Awesomesquad! Assemble! 5.3!

OK, this is insanely long, so get yourself a strong drink, a savory snack, and buckle the fuck up because shit is about to get High Definition levels of real.

Here are parts one and two if you missed them:

part 1:

https://miniganb.wordpress.com/2011/05/17/awesomesquad-assemble-2/

part 2:

https://miniganb.wordpress.com/2011/06/04/awesomesquad-assemble-5-2/

*****

7:00. Awesomesquad did in fact assemble in the hangar like I asked, but due to a lack of foresight on my part, none of us looked anything like a typical guido. Hell, Damien is pale and blonde; there was no way any of us was going to blend in.

“So how are we supposed to get into the club dressed and looking like this?” Damien asked, apparently noticing the same thing.

“Just let me do the talking, and I’ll get us in there.”

Some of Team Pugnastics traded skeptical glances, but no one questioned me. Which is good, because if they had they would have found out that my only idea to get into that club was to butcher the Italian American accent and to throw around Italian sounding names and phrases like Fox News throws around buzz words, they probably wouldn’t have been willing to go.

I moved past the group and made my way to the Awesomeplane!. This was Jessie’s single greatest achievement.  It looked more like a remote controlled flying toy than an actual plane. Mounted to the sides of the tail as well as the underbelly of the fuselage were four caged rotor blades. These blades were the engines that would keep the plain hovering while the team and I took out Pauly D. The color was currently matte black, but Jessie designed a special type of paint that would change to a certain color when an electrical current was put through it. He also designed it so that different parts of the plane could have different colors, making it effectively invisible from every angle. To top off the stealth capabilities of the Awesomeplane!, it had a state of the art cloaking device that made it impossible to track with radar or thermal imaging technology. The damn thing doesn’t even give off exhaust. It runs on hydrogen, so we merely put water into the tank which is then put through an electrolosis machine, which separates the water into oxygen and hydrogen atoms. The hydrogen gas works an normal fuel does, igniting when it reaches the spark plugs and then forcing the pistons to move.  The exhaust is water vapor once again, and makes its way through the exhaust system back to the fuel tank for another cycle. The entire process makes it so efficient the Awesomeplane! could fly constantly for a week before needing to be refueled. Simply put, the Awesomeplane was stonecold badass.

“Is the Awesomeplane! ready?” I asked a passing Jessie.

“Almost,” he replied, “All I have left to do is double check the air filters and make sure they will hold up against the New Jersey smog.  The team can start loading and take their seats, though. This’ll only take me a few minutes to check.”

“Good,” I commented. I then left Jessie to his work and headed to the only other room on this level:  the armory.

As I entered, I was immediately accosted by Everett, who ushered me to the duffel bags that Steve was going to hide in the men’s room of the club. Three of the four were filled, zipped up, and ready to go, but  the final one had my cloak and Justice Stick sitting next to it.

“You cannot take your Justice Stick with you,” he said to me, apparently not worried about what happens when I am told that I am not allowed to bring my Justice Stick somewhere.

Yes officer, I have a permit for this. Let me show you.

I stared at him coldly. Uneasily, he continued, “Please just listen to the reason why before you attack me. Your Justice Stick is just too big to fit into any of the bags without tearing them apart and Steve cannot carry it with him into the club. It’s just too long and inconvenient.”

I paused before I spoke, mostly due to the fact that these penis jokes that are getting increasingly vague. I then replied, “Have you tried to put The Justice Stick into its pocket in my cloak?”

“Yes,” he replied, “And for some reason, it makes it impossible to fit your cloak in the bag. You are going to have to make a choice between not taking your Justice Stick and wearing your cloak into the club, effectively ruining your cover.”

I walked over and picked up my Justice Stick.  The polished steel pole felt smooth and cool in my hands. I couldn’t remember a time that I did not use it in a fight. The concept of not using it in battle was too foreign for me to bare. I looked at Everett and said, “Well, if those are my only two options, I guess I have to KILL YOU!” I jumped at him while letting out what I’m sure sounded like a demon cry. As I was airborne, I felt four sets of hands grab hold of my arms and legs. They stopped me, and I was left suspended in midair while attempting to free myself from their clutches. The rest of the team, knowing what my reaction would be to the news, had apparently planned ahead to protect Everett from me.

As I squirmed around, still unable to break free, I swore at Everett, “You fucking tell me that I’m not fucking allowed to take my goddamn Justice Stick with me. You bitch! I’ll end you! I’ll send your BUTT FUCKING ASS TO HELL, AND I’LL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT THAT YOU ARE TORTURED IN WAYS THAT ARE HARSH EVEN BY HELL’S STANDARDS. DEELK KTUAMA SSSHEWATK BOGLDRAT INTWUANAMI IZ AWTA HEEST OVTUMBA AURACRATK!” I actually spoke those words, and no, I have no clue what they mean. I assume they are a curse of some sort.

The rest of the group paused for a second and exchanged both confused and nervous glances. Then, Everett pulled a small, metallic cylinder from his pocket and let it fall to the floor. The cylinder rolled to a stop directly under my face. I then realized what it was. I looked back as best as I could to the four people holding me, and saw each of them wearing a gas mask. I looked back at Everett who was putting one a mask of his own. I heard a slight “pop” and my head was consumed by a thick cloud of blue fog. Dizziness instantly washed over me. The room spun like a top that was losing momentum. I cried out, “I will get you for this Everett! I swear!” Everything then went black. Goddamn knockout gas.

When I awoke, I was sitting in my normal seat in the Awesomeplane!, and my team members  were keeping an apprehensive eye on me. I tried to move. Nope, couldn’t move at all. They tied me up again.

“OK, guys” I conceded, “Everett, I’m sorry for trying to attack you, and I promise to not get you for using the knockout gas like I said. Can you please untie me now? I’m cool, I swear.”

Everett, The Knifemaster, and Damien Walters traded confused looks with one another. Everett asked, “What are you talking about, Thunder, you never swore to get your revenge on me.”

“Yes I did, I said it right before I passed out.”

“No you didn’t, Thunder,” The Knifemaster answered, “What you said was, ‘That smoke is going to make gorillas think they’re kittens. TYPHOOOOOONNNNN!!!!’ We still don’t know what that meant.”

We all shared a good laugh at my expense, and the Knifemaster cut me loose. I was tempted to punch Everett right in his bad news giving face, but I decided that it would be a bad idea given how close we were to battle. The rest of the trip was uneventful, other than when we hit patches of Jersey smog. Within the half hour, it was time for Steve to skydive to the club. Jessie flipped a switch, and with the moan of the hydrolics, the back hatch door lifted open. Steve did a somersault dive out of the plain, and started his decent. I couldn’t tell for sure, but for just a second, it looked like Steve flicked us off as he jumped out of the Awesomeplane!. I don’t know why he would do that.

Shortly after Steve jumped out of the plane, we reached the junkyard that would act as our hideout. I spent a minute or so going over what we could expect once we got inside. “Other than horrible dance music,” I stated, “the biggest threat to our wellbeing is going to be the guidos, who will most likely out number us at least 2 dozen to one. The place will also be cramped, so keep a sharp eye on your surroundings, and be sure, BE SURE, not to kill any civilians.” I casted a cold glare at The Knifemaster, who, on our last excursion to destroy the horrible alien beast that is Lady Gaga, killed three people who thought we were a street performance.

“What,” he asked, knowing what I was thinking about, “I told you they had Gagafication boxes and were about to use them.”

“Those were cameras,” Everett replied sheepishly.

“Everett’s right,” I added, “You reacted too rashly to on lookers. We absolutely cannot have that happen again. Disposing of the bodies was way too much trouble.”

The Knifemaster muttered to himself, “Those were Gagafication boxes. I know they were.”

After a few minutes of silence, we decided that our time waiting for Steve would be best spent playing a rousing game of charades. Upon my first turn, I acted out  the child that Awesomesquad! took care of for a little while.

Child death is never not funny.

We all had a good laugh at that, and then we continued with the game. The Knifemaster acted out V for Vendetta, Everett did his interpretation of The Knifemaster “autopsying” the guido, and Damien’s charade was a series of comical movie deaths. We were about to start round two, when the back hatch opened up, and Steve stepped inside. He gave us two thumbs up. His mission was completed.

“OK, guys” I announced to the rest of Team Pugnastics which had now formed a circle, “I’m not going to give a long winded speech this time; let’s just get this asshole!”

The group gave a rallied cry of agreement, and we all put our fists together into the center of the circle. I then raised my right hand into the air and screamed, “KAPLAH!” The group did the same. We then ran out to the ledge of the hatch, and jumped the few feet the ground. We then brushed ourselves off and made our way three blocks to the nightclub.

When we got to the nightclub, we walked up to the bouncer, each of us wearing our normal street clothes. We stuck out like sore, non-guido thumbs that were tourists in a bad neighborhood. Yeah, it was so obvious that we didn’t belong that I had to mash together two different clichés for a description to be accurate. The bouncer, who, if he just grew out his hair and put a skirt on, would be a great example of a body building transvestite, eyed us as if we were the weird ones.

“Yo,” I said to him, trying to sound as Italian American as the ¼ of Italian blood running through my veins was going to let me, “Howyoudoin’  I’m here to talk to Joey Provolone. He in dere?”

“Who’s askin’” the bouncer said in an unnecessarily gruff voice. Seriously, people with throat cancer don’t sound that bad.

I turned to the rest of my team and said, “Did you’s hear dis guy ‘ere? Who’s askin’?” I turned back to him and said, “Listen ‘ere, Tony Nodixsaloni, My name is Joey Buttafuoco, and I have a very important meeting wit Joey Provolone, capiche?”

The bouncer looked at his clipboard and back at me. He asked, “Are deez guyz wit yous?”

“Yeah,” I replied, not knowing how to say “yes” in mobster.

“Go ahead,” he stated, directing us to the door with his gigantic, veiny, over gelled head.

I was amazed that it worked so well, but I was able to stave off my amazement until I got past the bouncer.

“Minigan, that was amazing,” Mr. Expendable, mused, “Where did you come up with ‘Joey Buttafuoco?’”

“I have no clue,” I admitted, “I was hoping that the name would be a common name in Jersey. I didn’t  actually believe that someone would actually be named that.”

No body ever remembers Joey Buttafuoco

As we got deeper into the club, the music was so loud that you could feel your brain vibrate inside of your skull the beat of the base. The place was packed, the dance floor even more so.  On the other end of the room was the restrooms where Steve hid our gear.

I turned to my team and screamed over the terrible dance music, “Even though we got past the bouncer, it is still blatantly obvious that we don’t belong. We need to keep cool, and not draw attention to ourselves until we are able to—“

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The Knifemaster screamed as one of the many hoochie mamas walked by. And of course the music had to stop right at that moment so that everyone in the club heard the outburst. The music cut out completely, and everyone turned to see who made the outburst.

Everyone stood there silently for a few long seconds, and then I slapped The Knifemaster on the back of his head and said, “Why’d you gotta scream at that grenade, ya mook?” I then turned to the on lookers and yelled, “What? Can’t a couple of guidos check out a couple a’bitches witout getting’ stared at? Ahhhh fogettaboutit.”

I made my way across the room. Since everyone was staring at us, they willingly separated and let us pass to the restrooms. Once we got there, the music started back up and the club goers started dancing again, forgetting that six non-guidos just entered their nightclub and started acting like a bunch of caricatures of Italian Americans. Criss and Mr. Expendable stood guard outside the restroom as Everett, Damien, The Knifemaster, and I walked inside.  Once inside, I turned around and punched The Knifemaster right in his loud goddamn mouth.

The Knifemaster looked at me like I said I hoped he gets cancer and said as tears began to fill his eyes, “Why did you do that?”

“Why,” I fumed, “Why?!?! I had just said to not draw attention to ourselves! How is screaming ‘boobies’ not going to get us noticed?”

“Would it make it any better if I said I was sorry?”

“NO!” I snapped, “Do me a favor and don’t open your fucking mouth unless it is really important.”

Under his breath, but still understandable, The Knifemaster muttered, “A nice set of boobs is really important.”

For instance, they can hold your beer for you while your hands participate in more important activities, like grabbing some boob.

I ignored him, and instead walked to the second stall, pushed up the ceiling tile that was three from the wall and two from the right side of the stall. I pulled out the four duffel bags that Steve left behind and tossed them down to Damien, Everett, and The Knifemaster. I made sure to throw the one at The Knifemaster extra hard. The last one I dropped at the edge of the toilet so that I could open it for myself. Inside was everything we needed (sans Justice stick, the bastards.) We put on our ultra-lightweight Awesomevlar! vests and each grabbed our machetes. I pulled out my white cloak and set it aside. I’ll put you on in a minute I thought as I holstered my two Desert Eagles and the extra ammo.  I wrapped my wrists and knuckles, then strapped my throwing knife sheath to my wrist. Finally I threw my camelback hydration system (product placement- money please!) full of my Awesomepotion! For those of you who do not remember, Awesomepotion consists of Gatorade, Everclear, and redbull. I stole the idea from Tucker Max.

All that was left in my bag was whatever Criss needed. Luckily for me, I am the only one willing to share my duffel bag with him, and he doesn’t need to bring much. Why does no one else want to share a duffel bag with him you ask? Because 1. We all have too many things that we need to bring on the mission, and 2. He’s kind of a dick. Anyway, all he had to bring was his trick gun, some tarot cards that have blade edges, and a live white rabbit that I am still not sure what purpose it serves. I personally hope it is actually a bomb. I put on my cloak. The thick leather was cool against my skin, and its rich scent filled my nostrils and warmed me with an overwhelming sense of calm. I felt the inside of the right sleeve of the cloak and found the small button I was looking for. I pressed it. For about a second, a light hum came from my cloak, and my cloak shrank to fit me like a shirt. I was officially ready to kick some ass.

I stepped out of the restroom to stand guard while Criss went in to get his gear. After a brief moment with Mr. Expendable, The Knifemaster stepped out and let Mr. Expendable get his stuff.

We stood quietly for a good minute before he turned to me and asked, “You mad?”

I glanced over at him, trying hard not to smile, and saw him with a big, goofy looking grin painted on his face. I turned my head the other direction, trying to force the smile that was growing on my face back into a grimace. It was no use; I can never stay mad at people for too long. And for that, I hate myself. I stopped struggling against my face, and let the smile form.  While still keeping my face turned away from him (I didn’t want to see me smiling… you know, sign of weakness) I said, You could have ruined the entire mission. Don’t let it happen again.

“I can’t promise that, Thundercock,” The Knifemaster answered, “If I see a nice set of funbags, I am going to make sure that everyone else knows about it. But I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” I asked. My smile had faded by now, and turned into a look of puzzlement, so I was able to look him in the face.

“I’ll fuck Pauly D’s shit up so bad that the shit will pour out of his mouth literally, instead of how it always does figuratively.”

I a let a small grin form on my face and said, “That would definitely make up for it.”

After another few minutes of silence (between us, the douchebag hive that we were in was deafeningly loud), The Knifemaster noted, “It’s really taking them a long time to get their stuff.”

I agreed and said, “But what can you expect with Mr. Expendable? The guy would have been killed several times by now if it wasn’t for the fact that he can regenerate lost tissue.”

“I know!”  The Knifemaster answered, “Do you remember when we were in Lybia helping take out Gaddafi, and he got shot in the head by one of his guard?”

“Do I?” I asked rhetorically, “he wouldn’t stop screaming that the bullet was in his brain, despite the fact that it was very clear that he had already healed completely. He was crying so much that we had to leave without actually taking out Gaddafi. Those poor, oppressed Lybians.”

“Hey,” The Knifemaster said, “the U.S. Government is involved now; they can certainly handle it. Why should we have to fight all the bad guys and save the world every day? What the hell are we supposed to be, a league of superheroes?”

I was about to answer that last question with a “Yes, we are,” when our four teammates stepped out of the restroom. Mr. Expendable looked from me to The Knifemaster and said jokingly, “Quit talking about me.”

“Sorry,” I said, “we only talk about worthwhile topics,” I replied.

“Like knives, women, Thunder’s abs, and if we could kill Shia Lebuff hard enough, could that murder ripple back in time and prevent the Transformer movies and the last Indiana Jones movie from ever being made.” The Knifemaster added.

“Damn right,” I said as The Knifemaster and I shared a laugh and another exploding fist pound. I looked to the rest of the group and said, “Let’s split up into pairs and look for Pauly D.”

“Get outta heere, ya lousy troll, or I’ll fuckin’ moida ya!” we heard from across the club, “I’m the greatest fucka heere!”

“Nevermind,” We said collectively. I lead the way to where the scream came from: VIP area, of course.  I bypassed the bouncer for the VIP area, ignoring his inquiries about whether or not I was on “The List.”

“I’ll show you where we are on the list,” I heard Damien say.  I then heard a couple of deep thumps when Damien beat the guy up, and followed by the heavy thump of the body falling to the floor. My eyes remained focused on my target. He was sitting in a circular corner booth surrounded by slutty looking guido chicks, and fellow faux alpha male douchebags. I had made it halfway across the room before his eyes locked with mine. I could feel the electricity in the air, which meant one of two things: we were about to fight or about to have sex. Worried, I double checked the look in his eyes. Thank God; we’re going to fight.

“Pauly D,” I said, “We need to have a talk with you.”

He chewed on the stem of the cherry that came in his drink as he eyed us with suspicion.  He nodded to the other people at the table, and they all left without a word. He ushered us into the booth with his hand. I sat down, followed by The Knifemaster, Everett, and Mr. Expendable. Damien and Criss stood at the end of the booth, ready to fight if the case should arise.

Once we were all situated, Pauly D said, “You come in heere, dressed like a bunch’a freaks, oogle my grenades and shit, and then want to talk to me? Oh-ho ho! This betta be the best thing I heard.”

I gave Pauly a friendly smile and replied, “Well, you see, Mr. D, earlier today I was attacked at my house by what turned out to be a guido. This comes a mere week after discovering your plan to take over the music industry and make it even worse than what it is today.”

“Nah,” he replied, “I don’t wanna take it over, I just want to work in the industry is all. It ain’t no thang.”

“Oh, yeah?” The Knifemaster snapped, “Then who the fuck is this?” he dropped a black sack onto the table which made a loud, but wet thump. He then released the rope that was keeping the bag  closed. The sides of the bag fell to reveal the bloody severed head of the man who attacked me earlier this morning. Everyone at the table, including Pauly D and myself jumped back and screamed a little; The Knifemaster had obviously planned this on his own.

“What the fuck, Knifemaster,” I blurted out, “Why would you bring that with you?”

“Tell us your plans, Pauly D,” The Knifemaster stated, completely ignoring me, “Tell us, or you end up like your friend here.” The Knifemaster showed his right hand to Pauly D. He was wearing the scalpels again.

Pauly looked from The Knifemaster’s scalpel hand, to me, and then to the severed head that was staring directly at him. The expression on his face morphed from fear to into sorrow. “Joey Motsarelli? You killed my friend Joey Motsarelli?!?!” The look of sadness turned into hatred, and Pauly D looked at me. “YOU KILLED MY FRIEND! YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!”

Pauly D began to take quick breaths, as if he was hyperventilating. We watched as the veins on his arms, neck and forehead grew and pulsed with the beating of his heart. His muscles twitched and grew to twice their size. Pauly D stood up and flipped the table out of the way, along with part of the floor that it was attached to. He let out a deafening roar, and swung one of his abnormally muscular arms at us. The Knifemaster, Everett and myself managed to duck and miss the crushing blow from Pauly D’s meat clubs; Mr. Expendable, however wasn’t so lucky. Pauly D’s hand caught the side of Mr. Expendable’s face, and sent him sailing out of the chair, knocking over Damien and Criss in the process.

Looking at the three men on the floor, Pauly dropped his lower jaw and made his eyes bulge almost completely out of their sockets. Knowing what was going to happen next, I jumped onto his back and began to punch him furiously in the back of his head. The bastard barely felt it. Fortunately, Mr. Expendable also knew what was going to happen next, and jumped to his feet, separating Pauly D from Criss and Damien. A white hot laser beam shout out of Pauly’s mouth and straight through Mr. Expendable’s chest. Criss and Damien managed to roll out of the path of the beam right before it hit where they were laying. Pauly D closed his mouth which stopped the laser.  Mr. Expendable looked down to the gaping and bloody hole were his internal organs used to be, and fell to the floor. During that moment between Pauly D’s attacks, Criss telekinetically threw Pauly D out of the VIP area and onto the main dance floor, knocking over many club patrons on the way.

Pauly D got up slowly, but still obviously roid raging and screamed, “Guidos, Attack!”

The music stopped. The dancing stopped. All other sounds other than Pauly D’s heavy breathing stopped. Everyone in the club turned and looked toward us. One of them let out a screech, similar to one that a pterodactyl would have. With that screech, the herd of Guidos came charging at us. I pressed the button on the inside of my sleeve, and my cloak became a cloak again. I put up my hood, took a sip from my Awesomepotion!, pulled out my guns, and got ready to deal with this fucking bullshit.

I fired into the charging crowd, really wishing I had my Justice Stick with me. My group split up far enough to separate the crowd as much as we could. I saw out of the corner of my eye The Knifemaster hacking guido after guido with his machete. Every once in a while, he would manage to throw one of his throwing knives into the oncoming herd, each knife finding its way into the throat or the face of a guido or guidette. Damien had managed to keep a rather large area of space between himself and the group that had formed around him. The guidos attacked him one at a time, so Damien was able to easily defeat many of them. Criss and Everett were standing next to each other fighting off the hoard.  Criss was able to keep an invisible blockade between the two men and the herd of guidos, and Everett would throw stun and flash bombs through the blockade and into the crowd. Criss would then send out a psionic pulse to clear away any of the knocked out guidos. The fully healed Mr. Expendable was standing in the corner booth that we had been sitting in a minute earlier, using the table as a shield and firing his shotgun at the squirming mass of orange bodies.

After several minutes of punches, stabbings and gunshots, I ran out of ammo. I’m still too far away from Pauly D, and all I have left to fight with is my machete and throwing knives. I’m kinda fucked. I pulled my machete from its sheath and spun in a  circle as I held the blade out, effectively slitting the throats of the guidos closest to me. When I stopped, I felt extra weight from inside my cloak. I reached into the secret pocket where I keep My Justice Stick and pulled out two uzis. I smiled. Everett, you wonderful bastard. I looked to where he and Criss were standing, and saw Everett crouched over something while Criss was firing playing cards into the crowd, Gambit- style.  Each card made their mark and was answered with a pained scream. I decided to fight my way over there. I put my uzis away for the moment, and began to treat the guidos like bamboo (I hacked the shit out of them with my machete.)

Once I made it to them, I called over the angry roar of guidos, “I assume the uzis are to take the place of my Justice Stick, Everett? If so, then nice choice.”

“Well,” he replied, looking up from a large, shiny metal tube, “I couldn’t leave you without a backup secret weapon, could I?”

I smiled at him, but he could not tell since my hood was shrouding my face. I looked at the metal tube he was working on (In the middle of a major fight, no less). Upon closer inspection, I found that it wasn’t a tube, but more of a cannon. It had a thick ring of acid green lights situated at the back of it, different colored wires protruding from the side and finding their way to the mouth of the barrel, where three spokes jetted out from the rim and pointed to the center.

“I call it a Deguidofication ray.” Everett yelled over all the noise to me, “It will turn any guido who gets hit by it will turn back into a normal human.”

“What if these people are guidos by choice?” I asked.

Everett gave me a puzzled look for a second or two, and then asked, “Who would ever choose to be a guido?” He then continued, “I am just making some last minute adjustments for this size of a crowd.”

really, who actually thinks this is a good look?

I nodded and brought my watch up to my mouth. I announced into it, “Okay, team, get ready to unleash our secret weapons. Does anyone have a good view of Pauly D?”

“Yes,” The Knifemaster answered, “He is standing at the DJ booth on the other end of the dance floor. He’s just watching like an asshole.”

“Good,” I replied, “Once we get through this crowd, take him out.” I  then screamed our battle cry, “ KAPLAH!!!”

The rest of the team answered my call with their own kaplahs. I pulled my uzis back out and began to fire into the crowd. From The Knifemaster’s direction, I heard a loud buzz which was followed by screams and the image of flying body parts. He had started his chainsaw whip. Criss lifted up his hat, and the white rabbit from earlier hopped down and scurried into the crowd of guidos. After a few seconds, terrified screams came from the center of the hoard as the rabbit began to attack random guidos. I watched as Damien began to flip through the air. Each time he landed, he took out another guido. I then turned to where Mr. Expendable was to see him being torn to pieces by the mob that had finally gotten close enough to do so. As I was wondering if he could heal from something like that, I saw his disembodied limbs begin to punch and kick the closest guido. The limbs were using the objects closest to them as weapons. When they finally were able to fight back the herd of guidos, I was able to see Mr. Expendable’s head perched on top of his (still standing) severed leg, shouting orders to his body parts. I then suddenly realized that I have the strangest crime fighting team ever.

“Thunder,” I heard Everett say from behind me, “I cannot use my Deguidofication ray on the Guidos if you’re blocking them from me. Move!”

As soon as I stepped to the side, an acid green beam of light shot out from the barrel of the Deguidofication ray and into the crowd. Green lightning bolts traveled around each guido that was hit by the ray. Suddenly, the guidos that were hit fell to the floor. Their bodies began to swell and twitch. Each one looked like a hot dog that was being over cooked in the microwave. After a few seconds of this, each infected guido body exploded into a pink dust that smelled like bad cologne and perfume. Everett sweeped the room with the ray, making sure that every last guido got hit by it, and then released the trigger. Within seconds, the last guido club goer was reduced to the thick pink dust that hung in the air. The club now was eerily quiet. Even though the dust was thick, I could tell that Pauly D was pissed off. I made my way to the dance floor to end Pauly D once and for all.

As I walked foreward, I mumbled to Everett, “I thought you said that it was supposed to turn the people into non guidos?”

“It was supposed to,” he replied, “But I didn’t have any guidos to test it out on first. Besides, is being reduced to a pink mist a worse fate than spending your life as a guido?”

“Hmm,” I answered, “I guess not. But next time let me know what you’re working on, then we can plan for those things.

We made it to the dance floor, and finally, the pink mist settled. Pauly D was breating heavily in front of the DJ station, anger and hatred filling his eyes more than those bloodshot veins.

He screamed at us, “You killed all of them?!?! How are you supposed to be the heroes?!”

Everett raised his hand slightly and answered, “Well, that was never planned; it was only supposed to—“

“Shut up!” Pauly interrupted. “I guess I’m gonna have to kill you myself.”  He dropped his jaw and bulged his eyes once again, but this time, he aimed up at the disco ball above the dance floor. The laser from his mouth reflected off the mirrors and landed around us, creating a laser light show of death. We all let out terrified screams as he hid under tables, chairs, or whatever else we could find that could stop the beam from hitting us. I snuck a quick peek at the disco ball, and saw the wire it was hanging from.

I turned to Everett and asked, “Do you think you could throw a knife and hit that wire?”

He looked up to the wire, “Not from here, I would have to stand towards the edge of the dance floor, but we cannot get there with laser mouth trying to kill us.”

“I’ll do it,” Mr. Expendable said. He took one of the throwing knives out of my hand and ducked out from under the table where we were hiding. I watched as the reflected lasers blackened his skin, very much like how it looked earlier today after helping Everett test his flamethrowers. Mr. Expendable ran to the best place to throw the knife, and did just that. The knife soared through the air, and, with a surprising amount of accuracy, cut the wire holding up the disco ball. The ball of mirrors shattered on the floor. Pauly D, realizing that yet another one of his defenses was foiled, charged at  Mr. Expendable. He put his head down, and head butted Mr. Expendable right into the wall next to the restrooms. When the guido pulled away, Mr. Expendable was pinned to the wall by the dislodged spikes from Pauly D’s hair.

“You betta stay there,” Pauly D snapped at Mr. Expendable. He then turned to the rest of us and yelled,  “Who else wants a piece o’me?”

“Not me,” Everett answered while he shot his grappling hooks at the balcony above Pauly, “I hate fake Italian food.” The grappling hooks locked in place and Everett then pulled back on the cables, causing the entire structure to fall right on Pauly D’s fat head.

But Pauly D then burst out from the rubble, virtually unscathed. Everett shot another grappling hook, this time right above Pauly’s head. It lodged itself into the far wall, and Everett launched himself at Pauly with every intention of literally cramming a boot into Pauly’s mouth. Pauly, however, was prepared for this attack;  he grabbed the wire  above his head, and swung it  around so that when Everett finally lost his grip, he went flying into the DJ booth. Pauly then blasted the box with his laser mouth, making it collapse upon itself.

“Two down, bitches,” Pauly taunted, “Four more to go.”

I glanced at the Deguidofication ray; it looked like it might be still intact. I sprinted towards it, hoping, praying that I would know how to fire it once I got there.  Pauly shot a laser at my head, which I dodged by an awesome slide move. But right as I was about to grab hold of the gun, a second laser beam hit the Deguidofication ray, melting it into a pool of metal. I’m fucked. I thought. Rather incorrectly, in fact, because at the exact moment that Pauly was distracted by me and the Deguidofication ray, The Knifemaster was able to whip his chainsaw whip directly at Pauly D. He got him in his side, and the chainsaw was firmly lodged in his side. Pauly roared an rage filled roar, and began to pull the chain whip (With the Knifemaster still holding on) towards him. Before The Knifemaster could let go, Pauly had grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted him to his eye level. I was terrified; I couldn’t lose another second in command. That would mean that I would have lost two of my best friends. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

Damien and I sprinted to Pauly and The Knifemaster. I threw Damien one of my uzis. We both hopped onto his back and began to shoot Pauly in the neck, but the bullets bounced off without even indenting the skin. Pauly attempted to shake us off, but it was no use; Criss was telekinetically keeping us on him. I glanced from behind me and saw Mr. Expendable, who had managed to free himself from Pauly’s hair spikes, holding a mirror from one of the restrooms. I instantly knew his plan. So did Damien, apparently. We both kicked  The Knifemaster’s shoulders out of Pauly D’s grip right as his  jaw began to drop. Mr. Expendable threw the mirror over all of our heads, and Criss made it flip midair and stop falling right inbetween Pauly and The Knifemaster. Pauly, wasn’t as quick to react this time, as he blasted a laser at the mirror, which bounced back and hit him in the chest. Damien and I jumped off right before Pauly D sent himself flying backwards and through the brick wall of the club.

“Everett,” I called after a second or two of silence from the other side of the wall, “Are you alright?”

He climbed out of the smoldering rubble that used to be the DJ box and replied with a weak yet responsive, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said back. I then said to everyone left standing (I.E. my team) and said, “Absolutely great teamwork, guys. I’m really proud of all of you. That is how we handle bad guys. Now, Let’s go apprehend this asshole!”

The group followed me out of the club and around to the side that Pauly came out of. It was a dark alley way, but there was enough light to reflect off of the water on the ground.  I looked for the body. Nothing. No blood, no foot prints, absolutely no evidence that anyone came crashing through that wall other than the random chunks of bricks strewn about the alleyway. I then looked for a place that he could have possibly hid himself. Other than the dumpster (that was empty) there was no place for him to hide. He was gone.

“Where is Carmen San Diego’s name did he go?” The Knifemaster asked?

“I dunno,” Criss replied, “I watched him break through that wall, but I couldn’t see anything after that.”

I sighed. “C’mon, gang, Let’s get back to the Awesomeplane! He’s obviously gone.”

We made it back to the junkyard in silence, but once I entered, I felt a searing pain on the right side of my head. I got dizzy. I fell to the ground. I heard screaming all around me, but I couldn’t figure what it was about. Finally, everything came back into focus and I saw Steve holding a 2×4 and yelling at me. He said, “That’s what you get for pretending not to know what I’ve been saying, you racist asshole.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Steve, I’ve never been able to understand what you say. And don’t call me an asshole.” I stopped, and I stood up. I felt a little shaky from that blow to the head, but I was too pissed to care. “Wait a goddamn minute,” I snapped,  “You’ve been talking in that made up language that doesn’t even sound Japanese, and once you hit me with a 2×4, you start speaking English, and I’m the asshole. Well fuck you, dick.”

Everyone was amazed, even Steve. “Wait,” he said, “You really couldn’t understand me?”

“NO!” I said along with other members of the group.

“Well then,” he replied, “I’m sorry, but it did seem to work, so I guess we’re even.”

“Sure, whatever,” I answered, starting to feel woozy again. “Jessie, take us home. We need to debrief, and I need an icepack.”

The plane ride home consisted of the team telling the story of what happened in the club from their own points of view (which made each of them sound like we all would have died if it wasn’t for them) and Steve questioning me about what the language I heard him speak sounded like.  I continued to repeat that it didn’t sound like Japanese or any other real language. My answer never seemed to satisfy him, though, and eventually he went back and talked with the rest of the group. I gazed out the window, watching as the lights from the cities below disappeared and reappeared from under the thick clouds. I could not get my mind off of Pauly D’s disappearance. It only took us a few seconds to get out there, and he should have been to injured to move let alone run down the alleyway and turn the corner. I decided that it would be best if I had Danica look for him with her douche-smog maps once we get back. Feeling more at ease now knowing that Pauly D didn’t escape us completely, I closed my eyes and drifted off into sleep for the reminder of the trip.

******

Pauly D smashed through the brick wall, sending hunks of brick across the alleyway. He landed flat on his back with a heavy “thunk.” He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. After about a second or two, his lungs opened back up and the cool New Jersey night air rushed in and gave him new life. Right as he was about to get up, a dark figure came and loomed over him. Pauly couldn’t see anything about the being other than his outline, which was shapeless, but still menacing.

“Hello Pauly D,” a dark voice said, “I see you just had a run in with the Awesomesquad!.”

“Bastards killed my best friend,” Pauly D replied, a little nervous of the figure speaking to him.

“I bet you would love to get revenge on them, wouldn’t you?” The voice asked. “We can make them regret ever hearing of you. Would like that?”

“I’d rather see ‘em all dead.”

The voice let out a small puff of air, which Pauly assumed as a laugh. The voice said, “We’ll make sure that happens too, don’t you worry. But if you want to make sure it happens, you’ll come with me now.”

“But,” Pauly D asked, “Won’t they see us? I mean they gotta be comin’ ‘round heere any second.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” the figure replied, “I have already taken care of that. All you need to do, is grab my hand and we’ll be on our way.”

A white, fragile looking hand appeared out of the black that was the figure looming over Pauly D, and extended itself down to the man on the ground. Pauly hesitated, but the grabbed hold of the hand. It was oddly soft. In an instant, both men were gone, disappeared without any piece of evidence as to where they went. A few seconds later, Thunder and the rest of Team Pugnastics turned the corner to see a Pauly D-less alley way.

 

THE END

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