform was about two sizes too big and didn't appear to all be from the same military. The gold medals on his chest made the whole jacket kind of sag forward, which subconsciously bugged him so he was always pulling up on them like handles. This unnerved his subordinates to no end. He stood, meekly, at least he thought so, staring into the South American sun. There was a single, overriding thought in his mind. A powerful thought. A thought for the ages. He thought it over and over until it burned like fire in his mind, more powerful than the sun. It consumed him! He thought, meekly: They had ditched him in the jungle again. -============ LIET-KYNES PRODUCTIONS ============- -============= IN CONJUNCTION WITH =============- -============= SVETLANNA ENTERPRISES =============- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- PROUDLY PRESENTS -=-=--=-=-=--=-=- EL BOYDO: THE MAN WITHOUT FEAR or A Young Man's Illustrated Primer Chapter One. "Jesus!" yelled Jonotan. "Yes, El Boydo?" replied the man. Jesus de Fernandez. A short little Mexican guy, about 4'11". He didn't have a military uniform, just a t-shirt that said "ABORTION STOPS A BEATING HEART" and some jeans. Both were gifts from the Boydo. He wore them every day. "Why did you leave me in the jungle?" "You told us you wanted to 'be alone with your thoughts,' El Boydo. That was two days ago." Jonotan smacked himself in the forehead. Hard. With a spoon. He remembered that now. He said, leave me alone with my thoughts! and then began wriggling around on the ground trying to eat rocks. Yes... it was all coming back clearly now. "No matter. I swear to you, the time is soon. We will get the election back. For the people, Jesus. For the people." "Yes, El Boydo," said Jesus. ELSEWHERE At the top of the water park lovingly known as Mount Asskick, Liet-Kynes, KSC, sipped a frothy pineapple drink. Below, he could see children playing. He could see girls in swimsuits. He could see people buying things from vendors or something. More girls in swimsuits. And he thought to himself, ahh. I am truly the luckiest man alive. I have my Hawaiian shirt. I have my bermuda shorts. I have sandals and I have a good haircut. Everything is good. As he thought this, a giant rope ladder was thrown over the side of the platform he was sitting on, and a butler in a red suit climbed up it. Kynes put his head in his hands and sighed. "Parker, please get out of here and just tell C.S. to come on up." The butler, whose name was actually not Parker but would not tell Kynes his real name, thus forcing him to make one up, stood silently. He coughed a little. One of those meaningful coughs. "I hereby authorize you under ASVS-C Section 1 to act as proxy for Council-to-Council contact," said Kynes, with a note of resignation and a good half-symphony of irritation. "Thanks. C.S. wants to set up a meeting to talk about some stuff." "When?" "In twenty-two seconds." "That's fine. Go away." Without a word, Parker climbed down the rope ladder. Twenty-two seconds later, C.S. Strowbridge climbed up. "Hi Kynes." "Hi C.S. Please stop sending your insane butler to Mount Asskick. He is," said Kynes, searching for just the right words, "cramping my not-inconsiderable style." "No can do, my friend. You know the Rules." "We made those Rules. No one else even reads them." "Ah, but if they did!" He had a point. "Anyway," continued C.S., "I wanted to know if you would like to split a pizza with me." "Are you feeling OK?" asked Kynes, while fumbling around for the "Medical Alert" button on the bottom of his lawn chair. "I'm fine. I've had two already." "Ah. Right." ELSEWHERE In a disused little house in a disused little town there was a disused little man named Mad Man Mark. Actually, nobody called him that but himself. To his parents, schoolteachers, mailman, and "Penis Envy/Rocket Launchers" subscription handler, he was Ryan. But he identified himself, always, as Mad Man Mark. His basement was bathed in blue light. This blue light came from many an industrious trip to K-Mart. More than once, he had woken up giggling and masturbating at how pleased he was to have taken these off of their hands. "Specials," indeed. They were his now! As a result of his constant time in blue light, everything looked sort of reddish-pinkish. This distorted his lexicon, and his worldview, significantly, but as it turns out no one had ever guessed that this might be the reason. The sun was rising but Mad Man Mark was already awake. Making the bed was easy. Kicking the pile of dirty laundry (not his, nor was it anyone's who knew him) over in the corner for now, he was ready for action. First order of duty: read secret messages in Faux News. Upside down and covered in magazines in another corner of the basement was a black-and-white TV which, for some reason, was wired for cable. He turned it over and on, tuned it to channel 34 on his UHF dial, and watched the fuzzy, rolling picture, turning the volume to maximum. "OUR TOP STORY: FORMER PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON TAKES A CRAP. OUR FAIR AND BALANCED EXPERTS DEBATE WHETHER THE HOUSE SHOULD CONVENE A COMMITTEE OR IS THIS THE SENATE'S JOB? AS ALWAYS, BOTH SIDES OF THE ISSUE, COMING UP, BUT FIRST, A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR..." He leaned way over then, pressing his face directly against the glass, although, weirdly, he did not bend his knees at all. Anyone entering the basement at that point would see a skinny, very pale, Mad Man Mark, wearing nothing but tighty-whities, bent almost completely over with his face against a television. More frightening is that if they had lived with him for any length of time, this would not even faze them. The advertisements came on, and with them, the secret messages. Mad Man Mark had his pencil (pens were for communists who didn't believe in erasing everything they wrote; why not just mail it directly to the DUMB-oment? ok, he granted, that one sucked, but give him a minute and he'll find a way to work it in... governRAT? shit) and paper ready. "DO YOU LIKE AMMO? DO YOU LIKE OLD PEOPLE? THEN HAVE I GOT THE MAGAZINE FOR YOU..." Furiously, Mad Man Mark began writing. He wasn't writing anything meaningful, as he couldn't read or write with any proficiency... but the motion of the pencil allowed him to delay orgasm through this commercial. Secret messages, yeah. On Faux News. Definitely secret messages. SOUTH AMERICA In a disused lavatory, El Boydo laid out his plan. He tugged at his medals with great fervor during this part, so much that he actually had to stop talking at points. "Jesus, the people have trusted us. They have laid their faith in us as you, Jesus and I, lay our faith in Jesus. Stay with me. They have trusted us to overturn the corrupt legislators who are eating their babies and snipping their foreskins. The people, Jesus. We must not back down. This is a matter of principle. Of our allegiance. Of our very faith." Jesus couldn't hold his breath any more. He opened the door of the Port-a-Potty and let the air blast out of his lungs. "El Boydo, can't we meet ANYWHERE else?" Jonotan barely controlled his rage. "I KNOW YOU'RE EXCITED ABOUT THE OPERATION, JESUS, SO I'M GOING TO LET THAT ONE SLIP. NOW SHUT THE DOOR." Meekly, or as meekly as he was able, Jesus shut the door. "We will fly into North America tomorrow, Jesus. We will assault Mount Asskick with our brand-new Sleep Rays. I will fly the plane." Trying to hold his nose and speak at the same time, Jesus gasped: "But wnaat ab I subbosed to do, El Boybo?" "You have a very special job, perhaps the most important of all. Jesus... you will be my co-pilot." With that, the Boydo gave him a very friendly and very prolonged pat on the hindquarters. ELSEWHERE At Barnes and Noble, the employee whose nametag had read Wally until he had written in "TRANSCEND" with magic marker was receiving yet another tongue-lashing. "If you harass one more customer looking for the computer help section, I swear to God, Wally, I'm going to can you. I don't care if you're ordered by the Court to maintain employment or not. OK? You're on my last nerve." Transcend looked up at the manager and narrowed his eyes. He weighed his options. He could explode his mind via psychic powers. He could break every bone in his body, twice, in half a second, with his eyes closed, using his ninja+kungfu+streetfighting skills. He could assert his constituional right to be able to say and do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, regardless of the consequences, exactly as the Founding Fathers intended. "Run your store the way you want, pinko! When the revolution comes, your back will be first against the wall! Ban the bomb and the book! Make love, not peace!" shouted Transcend in his mind, though he was only able to utter a very meek "sorry." Mentally, he added: "...sorry you're such a JERK! LMAO!" He'd get him. He'd get every last motherfucking one of them. But for now, it was time to clean those urinals. He took out his cardboard katana and got to work. Last time on "El Boydo: The Man Without Fear"... -- Boydo is ditched in the jungles of South Africa! -- Strowbridge and Kynes split a pizza! -- Mad Man Mark wears underpants! -- And much more! Do not adjust your newsreader; do not alter your virtual memory settings. For the next 10KB or so, your eyes are mine, your ears are yours, and you will see once and for all that the pen is mightier than the sword, but the latter is a better phallic symbol! -============= LIET-KYNES PRODUCTIONS ============- -============= IN CONJUNCTION WITH =============- -============= SVETLANNA ENTERPRISES =============- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- PROUDLY PRESENTS -=-=--=-=-=--=-=- EL BOYDO: THE MAN WITHOUT FEAR or A Young Man's Illustrated Primer Chapter Two! "Can I help you to your seat, sir?" asked the stewardess. She was frisky-looking; about 5'6", red hair, purple eyes, and a figure that would make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window. Jesus thought there was something very familiar about that figure. Just hearing the question made him blush. "No thanks," he said, meekly, and then pulled a candy-cane cross out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Thanks," she said, raising her eyebrows. Jesus got the hell out of there before she could do anything with it. He had to go to the bathroom. No time for that. Where was El Boydo? The plane was about to leave! Clink. Clink. Clink. Oh, there he was. El Boydo strolled down the aisle, his medals banging together even more than usual because everyone kept elbowing him. "No problem," said Boydo, to an unusually large man who had not apologized for knocking him on his ass. "Jesus forgives you." "Right, Jesus?" "Yes, El Boydo! I forgive the crazy big man." Neither of them listened to the safety lecture. Floating around on a fart-filled seat cushion appealed to neither of them, besides which, the plane wasn't going down. Jonotan once told Jesus that no one would ever go down with him. Wait. With him? Jesus couldn't remember. Jesus didn't care. "Water please," said Jesus to the stewardess. MOUNT ASSKICK "This hot dog is really good." Even though it was made of pig anus, Liet-Kynes was dead on. It was the most asskicking hot dog in the history of the universe. It did not bother him at all to be eating a phallic symbol. "Want some, C.S.?" "No thanks. Not into phallic symbols. Are you listening to what I'm saying at all?" Kynes made the yada-yada-yada gesture with his hands. "Yeah, yeah, got it. Election crisis not over, the Boydo is coming to get me, yada yada. Hey, how come no one ever runs against you?" "I don't throw popcorn at people from the top of a water park," he pointed out. "Or rocks." "Good man," said Kynes. C.S. sighed. He hated Kynes. ELSEWHERE "OK. Jenkins, I want you to cover that Godzilla-attacking-Mars thing. Peters, you cover the destruction of Russia with nuclear missiles. Bryant, figure out why all the nuns on the planet died simultaneously. Forsburg, you handle that elephant thing." Everyone nodded and headed out of the staff room, leaving leather chairs spinning and one ignored intern, Stuart Mackey, sitting. The chief editor at the Omaha World-Tribune looked up in surprise. "Oh, Mackey. You're still here?" "yes," said Mackey. "Um... hmm... uh..." The editor looked down at his notepad. All the stories were crossed off except for a few that he'd just written down to placate his sources. Let's see. There was the lint expose... the springy/other kind clothespins test-off... deodorant debunking... oh. Here's one. "Mackey, find this 'Mount Asskick' water park. According to some of our Peruvian sources," by which the editor meant a drunk who wouldn't leave the outside of the building, "there's going to be some kind of... thing... there soon." "golly chief. thank you." said Mackey, and left. The chief sighed. He hated Mackey. ELSEWHERE Ring! Ring! "Hyello! Thyis iz Antun. "What you syey? Styop wit ye exccent? OK. Sorry. What's up?" Anton nodded, nodded nodded. "Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh. Right. Right. Right. Uh huh. Right. Yeah. Ha ha. Right. Yeah. Uh huh. Right. Right. Uh huh. I see. OK. Right. Right, OK. Yeah. Uh huh. Uh huh." The caller asked if Anton had all of that. "Yes, but start from the beginning please; I was playing Solitaire." "Uh huh, uh huh," said Anton, clicking "New Game." BARNES AND NOBLE Wally's glasses were pinching his nose. "Hi Wally," said a brunette with a nose far too cute to be of this world. Her friends giggled. "You are so mean, Heather." Later that day, Transcend was playing tag with the other 9-year- olds. On a purely probational basis. As he did so, he remarked on how odd it was that, not only did a 9-year-old work in Barnes and Noble, he did so via some poorly-explained court order. Such was the world. "You're it, Wally!" Transcend looked up. It was one of the other kids. He narrowed his eyes. "Wrong." "Huh? I got you!" said the kid, and slapped his arm for good measure. "Idiot, I'm in the no-tag zone!!!" "What?" Transcend shuffled some leaves around on the ground until they made some crappy imitation of a line. "The NO TAG ZONE. Duh, you're SO STUPID! I called no tags anyway!" "What are you talking about Wally? Play the game! You're it!" "SCREW YOU GUYS!" said Transcend, promptly walking over to kick a little girl who was watching in the shins. He ran inside and slammed the door, and the other kids could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs. "Oh well," said the kid who tagged him. "I'll be it ag--" "TAG!" yelled Transcend, hitting the kid hard in the back of the head. "Ha ha! Loser, you weren't even looking." Transcend then realized he wasn't 9, he was just playing a game with 9-year-olds. Good thing, he thought, because that makes my behaviour even funnier and also makes sense with the earlier scenes... I mean, happenings in my life. THE PLANE The pilot and co-pilot were asleep. So was everyone else. Such was the power of El Boydo's Sleep Rays. Jesus marveled at them every time they were turned on. They now had the plane to themselves! "OK, El Boydo, we'll fly the plane to North America now?" asked Jesus, getting the odd feeling that his English wasn't as good as it used to be. "Yes, Jesus. We'll take the plane... to the people. The people, Jesus. Do you understand why that's important?" Jesus nodded yes and sat down at the co-pilot controls. "The autopilot needs the exact coordinates of our destination, El Boydo. What should I do?" Jonotan thought that one over. Tricky. What SHOULD Jesus do? As promised... LLLL K KK LLLL K K LLLL KKK LLLLLLL I E T - K K Y N E S P R O D U C T I O N S ... LLLLLLL K KK in conjunction with SVETLANNA ENTERPRISES... is proud to present... EL BOYDO! THE MAN WITHOUT FEAR! or A Young Man's Illustrated Primer Chapter 3! MARYLAND. It was hot and humid. The beads of sweat dripped off of Mad Man Mark's forehead like tiny, clear droplets of pee. His vision was slightly hazy. His heart was doing the drum solo from "Wipeout" and his skin felt like turkey jerky. He crawled along the unforgiving turf, arm over arm, easily able to imagine himself in some sort of movie about combat. His breath was unnecessarily hard and heavy. He stared up at the sun. He might not make it. "RYAN! Cut out the horseplay and get back to work!" "Sorry Mom," he yelled, and stood up, grabbed the rake, and continued to put the leaves in neat little piles. Neat little piles like the bodies of the dissenters! Wait. ELSEWHERE The streets of New Jersey were crappy and muddy, even to a Peruvian freedom fighter. When you spend a lot of time in hellholes, you learn to recognize them. This was a hellhole of epic proportions, a hellhole so complex that Jesus felt he should be led around by Virgil instead of the tiny man next to him. "El Boydo..." "Yes, Jesus?" "Do you need to wear the sunglasses... um... *all* the time?" Jonotan stopped where he was and turned his head sideways and upwards toward Jesus. His mismatched, too-big military outfit was complimented with a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses in baby blue frames. "Jesus loves me, Jesus. And I love the people. Two hearts. Two loves. Do I need to explain it better?" "No," said Jesus, and started walking again. Curse that damned convenience store manager for suggesting that purchase. Jesus paused for a moment, then revised his thought: *Swear* that damned convenience store manager. Better. "STOP!" yelled Boyd. Jesus whirled around in his tracks, getting even more mud on his awful blue jeans. Boyd had his hands outstretched toward a bright neon sign, lighting up the night like a radioactive monkey's ass. The sign said: "GIRLS OF THE CLOTH -- ALL GIRLS -- ALL THE TIME -- HOT HOT HOT!" "Do you see that, Jesus?" Jesus narrowed his eyes. "But, El Boydo..." "Inside, Jesus! The nunnery will surely give us shelter!" MOUNT ASSKICK Upon the observation deck of Mount Asskick, Liet-Kynes could see all of the people coming in to the water park. Families, couples, even single individuals, all filing in to enjoy the revelry of a day in the sun. Kynes had a wiseass remark for every one of them. "Hey you!" he yelled downward. "In the yellow shirt!" The man, tiny as an ant, looked around and then upward. Kynes looked at the list. "You suck!" he yelled, and then scratched it off the list. After a few minutes of laughing himself silly, he was back to work. "Hey you! Tall-o! Your mother is ugly!" "Hey! All four of you! You are reminscient of less-evolved primates! Yeah, I'm talking to you!" Heh heh. One more and then it was lunch time. "You!" he yelled at a young man wearing a forest ranger's costume for some reason. "Nice outfit!" Checked the list. "... not! You're lame!" Kynes was already turning around before he heard the faint reply: "You are!" Kynes narrowed his eyes. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" The young man yelled, louder, "I said, YOU are the one who is lame! Ha ha!" Kynes narrowed his eyes even narrower and quickly turned on his Sittie-Talkie. "Have that man killed," he said. MARYLAND Done raking the leaves, Mad Man Mark retired to his Super Smelly Shithole, the Badly-Built Basement, for some further alliterative fun. Stripping down, inexplicably, to only his underwear, he turned on Faux News. "THIS JUST IN... MEAN-SPIRITED LIBERALS CLAIM A FETUS IS NOT A LOW-INCOME CHILD... FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS EXPECT--- *shhhhh*" If Mad Man Mark had been capable of cursing, or speaking at all for that matter, he would have. However, his basement was under strict radio silence, lest FDR hear his sweet coos to his teddy bear. Lacking that option, he simply slammed his palm into his open fist and squinted his eyes at the static. Without Faux News, he might as well sell his TV for scrap. He was starting to unplug it to do just that when he heard a voice. "Hello! Mark? Is anyone there?" He whirled around and looked at the TV. Reception was back, but it was just a picture of an empty chair. "Mark! Answer if you can!" Mark clapped out the Morse code for, "I can't speak, but I can hear you," which he had memorized for some reason. "Good man! Oh, yegods. Johnson! Fix that camera!" Within moments, the field of vision on the camera started to angle downward until Mad Man Mark was able to see who was talking. It was a tiny man, tinier even than most midgets, practically the size of a baby, in an immense leather chair. He had a button that said "GUN CONTROL IS FOR PEOPLE WITH ADEQUATE GENITALS," and did not seem to be even faintly aware what it meant. "Who are you?" clapped out Mark in Morse code. "It's me, Gee Dubya Bush! Surprised? Well, the camera not only adds ten pounds, it also makes you a normal-sized human. Sadly, we couldn't afford to do that with this camera. Anyhow. You can call me Shrub. "I'm a forgetful man, Mark, so I'm going to tell ya what I want you to do before I forget and start asking my staff to give me watermelon again. As you well know, the election in ASVS was unfairly decided in favor of the man with the most votes. As a loyal Republican, I think you can agree this situation needs correcting. "Luckily, there's a freedom fighter out there who wants to set things right! Find this crazy dreamer, Mad Man Mark, and his assistant. Help them accomplish their goal." Mark thought. Then decided against it, and clapped: "How will I find them?" "Mad Man, I'm confident that if you open your heart, you'll be able to find Jesus. "And," added Shrub, "the man he's travelling with. They call him El Boydo." MOUNT ASSKICK Mackey approached the front gate of Mount Asskick and checked his Official Reporter's Notepad. He made a very big deal out of checking the tiny Steno pad. He spun around with a flourish and whipped it out of his trenchcoat, not the first time he'd done that kind of thing, and flipped open the notepad. It had one thing on it: "Find Mount Asskick." Meticulously, Mackey scrawled "DONE" next to it. He now, he realized, had to rely only on his killer instincts to get him inside. "hello. i would like to get inside without paying," said Mackey to the gate attendant. "Oh, Christ. I'm just going to nip this one in the bud. DALTON!" yelled the attendant. An hour later, $52 poorer, and the possessor of a considerably bloodied lip, Mackey was inside the water park. He narrowed his eyes -- seemed to be in vogue -- and wondered what to do next. "out of my way kids. i call water slides. lol." The kids sighed. They hated Mackey. ELSEWHERE The dossier slapped down on to the mahogany wood with a sound like another simile falling flat on its face. The label on the front read "KYNES, LIET." Another, smaller label said, "Warning: Hawaiian Shirts." "What's this?" said the agent whose code-name was Neolith. "That's the file for one Liet Kynes, Neo. Check it out." Neolith flipped through the pages, averting his eyes now and then when the combination of Bermuda shorts, brightly-colored shirts, and mismatched socks got to be too overwhelming. "OK, what is this guy? Some sort of water park despot?" "It's amazing, Neolith, how quickly you figure things out that would otherwise take a lot of boring dialogue to explain," said Neolith's boss, who was named... oh, let's say... Joe. "Thank you." "This guy is dangerous, Neo. Well, actually, he's not dangerous. The psychopaths he's got after his hide are dangerous. Not just to him, but to people near him." Neolith narrowed his eyes for at least the third time in the story. "So?" "So I want you to protect him. That's your new job." "Um... why?" "Didn't you listen? He's in danger!" Neolith gestured around. "Are you crazy? This is the FBI! We don't protect people. That's the Secret Service's job. And he's not even the President or a Senator. Not to mention I'm working on something else right now." The boss shook his head. Then he sighed. Agent Neolith had a point. "Do it anyway," Joe said. The matter settled, he promptly fell asleep as a sombrero fell from the ceiling and eclipsed most of his body. Freaking robot siesta machines. "A real bargain-o" my ass. Neolith sighed. He hated everyone. ELSEWHERE Wally gazed at his parents. This would be a difficult battle. "Take me... to Mount... Asskick," he said, in a very measured tone of voice. "No," said his mother and father, simultaneously. Damn them! Always a step ahead of his gambit. He reconsidered. He parried, then thrusted: "TAKE... ME... TO MOUNT... ASS... KICK! WORLD'S COOLEST WATER PARK!! I HAVE THE RIGHT TO GO!" "Wally, you're twenty-seven years old. We are not taking you to a water park. And take that idiot nametag off. What the fuck does 'Transcend' mean anyway? It's not even a noun." Transcend smashed his palm into his open hand. Would they never falter? He had one last recourse available to him. In days past, he wouldn't have considered it. But desperate times called for desperate measures... He began to roll around on the floor, pounding and screaming, the words "Mount Asskick" occasionally bubbling up from the less-than- coherent sound fart emerging below. Two hours later, they were on a plane. NEW JERSEY Jesus thought two things as they entered the strip club: first, damn, but that music is loud. Second: damn, but those bodies are naked. El Boydo didn't seem to be concerned with any of it. He just surveyed the place, calmly. He didn't even narrow his eyes, which is amazing considering the mood the narrator was in. Nope. Calm as a whistle. Then he picked up his belt buckle and started talking to it. "Oh Jesus," thought Jesus. "Attention Yahweh. This is Agent Flaming Sword. Code Gamorrah. Repeat. Code Gamorrah, current location." Boyd tapped the belt buckle and reattached it to the rest of his medals. "It's out of order, Jesus. We'll have to do this ourselves." Jesus had no idea what this might mean until Boyd started unzipping his pants. For the people. From deep in the South American wilderness, he came... To the shores of Jersey... To the tops of Mount Asskick... In the final, apocalyptic battle that will define a dozen people... He is... EL BOYDO: THE MAN WITHOUT FEAR or A Young Man's Illustrated Primer [ A LIET-KYNES PRODUCTION ] [ IN CONJUNCTION WITH SVETLANNA ENTERPRISES ] [ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS SCRAWLED IN SUBWAYS EVERYWHERE ] Chapter Four! NEW JERSEY Before Jesus could even speak, El Boydo removed from his pants four large plastic bottles, apparently filled with water. El Boydo dumped the bottles on the floor, zipped up his pants, redid his belt, reattached his suspenders, and smoothed the whole thing over five or six times. Jesus looked down at himself. He had been allowed to buy a new t- shirt; this one read "FLOURIDE IS MURDER." Same old jeans, though. He contemplated zipping the zipper up and down once, but just didn't have the energy. That crafy fox had out-fancied him again. "Jesus, take this. I need you to do something... for the--" Jesus rolled his eyes. "The people. Right. I get it." He assumed this was the same "the people need us", blah blah, "elections stop a beating heart", blah blah, "the 'I' in the third page of the rules has an accent, this changes everything," yadda dada la. But El Boydo actually seemed to be serious this time. He was like, counting heads and murmuring. That's when Jesus noticed the writing on the sides of the bottles, just as El Boydo was handing two of them to him. "El Boydo," he asked, timidly. "Yes, Jesus?" "My English is still not great," said Jesus, although this far in the story, it seemed to be fine. "Nor your tongue-speaking-in," mused El Boydo. "So, please correct me if I'm wrong, but does this bottle say 'Holy Seltzer?'" ELSEWHERE "Hey, but seriously folks, is anyone here from the Mmmmmmmmidwest?!?!" "Get off the stage!" yelled someone in the back. "Oh-ho, I see we have a heckler in the crowd! Thanks for your input, sir! A-hey!" The comedian did a little snappy thing and made guns with his fingers. Dressed in a bright-yellow leisure suit with black shoes, his hair combed backwards in a fashion that would have made Jim Carrey gawk, the comedian tried to remember the next part of his "act." Something to do with cars and how they changed over time, and so forth. "You idiot. I'm not a heckler. I'm the manager! Get off the stage!" Fifteen minutes later, Charles Sonnenburg was heading home. "How am I going to explain this one?" he wondered, aloud, because the narrator of the story hadn't written down anyone's thoughts so far and to do so now would be a POV violation. Since leaving his job as a wealthy businessman to fulfill his life-long dream of making drunks laugh, he'd made this drive home -- the Drive of Shame -- around twenty times. He was running out of clubs, and not even really, really drunk people -- like the Irish and Nader voters -- thought he was funny. "Is it my material? Is it the suit? I know it's dated, but leisure never goes out of style! Maybe I need to work on my mic moves. The crowd loves it when you sort of spin it by the cord--" WHAM! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! "Oh shit," said Charles. He was pretty sure that was a vulgarity. MARYLAND As a child, and indeed well into adulthood, Mad Man Mark had been mocked for his beliefs. Specifically, his belief that the leadership of the Republican Party communicated to him through Faux News advertisements, and the belief that it was necessary, at all times, to have a backpack full of munitions should God or the President order him to kill someone. All he had to say now, as he packed in what he was relatively sure were plastic explosives (for opening locked doors, and unlocked ones when he was tired), extra-sharp pencils (for throwing and nourishment), and photographs of Tom DeLay's hairy ass (for comfort at night) was: BOOYAH! Throwing open the door to his basement, he was relatively blinded as his eyes adjusted. He had camoflage pants, a hunting hat, and a dirty shirt. He squinted into the bright light, and due to so much time in his basement's blue lighting, everything looked a little red. Pinkish even. He tromped up the stairs. "Ryan, where the hell are you going dressed like that? Dinner's in 15 minutes," said his mother, in a tone of voice one might use to inquire about the weather. Without a word, Man Man Mark marched out the door (literally; he even swung his arms way out and way back and kept his legs absolutely straight, like he saw in that movie, Goof Troop) and slammed it behind him. "Honestly, sometimes I think he doesn't hear a word I say." MOUNT ASSKICK Strowbridge found Kynes, as usual, asleep in his lawn chair atop the observation deck of Mount Asskick. He was wearing, as usual, a clothing ensemble that would have caused anyone with a sense of color to lop off an ear. Normally, he wouldn't wake him up, but today was special. Today was Monday! "Liet, get up," he said. In response, Kynes drooled, mostly on himself. Strowbridge sighed. God, he hated this. Affecting a high, feminine voice, as best as he could, he repeated: "Lieeeet, get uuuup!" Kynes' eyes shot open and he held his hand up to block the sun. He looked around as he sat up in his chair. Then he moved his hand to find the sun, as well as most of the sky, already blocked for him. "I've told you to stop that," he said. "Tough luck. It's Monday! You want to miss--" Before Strowbridge finished his sentence, Kynes was on the other side of the observation deck, mashing the "Down" button on the elevator with his thumb. Strowbridge smiled. Kynes never could resist "Disenfranchise A Voter Mondays." ELSEWHERE Agent Neolith opened his eyes. He saw the following things, in order: The constellation Orion's Belt. A tree. An overpass. A brown-haired man in one of the most awful suits he had ever seen. "Holy shit, what just happened?" Had Charles been a more religious man, say a minister or something, he would have thanked God that Neolith wasn't dead. But since he was a comic, he was just very glad. "Are you okay?!" Neolith sat up and looked around. His car had, judging by the skid marks and the fact that a scene investigating the crash to discern these details would be boring, been hit by Charles' car, thrown him free onto the pavement, exploded, rolled down a hillside, been stolen by dwarves, eaten by a dragon, and then crapped into a river of fire. Absolutely no chance of salvage. "Well, not particularly. My car has just been hit by you, rolled dow--" "I know," said Charles. "Geez, I'm so sorry. I mean, are you injured or anything?" Neolith wondered about that too. Good question. He felt his ribs. All present except for that one his bitch wife, Evelyn, had stolen... none broken. Felt his jaw. Still manly. Felt his hair. Still the FBI- standard amount of hairspray present. Felt the cuffs of his pants. Still not tapered. "I'm fine." "I should probably call the cops," said Charles. "Don't bother," said Neolith, and explained who he was and where he was going, and why, because he felt Charles might become important to the plot -- er, the happenings of the time -- and need to know this stuff. "Man, so the sombrero just fell right on him?" Charles asked at the end. "Dead serious. Fucking robot siesta machines," cursed Neolith. "Faithful servants indeed," mused Charles, sadly. MOUNT ASSKICK The moment Kynes realized that Christmas came once a year and Disenfranchise a Voter Mondays came fifty-two times in the same period, all hope of his conversion to a man of faith was absolutely gone. On the second-to-highest level of the Mount Asskick observation tower was a plush office which was ostensibly used to govern the water park and the various holdings of the shadow government known as ASVS. In reality, it was used to impress girls and provide a delivery address for pizza and Chinese. (Guess who used it for which purpose?) Strowbridge and Kynes entered the office from the elevator. Despite their differences, this was one activity they were truly able to share. Strowbridge pressed a button on the mahogany desk and the far wall opened up to reveal a giant Wheel-of-Fortune type spinner; instead of dollar amounts, inscribed were the names of various denizens. "After you," said Strowbridge. Kynes rubbed his hands together in a fashion which could only be described as totally maniacal and stupid-looking and gave the thing a really hard push. Around it spun, and as it did, the speakers attached played an evil-sounding laugh. Kynes laughed along with it. The spinner slowed... Slowed... Stopped. Its needle pointed to "WAYNE POE." "Whoops," said Kynes, and turned the wheel a little bit. Now it pointed to "LORD EDAM DE FROMAGE." Better. "What's he got pending?" asked Kynes. Strowbridge looked through his files. "Couple of official complaints, change in voter status, suggestion for some new rules. Oh, and his votes on the most recent ballot issues." "You know what to do." Strowbridge dumped the entire folder into a large, circular wastebasket labeled "MEANINGLESS TECHNICALITIES." And there was much laughter. Kynes headed back toward the elevator and Strowbridge bid him goodbye. "Seeya C.S. I'm going to go watch Dalton hassle people for no reason." "See you on 'Change The Rules and Don't Tell Anybody Tuesday,'" Strowbridge waved. NEW JERSEY Amid the loud music, half-naked cocktail waitresses wearing nun head-dresses and fully-daked dancers not wearing nun head-dresses, the patrons of "GIRLS OF THE CLOTH" never saw Jonotan or Jesus coming. Then came the speed-baptismal. "DoyouacceptJesusChristasLordandSaviorAreyouwillingtoplaceyourselfunder our guidanceandinstructionthatyoumaybepreparedforadmissionintotheChurchbyba ptism?" spewed El Boydo, faster than the greediest auctioneer. Without waiting for an answer, he shook up the Holy Seltzer and opened the top, blocking the opening with his thumb a little to get a good healthy spray going. "AAAARGH! MY EYES!" yelled the man in front of him. "YES!" yelled El Boydo. "FEEL the power of JESUS!" "What?" asked Jesus, spraying a nun. "Not you!" They were like men possessed. In five minutes, there wasn't a man or woman left standing who hadn't felt the awesome power of their Lord and Savior, and also the pepper spray El Boydo had mixed in to the Holy Seltzer. (Jesus couldn't help but giggle when El Boydo called that process "Sodom-ization".) "Doyourenounceallthosecustomsandpracticesandteachingswhichyouknow tobecontrarytoChrist'swillDoyoupromisetobediligentinprayerregularat publicworshipoftheChurchfaithfulinreceivinginstructionandinwitnessingto others?" Jesus was actually having a pretty good time until the police came. Who's the black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks? I don't know, but he ain't EL BOYDO: THE MAN WITHOUT FEAR or A Young Man's Illustrated Primer A L I E T - K Y N E S P R O D U C T I O N ((in conjunction with Svetlanna Enterprises)) Chapter Five! NEW JERSEY "How do you plead?" "Righteous, Your Honor." The judge couldn't tell if these two were surfers or religious nutjobs. Frankly, she didn't care. "For irritating me, I find you in contempt of court and also guilty of whatever it is you were charged with," she said. She had not bothered to check what this crime actually might be, and she had a feeling no one cared so long as the plot moved along. Jesus sighed. Ah, Peruvian justice. "Werewolf-bailiff, take them away!" With that, the judge flipped a switch and a weird moon light turned on. The new were-bailiff took each one of them under an arm and smelled El Boydo's ear as he carried them away. Ah, the were-bailiff. Best investment the court ever made! "Jesus," said Jonotan, as they were carried toward the county jail, "I would like you to think of this... as an opportunity." "Yes, El Boydo." "An opportunity to get into the seedy underbelly that our mortal enemy has created. You do, of course, realize that the criminals at Mount Asskick are responsible for crime and thus prisons." "Yes, El Boydo." "An opportunity to see... the people..." "Yes... El... Boydo." With that, they were hurled bodily into the first open jail cell by the were-bailiff. In the cell with them was a very fat man and a very strong gay man. "Want some butter?" asked the fat man. "Want some butt sex?" asked the strong gay man. Unfortunately for El Boydo, he was already answering "yes" to the first question and found himself unable to stop the word in mid-air after he heard the second question. The next part is rather crude and involves a lot of loving your neighbor. And butter, actually. ELSEWHERE The two sat silently in the same car. The sign ahead read "MOUNT ASSKICK: 1,216 MILES." Why anyone would bother erecting road signs to a water park across the country was a mystery, but it certainly was useful if you were just starting to pay attention to this part of the story -- er, world. "Hey, Neolith," said Charles. "What do you like better: oranges, or paper?" "Shut up," said Neolith. MARYLAND "So then he says to me, 'Rectum? Damn near KILLED 'em!'" The state trooper laughed unnecessarily loudly into his radio. He used his radio primarily for sharing jokes with the Greater Maryland Area. Due to the proliferation of police scanners in private homes, it was only a matter of time before an officer realized he could finally live his dream of being a morning DJ. Just as he was gearing up to the Top 40 Countdown, he saw a young man walking down the highway, arms swung perfectly straight, in some spine-shatteringly sad imitation of a real march. His hat was red. His shirt said "I INTEND TO KILL SOMEONE. I AM VERY SERIOUS." His pants were the kind of hunting pants that raised questions about the sexuality of hunters nationwide. The officer pondered letting it go, but in the end, harassing people made him feel big. He pulled up next to the kid. "Hey there partner! You're not really planning to kill anyone, are ya?" The cop forced a good-natured laugh. He practiced that every day in front of the mirror. His "Young People Interaction Laugh," he called it. Kids liked laughing cops. Put 'em at ease. In response, Mad Man Mark removed plastic explosives from his backpack and mashed them onto the head of the bewildered trooper before he had time to react. The trooper raised his eyebrows and peeled the red substance off of his forehead. "Why don't you just give me the rest of that, son? And get in the car. If I've told you once, and I haven't, then I've told you a million times: Play-Doh is neither an explosive nor a toy." The trooper then decided to lock this guy up in a New Jersey prison for some reason. MOUNT ASSKICK "so you see, i need info. plz," said Mackey, to Dalton. "Information? What kind?" "well, are there unusual happenings of any kind here?" "No," said Dalton, "and if there were, nobody would tell me. Not mission-critical info." "what is mission critical info for your job?" "Well, how to punch people, how to act tough, how to randomly pick on innocent, law-abiding citizens, that kind of thing. But that was pretty much covered in the training course." "interesting," said Mackey, and removed his notepad to write this down. "Well, seeya," said Dalton. He turned to go, but some part of him just couldn't leave without being physically aggressive in some way. He narrowed his eyes (retro!) for a minute and then realized the answer. "Got your notepad!" he yelled, and then threw it in the water. A happy man, Rob Dalton walked off to spread some joy somewhere else. God, but he did love this job. AN AIRPLANE "Excuse me, sir?" "Yes?" said the boyish man, setting down a copy of "Scientific Unamerican." "We'll be serving your in-flight meal shortly, assuming the unusually huge man next to you doesn't eat it first," said the stewardess. "What would you like to drink with it?" "Toast," replied Anton, and picked up his magazine. "Sir?" "Yes?" replied Anton, setting down a copy of "Scientific Unamerican." "Toast isn't a beverage, sir. What would you like as your beverage?" "What are you talking about? Of course it isn't! LOL!" said Anton, and picked up his magazine. "Sir!" said the stewardess, closing the magazine for him. "Yes?" replied Anton, setting down a copy of "Scientific Unamerican." "Please choose a beverage! Toast is not an option!" "What's a beverage?" "Fat man," said the stewardess, "please slap this stupid Russian." ELSEWHERE "Wally, if you don't shut up about the relative merits of the Atari 2600 I'm going to -- and I say this with absolutely no exaggeration -- intentionally steer this car into the deepest ditch the Earth has to offer and so help me God if we don't fall directly to Hell." Unhearing, Wally continued: "... now, a lot of people will tell you that Metal Gear Solid is superior to pong. I like to call those people 'sheep.' If we just start with the simple assumption that elves are running the government, we can see why..." Moments later, the car swerved hard right, where there was, unexplainably, a river of fire that sunk directly into the pits of Hell itself. The lava flooded into the car long enough to kill both of Wally's parents, conveniently removing two characters who didn't even have names and mostly cluttered the narrative, but couldn't stand his company long enough to incinerate him and quickly trickled back out, leaving Wally relatively unharmed. So the car sunk, badly damaged but intact, into the very depths of hell itself. Wally got out. "Is this Mount Asskick?" he asked a nearby demon. "A subsidiary of it, yeah. What can I do for you?" "Tell me where the water slides are or I'll shoot you." To make good on his threat, Wally rose his thumb and forefinger, gun-shaped, up until they were level with the demon's eyes. The demon hesitated momentarily and then bit Wally's hand off. "Get on the elevator and go to the 1,216th floor," said the demon. "Thanks," said Wally. Man. How the hell was he going to fill his nights without his right hand? Oh well. At least the whole thing provided an opportunity for a cheap masturbation joke, he thought. Um, should he ever tell this story to someone else or something, of course. Oh, plus his arm hurt, yada yada. ELSEWHERE They passed a sign: "MOUNT ASSKICK: 945 miles." Still sitting in silence. "Hey, you know what I hate about carbon paper?" asked Charles. "Nope," said Neolith, and made a show of going to sleep. NEW JERSEY "So, are you really Morgan Freeman?" asked Jesus. "Jesus! Get over here!" yelled El Boydo from across the prison yard. "Sorry. Gotta go," said Jesus, jogging over to El Boydo's location. So far, they'd been in prison for almost a day and God hadn't destroyed the entire place yet. Weird. Well, Jesus was sure the wind would pick up soon and destroy this den of iniquity. In the meantime, he and El Boydo were trying to swap Bible trivia for protection. So far, they'd managed to swap a third Creation account for an agreement not to intentionally throw rocks at them for the rest of the day. Jesus sighed. It was going to be a long fifteen back-to-back life sentences without the possibility of parole. "I'll bet you a hundred bucks you can't make a person using only half of the normal ingredients," said Santa Claus, to God. "Deal!" said God, and called his creation EL BOYDO: THE MAN WITHOUT FEAR or A Young Man's Illustrated Primer [[ This work is wholly the property of Liet-Kynes Productions, except for the bits belonging to Svetlanna Enterprises and the parts I stole. ]] Chapter Six! NEW JERSEY "Hallowed be thy name," said the prison chaplain, reciting most of the churchy dialogue the narrator knew. "Amen," said the worshippers, exhausting the rest. Everyone stood up to go back to their prisonly activities, except for two men, one of whom had fifty or so spoons pinned to his prison uniform. They jangled as he walked. The other one had no spoons. "Can I help you?" asked the chaplain. "Yes," said El Boydo. "We would like you to ask God to break down some prison walls for us, and also, get us a DeLorean to drive to a water park." The chaplain squinted. "I think you're a little mistaken," said the chaplain. "Our God shut off the gravy train a few thousand years ago. Try the prison rabbi, just down the hall." "But," interrupted El Boydo, "does not the Bible say 'Ask God to bust you out of prison, and he will?'" "Yeah," said Jesus, to indicate to readers that he was in the room. "I'm pretty sure it doesn't," said the chaplain. "Now, if you'll--" "Wrong," said El Boydo. "Excuse me?" "I didn't say anything," said El Boydo. "Me neither," said Jesus. "Fine. Anyway, like I said, the Bible says nothing of the sort. Now I've gotta go." "Wrong." "Okay, one of you definitely said 'Wrong' that time." El Boydo nudged Jesus. "Uh, 'song!' Song! I like songs." Jesus smiled at the preacher in a queer sort of way. Queer strange, not butt queer. The preacher smiled back the other way. "Yeah, whatever," said the preacher, and left. "What an idiot that guy was," remarked El Boydo. "Wrong," said Jesus. NEBRASKA So far on this trip, Agent Neolith had stopped for gas exactly four times. He usually liked to refill when the tank was about half empty. "A careful employee is a boring employee, and a boring employee is a government employee," as the FBI training manual said. The first time, he did that. After spending two minutes in the station with Charles, he had vowed to run the thing on fumes the rest of the way. Sadly, they were still hundreds of miles from Mount Asskick when he had to stop again. "Hey, Neolith! Check it out. Cheetohs. Cheat o's! What's the deal with those? Am I right? HA! Do you have to cheat to make them? Are these the dishonest Cheerios? Ha! Am I right? But seriously, folks--" "Shut. Up." Charles began to say something else and Neolith drew his weapon. "Okay, okay, I can take a hint." Before Charles could launch into a spiel about the similarity of the words "hint" and "mint," Neolith paid the cashier and got the hell out of there. Luckily for Charles, the car stalled when starting and he made it back in. MOUNT ASSKICK *DiNG!* Hell's Elevator slid open. A demon in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses walked out and started strolling around the park. Hey, it gets hot down there. Dalton was "walking the beat," as he called it. "Hey Dalton," said one of the other security workers. "Still patrolling the food court?" "Be quiet before I drown you in hot sauce," said Dalton in a tone way too jovial for the content of his sentence. He didn't sound joking, just insane. He did love his hot sauce. One of the patrons approached him. (Dalton, not the unnamed co-worker.) "Excuse me," she said. "Yes?" said Dalton, around a mouthful of hot sauce. "Can you tell me what 'Hell's Elevator' is? It looks like a fun ride, but there are no lines. What's up with that?" "Ah," said Dalton, swallowing and squirting several more packets into his mouth, "absolutely. Hell's Elevator isn't a ride. It's literally an elevator into the deepest pits of hell. Makes business meetings a lot more convenient." The woman laughed and placed her hand on Dalton's arm. "Oh, you're so funny!" she giggled, and walked away. Dalton narrowed his eyes. "Backup to the food court," he said into a packet of hot sauce. HELL "So," said Wally, "did you really invent Linux's driver model?" "Sure did," said the Archdemon. "Love to talk more, but I'm needed at the Rand Institute in an hour. Seeya later!" he waved. Had Wally been a man of less diminished capacity, he would have been able to remember what he had been told only one chapter ago: that he was, in fact, several hundred miles under Mount Asskick, and to get there he need only take the elevator. But this is Wally we're talking about. So he continued to wander around, talking to people he recognized, like the guy that invented "The Clapper" and the author of "How To Lose Friends And Influence No One." "I loved your book," said Wally. "Fuck off troll," said the author. NEW ZEALAND "Bingomate," said Spyda, laying down all of his bridge cards. He had just won whatever fruity British game they were playing. "Hey," said Chris O'Farrell, "do you ever think we're missing important stuff by living on the ass of the world?" "Nah," said Deimos. "Hey, who the fuck let Deimos in? You're banned from the Shuffledeck game, you know that!" MOUNT ASSKICK "I've got to hand it to you, Kynes," said Strowbridge, struggling with a knife and a thin piece of paper. "These new ballots are unpuncturable!" "I know, I love them." "I imagine they'll reduce wrong votes by at least 100%." "Oh, at least," said Kynes. Just outside the Mount Asskick gates, a young boy with a pale complexion and glasses even thicker than he was ran around. He was wearing a cape that said "I HEART HARRY POTTER" and tinfoil boots. He was also carrying a toy Enterprise. "Take THAT!" he said, throwing it at Mount Asskick's wall. The toy Enterprise immediately broke into pieces. Bursting into tears, the boy managed to gurgle: "How will I replace this? Does Mount Asskick think I'm rich? STOP MARGINALIZING ME!" "Scott!" yelled a man a few meters off. "We've been looking all over for you! Get over here right now, young man. How many times have I told you that you're not allowed out of the house without supervision? You're in big trouble, mister..." And for several weeks, Little Scoot disappeared. NEW JERSEY "Open up! Got a new cellmate for ya!" Jesus looked over at the bars. "Don't we already have like, five people in here?" "Yeah, yeah," said the guard, and hurled in an unkempt guy wearing a hunting hat. Jesus wondered if he managed to steal that from whatever further-evolved life form had bagged him. El Boydo glanced over. "Jesus! Who is this?" "El Boydo, how would I possibly know that? He just got here." "Why hast thou forsaken me?" Jesus just closed his eyes and sighed. "Whatever." "I LIKE ROCKS." said the new guy. "Excuse me?" said Jesus. "I LIKE... ROCKS. I EAT EM. I WANT SOME SALAD. SAL LAD." Time and the narrator's imagination had not been kind to Mad Man Mark, who now spoke exclusively in capital letters and was even more insane/retarded than before. "Jesus, what a nutball," said one of the other cellmates. Let's say... oh... the gay one. "I know," said Jesus. "ROCK SALAD." said Mad Man Mark. Making good on his threat, or whatever the hell he was saying, he began gnawing on a stone on the floor. "Jesus, this is the sign we've been waiting for," said El Boydo. "It... is?" "Does not the Bible say 'And when a crazy guy comes to eat rocks, he is there to help El Boydo and Jesus?'" "I don't know, to be quite honest." "Trust me, it does. He could be a powerful ally." El Boydo approached the man and put his hand on his shoulder. "Let me ask you something, retarded stranger." Mad Man Mark turned his beady eyes toward El Boydo. "How do you feel about... the people?" "Why is that kid eating his cereal without spoons?" "Oh, don't worry. He's just follows a particularly strict religious interpretation that doesn't allow the use of utensils." "Um, which religion?" "I don't know." "This kid have a name?" "Yeah, everyone calls him EL BOYDO: THE MAN WITHOUT FEAR! A Liet-Kynes Production ... conjunction with Svetlanna Enterprises Chapter Seven! MOUNT ASSKICK. The line moved along quite nicely. People walked through the gates, the thing spun, people got counted, or didn't. Jim The One-Time Character, who took tickets, kept, you know, taking tickets. Until now, Jim's existence had been so absolutely ordinary as to not merit any character development, so no backstory was needed. Um, when he went on dates and stuff, I mean. I mean, crap, not I. There is no I. Forget all of that. MOUNT ASSKICK. The line moved along quite nicely. People walked through the gates, the thing spun, people got counted, or didn't. Jim The One-Time Character took tickets. Suddenly, in terms of narrative, a young guy appeared. "May I see your ticket, sir?" "There is no time for that. They're after me." "Excuse me?" "Quick! Let me in!" "Um, you need a ticket to enter the park, sir," said Jim, who was already reaching for the small level which sprung the trapdoor which, for some reason, was legal. "It's far too complex to explain! Now let me in!" The guy jumped forward but, being of very low physical strength, only managed to go forward about an inch. Jim The One-Time Character pressed the switch and he fell into Hades. Right after he left a stretch limo pulled up, one of those really long ones often used for comedic effect. A guy got out of the back. He was tall, had silver hair, and a hell of a dame on his arm. The dame's name had actually not been made clear to the narrator at this point in the story, but the guy wore a tuxedo that said "I SELL INSURANCE" on the breast pocket. "Excuse me," he said to Jim. "May I borrow your phone book?" "Nope," said Jim. "Let's head home, boys... he eludes us this time." "I am a hooker with a heart of gold," said the dame. TOP OF MOUNT ASSKICK. Kynes threw a paper airplane down from the observation tower. He had been lucky: just as he was running out of paper, someone turned in a new voter registration form. And to top it off he found a penny too. Great, great day so far. "I'm going for some sodas. Want one? Yours will pretty much be a rounding error on the total tab," said Strowbridge. "Fine, but no Cokes," said Kynes. ON THE ROAD SOMEWHERE. "So anyway, I told her, 'Marina, are you kidding me? Rectum? Damn near killed em!'" Silence. Agent Neolith could kinda start to feel it. Oh, shit. That was actually a little bit funny. Must... not... smile... can't... encourage... joke... telling... Too late. Ahem. Neolith cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh... good one." "Oh yeah? Well let me tell ya, my wife and I sometimes, ha ha, boy, I mean, in the bedroom, you know... sometimes it's an anti-orgasm in there! Ha ha! Have I told you the one about George Lucas, the anti-orgasm, and Episode I? Hoo boy!" said Chuck. "Yes," said Neolith, which meant "No." They passed a sign. It said: "MOUNT ASSKICK. ABOUT A CHAPTER AWAY." A PET SHOP. At Big Wayne Poe's Big Shop Of Stuff, they sold pets, and sometimes they punched you real hard in the face. You never knew until you got to the checkout. It was a gamble, but the prices were reasonable and Wayne, proprietor, knew a lot about snakes and stuff. "Excuse me," said a woman, who was promptly punched in the face. "Excuse me," said a man. "Yes, what can I do for you?" said Wayne. "I'm look for a bird." "Get a parrot," said Wayne, shaking his fist menacingly. "Will do. How about that one?" the man said, pointing over at a cage. Wayne rumbled over, picked the parrot out of the cage. "Great," said the man. "How much?" "Free," said Wayne. "Been trying to unload the damn thing for ages." "What's it's name?" "His Divine Shadow." HADES. Wally approached a guy nervously making a gun out of his thumb and forefinger and pointing it at the various demons sauntering by. They just sort of whistled and went about their business. "Hey," said Wally. "Who sent you?!" demanded the guy. He was wearing a toga which had written on it, in magic marker, "PROPERTY OF ROBERT SCOTT ANDERSON." On the back was a map to his house. "My name is Wall... Transcend," said Wall... Transcend. "Who are you?" "Can't tell ya," he said. After a little while of talking they concluded that they both wanted to get into Mount Asskick, so they looked around for the elevator. PRISON. The prison cafeteria sucked. It was like the one in grade school, except instead of being called a girl, you got the shit kicked out of you by a triple-murderer who was doing back-to-back life sentences in a no-death-penalty state anyway. Bill The Narrative Device was standing in line. He got to the first window with his tray. "Rice or mushed up rice?" "Rice," he said, and moved his tray down a little. "Water or dirty water?" "Water," he said, and moved to the final window. "Take this fork," said the guy behind the glass. "What?" "I said take it." "Do what he says!" yelled a Hispanic kid washing dishes in the background. "Why?" "Take this fork and continue the work of great men before you. Chip away at these prison walls holding us in and soon we will be free." "Uh... okay... why?" "Do it," said the man, leaning forward so that the man could see the many pieces of silverwear already attached in a makeshift fashion to his uniform, with a glint in his eye that extended the sentence, "for the people."