Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1! Revisited! (Part 2)

For those of you wondering just what the flying hell Awesomesquad! is, this post should tell you everything you need to know. Beware, there are spoilers. Since this is Part Two, you should read Part One if you haven’t already done so.

For those of you who have read it, or those of you who don’t feel like reading it (dicks) here is a reminder of what happened in Part One:

Back in May of 2009, Jessie James (our mechanic/ vehicle builder) came to us with the theory that Donald Trump was up to deeds more dastardly than his usual dastardly deeds. Against Damien Walters’s (our fighting/ parkour trainer) wishes, we flew to New York City to run some surveillance on the orange skinned millionaire. We stayed at a hotel the night before we were to carry out the stake out.

And that’s it. Enjoy:


When I awoke the next morning, the sun risen from the ocean and painted the sky an orange cream color. Also, Damien’s feet were resting on my face. Frantically I squirmed and smacked them away from my mouth and nose, and I took deep breaths of air not tainted with the smell of feet. I rolled onto my stomach, and rested my chin on the pillow and fully took in the light that shown through the curtain. Even with the curtains drawn and our window not facing the east, the golden morning light flooded the room. As I basked in the sunlight, it dawned on me what day it was- my 21st birthday. Holy shit, 21! I thought as a smile grew on my face, I finally made it! I’m going to get so hammered today. I lifted my head off my pillow and squinted at my sleeping teammates. I knew that Lady Caggiano knew it was my birthday, but I had never mentioned it to the rest of them. I pondered telling them for a few seconds before remembering what just about every action movie from the 1990’s had taught me: that mentioning your upcoming life event right before a potential action scene is a good way to get yourself dramatically offed. For my own health, I promised not to mention my birthday until after we had stopped Trump.

With my eyes fully adjusted to the light, I got up, grabbed the clothes I would be wearing for the stake out, and crept into the bathroom to take a shower before anyone else woke up. I wasted no time in the shower, and changed into my costume. I wore a grey and green plaid button up shirt, navy blue chino pants (which were not woman’s pants as I had believed before purchasing them), and a pair of standard black Chuck Taylor shoes. Obviously, I was meant to be a hipster, and I clearly rocked the look.

By the time I had finished in the bathroom, Damien was up and attempting to readjust his spine from the night sleeping on the chair by lying on the floor, and GMZ was sitting at the desk, typing something onto his laptop. As soon as he noticed I was out, Damien stood up and rushed into the bathroom, making sure to brush into me with his shoulder as he passed. Apparently, his night sleep did not better his feelings towards me or this mission today. As he showered, I woke up the rest of Awesomesquad! and had them start to prepare for the stake out set for later this morning.  I then went down to the continental breakfast to pick up some coffee and food for my group, and when I returned, the hotel room was crowded with my team members trying to get ready.

As my team got ready, we ate and talked about whether or not the Latest Terminator movie was going to flop when it came out in two weeks.

“Just as long as it’s better than the last one” GMZ noted, “But I’m not expecting too much with the movie.”

“Yeah,” Everett stated, “If their big shocker is that what there are robots disguised as people, they’re going to be disappointed to find out that was used in the first three Terminator movies.”

I added sarcastically, “But in this one there’s a robot who thinks he’s people!”

“That’s Sam Worthington’s character, right?” Criss asked, “Because I’m pretty sure that he really is just a robot in a meat husk.”

We all laughed at that, even when Criss added, “I’m being serious.”

The conversation died there, and I stuffed the rest of the blueberry muffin I was eating into my mouth. I looked around the crowded hotel room at everyone in their costumes, putting in their earpieces, and sipping their coffees and eating the assorted breakfast foods when I realized that we were missing a person.

“Where’s Lady Caggiano?” I asked the group.

“Minigan, I’m not wearing this. You can’t make me. It’s too humiliating and degrading.” Lady Caggiano’s voice rang out from inside the bathroom

“I’m sure you look fine in it,” I reassured her through the door.

“Fine? Are you kidding? I look amazing. But that doesn’t make it any less chauvinistic. Plus, I don’t see how I’m supposed to blend in when I’m clearly going to attract all the attention.”

“Well come out here and let me see,” I replied, “It cannot be as dehumanizing as you say.”

She opened the door, but did not step out. She was wearing a pair of polished black shoes with knee high red plaid socks. The socks matched her skirt, which also matched her tie. The tie hung in front of her dress shirt that she jokingly tied into a knot at her lower ribs, revealing her belly button. Over the dress shirt was a red school sweater from an all-female private school named the Bim-Bonia Academy. To top off her look, both figuratively and literally, she wore her light brown hair in two pigtails swayed back and forth as she moved. Honestly, she did look good, but she was right about how it would be too distracting.

I snorted before breaking out into laughter about her dress shirt. However, that laughter was short lived because Lady Caggiano slammed the door shut and locked it.

Confused, I immediately subdued my laughter and said to the locked bathroom door, “C’mon Lady Caggiano. You look fine. Just stop messing around and fix the shirt and come out here; We’re about to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Minigan,” she replied, “But the sound of you being a total douchebag is drowning out your voice.”

“What?!” I shouted.

“Sorry,” she yelled, “But you’re really going to have to scream if you want to be heard over your own douchery!”

“Lady Caggiano,” I commanded at a normal volume, “Come out here now.”

She yelled again, “Still can’t hear you. Maybe you should just go on the mission without me!”

“Fine!” I yelled through the door, “We don’t need you anyway!”

I walked away from the door when GMZ ran up to me and whispered, “Minigan, we totally need her.”

“I know,” I whispered back.

It was true. It was to be Lady Caggiano’s job to plant a bug in Trump’s private elevator as well as in one of the potted plants near the entrances. With her refusing to help, that means that a few of us were going to have to go out of our ways to plant the bugs.

After thinking over the plan for a minute or two, and pacing back and forth in the small amount of free space available to do so, I announced to my group, “OK, slight change of plans. Jessie, we’ll set you up with a wire so that you can catch as much of the conversation as you can. If Trump refuses to let you come up into his loft with him, try to plant the bug on the inside the cuff of his sport coat. If he lets you go up, plant a bug in as many places as you can without looking suspicious.” I then turned to Criss and Everett and continued, “You two will have to plant the bugs near the entrances now, because that CRAZY WOMAN LADY CAGGIANO-“

“Eat shit and die, Minigan!”

“-won’t come out of the bathroom. Also, this leaves a large gap in our stakeout formation that we’ll need to fix, so Nut’n Fancy, you and I will split up. You will browse the shops on the third and fourth floors of the Atrium, and I’ll go up to the second level and hang out at the Starbucks. Jessie, Criss, and Everett, stay on the bottom floor and watch for Trump. Jessie, hang out in the seating area until one of us spot’s Trump’s location and relays it to you. Criss and Everett, you’re supposed to be shooting scenes for Criss’s TV show, so make sure that both Criss and his private elevator door are both in the shot at all times. And Derren, you’ll take the top two floors of the atrium, but keep an eye on what’s going on below. You’ll need to be the one who talks us out of a jam if Jessie screws up.”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled, offended.

“I’m just saying hypothetically.” I reassured him. I then turned to Derren and mouthed the words, “When Jessie screws up.”

I looked down at my watch- It was quarter after seven, which meant that we had forty five minutes to get to the Trump Tower and into our positions before Trump exited the building for his morning workout. Thanks to Jessie being on the Celebrity Apprentice, he had learned and remembered Trump’s daily routine: 7:00 AM- Wake up, 8:00 AM- go workout, 9:00 AM- Go home, shower, take care of awesome hair (Trump’s words, according to Jessie), 10:30 AM- Devise plan to bankrupt another company that he owns (Lady Caggiano’s words from the trip over). Sure, we did have two chances to get to Trump, but I didn’t want to waste either.

Realizing that I still wasn’t wearing my fedora or my thick rimmed glasses with the hidden camera, I reached for my bag and found it to be at least thirty pounds heavier than what it had been before I took my shower. Curious, I opened it to find not my clothing, but a bunch of hoses, metal pipes and rods, and a large gas canister.

Everett smacked my hand away from the bag and snapped, “Get out of my bag!”

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Not important,” he replied. I pointed out to him that whenever someone says that it’s not important, it usually always is, and he replied to that by saying, “Yeah, but it’s not important for you to know, though.” He then picked up the heavy bag and set it in a corner far away from me.

“Again,” I replied smartly, “If you say something’s not important, it’s a good indication that it is.”

He didn’t answer, but just sat down on top of the bag.

“Whatever,” I replied as I rolled my eyes. I found my actual bag, and my hat and glasses inside it. I then turned to Damien, who was posing as an I.T. specialist, and said, “You can head down now. You need to have downloaded the hacking software into the system before the rest of us carry out with our plan. Good luck.”

“Same to you, mates,” he replied as he passed me, giving me a heavy pat on my shoulder, which I took as a sign that he had finally gotten over being angry with me.

Once Damien shut the door behind him, I turned to Criss and Everett and explained, “You two will be leaving next. Do not take a direct route to The Trump Tower. And try to perform some tricks for people on your way there. Granted, we’re in New York, so everyone’s probably going to be in too much of a rush to even cast a lingering angry look at you, but try anyway. And everyone: remember that we’re going to be in a public place, and nothing is more noticeable than a man talking to himself. So do not use your earpiece to communicate. If you need to get a hold of any of us, call my cellphone. GMZ will have it and will relay your message to the rest of us. Everyone nodded, and after a few minutes Criss and Everett got up to leave. Everett had GMZ sit on the bag to protect it from me, and then he with his video camera, and Criss with his trick cards and whatnot left. A few minutes later, they were followed by Jessie, then Derren, and finally Nut’n Fancy and me.

Before Nut’n Fancy and I left, I kindly called through the bathroom door, “Lady Caggiano, we’re leaving. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

She didn’t reply.

Shrugging, I said, “Fine.” and Nut’n Fancy and I walked out the door.

As we walked down the hallway, Nut’n Fancy chuckled and said, “You two sure you ain’t married? You sure act like you are.”

I rolled my eyes, “Please. Like lady Caggiano or I would be able to get through a single date before we’d be bickering at each other. Besides, we’re best friends. Dating her would be weird.”

In silence, we boarded the empty elevator and I pressed the button for the lobby. Once the elevator began its descent, Nut’n Fancy added, “It’s prolly for the best Lady Caggiano doesn’t come with us today, anyway. Women ain’t really suited for spy’n or fight’n.”

“OK, I’m going to stop you right there,” I replied before he had a chance to continue, “Even if we ignore the existence of every female soldier before her, Lady Caggiano still managed to sneak up on me, attack me, pin me to the ground, and force me to let her on the team. Underestimating Lady Caggiano’s ability to kick some ass is stupid and dangerous.”

The conversation ended there, as the doors to the elevator opened and we were greeted in the lobby by early bird tourists and business men from out of town leaving for their appointments. Nut’n Fancy and I changed our conversation to topics more touristy in nature, and headed out the door, posing as father and son.

Together, we headed the exact opposite direction of the Trump Tower for two blocks. Nut’n Fancy lead the way while staring at a large map of the city, I was close behind looking towards the ground and with my hand covering my face in embarrassment. By the second block, we crossed 5th Avenue, and doubled back towards Trump Tower.

Confidently, Nut’n Fancy claimed, “Now we’re headed the right direction!”

I rolled my eyes and followed close behind.

Within a few minutes, we were crossing the street and walking towards the colossal monument to Donald Trump’s ego: The Trump Tower. Right above the main entrance hung an American flag that stretched across the windows, and above that were the words “Trump Tower” in polished brass. The Doorman smiled a wide smile as he opened the door, and Nut’n Fancy and I stepped through.

“Woah,” Was the word that came out of both Nut’n Fancy’s and my mouths as we took in our surroundings. Almost every surface was made from polished stone. The walls were covered in a dark burgundy with black and white mixed in, and the floor was tiled with stone that was closer to a cream color. Whatever free space that wasn’t covered in stone was either a window advertisement for a store or a sheet of brass polished to the point that it was a perfect mirror.

We walked passed Criss and Everett, whom had gathered a small crowd around them to watch Criss’s tricks. Neither Nut’n Fancy nor I stopped to watch, but instead made our way through the atrium to the seating area.

The further we walked in, the more we realized how cavernous the Atrium was. Maybe it was because I never was sure about the exact height of a story, but the six floors stretched much farther up than what I was expecting, even after I studied the floor plans. Behind the seating area was a stone waterfall/ lighting fixture that stretched up to the ceiling. Above us was a maze of escalators (each one coated in polished brass as well) that zig-zagged up the each of the floors.

“Well,” Nut’n Fancy said as he slapped me on the back, “I’m gonna go find someth’n nice for your mom for Mother’s day.”

“Great,” I replied dryly, “I’m going to sit at Starbucks.”

We made our way up the first escalator, and then we split up. At the Starbucks counter, I ordered a mocha frappucchino, and once I received it, sat down at a table where I see the elevator. I was sitting there for perhaps a minute when I noticed Derren enter the building. We made eye contact for a brief moment before he walked under the Starbucks seating area, and I turned my focus onto GMZ’s iPhone which he let me borrow, and started to play a game.

Maybe about a minute after that, GMZ’s voice came in through my earpiece. “Alright, everyone is in their positions, and we have about ten minutes before Trump exits the elevator. Be ready to approach him, Jessie.”

Jessie coughed, which meant he understood. I took another sip of my frappuchino, and then looked around the seating area. It wasn’t full by any means; most of the people buying something were leaving right afterward, but there were a few scattered people sitting at tables within earshot.

From one table, I heard the woman say to her husband, “Did you hear that Tila Tequila is dating Ray J?”

“Really,” he said in surprise, “Ray J?”

I immediately stopped listening to them and focused my attention to two young women watching a music video on one of the girl’s laptop. Both girls had their backs to me, so I managed to catch a glimpse of the video. My best guess at the time was that it was about twin Taylor Swifts fighting over some guy.

GMZ’s phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from Damien. It read: Still haven’t reached the Security room yet. Have Jessie stall Trump.

“Jessie,” GMZ’s voice said, apparently getting the same text and me, “Try to keep Trump talking. Damien isn’t ready.

“The new Star Trek movie was amazing!” some guy exclaimed as he walked passed my table with his friend.

His friend replied, “Hell yeah it was! But what was with all those lens flares?”

GMZ’s phone rang. It was Damien. I answered it, but before I had a chance to say “hello,” he said in a hushed tone, “They’re on to me. I had gotten into the elevator with the security guard leading me down when he got a message that the actual I.T. guy arrived. I knocked him unconscious, but the others were alerted.”

“I’ve got Trump!” GMZ said into my earpiece. I looked down and saw the tall 62 year old man and his tuft of greying red hair step out of the elevator, flanked by aggressive looking bodyguards.

In the phone’s background noise, I heard a man’s voice yell, “There he is!”

Jessie’s voice burst in, “Mr. Trump! It’s me, Jessie James! Can I have a quick word with you?”

“Shit.” Damien’s voice muttered from the phone

I stood up, and turned away from the balcony. “Damien, are you close?” I asked not as calmly as I should have, “Do you think you’ll make it?”

I then heard several muffled “pampfs”- the sound of pressurized air shooting a tranquilizer dart.

Trump’s voice replied to Jessie flatly, “I’m sorry, Mr. James, but I’m late for my workout. Good day.”

“But Mr. Trump!”

“Yes, Minigan, I’ll be able to make it there. Just make sure Jessie plants that bug.”

I turned back to the entrance just as Trump and his body guards walked out.

“Too late,” I said.

“Damnit,” Damien replied.

“No,” I said, “Sure, Jessie screwed up just like we thought he would…”

“Hey!” Jessie shouted.

“…But we still have another chance. And now you have an hour to get that program running. Take your time with it.”

“Not that,” Damien said in a hushed voice once again, “There are more security guards coming. I need to go.”

Well, shit.

I crammed the phone back into my tight pants pocket, and sat back down. I took a couple of big gulps of my frappuchino, and then began to stir the whipped cream with the remainder of the frozen coffee. I stared at nothing in particular, my mind racing over various bad scenarios that Damien may be facing down in the security area. I should’ve listened to Damien, I thought, If I would’ve listened to him and slowed this mission down, I could’ve set up a security diversion that would’ve made it easier for Damien to reach the control room and not run into so many security guards.

I took another nervous sip of my drink. I got a second’s worth of cream, and then just the hollow slurping sound from the empty cup. Seeing as though I had an hour to kill before the next opportunity to bug Trump, I ordered another frappuchino. I waited patiently as the two female baristas behind the counter made my drink and talked about whether or not Twilight was going to win at the MTV movie awards (their analysis: yes it would. In every category.)

I got my drink, and sucked a large gulp down as I made my way back to my seat. Looking over the balcony to the ground floor, I watched as a couple of security guards rushed from their positions near the doors and to a hallway marked “Employees Only.” Knowing that they were headed for Damien, I quickly pulled out the phone and texted GMZ, “Have Criss distract the security guards.”

What felt like thirty (but was probably only five) seconds later, GMZ’s voice came through the earpiece and commanded, “Criss, distract those security guards.”

“OK,” Criss announced, “For my next trick, I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Many of the women around Criss raised their hands, but instead, Criss grabbed one of the passing security guards and pulled him in. The guard was short and thin, and despite his best efforts, could not fight off Criss’s grasp.

“Excuse me sir,” Criss said to the flustered man, “But I need your help with something.”

The security guard tried to pull away while saying, “Sorry, but I have a situation that needs to be dealt with-“

“It will only take a minute,” Criss replied, cutting off the end of the guard’s sentence.

Noticing the camera, the guard smiled smirked and said, “Sure.” He made a quick glance over his shoulder to see if his fellow security guards were watching, and once he saw that they were, he puffed out his chest in confidence.

“Good,” Criss said as he raised his right hand up and placed it directly in front of the guard’s forehead. To the crowd, Criss explained, “You see, reality is all about the person perceiving it.” He made a quick glance up at me before he continued, “What seems like a law of nature to one will seem like a crazy hoax to another, but both views are true in the eye of their beholder.” Criss turned to the guard whom he had is hand in front of and asked, “Sir, what is your name?”

“John Mil-“

“And John,” he continued, “how much do you weigh?”

“About 140 lbs”

“One Hundred and forty pounds.” Criss announced to the audience, “This man says he weighs one hundred and forty pounds, and to him I’m sure he does. But to me, he weighs as much as a human shaped, helium filled balloon.”

With that, Criss pulled his hand away from the security guard’s head, flattened it under his mouth as if there were something on it, and blew. The security guard went flying into the air. He screamed, but his voice was no longer mid ranged, but high pitched- as if he had just been breathing helium. The squealing balloon man zoomed up towards the ceiling.

“John!” one of the grounded security officers cried as he jumped up and grabbed the floating man by the ankle. Unfortunately for both security guards, this only slightly slowed John’s ascent, and within seconds, both men were high off the ground and drifting higher up to the ceiling. The crowd that had surrounded Criss erupted with applause, cheers, and laughter.

With a mischievous grin, Criss mimicked the motion of twirling a lasso, and then mimed throwing the lasso at the floating men. Suddenly, as if pulled by an invisible wire, both men stopped their ascent and spun around about John’s wrist. Both men screamed in horror, one high pitched, and one regular, as Criss gently tugged on the invisible cord and bounced them mid-air. The crowd cheered and clapped some more. Then, Criss walked over to the only other Security guard who stopped, and pretended to tie the string around his wrist. Criss walked away, and then the third security guard began to float off the ground. It was only by a couple of inches, but the man frantically kicked his legs in the free space below him and clawed at the nonexistent rope attached to his arm.

As the three men yelled and struggled to find the ground, Criss turned back to the crowd and said, “Remember, just because you’re perceiving something to be real, it doesn’t mean that your perceptions of what’s real are not mislead.”

And with that, the three security guards crashed back down to the polished tile floor. They scrambled to their feet and ran screaming out the door, John’s voice still squeaky and high pitched. The crowd around Criss and Everett went berserk with applause, filling the whole Atrium with the echoes of their laughter and cheers. Criss bowed, cast some fire from his hand, and then grabbed a rose that materialized from within the flames. He handed it to an attractive young blonde woman, who from even where I was sitting, I could tell was blushing.

I turned away from the commotion below, and called GMZ.

Before he could say “hello,” I asked, “Have you heard anything from Damien again? Did the distraction help?”

GMZ sighed, “I haven’t. Judging from everyone’s cameras, Criss’s trick did distract some of the guards- not just the ones he harassed, but I don’t think it was enough- there were still a few that went to see what was going on in the security area.”

I took a nervous sip from my frappuchino. I felt jittery. I wasn’t sure if it was from the sugary coffee drinks I had been guzzling for about h half hour or the fact that Damien could be in trouble and there was nothing I could do about it. With my right leg bouncing on the ball of my foot, I tried to think of something else.

“Has Lady Caggiano come out of the bathroom yet?” I asked GMZ, breaking the silence on my end.

“No,” GMZ replied, “And she really needs to come out soon. I feel like I have the Hoover damn in my bladder.”

“Did you tell her you needed to piss?”

“Yeah! And all she did was open the door enough to hand me a paper cup! And she won’t even take it back now that I’ve filled it up.”


“I know! You’d think she’d at least want it away from her stuff.”

In the background, I heard Lady Caggiano yell, “Is that Minigan?”

“Yes,” GMZ answered.

“Tell him I said that he can go fuck himself.”

“Only if you let me into the bathroom.”

There was a pause, which I assumed meant that Lady Caggiano was thinking it over. Eventually, she agreed.

I could hear rustling from the other end, and then GMZ’s voice saying, “Lady Caggiano wants you to go fuck yourself, Minigan.”

“Yeah, I heard her.” I spat.

He didn’t reply, but instead put down the phone so that he could pee. It was almost immediately picked up by Lady Caggiano who stated, “You’re a dick.”

“It’s good to hear from you too, Caggiano,” I replied sourly, “I hope you’re planning on saving some of faux feminist rage for later in case someone makes a crack about you spending so much time in the bathroom.”

“You know what, asshole?” She snapped, “You can take this costume and this job and shove it up your…”

She stopped. I checked the phone to make sure we weren’t disconnected. Nope- the call was still going.

“Lady Caggiano?” I asked uncertainly into the phone.

“Hold on a sec, Minigan, something just happened on GMZ computer.” She then pulled the phone away from her face and called, “GMZ, Get in here!” I heard his footsteps over the phone and then her mumble, “Is your computer supposed to be doing that?”

“Lady Caggiano, GMZ what’s going on? What is the computer doing?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

“Don’t worry Minigan,” GMZ assured me, “I set my computer to automatically link up with the program that Damien was supposed to be downloading onto the security system. It’s doing it now.”

“So that means-“

“Yep, Damien was able to get into the security control room.”

I let out a sigh of relief and said, “That wonderful limey bastard did it.”

“I’ve got access to the security cameras!”


“Oh shit.” Lady Caggiano and GMZ said simultaneously.

My euphoric feelings of accomplishment and pride in my team vanished and the feelings of panic and dread returned almost instantly, “What’s happening?”

“It turns out there were more security guards  than we thought.”

“Is Damien in trouble?”

“Well, right now they have him trapped in the elevator, so we’ll see,” Lady Caggiano replied.

“Wait,” GMZ added, “He’s climbing out the top of the elevator now.”


“Well,” GMZ replied, “They’re trying to force the doors open, what would you want him to do?”

He had a point. I thought for a few seconds, doing my best to focus through the sugar buzz to figure out how to help Damien. After about a minute, I instructed, “Lady Caggiano, I need you to look up the blue prints and see if you can find Damien another way out of the building. GMZ, if you can access the camera footage, use it to throw the guards off of Damien’s trail.”

“Alright,” GMZ answered, “We’ll keep you posted on what’s happening down there.”

“Ok, thanks.”

We both hung up, and I drank another couple of sips from my drink. For the next few minutes, I stared directly ahead of me, chewing on my straw and worrying about what was happening several floors beneath my feet. After a while (I’m not sure how much time had passed), I had finished my drink and once again was in line for another. The barista eyed me like you would a crack addict when I stepped up to the register and ordered another drink. Thankfully, she didn’t make any comment about me ordering my third frappuchino because my mind was bouncing all over the place too much to come up with a snappy comeback for her. I took my drink and sat back down in my chair near the ledge, promising myself that this would be my last one of these drinks for the day.

The next half hour or so went by without an incident: the most interesting things to happen were me taking the most satisfying pee ever, and overhearing a conversation about how the two worst people on the planet, Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt, had officially gotten married two Saturdays before. I quietly prayed that they would never produce an offspring, for I was certain that that offspring would be the antichrist and bring about the fall of man.

9:00 rolled closer, and Jessie got into his position to intercept Trump. From where I was sitting, I could see one of his hands clenched into fist, which I suspected was actually holding the bug he needed to plant on Trump. Criss and Everett, who had been wandering about the atrium after levitating the security guards, found their way back to their original location. I drummed my fingers on the table to a fast paced song playing in my head when Nut’n Fancy came down from the levels he was supposed to stake out, and sat across from me at the table.

“There’s noth’n on 3 and 4 that’ll do us any good,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. He then looked at me and how obviously tweeked out I was and asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I said so quickly that it sounded suspicious. I explained, “I’ve just had a few of these frappuchinos-maybe three-they’re really good- I’m trying to cut myself off though- after this one.”

I took a long sip of my drink and gave Nut’n Fancy a wide eyed stare from over the dome of the plastic up.

“Shit,” he laughed, “How do you think you hav’n a sugar high’s gonna help us today?”

“I dunno” I replied, “Maybe my sonic energy arms and legs will punch and kick through any security guard that gets in my way. Look, they’re vibrating so fast that you can’t even see them!”

Plainly, Nut’n Fancy replied, “They’re just jigglin’ at your sides.”

I looked down. They were. “Well,” I said, “That doesn’t mean that I won’t be able to fight 100 times better than normal”

“I have a feel’n that’s exactly what that means.”

GMZ’s voice interrupted out conversation with, “Trump’s limo just pulled up. Everyone get ready.”

Reflexively, Nut’n Fancy and I looked down to the doors. Criss and Everett were ready at their location, and Everett looked like he had a clear shot of the elevator doors. Criss had begun to fling playing cards in the air and have them fly circles around him at varying heights and arc sizes. Jessie walked out from under where Nut’n Fancy and I were sitting and stood near Trump’s elevator with his arms crossed and his feet shoulder width apart. I’m guessing that was his, “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me” stance.

After about ten long seconds, the door man opened the door, and Trump, flanked by his two large, aggressive looking bodyguards, stepped through.

“Mr. James,” Trump said in his forced Brooklyn accent, “I’m sure what you have to say is important, but I really don’t have time for failed contestants on my show to proposition me all day.” The words “failed contestants” had some particular venom behind them that even I felt, and my sugar high had left my face feeling numb. He continued, “Just leave me a voicemail and I’ll get back to you.”

“I know about your plan to develop expensive condos in low income neighborhoods!” Jessie blurted out.

Several passersby looked at the two men and were ushered on by the body guards. One looked up at me, and I immediately looked at Nut’n Fancy and asked, “So, did you hear that Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt got married two weeks ago?”

“Who’s Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt?” Nut’n Fancy asked.

“So, you did know what my plan was after all.” Trump’s voice said through my earpiece, “I guess it was a good thing I fired you.”

“They’re just the worst people ever.” I replied to Nut’n Fancy, doing my best to keep the conversation flowing naturally despite the more important conversation taking place inside my ear.

“Well,” Jessie replied, “I wasn’t sure until I saw the episode on Sunday. You had a map with all the low income districts circled. I’m telling you this because I think it’s a bad idea. It could ruin a lot of people’s lives and possibly your own fortune.”

“How dare you try to claim that one of my development projects will fail!” Trump snapped, “I know what I’m doing, unlike you.”

Nut’n Fancy cleared his throat, also distracted by the conversation going on below us, and then asked, “So, why are these people famous?”

“Mr. Trump,” Jessie pleaded, “You need to understand-“

“I don’t need to understand anything,” Trump interrupted, “You easedropped on my conversation, and now you’re telling me that I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to business? Do you even know who you’re talking to, you overly tattooed rat?”

“Because people love watching shitty human beings being shitty to other human beings,” I said to Nut’n Fancy.

“I’m The Donald. And I don’t need to listen to trash like you.”

Again, Jessie pleaded with Trump. I glanced down and watched as he grabbed Trump’s wrist in an attempt to keep him from entering the elevator and to hopefully plant the bug.

“Hey! Get your filthy mechanic hands off of me!”

In a flash Trump’s body guards had pinned Jessie hard against the wall. Jessie yelled in protest, but it was no use; they weren’t letting him go. I watched as Jessie opened his hand and let the bug drop to the floor, and the elevator doors close.

“He was trying to bug you, sir,” the spray tanned and bald body guard said once he noticed the round object on the ground.


“There’s another one in his ear sir,” the other body guard, a black guy who was more “fat” than “built,” added. He pulled it out of Jessie’s ear and threw it on the ground.

Double shit.

Breaking the rule I told everyone earlier, I pressed the button on my earpiece, turning my speaker on and commanded, “Criss, You need to get a bug in that elevator- do it now!”

“And for my final trick…”

The guard raised his foot over the earpiece.


Criss vanished it a plume of white smoke that erupted out of nowhere. The crowd cheered. The guard stomped down. My earpiece shrieked inside my skull. Everett, Nut’n Fancy, Derren , and I yelled and clutched our ears. The guards noticed. We were fucked.

A couple of security guards dragged Nut’n Fancy and I down from our table at the Starbucks to Trump and the rest of my apprehended team. Up close, Trump looked more artificial than real. His hair was perched upon the top of his head in an unnatural way. His skin, especially the skin on his face, was orange and was wrinkled and yet overly stretched. And I’m pretty sure he was wearing makeup. His eyes were dead, not even the slightest twinkle of light shown through as he stared down at me while I struggled against his body guards. I could tell from those eyes that he saw me as nothing more than an ant- a nuisance in his home that needed to be crushed.

“Who are you?” he said to us, finally.

“We’re here to stop you from making a horrible decision, Trump!” Jessie yelled, his face still pressed against the polished stone tiled wall.”

“Then why does that kid have a camera?” Trump asked as he pointed to the terrified Everett, who was tightly hugging the video camera he had been using all day.

“He was videotaping the magician,” the spray tanned body guard said, “We don’t know where he went to.”

Just then, as if it was waiting for the perfect time to appear, the elevator doors opened. White smoke poured out of the elevator as white doves flew through the open doors and into the atrium, and the horn solo for “The Final Countdown” rang out from the billowing smoke. Criss’s form confidently stepped through the smoke and into the atrium, and he was met with roaring applause from the crowd that had been watching his tricks. He was also met by the thick, meaty arms of the fat security guard.

Criss twisted himself free from the guard’s clutches, turned to Trump, and said, “Trump, listen to what Jessie is saying. Your plan will leave thousands of people without a place to live.” He waved his arms up in the air, and showered Trump with pennies that materialized from nowhere. “Sorry,” Criss apologized, “I got a little too excited.”

If my hands weren’t pinned against my back, I would’ve covered my face from embarrassment.

Trump stood there for a few seconds, staring us all down with his cold, dead eyes, when finally his lips curled into a smile that made blood run cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. While wearing that horrible smile, he said to his guards, “Throw them out.”

And that is exactly what they did. The two body guards, assisted by some security guards, dragged us to the doors, and, one at a time, threw us onto the sidewalk. I struggled with the man dragging me the entire trip from the elevator to the door, twisting on the ground and trying to grab anything within reach. I managed to latch onto a large potted bush, and was able to drag it several feet across the floor before my hands lost their grip. Once we were at the door, the fat body guard picked me up by my collar and the waist of my pants and tossed me out onto the sidewalk.

I landed on my face on the cool pavement, and whoever was thrown on top of me, landed on top of me. My knees bounced off the concrete, and a shot of pain traveled up and down my legs.

I heard one of the guards, I wasn’t sure if it was a security guard or one of Trump’s thugs, yell, “And don’t come back!”

Standing up, I groaned and said, “well, that sucked.” I then turned to Criss, and added, “I’m guessing you planted the bug?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” I replied, “that makes up for you shooting pennies at Trump.

Each of us in pain from the beating the pavement gave to us, we marched the block and a half back to our hotel. Back in our room, GMZ was hard at work trying file through all the security footage from the security area, trying to find where Damien went. Immediately, I went into the bathroom and washed up. My right cheek and the tip of my nose were scraped, and my forehead was cut and had a bruise forming. As soon as I was out, I sat down with GMZ and Lady Caggiano to assist them in their search for Damien. Sporadically, I sent text messages and called his phone, but each call went directly to voice mail. GMZ continued to search through the security footage, while I nervously paced in what little room we had.

After a few hours of no success, Criss suggested that we do some spying on Trump. “That is why we’re here, and why I had to plant the bug in the elevator,” he explained, “besides, the fact that we haven’t seen anything dealing with Damien yet means that they haven’t caught him.”

“He’s got a point,” GMZ noted, “I’ve got eyes all over that building now, so at this point, no news is good news.”

Not feeling any less worried, I conceded and said, “Alright, but if he doesn’t show up soon, we’re going to continue the search.”

Everyone agreed, and GMZ  pulled up the security cameras in Trump’s loft. Nothing that Trump did seemed out of the ordinary for him- he mostly just yelled at people, barked orders, and sat and stared at a blank wall. Finding noting of use in his apartment, GMZ decided to play the footage from the elevator along with whatever conversations Criss’s bug picked up.

Almost immediately, we had something.

Right after the body guards threw us out and returned to Trump, the three entered the elevator and Trump began to yell. “What the hell was that about?!” he screamed, “Jessie James thinks he can come in here with his biker gang and threaten me?

“Biker gang?” Jessie asked, bemused.

“And he thinks that he’ll be able to convince me to not move forward with my project? What an idiot.”

“Well, sir,” the spray tanned body guard replied, “none of them are going to be your problem anymore. We dealt with them.”

Trump went quiet for a second. Then he replied, “No. They’ll be back. Did you see the scowl on that young hipster one’s face? They’re not going to give up so easily.”

“What do you want to do then, sir?” the fat body guard asked.

“Get my private security up to my apartment,” Trump demanded, “And make sure they’re packing heat. If anyone tries to break in here tonight, I want them to be filled with so many holes that I could use their skull as a colander.”

The two body guards looked at each other uneasily.

“NOW!” Trump barked. The men jumped backwards. They stopped the elevator at its current floor, and rushed out the door. The doors closed behind them. Once the elevator started moving again, and with his head turned away from the camera, Trump muttered to himself in a voice unnaturally gravelly for him, “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let the host of Monster Garage ruin my plans.”

Then, even more bizarrely (if that’s possible), Trump repeated the phrase in his normal voice.

Jessie exclaimed, “That’s the voice I heard! The voice that was planning the whole thing! Holy crap, Trump has a split personality!”

Just then, Damien burst through the door, breathing as if he had been running for several miles. Droplets of sweat had formed on his bald head and were running down his face onto his I.T. uniform which was covered with dirt, oil, and dust. Even from where I was standing, I could smell various awful smells coming from him, one of which I swear was food grease.

“What happened to you?” Everett asked, “Have you been crawling around in the air ducts?”

“Yes, I have,” Damien replied, “And I have a story to tell all of you.”


To continue reading this story, follow this link to part three.


Awesomesquad! Assemble! 3! (Revisited)! Attack of the “Fashionista”

If you have no idea what Awesomesquad! is, then welcome to my blog! I write about it a lot. Catch up on it here. For the rest of you, this is only the first half of what I was going to write, so hopefully next week that will be up (probably not.) Here we go:

January of 2010 rolled in, about four months after Nut’n Fancy’s death, and no one in the group (including myself) felt like doing any Awesomesquad!ing. The most any of us had done was when Lady Smash and I hired on our new Covert Ops expert, Series of Japanese Symbols. Lady Smash insisted that his name was Steve, but she also insisted that he spoke English, which he clearly didn’t. Luckily, whatever language he spoke, Lady Smash understood and was able to translate for me.

Other than that, GMZ and I had been spending the majority of our time scouring the internet for images of me from the Maher/ Limbaugh battle. There were a lot. Thankfully, the cameras were aimed above my waist, so I didn’t actually flash my junk to the entire world. And despite how much I enjoyed the attention at the time, I understood how dangerous to the team these pictures of me could be. Especially after our mysterious benefactor sent me an angry letter about it. Lady Smash had been keeping her mind off things by baking a church bake sale’s amount of cookies, Rice Crispy treats, and brownies. Everett, who was still upset about me breaking his prototype glasses, was either tinkering with some of his specialized weapons or locked in his room, moping. That is, if he was even in the Awesomebase! at all. He had his normal job, as did Damien, Danica, Phlegm, Jessie, and Criss. So for the most part, the Awesomebase! was empty other than GMZ, Lady Smash, our maintenance man, Raul, and myself.

As GMZ and I hacked into the next website to remove a picture of me (I think it was called The Berry), there was a pounding on the Watch Tower door. Begrudgingly, I left GMZ to continue our work, and opened the door. Lady Smash pushed her way through me, and into the Watch Tower. She rushed inside looking like she rolled around in a bag of flour, and had her cellphone up to her ear. She crossed the room in only five steps, practically thew GMZ out of his seat, sat down in it, and plugged her phone into the speaker.

“Why are you covered in flour?” GMZ asked.

“You’re on,” She said to the phone, ignoring GMZ’s question.

“Can you all hear me ok?” a seductive sounding female voice asked.

Lady Smash replied, “Yes, we can hear you fine. Please tell my teammates what you just told me.”

“Um, is the man who stripped on National Television in the room?”

GMZ put his hand over his mouth to muffle his snickering, and Lady Smash rolled her eyes. Suppressing a smirk, I answered, “Yes, I’m here.”

“Oh my gosh!” The woman’s voice said, sounding exasperated, “This might sound strange, but I’m your biggest fan! I think you’re hot!”

I couldn’t contain my grin at this point, “Well, thanks. Now what is it that you need from us?”

“Wha? Oh, right.” The woman sounded embarrassed and The flour covered Lady Smash glared at me. “My name is Sefani Germanotta, but you may have heard of my stage name: Lady Gaga.”

I looked to Lady Smash in shock. She nodded her head feverishly, creating a cloud of flour around her that she had to fan away.

“Over the past couple of weeks,” Lady Gaga continued, “I have been receiving a series of increasingly violent threats against my life from Katy Perry.”

“Classic Katy Perry,” I replied, “Have you gone to the police and filed a complaint against her?”

“Of course I’ve gone to the police!” Lady Gaga cried, “But Katy Perry is famous. She’s not as famous as me, but she’s still famous. And as you know, famous people-”

“Get away with everything.” Lady Caggiano, GMZ, and I answered in unison.

“So, are you going to help?”

“Well,” I replied hesitantly, “We still need more information from you before we make the final decision.” Lady Smash cast an evil glare in my direction. I ignored her and continued, “For instance, how did you get this number?”

For a few seconds, the other line was silent, but then Lady Gaga answered, “I have my ways. And if you need to hear the threats for yourself I have those too.”

There was a rustling noise coming through The Watch Tower speakers, but after a few seconds, it was replaced with a recording of Katy Perry’s voice making a series of increasingly violent sounding treats towards Lady Gaga and Gaga’s family. There also was a side rant where Perry accused Lady Gaga of ripping off Madonna and doesn’t deserve to be more famous than Perry, which required me to suppress a chuckle and required Lady Smash to fight back the urge to stab me. In the final audio clip, Perry announced that she will be waiting at Gaga’s loft in New York City so that she could personally, “Beat the shit out of that oddly dressed ass” of Gaga’s.

“Please tell me that you’re going to help me. I’m afraid for my safety,” Lady Gaga pleaded.

I was hesitant. The fact that Gaga had Lady Smash’s private number and knew that she was a part of this team didn’t sit right with me. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Germanotta,” I said, “Give us five minutes to discuss it.

“I can give you anything that you desire, if that’s the issue,” she added flirtatiously.

“That’s very nice of you,” I replied as businesslike as possible, “But we need to discuss how we would go about handling the situation as well as if it is worth the risk.”

“OK, I understand. I’ll call back in five minutes,” She replied, sounding disappointed.


“Excuse me, you flour coated, Gaga obsessed crazy woman,” I snapped back, “but I’m a little curious as to how she found a way to come in contact with us.”

“Seriously, Smash, why are you covered in flour?” GMZ asked again.

“Don’t be thick, Minigan.” Smash retorted, “It’s obvious that she thinks you’re hot. She was flattering you like crazy, and judging by how much you were blushing, you noticed too.”

“Hopefully you’re wrong about Gaga hitting on Minigan, because Gaga’s definitely a dude,” GMZ interjected.

“What?!” Lady Smash and I blurted out in unison.

“That’s hilarious!” I cried.

“That’s not true!” Lady Smash added.

“It’s totally true!” GMZ replied, “And I know of the video to prove it!”

Almost as if he had prepared for this moment, GMZ instantly had the video playing on the wall of monitors. The video was grainy at that size, but no amount of grainy video could cover what GMZ wanted us to see. It’s of Lady Gaga on stage at a concert, and she is sitting on a motorcycle for some reason. After she gets off of it, she adjusts her skirt, and for a quick second, a flesh colored- something- is poking out from in between her legs.

This made Lady Smash even more furious, “That could be anything!”

I retorted, “Yeah, like a penis.”

“Go to Hell, Minigan,” Lady Smash snapped, “Besides, this doesn’t change the fact that she needs our help.”

“I totally agree,” I replied, “But I’m still uneasy at how she found us.”

Lady Smash calmed herself down and explained, “I understand that. I really do. But I’m in figurative love with Lady Gaga, and I cannot imagine her making this up. Please, Minigan, If you trust me at all, you will trust my instincts on this one.”

She had to bring up my trust in her. Of course I trusted her. She’s my second in command, she’s one of my closest friends, and she’s one of the few people who was able to keep my ego in check, how could not trust her? But no matter how much I trusted Lady Smash, I still didn’t trust Lady Gaga. She was famous singer after all.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Lady Sma-“

“OK, listen.” She interrupted as she pulled out a can of knockout gas from her hoodie pocket, “You can either agree to do this, or I can force you to go along, but either way we’re helping Lady Gaga.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face. I looked to GMZ, who looked like he was contemplating sprinting to the door.

“Fine,” I sighed, defeated, “But you call the rest of the group in and convince them to do this. And I promise you that that won’t be easy.”

“I cannot believe that all of you bastards decided to go along with this that easily,” I grumbled to the rest of Team Pugnastics as we climbed aboard the Awesomecopter!.

Damien laughed, “Well, it’s nice to have some solid evidence to go on for once, yeh know?”

“You’re a dick, Damien,” I stated as I suppressed a smirk.

“Yet, you still keep me around, so I must do a spot on job when it comes to fighting your American celebrities for you.”

“Yeah, well you Brits unleashed David and Victoria Beckham on us, so I’d say we’re even.” Everett interjected. When Damien glared at him, he quickly added, “But I agree with Damien about the whole evidence thing. The recording was a nice reassurance of what we’re getting into this time.”

Danica, who with the rest of Team Prevention came down to the Helipad to see us off, replied, “I dunno about that. That tape sounded a little too straightforward for it to be legitimate.” “I don’t know how you missed that, Lady Smash- Queen of bitchy rhetoric,” she added sarcastically.

From her seat, Lady Smash retorted, “You know what, McKellar, how about you invent a mathematical algorithm that proves that you’re a twat.”

“Enough!” I cried. I slammed the door shut before Danica could get in another snappy comeback.

The trip to New York City was uneventful and mostly filled with Series Of Japanese Symbols’s weird gibberish language and Lady Smash translating for me. At about 9:00, Jessie landed the Awesomecopter! on a rooftop a couple of blocks away from Gaga’s building, and we zip lined across. When we reached the roof of the skyscraper Gaga’s loft was in, Series of Japanese Symbols was able to get us all inside unnoticed.

It was nearly pitch black inside the hallway leading to Gaga’s loft. I pulled out my night vision goggles and strapped them to my head. I missed Everett’s glasses. And so did he, which he made sure I knew by stepping on my heels several times. I bit my lower lip and pretended to ignore it. We moved silently through the dark, and in no time we were at her door. Unlocked. One by one, we entered the apartment, which was only lit by the buildings outside the windows. In the center of the massive yet empty living room sat a chair in which the blond pop star was tied to. Lady Smash, along with the rest of us, ran to her aid.

“So, Minigan,” Lady Smash asked smartly, “do you think she’s faking this too?”

“Shut up,” I replied, “Let’s just get her untied.”

When we got close enough, it had become obvious that Lady Gaga was knocked out. Her wrists and ankles were tied to the wooden chair she sat in, and she had been gagged with what looked like a dish towel. Even though she was still, the dress she was wearing glittered ominously. When I looked closer her entire dress seemed to be made out of sharp metal scales. I shrugged this off as being what Lady Gaga wears to bed, and I began to undo the gag in Lady Gaga’s mouth. That’s exactly when she awoke with a slight shriek that made everyone in Awesomsquad! reach for their weapons.

“Oh, Thank God!” She exclaimed as she looked up to me, “You came to save me!”

“I said that you could count on us,” Lady Smash reassured her.

“Right,” Lady Gaga said in a dismissive tone. She then looked at the rest of Awesomesquad and said, “She and her goons went in there.” She nodded to a nook on the other side of the room where a door stood ajar. “They heard you coming and tried to escape. If you hurry you can catch them!”

Everyone in Awesomesquad! other than Lady Smash and myself ran to the nook and through the door. Lady Gaga then said to Lady Smash, “You should go with them- her goons had some serious weapons with them, and the rest of your team could use your help. Mr. Cloak here should be able to protect me.”

Through the nightvision goggles, I could see Lady Gaga gazing up at me and biting her lower lip seductively and Lady Smash holding back the urge to punch me in the face. After a second or two of glaring at me, Lady Smash obliged Gaga and followed the rest of the group through the door.

“Don’t worry, Miss Gaga,” I reassured her, “We have the situation under control- Wait, what do you mean they heard us coming? We are experts in stealth and we landed our Awesomecopter several blocks away. No one ever hears us coming. And how did you know where they went if you were knocked out?”

Instead of answering, Lady Gaga smiled at me and said, “Don’t call me Gaga.” She then stomped her right foot on the floor. The tile she stomped on sank into the floor, and that was the last thing I saw before my retinas were obliterated by light flooding my night vision goggles. I screamed in agony and fell to the ground. From behind me, I could hear my teammates rushing back through the door, but there was whooshing noise, and their footsteps and calls for me were silenced. Despite my natural instincts, I forced my eyes open and looked for Gaga through the blur of light and tears. My eyes were adjusting, but not fast enough. A strong kick was delivered to my right ribs that sent me crashing through the chair that Gaga was sitting in and back onto the floor. Stabbing pain rocketed across my chest, and all the air escaped my lungs. As quickly as my body would allow, I climbed to my hands and knees. Everything was still a blur, but I could make out the glittering Lady Gaga walking towards me. I raised up my hand and blasted her with a column of fire. She stepped through it, and ripped the flamethrowers off my wrists and pushed me onto my back.

Cherry cherry boom boom.” She seethed.

Finally I could see clearly. She towered over me, just standing there, waiting for me to make the first move, or to decide what to do with me… Actually, I had no clue what she was planning on doing to me. She stared down at me and began to speak in a language that I never thought a human mouth could make. It sounded as if someone put the puttering of a dying motor through an auto-tuner. After a few seconds of this, my wrist communicator crackled to life.

“Minigan! Are you OK?!” Lady Smash’s voice shouted through, “What’s she doing?”

I looked passed Gaga. On the other side of the room, in the nook was the rest of my team, separated from me by a sheet of glass. Lady Smash was staring at me, the anger replaced with concern, Damien and Series of Japanese Symbols were hammering on the window with legs of furniture they must have found in the other room, Criss was pounding on the glass with his bare hands in an attempt to draw Gaga’s attention to them instead, and Everett, had pulled out a camera and a tablet, I assumed to video tape my murder.

Gaga turned to see what I was looking at, saw my team, and commanded me in English, “Tell your friends that if they break through that window, I will kill every last one of them in the most horrible way imaginable.”

I pressed the button on my wrist communicator, “Don’t break through that window. If you do, Lady Gaga is going to make each of you listen to her music until you drown yourselves in her toilet. So, again, DO NOT break through that glass. Especially you, Criss.” He stopped hitting the glass and gave me a confused look. I raised one eyebrow and stated again, “Yes, Criss. Do not break though that glass.” Criss nodded, catching what I meant, and I looked back at Gaga, who was speaking to herself in that strange language again. I left my communicator speaker on.

“What do you want, Gaga?” I asked as I tried to inch backwards. A shot of pain blasted through my chest, and I realized that at least one of my ribs were fractured from that kick. I grunted and propped myself up on my elbows.

“What I want?” She replied, “I wanna take a ride on your disco-stick.


“You heard me,” she cooed as she got down on her hands and knees and moved her face so that hers was only an inch away from mine, “Let’s play a love game.

Her breath smelled like a mixture of meat, flowers, and pond water, which in any other scenario, I would point out to the person. But at that moment, I asked instead, “Why in God’s name would you go through all this trouble if you just wanted to have sex with me?”

“Because she’s an alien!” Everett interjected through the communicator, “Minigan, I was able to send a recording of that language to GMZ, and he crossed referenced it with the Government’s audio files from Area 51. She is from a species of shape-shifters. And since she’s chosen -uh- you as a mate, she’s probably the queen of her hive. She’s going to try and take you back to her planet to mate! Stop her by-“

Lady Gaga ripped the communicator off my wrist and crushed it in her hands. “Hey there summer boy,” she whispered into my ear, “Let’s go for a ride!

Gaga stood up, grabbed me by my arms, and with incredible force started to drag me away. I groaned in agony from my ribs, and I looked around the room for something I could wrap my legs around to stop her.

But At that moment, Criss passed through the glass, and shouted, “Stop right there, Gaga!”

Instantly, Gaga had dropped my arms and raised them to her breasts, which had turned into machine guns. She fired at Criss, who sprinted across the room and dove over the counter and into the kitchen. My team trapped in the nook dropped to the ground to avoid the bullets, and the glass separating them and us shattered. I tried rolling to the wall, but Gaga was still too quick for me. She lifted me up by my armpits and pinned me against the wall.I let out a cry of agony, as I could have sworn I was being stabbed in the chest.

“I’m sorry, babe,” she said to me, “but I’m gonna have to kill all your friends.”

“NO!” I yelled, “All they’re doing is trying to protect me! Why do you need to kill them?!”

She caressed my cheek with the back of her hand and said, “I’m on a mission, and it involves some heavy touching.” She then slapped me hard and continued, “And no one is allowed to stop me from completing that mission.”

With that, dozens of the metal scales from her dress then popped off her body, jumped onto me, and wrapped around my wrists and ankles. When I looked down at them, they had fused together to form shackles that allowed no movement by me at all. Gaga let go and looked me in the eyes. She then opened her mouth and let her long, thin, scaly green tongue slide up and down my face. I would’ve vomited on her if I hadn’t been afraid of the pain in my chest knocking me out.

You taste just like glitter mixed with rock and roll,” she cooed.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” I yelled at her, “Who knows what glitter and rock and roll taste like?! You are the worst human impersonator ever!”

“I’m good enough to fool your moronic species,” she snapped back. She turned to face the rest of Awesomesquad!, whom had her surrounded, and continued, “All of you humans were so busy focusing on my alleged penis from that concert clip to wonder why that clip ended so suddenly. It was edited so that no one outside of that concert would know my true form. Everyone who sees my true form in person becomes one of my legion of loyal monsters. They do my bidding, and they will bring to me whatever, or whomever, I want.”

“Holy Shit!” I exclaimed, remembering who insisted that we accept this mission, “Lady Smash, did you plan this!?”

“No!” she cried, “I swear. I knew nothing about this. I didn’t even know she was an alien until GMZ told us!”

I didn’t believe her, and apparently, neither did Damien nor Criss, who shifted their guns from Gaga to Lady Smash. She put both her hands in the air and stepped backward. No one spoke, not even Gaga. We all just stared from Lady Smash to Lady Gaga, expecting Gaga to make a demand that Smash would immediately follow. I saw a wicked looking smirk grow on Gaga’s face, and I knew just she was thinking the same thing as I.

“I’ve never even been to one of her concerts!” Lady Smash yelled right as Gaga opened her mouth, “And I can prove it!”

She stomped towards Gaga, pulled out a hunting knife, and slashed at her chest. Several of the scales that the blade had sliced fell the floor, showing a deep cut in Gaga’s flesh. She shrieked and pounced on Lady Smash. Criss, Damien, and Series of Japanese Symbols joined in on the fight. The five of them fought in a pile on the floor, rolling around, with Lady Gaga biting them as often as she could. Everett, who avoided the wrestling match occurring in front of us, ran up to me and began trying to cut off the scales that had me shackled to the wall.

“Be careful,” I said, “I think a few of my ribs are fractured.”

“Luckily, I have just the thing for that,” Everett stated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a modified EPI pen. He stabbed it into my side, making my whole body tense up, and then squeezed the top. Within seconds, the pain was washed away by a tingling sensation in my chest and buzzing sensation in my brain.

“It’s a mixture of adrenaline and Novocain. It should keep you numb for a while while also helping you to ignore the pain until we get out of this situation,” he explained with a grin. I’m guessing that the relief of my pain was noticeable. After Gaga roared behind him, his expression became serious once again and said, “Let’s get you off the wall.”

The scales were tough, but Everett had a strong pair of wire clippers that managed to cut through the scales and free me. Together, he and I rushed back into the fight, which was still a wrestling/ biting match on the floor. With one hard kick, I managed to repay Gaga for the kick she had given to me, and separated her from my team. She landed on her feet in front of the counter. She let out another roar, which was followed by a long tail forming from her backside. It quickly grabbed a hold of my five team mates, one by one, and threw them across the room. Each hit the wall with a loud thud, and slumped to the ground. Each of their groans assured me that they were all still alive.

“Join me, Mr. Blackwood.” Lady Gaga cooed, “We would make beautiful larva together.”

“I don’t know what part of that sentence you think is arousing,” I retorted, stealthfully freeing my taser from its holster, “but I promise you that every man on this planet would immediately suffer from erectile dysfunction   if you said that to him.”

She crossed the room to where I was standing, wrapped one of her legs around me and pulled me close. She then whispered in my ear, “Not a man from Holland.”

“Well,” I snapped at her, “I guess you should go try to get one of those guys then.”

Before she could say anything else that would make me want to vomit, I plunged my taser into her stomach and pressed the button. Her dress came alive with angry clicks. The metals scales spun and flapped around madly, the ones closest to me cutting into my hands. But the taser still did as I hoped. The metal scales conducted the electricity and directed it all over her body. Lady Gaga convulsed for a few seconds before she fell to the ground completely. It didn’t knock her out, only weakened her, but that was enough for me to get away. The rest of my team was back on their feet, and Everett was rushing towards me with a silver disk. He tossed it passed me, and it slid right up to Gaga.

“Get away from that, Minigan” Everett warned, “You don’t want to be close when the spiders come out.”

“Spiders?!” I cried, getting the hell away from that disk.

I turned around once I was a safe distance away, and saw what he meant. The disk split into five different round spider-looking robots. Lady Gaga was back on her feet, still in a mild daze, when the spider-robots climbed onto her feet. With amazing speed, the five robots wove a silvery cocoon around Lady Gaga which left her completely unable to move. She fell back down to the floor.

“Let’s get right the fuck out of this place,” I shouted to my team as we all sprinted for the door.

I was about to run out of the Gaga’s loft when she yelled, “But I’ve taken you as my mate! You have to come to my planet with me!”

“Why couldn’t you just take any other male on this planet?” I shouted back, feeling sorry for the potentially doomed soul.

“Pfsh,” she replied, writhing in the metal cocoon the spiders had trapped her in, “I don’t want no paper gangsta, I want the real thing.”

“Well… Tough shit.”

We were all sprinting down the hallway and back up the stairs to the roof when I yelled to my team, “Someone get Jessie on the line. He needs to pick us up at this roof. That cocoon will not hold Gaga.”

“But that’s a titanium nano-fiber,” Everett explained, “It will take her a lot longer than just a few minutes to break out of-“

There was a crash and a roar from below us indicating that Lady Gaga was in fact free from the cocoon.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!” I commanded to my group.

Damien got the word to Jessie, who then said that he was on his way, and we started sprinting up the stairs even faster once we heard Gaga break into the stairwell. I was running next to Lady Smash, who seemed to be absolutely furious about the whole situation.

She casted a sideways glance towards me and in between breaths, she warned, “Don’t even say what you’re thinking, Minigan.”

I replied, “But all I want to say is-“

“Don’t,” she interjected.

We turned the corner and sprinted up the next floor, before we heard another shriek from Gaga. I then said to Lady Smash in a  conversational tone, “I just want to say that, for the record, I think she just might have been faking that whole ‘being tied up’ thing, but hey, what the hell do I know, right?”

“Shut the fuck up, Minigan, or I’m going to throw you to her.”

“Won’t both of you shut the bloody hell up and run!” Damien cried. He kicked open the door to the roof and sprinted out into the cold January night.

Everett, Criss, Series of Japanese Symbols, Lady Smash, and I followed, and as soon as I was through the door, Everett, Criss, and Damien threw whatever they could find in front of the door to barricade it. The wind picked up and the Awesomecopter! flew into view. The rhythmic “wop-wop” sound and the chilly downwash from the spinning blades reassured me that this was almost over. Without landing, the door opened and Team Pugnastics climbed in.

Being the last one in, I shut the door behind me and yelled to Jessie, “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

“Ok,” Jessie replied brightly, “but not until everyone is wearing their seatbelts.”

“GO!” the six of us screamed.

Jessie obliged, and the Awesomecopter! dove over the edge of the building. I sat down in my seat, and let out a sigh of relief. The ordeal was over. At least, that’s what I was thinking before a large amount of weight tilted the Awesomecopter! backwards and sent us flying in reverse.

“Oh hey!” Jessie exclaimed, “Lady Gaga is literally on our tail! I wonder what she needs now?”

“God damn it,” I shouted, “She just won’t give up!” I unbuckled my seatbelt, poked my head into the cockpit, and ordered Jessie, “Do whatever you can to shake her off.”

“Sure thing, Boss!” Jessie replied with a grin as he pulled up on the collective and made the Awesomecopter! shoot upward. He zig-zagged dangerously over the streets and buildings of New York City, probably terrifying the citizens below. Despite Jessie’s acrobatics, Gaga was still clutching to the tail boom (I swear I didn’t make up that name) of the Awesomecopter! with no intent on letting go.

I muttered a string of expletives to myself and then turned to my team and said, “I’m gonna need to go out there and fight her. Someone give me their grappling hook. I’m going to have to fight her while suspended from it.”

“No!” Lady Smash cried, “Let one of us go! You fighting her will be giving her what she wants!”

“Yes,” I replied, but she will kill each of you without hesitation to get to me. I don’t want that on my conscience. Not after Nut’n Fancy.

Everett added, “But what will we do if she manages to capture you and Jessie doesn’t see it?”

I paused for a second, realizing that that situation is a terrifyingly real possibility. I looked to Damien and asked, “Are you up for some more fighting?”

“Always,” he replied with a grin, already unbuckling his seat belt. The Awesomecopter! banked hard to the left, which almost sent Damien toppling out of his chair.

“Good.” I stated steadying myself on my empty seat. Looking to the others, I asked, “Who wants to give us their grappling guns?”

Lady Caggiano, Criss, and Series of Japanese Symbols offered us their grappling guns, and Everett pulled a large box out from under his chair.

“These are magnetic boots,” he said as he pulled to heavy looking red boots out of the box, “They work exactly as you think: they have strong magnets inside that it possible to walk on metal ceilings or walls, or in this case, keep you standing on the metal fuselage of a helicopter that’s in mid-flight.” He handed them to me and added, “Now, I haven’t had a chance to field test them yet, but I’m confident that they’ll work.”

“How many goddamn prototypes do you have that you haven’t ‘field tested’ yet, Everett?!” I shouted.

Sarcastically, he shouted back, “Well, do you want me to list them to you, or do you want to go fight the sex crazed alien that wants to kidnap and rape you?”

I pondered that question for a second, and then asked, “Can I go with the first one?”

“No!” Lady Caggiano, Everett, and (I assume) Series of Japanese Symbols shouted at me.

“But there’s only one pair of boots,” I noted to Everett, “What will the other person do?”
“Don’t sweat it, mate,” Damien replied, “I’ll hang from the copter using the grappling hooks and keep her from taking you. It’s like you said, she’ll kill me if I’m in her way to getting you. She won’t kill you cause she doesn’t want you dead- only maimed.” “Plus,” he added, patting his gun, “I’m a damn good shot if it comes to that.”

I quickly pulled off my regular boots and shoved the magnetic ones on in their place, and then Damien opened the door. The roar of wind and the Awesomecopter’s! engine poured in, making the seated members of my team cover their ears and turn their heads. Damien stepped out onto the skids, and shot his grappling gun at the tail boom. Despite the wind and the murderous alien waiting for us, he managed to get the grappling hook around the tail boom and hooked onto its wire on the first try. He jumped off the skids, doing a triple front flip (show off) and swung down to about twenty feet below the Awesomecopter!.

I sat down at the edge of the cabin door, and pressed my feet against the outside of the fuselage. Everett instructed me to press the button on the inside of the tongue to activate the magnets. I did so, and instantly felt the strong pull of magnets to metal. I then pulled myself into the standing position. Well, almost standing position. Due to the wind, and the fact that my center of gravity was turned on its side, I could only crouch and scoot my feet towards Gaga. My cloak, being caught in the wind currents created by the helicopter flying up and down city streets, wrapped itself awkwardly around me. Just about all of my hair was in my mouth. If I could’ve lifted my legs, I would have tripped over it. This was going to be the last thing my team saw me do. I was going to either die or be kidnapped in the worst fighting stance possible: crouched into a ball and fighting off my own clothes.

Gaga, on all fours on the tail boom and her claws digging into the metal, smiled at me and yelled, “I won’t ever stop, Minigan. I’ll chase you down until you love me.” She then reached down to the wire of Damien’s grappling gun, and with one fierce swipe, cut it.

“Damien! NO!” I cried, unable to do anything other than watch his wire go slack and him fall out of sight. I heard a weird clank and then the muffled screams of my teammates inside, my guess was they witnessed Damien’s landing.

I stood straight up. Despite the wind, despite the fact that I was fighting gravity, and despite the sharp pain returning to my chest with each breath, I stood straight up and took several slow, deliberate steps towards the menacing pop queen. She crawled towards me, licking her lips. I took a deep breath, feeling the stabbing pain in my ribs, and once she was within reach, I took a swing.

I caught her in her jaw with a left jab, and she stumbled backwards, almost falling off the tail boom. My knuckles screamed with pain, but the rage at her killing Damien made me ignore it.

I screamed, “I’ve got more where that came from, you interplanetary bitch.”

She righted herself and called back with a grin, “Baby, when it’s love, if it’s not rough it isn’t fun.

I took another swing and hit her hard with a right hook, but this time she only brushed it off and pounced at me. I slid my left foot backwards, and arched my back to avoid her. She narrowly missed me, but did manage to grab onto my cloak. As she fell she spun me around so that I was facing the ground. The upper part of my body lurched forward, and suddenly, I was facing the fuselage and being choked by my cloak. Gaga shrieked in horror as she thrashed around below me. I looked up (or down, I guess) and watched as Justice Stick slide out of its special pocket. I quickly reached for it, but when I did, my right foot slid out of my magnetic boot. With the weight of Lady Gaga hanging from my cloak, the remaining boot slid to the undercarriage of the fuselage.

“Hey’ Gaga!” I yelled down to her, “How about you take a ride on Justice Stick?”

I took one swipe with my pole arm and the blade managed to cut both of her hands. She let go of my cloak and fell onto the roof of a passing skyscraper. She looked up and me and roared a furious roar. I was about to let out a triumphant laugh, when my other foot slipped out of the other magnetic boot and I fell back to the cold earth. I braced myself for impact  but out of nowhere, a pair of arms swung in and wrapped around my chest. I screamed in agony as my body came to a halt and the arms squeezed around me tighter.

“You okay, mate?” a British voice asked.


“In the flesh.”

I was amazed, “I thought you died!”

“Ah, no such luck for you,” He joked, “I used a second grappling gun to catch onto the skids. Which is what you could have done, yeh bloody fool.”

I would have let out a laugh or a sigh of relief, but the pain in my chest was preventing me from breathing at all. Damien reeled in the grappling wire, which pulled us back up to the skids. He then opened the cabin door, threw me inside, and then entered as well.

I took a couple of deep pained breaths and then weakly yelled, “Get me the Hell out of New York City.”

The Official Awesomesquad! Roster!

I’ve been meaning to write this for a long time now, seeing as though I cannot write an Awesomesquad! Assemble! Post under 3,000 words anymore. I just think it’s pointless for me to add the roster at the beginning of every post, especially where there’s 6 damn Awesomesquad posts so far. It’s pointless and annoying and a waste of space for anyone who has read any of the previous Awesomesquad! Assemble! posts before. Plus, this saves me a lot of time and hassle whenever I want to post and New Awesomesquad! blog. Plus, this makes it easy for anyone new to these posts to catch up relatively quickly. See? I am a goddamned Jeanious!

So here is my list of current and former members of Awesomesquad! For Each, I will explain what role they serve in my group, either showcase a video or describe their abilities in a short paragraph, A spoiler alert followed by their status as either “current” or “former”, and if they are a former member, a link to their last post. I would like to point out that it might not be the last post that they’re in, but timeline-wise, that one will be their final one. I will also briefly describe what character traits they each bring to the team.

In case you were wondering, Yes, I am writing this because I plan on posting another Awesomesquad! blog next week. We’ll meet new characters! And see the return of some old ones! Exclamation Points!

The away team: Team Pugnastics

Code Name- Lady Caggiano

How the leader found her- Knows her personally, Best friend

Role- Second in Command/ Creator of Baked Goods

Ability- First of all, she knows Tae Kwon Do, so she can kick some ass. Secondly, due to her motherly nature, she loves to bake and take care of people. This means that she will also help as a medic and be a morale booster.

Personality traits- Feminist, Liberal, intelligent, Catty. Despite being the morale booster, she is most likely to get into arguments with other people, especially if they’re conservative leaning. She also tends to start problems with the other females of the group, just to keep things interesting. Of course, these conflicts are always resolved when we meet one of our enemies

Status- Former Member

Code Name- Knifemaster

Well, see if I let you into my superhero club now, Jibbles. Fucking dick.

How the leader found him- Knows him personally, Best friend

Role- Second in Command/ Knife Master

Ability- Has an extensive knowledge of weapons and has the ability to scare the other team members into doing what he says, which is usually what I say.

Personality traits- Loyal, shithouse crazy. Usually, he is loyal and unquestioning to the authority figure (me) but still willing to call the leader out on bullshit if he feels that the group’s wellbeing may be in jeopardy.

Status- Current Member

Code Name- Damien Walters

How the leader found him- Internet

Role- Parkor/ gymnastics/ fight coach

Ability- This:

Personality traits- Strong willed, distinctly British, Usually but heads with the leader

Status- Current Member

Code Name- Everett Bradford

How the leader found him- Internet

Role- Weapons Technician

Ability- This:

Personality traits- intelligent , creative, Low key, Meek but quick witted in battle. He is usually intimidated by the other members of the group, but he is not afraid to stand up when one of them needs him.

Status- Current Member

Code Name- Jesse James

How the leader found him- TV, his show

Role- Vehicle builder/ Mechanic/ Driver

Ability- Monster Garage. Well, technically, he was only the host, but still…

Personality traits- Straightforward, Behind the times- Pop Culture-wise

Status- Current Member

Code Name- Criss Angel

Seriously, fix your hair. You look like an asshole.

Role- Mind Freak

How the leader found him-TV, his show

Ability- He’s magic:

Personality traits- Oblivious to the extent of his powers, almost famous so he has some doucebaggy qualities about him. He’s mostly the butt of jokes, but he takes it in good humor.

Status- Current Member

Code Name- Series of Japanese Symbols (usually called Steve)

How the leader found him-Internet, Stumbleupon

Role- Stealth/ Covert Ops expert

Ability- This:

Personality traits- Angry, hot headed, intelligent. He has a serious problem with Minigan because he thinks that Minigan is racist against Asians, even though it was Minigan’s idea to bring him on.

Status- Current Member

Code Name- Mr. Expendable

Such a shady character should be a perfect addition to my team!

How the leader found him- Knows him personally, Coworker

Role- Test subject/ standard fighter

Ability- can regenerate lost tissue quickly

Personality traits- up beat, loyal, willing to be the test subject, brave in battle

Status- Current Member

Code Name- Nut’n Fancy

How the leader found him- Internet, Best friend (turned Knifemaster) shows him videos of Nut’n Fancy shooting.

Role- Gun/ Ammunitions expert

Ability- He knows guns:

Personality traits- Extreme Conservative, outspoken, insanely loyal to the group even if he and Lady Caggiano argue all the damn time.

Status- Former member
The Home Team, Team Prevention/ Protection:
Code Name- Danica McKellar

I’d like to solve for her right angle with my hypotenuse.

How the leader found her- Internet, Probably a article

Role- Crime solver, and when needed, spy

Ability- Danica is a math genius. She uses her math whiz abilities to solve crimes. You know, just like that show Numb3rs. Plus, since she’s also an actress, she can infiltrate whatever organization we need her to.

Personality traits- Wildly intelligent and manipulative, a flirt, at times can be as catty as Lady Caggiano, loves to mess with everyone in the group.

Status- Current Member

Code Name- GMZ

Role- Hacker

How the leader found him- Internet- Found by Lady Caggiano

Ability- He is good at hacking. He once hacked into several prominent celebrities Twitter accounts.

Personality traits- Loner, intelligent, prefers the control room to the rest of the Awesomebase! He has a bit of a short temper, but it can be tamed with some good food, like Lady Caggiano’s baked goods.

Status- Current Member

Code Name-Phlegm

She actually killed that shark

Role-Team Psychologist

How the leader found her- knows her personally, best friend’s sister

Ability-it isn’t so much of an “ability” but she keeps every member of the team mentally stable. This is important, what with all the killing we do.

Personality Traits-sweet and caring, has a serious case of bloodlust. She has threatened Minigan on at least one occasion.

Status- Current Member.

Code Name- Derren Brown


How the leader found him- TV, his show

Ability-he’s a mentalist, so he is able to get people to talk people into telling him what they want. Here’s a video:

Personality Traits- A follower but does trick people into doing things for him, excellent speaker, intelligent

Status-Current Member

Code Name- Coco Montoya (Sean McCormick)

His eyes are dreamy in a “I’m going to rape you” kind of way

Role-Genetic scientist

How the leader found him- Knows him personally- coworker.

Ability- He has studied the Human Genome for years and has developed methods the alter a person’s genetic code to prevent sickness or give them superpowers.

Personality Traits-Hippy, abhors violence, nerdy, Intelligent

Status- Former Member

Code Name- Raul

Role- Maintenance man, occasional fighter for Team Pugnastics

How the Leader found him- He helped build the Awesomebase!

Ability- Knows guns and can shoot them well, also knows many different areas of construction and carpentry.

Personality traits- Loves women. He is easily distracted by them and, on occasion, has fought agaist Awesomesquad if they are battling against one. He is also a hard worker, and willing to help out however he can, mostly because Minigan wanted to keep him around after the Awesomebase! was built.

Spoiler Alert!

Status: Former Member

Awesomesquad! Assemble! 6!

Holy crap this is long. Sorry about that, but you know- dick jokes.

In the sake of time I’ll just give everyone who hasn’t read an Awesomesquad! Assemble post before this one some background info:

I made a crime fighting team called Awesomesquad! We’re badass. I found most of the members from either the Internet or T.V.

I am the leader I usually wear a white cloak that for some reason can hold my pole arm, which I call my Justice Stick.

My second in command is my good friend Jibbles aka the Knifemaster

Damien Walters is our parkour and hand to hand combat trainer

Everett Bradford is our weapons tech

Criss Angel is our token wizard

Mr. Expendable is a friend of mine who we’ve given the ability to regenerate lost tissue. This means that he is largely our guinea pig for experiments

Steve is an Asian guy who is our stealth and covert ops expert

Jessie James (From Monster Garage) is our driver and the builder of the Awesomeplane!, our main form of transportation

Danica Mckellar (aka Winnie from The Wonder Years) is a mathematician who uses math to figure everything out

I’ve got some serious quadratic expansion going on in my pants right now.

Phlegm is our team psychiatrist. She is also The Knifemaster’s brother

GMZ is our hacker

Derren Brown is our mentalist who mainly interrogates our suspects.

That’s all the important information. Enjoy this batch of crazy:

“Fuck. Call Jibbles!” I screamed into my phone.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean by, ‘Fuck call Jibbles'” Siri replied.
“Don’t fuck around, Siri, this is important.”
She didn’t answer.
“You’re a cunt, Siri.”
“Was it something I said?” she then asked.
I rolled my eyes and searched for Jibbles’ number the old fashioned way. Ugh, what a hassle. After a few tedious minutes of searching through my contacts, I had found and called Jibbles.
“Knifemaster!,” I exclaimed before he has a chance to finish saying hello, ” You need to assemble The Awesomesquad!. It’s important.
“Sure thing, Minigan, when do you want us to meet?”
“But Minigan,” Jibbles said in an uncharacteristically whiny manner, “you always give us some kind of advanced warning, and I really have a lot of studying to do for my finals.”
“You can study when you’re dead,” I retorted, “Right now, there’s evil to fight.”
“You know that that makes no sense, right?” he pointed out to me.
Even though he was probably right, there was no time to argue. “Just assemble the team.”
I heard a sigh come from the other end of the line, which I took as him seceding to my request, so I hung up.
After a few quiet seconds, a distant voice called out from somewhere outside my window,” Awesomesquad Assemble!”
“Man, Jibbles is getting good at that,” I said to myself, “It echoed and everything.”
My trip to my entrance, as well as my passage into the Awesomebase! was uneventful, and once inside I found Jibbles and Everett hanging out in the dining lounge.
“Quick!” I shout as I walked into the lounge, making them both jump out of their seats, “We need to think of a way to destroy a corpse but leave a living body unharmed.”

“What?!” they both cried in unison.
“A weapon.” I stated, ” We need some kind of weapon that will destroy a corpse, but leave a living body unharmed.”
“Why?” Jibbles asked.
“Because we need it to fight zombies, but still protect civilians.” I answer.
“What?!” they both cry in unison once again.
Everett, looking confused by my demand, even though I made it pretty damn clear, said, “Minigan, you’re not making any sense. A corpse and a living body are made of the exact same things. You can’t build something that will destroy one and not the other.”
“Well, we need to figure out a way soon, because we’re going to fight zombies today.”
“What?!” They cried in unison for a third time, which I think means I win a free Coke or something.
“That’s right,” I said, “Now we really need to figure out what kind of weapon will kill a zombie and not a living person, and Everett needs to build it.
There was no use arguing with me, and they knew it, so we sat down at a table and began to brainstorm.
After several minutes of failed weapon concepts like, “Brain cannon” and “beheading bus,” Jibbles got up and began to rummage through the cabinets.
“What are you doing, Knifemaster?” I ask.
“Look,” he replied in a flat tone, “You called me here so suddenly that I didn’t have time to eat.” He then added after opening the refrigerator and finding only half empty condiment bottles and a really old sandwich, “Minigan, isn’t it your job as team leader to supply us with food? How about instead of fighting zombies, we fight off starvation with a trip to the grocery store?”
“Hey,” I snapped, “I go to the store regularly, you bastards just eat everything to fast. It’s not my fault we have a budget. Our Mystery Benefactor tells me how much I can spend on food.”
Without looking up from out list of awful weapon ideas, Everett mentioned how he saw some beef jerky in the cabinet above the stove. Sure enough, there was a plastic bag of homemade beef jerky. Satisfied with the choice of food, Jibbles sat back down and helped us brainstorm some more. After another ten minutes of deliberating, the best idea we had was what we called, “The Zombie Grinder.” Basically, it was a giant pyramid of steps that led up to a pit with some sort of meat griding device. A fresh human brain would be suspended over the opening, just out of reach for the zombies. The idea is that they would climb the pyramid and fall into the grinder when they try to reach for the brain. We all loved the idea, but I had some issues with how to transport the giant murder pyramid, and how to dispose of the remains. Everett assured me that he could work those out as he builds it.
“OK,” I seceded, “I like that one. But I still think we need something that you aim at a zombie. The grinder is only a trap.”
Jibbles and Everett groaned.
“This is important, you bastards!” I screamed, “We need to prepare for a zombie attack!”
Jibbles grumbled and then bit into a piece of beef jerky. After a second of chewing, he looked down at the food in his hand and then at us and cried, “Watteff wuh dehidrat vem?”
Everett and I just stared at him. Jibbles swallowed and repeated, “What if we dehydrate them? You know, with something that heats up and dries the air around them. If that doesn’t turn them into dust, then that might just kill the virus that turned them into zombies. They’d still be dead, just not eating other people.”
“Knifemaster,” I replied, “That is… not a bad idea, actually.”
“I disagree,” said Everett, the difficult bastard, “We don’t know why these theoretical people are turning into zombies, so drying them won’t be doing us any favors that way. Plus, dehydrating zombies will only turn them into mummies. So we’d still have an undead problem.”
Jibbles answered, “But that’s the thing, they will be like mummies, which means they will be totally stiff.” “Have you ever seen a mummy?” he continued, “Those things are so dehydrated that their limbs snap off when you try to move one. Now try to see an army of them walking at you. With their first step will break off their toes.”
“Fine,” Everett said impatiently, “I’ll build that too. But it won’t look pretty, not with the amount of time you’ve given me.”
“That’s fine, just have the thing built by later this afternoon.” I replied, ignoring his impatient tone, “Also, test it out on one of our test cadavers and Mr. Expendable and see how he fares against it.”
“Fares against what?” Mr. Expendable asked as he walked into the room. He was wearing a worn out t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, which is even more disheveled than his normal appearance. “I just woke up,” he claimed when he noticed us taking in his attire. With an exasperated voice, he then asked, “What do I need to test this time?”
“A dehydrating ray,” Everett answered, “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”
Over the next few hours, the other members started to trickle in: first was Phlegm, then Damien Walters followed by Criss Angel. Danica McKellar and Jessie James showed up together, followed by the rest (GMZ, Derren Brown, That Asian guy who I call Steve). Some sat down in one of the couches that surrounded the table that Jibbles and I were sitting at, while a few others looked through the cabinets for any scrap of food.
“Oy, Minigan, where’s all the food?” Damien asked in what I always assume is a Cockney accent, because- you know- British.
“That’s not important right now,” I answered. “Right now, I need all of you to listen to me. We have an emergency on our hands.”
Jibbles snorted, so I slapped him and then glared at everyone who was standing up, warning them that they might be next. They understood me, and took their seat around the table.
“As I was saying, we have a serious threat on our hands. Has anyone been watching the news lately?” Confused looks passed from one member of my team to the other. “CANNIBALISM!” I shouted impatiently, “LOTS AND LOTS OF CANNIBALISM!!! And that’s not the worst of it. There are rumors of zombies in Miami, Florida.”
The group must have misunderstood me because every single one of them groaned. Phlegm asked, “Minigan, this isn’t about that man who ate a homeless man’s face is it?”
“Yes, this is exactly what this is about!” I snapped.
“C’mon, man. Haven’t you heard that that guy was high on bath salts or something?” Jibbles chimed in.
“Yes, I know that! I don’t mean that he’s the reason there’s a zombie apocalypse going in southern Florida, I mean that story is what made me discover the truth!” Everyone looked confused. Good. That means they’ll listen. “Criss, put the holographic map of Miami up.”
“What?” he replied.
“The holographic map of Miami. Make it appear.” I repeated through my clenched teeth. I was not getting any respect today, and I would be damned if I would let this fucking magician lie to me about what he can or cannot do.”
“Why do you guys think I can just make anything appear? I’m an Illusionist, not a wizard,” he claimed, rather foolishly, to be honest, because I know pretty goddamn well that he can just make anything appear. Grumbling to myself about how much of an idiot Criss is, I leaned over the table, grabbed his right hand and balled it into a fist. I then set his elbow on the table so that his forearm was standing straight up. I instructed him to open his hand, and when he did, a giant, three dimensional, greenish grey map of Miami sprang into existence and began to rotate slowly. “What the fuck?” Criss exclaimed.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I pointed to a spot on the map and said, “This is where the homeless man was attacked.” A red dot formed on the spot that I touched. “And these,” I touched the holographic map several more times, revealing several more red dots, “are sightings of shambling, almost dead looking people. As you can tell, these dots form a perimeter of several blocks. I believe that these sightings are actually of zombies.”
“Minigan,” Danica asked as sweetly as she could, “Do you know how retarded this sounds to all of us? Zombies are a fictional creature. They will never exist.”
I stood up and shouted, “Really, zombies are a retarded concept? Sure, Pauly D can shoot lasers out of his mouth, Lady Gaga can actually be an alien, we can get into regular fights with Donald Trump’s hairpiece, and Kim Kardashian can have an evil twin that is trying to take over the world with her hypnotic ass, but as soon as I mention zombies, you all jump on the bullshit wagon. Fuck, Criss is projecting a 3D model of fucking Miami In front of all of you right now, but zombies are too damn unrealistic for you cynical bastards.”
A look of shame passed around the group, and for a few minutes, everyone was quiet. The silence was only broken when Mr. Expendable, looking so wrinkly and grey that it looked like he had aged 80 years, stumbled in. As he moved, his dry skin rubbed against itself and sounded like two sheets of sand paper being rubbed together. Several members of the group, including myself, groaned in disgust. Mr. Expendable ignored our groans, and instead stuck his head under the sink faucet and turned it on. As he drank the water, his skin returned to its normal shade and texture.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Criss asked, which was followed by murmurs from the rest of us, who were wondering the same thing.
“He was being a little bitch,” Everett answered as he walked through the door, wiping oil off of his hands with a dirty cloth. Once he sat down, he continued, “Mr. Expendable here lost his shit and we needed to stop. He started yelling all of our secrets out like he was being tortured.”
“That was torture!” Mr. Expendable said with an unusually raspy voice, even after just drinking what must’ve been a half gallon of water, “You chained me to the wall!”
“You kept jumping out of the way! What was I supposed to do? I needed to test the dehydration ray!”
“Dehydration ray?” Damien asked, “What in the bloody hell is a dehydration ray?”
In order to watch what could possibly become a very entertaining confrontation between a man who can regenerate lost tissue and a man with flame throwers attached to his arms, I quickly explained to the group how I asked for a weapon that would only harm zombies and not living humans.
Still glaring at Mr. Expendable, Everett shouted, “But thanks to this whiny little bitch, living people will also be harmed if they are in the path of the ray.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that they won’t!” Mr. Expendable shouted back, his voice back to normal, “All I wanted to do get out of the way. People who get hit by the beam will feel the same way. And unlike me, they won’t be chained up and be able to move out of the way.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Damn sure,” he answered.
“Good!” I exclaimed, “That means we can leave a soon as Jessie gets the Awesomeplane! ready.” I nodded to Jessie that he could start now. “Everett,” I continued, “Go with him and get the zombie grinder into the Awesomeplane!.” Once Everett left with Jessie, I addressed the rest of the group, “OK folks, We’ll be leaving as soon as they get the Awesomeplane! ready. Until then, we need to assign tasks for this mission. Team Pugnastics, instead of our normal massive array of weapons, our Benefactor bought each of us a Zombie Apocalypse Survival Kit, and I took the liberty of making a vest for the knives. Also, Phlegm, do to your bizarre and sudden blood lust, you’ll be joining Team Pugnastics on this one. Jibbles, you cannot bring your chainsaw whips with you, what with the splattering of zombie juices and all, and no one needs a flame thrower. That will only make the zombies more dangerous. We can only use blades, guns, and clubs. We will also all be wearing our riot gear, as that will protect us the most against zombie bites.” “Team Prevention,” I announced, turning to Danica, Derren, and GMZ, “You’re job will be to monitor the streets of Miami for anything similar to eyewitness accounts. GMZ, it shouldn’t be difficult for you to hack into Miami’s street and security cameras, so that will be that will be how you monitor the streets. Once any of you see some a crowd of slow, shambling people, let us know, and we’ll take those fuckers out. Does anybody have any questions?”
Everyone raised their hand. I sighed; they weren’t going to fucking let this go until they actually saw some zombies.
“Does anybody have any questions about the details of this mission, not if I am in my right state of mind or if I’m on any drugs?”
Every single one of their bastard hands went down. However, instead of chastising them more, I decided to save all of our time and dismiss everyone. Team Prevention walked their path to The Eye, which is our code name for the surveillance room (Yes that is a V for Vendetta reference), while Phlegm, myself and the rest of team Pugnastics made our way down to the armory. I got Phlegm her riot gear and her Zombie Apocalypse Survival Kit and then went to check on the Awesomeplane!. In the hangar, Everett and Jessie were pushing the individual pieces of the Zombie Grinder into the Awesomeplane! while our teammates watched.
“Hey,” I shouted to the rest of the team, “Don’t just stand there, help them load it. The faster the grinder is on the plane, the sooner we can leave and get back here. Isn’t that what you lazy shit heads want?”
And with that, the rest of my team started to hurry the fuck up. Back in the armory, I loaded up my weapons onto my riot vest, put in my earpiece that had a direct link to Team Prevention, and grabbed my wrist mounted GPS, my Justice Stick, and my riot helmet. I opted to not wear my white cloak, since zombies have a tendency to grab onto anything they can (They’re just like fucking children) and they are not intimidated by theatrics (Just like… I don’t know, jaded children?), and instead went for my tight fitting riot/ war uniform.
Once everyone and Awesomeplane! were ready, we all took out normal seats and prepared for take off. Right as the underground runway lit up and the engines rocketed the vehicle foreward, The Knifemaster said putting a pair of sunglasses on, “We’re headed to Miami to fight some zombies…”
“Don’t say it.” I begged.
“… I guess that means we’re going to be the Brains of their existence. YEEEEAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

How about, “We’re going to knock ’em dead… Again!!!”

“Knifemaster,” I warned, “If you make any of those jokes for the duration of this trip, I will throw you out of this plane.”
There several nods and grumbles of agreement, some of them even coming from his sister. The Knifemaster looked disappointed, but kept his lousy CSI: Miami puns to himself.
Within no time we had reached the end of the tunnel, and the earth spat us out into the clear afternoon sky. Once he had set us on the right course, Jessie turned to all of us and asked if he could play his Miami mix CD. We all agreed, figuring that it would mostly be rap or Latin American music, but once the CD was in the player, the speakers emitted a high pitched wailing sound which had guttural sounding grunts layered on top. 500,000 hours later, we landed in an empty parking lot in Miami. Everyone except for Jessie clawed their way out of the plane, and as far away as their weakened legs could carry them. Many of us threw up.
“Jessie, you horrible bastard,” I shouted in between gasps for air, “Why would you make us listen to a whale being raped for a trip to Miami?”
“That wasn’t a whale getting raped,” he stated with a confused look on his face, “That was Will Smith’s song, ‘Miami.’”
The rest of gasped in unison. “That’s even worse that listening to a whale getting raped!” I shouted, “At least the whale doing the raping is getting some pleasure out of the experience.”
“Listen the fuck up, you bloody Yankee wanker,” Damien said to Jessie through clenched teeth, “If you ever try to play that song again, I will spit right into your bloody mouth. Got that, chum?”
The rest of the group shouted in agreement with Damien, each of us with a look of contempt for Jessie etched onto our faces. He threw his hands up defensively and said, “Fine! I won’t play that song again. Sorry. I thought I’d try to contribute to the music list.”
I growled at him, and then turned away, pressing a button on my ear piece. “Danica, do you copy?”
“I can hear you loud and clear, Minigan,” she answered back, “Things have been quiet in the area you pointed out so far, but we’ll keep looking and update you as soon as we see something.”
“OK, good. Team Pugnastics and I will scout the area, and interview the locals to see if they’ve seen anything unusual. Over and out.” I clicked the button again, ending the connection.
I looked out from the parking lot, getting the first good bearings of our location since we arrived. The town smelled exactly as you would expect it to smell: overpriced cologne, beans and rice, and urine. The sun must have some kind of blood vendetta against the people of Miami, because it seemed as though all it did was spit out a peculiarly viscious amount of Hell fire at this town. Through the waving , almost hypnotic, undulating waves of heat rising from the asphalt, I noticed something odd. There was no one but us around.
I touched my earpiece again, and asked, “Danica, do you see anyone in our vicinity?”
She replied back with a, “No. And not for a two block radius. No one is even driving on the expressway behind you.”
I turned around, and sure enough, the towering expressway stood silently behind us. I turned to the group and said, “Be on high alert, everybody. Something weird is going on.” “in what direction was the most recent sighting,” I asked into my earpiece, “That is probably the best place to start.”
She agreed, and then gave me directions to the location of the last sighting, about three blocks to the south. I directed my team to follow me to the location, and had Steve, Jessie, and Everett set up The Zombie Grinder. I chose not to ask where Everett got the fresh brain from. Leaving Steve, Everett and Jessie to their task, Damien, Phlegm, Criss, Mr. Expendable, The Knifemaster, and myself made our way to the location. We got there to once again find the place deserted, and no trace of any human (living or undead) around. I could tell that this was pretty much what everyone expected, so I continued to repeat the phrase, “It’s quiet- too quiet.” Usually in the movies, a monster would pop out of some unseen corner, but nothing happened whenever I said it. What a jip. Anyway, once we collected all the information that seemed relevant to our mission, Danica directed us to the next sighting.
This went on for several hours, each with the same result. I could tell that my team was getting irrated with me, what with their constant glares, and occasional, “There better be some fucking zombies, Minigan.”
“There will be,” I snapped back. Then under my breath I continue, “There’s got to be.”
After another hour of this, we had gotten about three quarters of the way through the listed sightings. My team was even more irritated at this point; even The Knifemaster was threatening to go back to the Awesomeplane!. The particular location we were at had a several restaurants around, so I suggested that we take a hour break to get food and relax. This seemed to quell their rage towards me, and also gave me some time to look at my GPS. Holy shit. I traced our routes by connecting the dots of sightings and realized that we had walked a good 10 miles in the few short hours we had been in Miami. Despite the distance we walked, we were only five miles away from the Awesomeplane!. The path we took spiraled inward from the latest sighting. That means that the sightings were spiraling outward. And worse still, since we didn’t see a living person in all that time, it means that a section of Miami with a five mile radius, a section of Miami that we’re in the buttfucking middle of, is completely devoid of human life.
I Tapped the button on my earpiece and said, ” Team Prevention, do you copy?”
“I repeat, Team Prevention, do you copy?”
Silence on their end.
“Shit. Fuckity, Fuckity, shit, shit, fuck.” I muttered to my self. Tapping the earpiece once again, I said, “Jessie, do you copy?”
Nothing. Triple fucks.
I looked to the members of my team. They had gathered around an obviously (and for me, unsurprisingly) closed deli, knocking and scratching at the glass doors.
I ran over to them, an said, “I know I promised an hour break, but we are in the middle of a serious situation right now. I cannot get ahold of either Team Prevention nor Everett and Jessie. We need to get back to the Awesomeplane! now. I promise I’ll make it up to everyone when we get back to the base.”
“No.” The Knifemaster replied definitively, “We’re hungry now. I’m sure you’re just overreacting again, Minigan. Everything’s fine.”
“Everything isn’t fine!” I shouted, “I think we’ve been lured into a trap. We need to get the fuck out of here!”
“Oh, come the fuck on!” The Knifemaster cried, now turning to face me, his wall of a body leaning over me, “You’re just saying that because there wasn’t any zombies! This is just you trying to save face in front of us. Let it go, Minigan. You were wrong.”
“Fine. I was wrong about the zombies,” I admit, even though I’m still pretty sure I wasn’t, ” But I know I’m right about this. I can feel it. We need to get out of here.”
“I’m sorry Minigan, but you’ve lost a lot of influence over us the past few hours. You claimed there were zombies, but we haven’t seen any, and now you’re claiming that it’s a trap because you cannot contact the rest of the team? I’m not buying it.”
“We haven’t seen any zombies because we haven’t seen a single bloody person in this city so far,” Damien yelled to everyone else’s surprise, “And check your damned mobiles. I for one don’t have any service, which is odd since we’re in the middle of a blasted city. Minigan’s right. We need to get out of here now.”
“Why the fuck are you siding with Minigan on this one of all times, Damien?” The Knifemaster asked, rightly so too, since Damien has a notorious habit of disagreeing with me.
“Yes I am,” Damien snapped back, ” Because I’m the only one besides Minigan who’s been paying any bloody attention to our surroundings. Seriously, your damn culture is destroying all of your attention spans! So, are you guys coming or do we have to drag you back?”
The Knifemaster was fuming. His lips were so pursed that they barely moved when he said, “Not until we get some food.”
“Fucking fine already!” I screamed. I pushed through them and shattered the window with a swing of my elbow. My forearm was bleeding pretty bad, but I ignored it and ushered my teammates in. I left a hastily written note along with $500 on the counter and then forced everyone out of the deli once they grabbed some food.I grabbed a couple bottles of water and a roll of gauze for myself before I ran out and pulled the security gate down. I loaded the water into my vest, and dressed my wounds as fast as I could.
“Team Pugnastics, do you copy?” I voice in my ear said so suddenly that it made me jump.
“Holy shit, Danica! What the fuck happened?” I replied, feeling a little relieved.
“There was a blackout on our end. No time to explain.” she answered, “You guys need to get out of there now. You were right, there are zombies, and they’re headed your way. You need to get back to the Awesomeplane! And help Jessie, Everett, and Steve. The zombies reached them first and trapped them inside the plane.”
“Why don’t they just come and pick us up if they’re already in the plane?” Criss asked. Everyone was now listening in on the conversation, each of them with a grave look on their faces.
“Because the Zombie grinder is attached to the plane and them taking off would mean that they would be spraying zombie chum all over Miami. You guys need to hurry though, you’re already surrounded. Minigan, we’ve updated your gps with the coordinates of the zombie hoards. You will see that they’re closing in on you from all sides. We don’t know where in the hell they’re coming from. Just get out of there!”
“Done and done. Over and out.” I said into the earpiece. I then looked at my crew and said, “Well, you heard te sexy mathmatician, let’s get out of here. We should take the rooftops; that would be the safest route. Let’s just hope these zombies are the pre-2000 zombies.”
As we all sprinted across the plaza in order to get to the building closest to the Awesomeplane!, Phlegm asked, “what do you mean by, ‘pre-2000 zombie?”
“it’s simple,” I replied, slightly out of breath, “In the zombie movies before the year 2000, all the zombies did when they moved was shamble. Then, in 28 Days Later, the zombies could run. And in Zombieland, they could climb. For some reason, at the dawn of a new millennium, zombies gained new abilities.”
“So what you’re saying is that you want the zombies with poor motor skills,” she replied.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Well, I’ve got some good news for you then, Minigan,” Mr. Expendable chimed in, ” that looks like the zombies we’re gonna be up against.” he pointed to the other end of the Plaza where a lone zombie shuffled in, groaning slightly. After a few moments of doing this, it spotted us. It then pointed directly at us, wailed a horrible, head splitting wail, and began to sprint at us along with four more that had just turned the corner.
“Fuck nuggets.” The Knifemaster said.
“Everyone,” I yelled, “climb up to the roof! Damien, you lead. I’ll hold these five off. GO!”
With Damien’s expert Parkour skills leading the way, most of my team scaled the façade with ease; this was never was the Knifemaster’s strong suit. I began to charge at the zombies, my machete and axe drawn, and from behind me I heard Mr. Expendable yell to me, “I hope they are the members of that awful band One Direction!”

In a perfect world, they would be the zombies I’m about to kill.

Once I was close enough, I threw my axe at the leading zombie’s head. The axe made its mark, and the zombie toppled to the ground. One down. With a vicious slash with my machete, I was able to behead the second zombie. The third zombie lunged at me, but it had crouched low enough that I was able to leap over it and stab the crown of it’s head. With a swift yank once I landed, I was able to remove the skull from the vertebrae and send the skull flying at the fourth. The flying skull hit the other zombie’s face so hard that both skulls shattered, and the fourth zombie dropped to the ground. I was close enough to the first zombie that I could pull the axe from its skull and swing it at the final zombie’s head. With a loud crunch, the axe connected with the zombie’s temple, instantly killing it.

With one swift pull, I removed the axe from its skull, hastily poured a bottle of water over it and my machete’s blades and returned them to their sheathes, and ran off to the building my team had scaled. As I ran, I looked at my GPS for the first time since Danica updated it. Jesus undead Christ. Other than the grey rectangles that represented the buildings and the large green square of the plaza, the entire screen was red. There had to be at least 10,000 zombies surrounding us. Needless to say, I climbed my fucking ass off. I had almost reached the top when the first group of zombies entered the far end of the Plaza. I heard one scream (They spotted me. Shit.), and then their heavy, rapid footsteps as they ran towards the building I was scaling. I reached the top and rolled over the ledge to safety, but when I looked back over, I saw the most confusing and terrifying sight ever. The zombies were scaling the building in the exact same fashion that my team and I had done. Their movements weren’t stiff and uncoordinated like a zombie, but fluid and quick like someone who was experienced with-
“Sweet virgin mother of dirty fucks, the zombies can parkour!” I screamed at my team, who had just begun to relax a little.
“What?!” they cried in unison.
“You heard me, let’s get a move- DAMIEN WATCH OUT BEHIND YOU!!!!”
A zombie just appeared from the ledge right behind him. With one fluid motion, Damien Walters round-house kicked the head right of the zombie, and into another zombie that had breached the rooftop, sending it back over the edge. (And that, my friends, is the most badass sentence I will ever write.)
Before any of us really knew what we were doing, we had run to and climbed onto the ledge of a taller adjoining building. This one was much longer too, giving us some much needed space between us and the zombies. However, it wasn’t long enough. If it had just extended about 20 more feet out, we could possibly jump to the roof across the street. Sure we’d be going in the wrong direction, but it was better than staying where we were.
Phlegm then pointed to a water tower across the street, and said, “If I can hit that with my grappling gun, we could zipline across!”
I could have kissed the woman. “Where did you get the grappling gun?” I asked instead.
“Everett gave it to me before we separated. He thought we could use it.”
“Awesome,” I replied, “All the more reason we need to get to him, Jessie, and Steve and save them.”
She handed off the grappling gun Criss (He has the best aim. You know, magic aim) and he fired it right into the center of the water tower. We tied the other end of the cable to a sturdy looking antennae near the ledge. One at a time, but as quickly as possible, my crew made it across until only The Knifemaster and I were left. That was when a zombie jumped up to the far end of the roof we’re on. Once it saw us, it sprinted as us, hurdling over air conditioning units and generators like he had years of practice.
“Well, I just soiled myself,” The Knifemaster said rather casually given our situation.
“No time to regroup,” I hurridly explain, locking his zipline trolley into place and kicking him over the edge. He screamed briefly as he zipped across the street.
Now it was my turn. The zombie had closed in fast. I pulled my Desert Eagle out of its holster and fired a single shot into the forhead of the zombie. It stumbled, fell forward and slid a foot or two before coming to a complete stop. The relief was short lived. More zombies had climbed up at the far end of the room and were now barreling down on me. I quickly set myself up on the line and jumped off the roof. I had almost made it to the other side before the antennae bent forward, because fuck me. Since it had bent, the end attached to the antennae was now lower than the water tower end, so I began to drift backwards. With my hands, I pulled myself back towards my team. And that was when the antennae gave out completely. With a loud crack, I felt myself swinging towards the red brick of the building I was trying to get to. I hit the wall hard, its hot, rough surface scraping my cheek. There were several screeches from below, meaning they had spotted me. Seriously, fuck me. I climbed up the wall as quickly as I could, But the zombies could climb so much faster, and within no time, I could feel them grabbing at my boots. Once I was close enough to the top, I felt the hands of Criss and Damien lift me to safety. They then jumped with me to the left, and the giant water tower toppled over, spilling its contents over the edge and onto the climbing zombies. I looked up to see that The Knifemaster, Mr. Expendable, and Phlegm had knocked out two of the water tower’s supports and then tipped the thing over.
We had finally caught a break when we realized that we would mostly have to cross alleys to get back to Everett, Jessie, and Steve. We didn’t waste any time being thankful, but instead immediately took to jumping from one rooftop, and landing with a somersault on the next. Several zombies had made their way up to the rooftops and were now running after us, mathing our parkour moves with their own. Periodically, I would turn around and fire one or two bullets at them, and The Knifemaster would throw a throwing knife or two at them before we would continue on our way.
At one such point, The Knifemaster throws a knife at a zombie, which hits it directly in its eye socket, and then says to me as we start running again, “Don’t even fucking say it, Minigan”
“What?” I ask between breaths.
“You goddamn know what,” he replies too, also out of breath.
In an offended tone, I stated, “This really isn’t the time to be having this conversation, Jibbles, what with zombies chasing us and all. You know, the Zombies that I said existed.”
“You know, Minigan, even in situations like these you still manage to be a total asshole.”
We laughed a little bit, and then jumped up a wall to a higher roof. Once we were on top, we saw the rest of our team sprinting across a long, narrow catwalk that should take us from the current rooftop to the final rooftop before our parking lot and the Awesomeplane!. The Knifemaster and I joined in on their dash right as a dozen or so more zombies crested the ledge and started after us.
The Catwalk was shaky and took us right above the hoard of undead on the street. Keeping my eyes away from the crawling ground below, and instead on the backs of my team’s heads, I made it across without any incident. When I looked back, 50 to 60 zombies were fighting their way across the catwalk.
“Bloody violent fucks all around,” Damien shouted.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“We’re fucking trapped, that’s what’s the matter! I just looked over the ledge facing the parking lot, and there’s nothing between the plane and us but zombies.And now we have a line of zombies headed down our only exit. How the fuck are zombies able to parkour anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I frantically shouted back, “How were the zombies in Zombieland able to climb amusement park rides? How were the zombies in the Dawn of the Dead remake able to run? How were the zombie strippers in the movie Zombie Strippers able to fucking work the pole? It’s just how the zombies of the new millennium work.” Then it hit me. “Holy shit! All of those movies were from 2000-2009! We’re in a new decade, which means the zombies can do do more than what they could three years ago! God seriously fucked us this decade!”
I ran to the ledge facing the parking lot, and to my dismay, the zombie hoard was so thick that you couldn’t see the pavement. A football field away was the Awesomeplane, hovering right out of reach from the zombies, but also tethered to the ground by the Zombie Grinder. On the Brightside, that seemed to be working perfectly. A constant flow of zombies were climbing the stairs, reaching for the brains, and falling right into the grinding pit. We should have built more of those.
“Minigan,” Phlegm asked with terror in her voice, “What are we going to do?”
Everyone was looking to me. I theorized, “Maybe we can destroy the catwalk before they get to us.” I looked at the structural componants of the catwalk. Fuck. Despite it being shaky, the damn thing was structurally sound. “If only we had a bomb or something, we could blow it up.”
“I have bombs,” Mr. Expendable said. We all turned to him, shocked. “Well,” he said, “I know we’re not supposed to have them in urban areas, because we could hurt civilians, but I thought just bringing some along if we needed them couldn’t hurt.”
“Very good point.” I said quickly, “If we get out of this, we’ll all be required to carry bombs and grappling guns with us on urban missions. Now, hand me one of those bombs.”
He rummaged through the sack on his back, pulled out a black sphere about the size of a coconut, and handed it to me. Although it was the size of a coconut, it weighed at least three times as much. It was perfectly smooth except for a thin groove that ran the full way around the center. Irregularly scattered along the groove was a series of short white lines, that, when lined up, armed the bomb. This was one of Everett’s bombs. I lined up the lines and then rolled the bomb onto the catwalk. It rolled to a stop about 15 yards away from our roof and maybe 20 feet away from the zombie out in front. In a crazed frenzy, the zombies ran and jumped and scrambled at the bomb. When the zombie in the lead bent over to gram it, the bomb exploded , sending zombie limbs and pieces of metal off in every direction. The remaining catwalk groaned, and after several loud cracking noises, the catwalk swayed, ripped off of the other building, and crashed to the ground, crushing and impaling countless zombies.
“Well, that’s one problem solved,” The Knifemaster said, “But how do we get to the others?”
“I have an idea,” I said to him. I then turned to Mr. Expendable and asked, “How many more bombs do you have?”
“Good.” I reply, “Criss, do you think you can levitate over to the Awesomeplane?”
“Think?” he asked incredulously , “Pfsh, I’ve levitated across much longer distances than that.”
“Do you think you could drop the bombs as you levitated across the parking lot?”
“That I can’t do,” he replied, “All of my concentration needs to be on levitating otherwise I’ll just fall to the ground.”
“Then do you think you could carry someone across?” I asked.
“Hmm, I’ve never tried it, but I guess I could give it a shot.”
“Awesome,” I said back. “Phlegm,” I said turning to her, “You’re the lightest out of all of us. You’ll need to hold on to Criss and drop the bombs into the zombie crowd. Make sure you space it out enough so that we can get the entire way to the Awesomeplane!, Got it?”
“Got it.” She answered. She took the bag of bombs from Mr. Expendable, and then wrapped her arms tightly around Criss’s torso. After about a second of both of them being still, they lifted off the ground and drifted towards the Awesomeplane!. She dropped the first bomb about ten feet away from the building. When it exploded, it left a zombie free crater, big enough for the remaining four of us to stand in, plus some extra room for each of us. Following my lead, we jumped down from the roof onto a streetlight, and then swung ourselves into the crater. In a flash, I had assembled my Justice stick and was ready to kick some mother fucking undead ass. Once Damien, Mr. Expendable, and The Knifemaster hand landed in the crater, they had their weapons drawn and were fighting our way out of the crater. The next few minutes were a blur of growling zombies, the clang of our weapons, and zombie gore. All around us, zombie body parts were flying . The damn zombies couldn’t even touch us. We were way too efficient in killing. Another bomb went off somewhere ahead of us. We watched as the firey plume sent several smaller black balls into the air. For each of those balls was another explosion, and from those firey plumes came dozens more, even smaller balls.
“Cluster bombs,” I said, to the other three, “that will make it easier on us. What all kinds of bombs did you get, Mr. Expendable?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered between beheading a particularly rotten zombie that appeared to be an old woman and chopping a zombie missing most of its face with an axe, “I just grabbed a bunch of different ones.
The zombie crowd got thinner once we got to where Phlegm dropped the cluster bomb, so we were able to move a little faster. However, the sound of another bomb exploding much farther away told us that we weren’t moving fast enough. We tried to pick up our pace, but it was no use; the third bomb dropped and sounded even further away.
I tapped my earpiece, and said, “Phlegm, tell Criss to slow down, we cannot keep up with you guys.”
“I’ve been trying to,” she replied, “But he’s so far in the zone that I don’t even think he can hear me.”
“Fuck,” the four of us cried in unison.
After a few more minutes the fourth bomb went off and Phlegm’s voice came back on the earpiece, “We’ve reached the plane. How far along are you guys?”
“Not Far,” I answered grimly. “Everett, are you guys ok?”
“We’re fine, and I discovered that the zombie remains are highly combustible,” he said, “Which is good, because the plane’s waste tank is full and the zombie grinder is overflowing.”
“Good.” I said, “We’ll save that for once we’re all on the plane. Right now you need to use the dehydration ray.”
“Got it, Boss” he said, “Over and out.”
“We need to fucking hurry,” I said to the rest of my team, which was pointless, because they already knew. There was an open space ahead of me, and at the other end, a particularly muscular and ugly looking zombie. I sprinted at him, and he at me. At the last second, I jabbed the end of my Justice Stick into the ground, and pole vaulted over the zombie. While in the air, I flipped my Justice Stick around, and impaled the zombie from the head down. When I landed, I whipped my Justice stick, it still impaling the zombie, over my head, and smashed it into another zombie. I then swung it around and hit every zombie in my path until the first zombie finally slid off. The other three caught up with me when we heard a loud hum begin.
“The Dehydration ray!” Mr. Expendable exclaimed, “Everyone, drop to the ground!”
Right as we did, a wave of intense heat washed over us. Suddenly, the zombies didn’t matter, my teammates didn’t matter, the fact that I was crouching in some weird gloop didn’t matter, al that mattered was that I get out of this heat. The feeling consumed my being. It became so intense that I swear time stood still. Within what felt like an eternity, the heat disappeared, and I suddenly found myself in the middle of a petrified forest made entirely of zombies.
The four of us were running towards the Awesomeplane! before I fully understood what had happened. And despite Everett blasting a large section of the zombies with the dehydration ray, there were still thousands more waiting for us. We bolted past the dried zombies, knocking over whichever ones were in our way and letting them fall to the ground and shatter like vases.
We made it to the Awesomeplane! while Jessie was pulling the hose out of the waste tank and closing it up. We all made it on board before Everett threw the final bomb, a “firebomb” he said with a smile, into the gloop that I remember not caring about just thirty seconds ago. The plane lifted off right as the bomb ingnited and torched the entire parking lot, killing the all of the zombies.
“We made it!” Phlegm exclaimed, “We’re alive!”
“Not so fast,” an unfamiliar voice said from one of the speakers.
“Who is this?” I asked in my firmest voice, which sounded more like a growl.
“Oh, I will not be giving that away so easily, Awesomesquad!.” The voice said in a sinister tone.I immediately guessed that normally this guy sounded like a whiny prick. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“Thank us for what?” The Knifemaster asked.
“I wanted to thank you for all the valuable information you gave me today. You see, This little zombie apocalypse was just to get you guys distracted enough so that I could hack into your mainframe and steal all of your vital information. This information will come in handy for me later on when I need to kill all of you. Goodbye!” The mysterious man laughed manically before the connection was cut.
We all sat in our seats quietly for a second or two before I finally said, “Well, shit.”

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:

part 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—“


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.



A Romantic Proposition to Hayden Panettiere

Hello, Hayden? It’s me, Minigan Blackwood. You may know me as the man of your dreams, or more specifically, one or two of your nightmares.

Look, before we get started, I think we should be honest here. I know you’re reading this just as much as Criss Angel and Damien Walters have read all four of my Awesomesquad Assemble! posts. So I’ll make a deal with you; I’ll let myself believe that you are reading this post as long as you let yourself believe that I know how to pronounce your last name.

Your name is right under the mish-mash of letters that is the name of Giada De Laurentiis on the list of hot female celebrities whose names I can's pronounce

Anyway, the reason I called you here today is because I need to have a serious talk with you. I know that this is going to sound weird. I mean, we just met, but already I feel this deep connection between us.  This connection is something unheard of for a beautiful, talented actress like you and a muscular, devilishly handsome, yet potentially insane blog writer like me to have. I know that you feel the connection like I do. Before you started to read this, you were wondering why you had  always felt like you were about do jump off a cliff and into the warm waters of the Gulf of California (something I do regularly; you are welcome to join me anytime). You think that feeling is some kind of primal fear, or maybe even nervousness. But it’s not; it’s love. That’s right Hayden, you’re in love. And the person you are in love with is the only person to realize that you are in love: me.

I am equal parts ripped and crazy.

Don’t be ashamed for losing yourself to me. It happens a lot. All the time, people walk up to me and tell me they love me. Women say it, men say it, young children say it, and those voices that only I can hear  say it (right before they tell me to rob a bank, of course).  So, as you can see by my blatant lie, you have no reason to feel shame for the extreme attraction you have towards me.

And don’t you dare think that these feelings are unrequited. Oh no, Miss Panettiere &Fitch, I have been admiring you, NOT from the bushes outside your window, but from the televisions. Every week for the first season,  I watched heroes with a dedication that would normally get me thrown onto some kind of government watch list. I was taken aback by your beauty,  your acting talent, and you ability to survive getting thrown off of a building over

And over

And over

And over

And over.

Damn, bitch be trippin'!

But now that Heroes is off the air, I am both ecstatic and terrified at your latest character turn, the sexy and short haired movie buff, Kirby, in the latest Scream movie.  I’m ecstatic because this means that you still have an acting career, and therefore, I still get to see you, but I am terrified of the thought of seeing you stabbed to death by a horror movie cliché. And I am serious about that last statement. Check out the trailer for it:

That part where you name off all the horror movie remakes and the killer says “Not even close”

😯 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am genuinely freaked out that you are going to die in this movie, and I have only watched the trailers. I promise you, I will scream “NOOOOOOO!” if you die. So do me a favor and please don’t. I don’t want to have to hate Wes Craven for killing you off. He seems like he would be crazy and not someone I would want to fuck with.

Anyway, I think that we should get together some time, we could jump out of windows, scream at highschool football players, or maybe get chased by a killer in a ghost mask together. I know you have a boyfriend,  but I am so much better for you, baby. To prove so, I have made a list of all of the qualities that make me a good boyfriend:

  1. I do not cheat on nor beat my girlfriends
  2. I know how to cook, clean, and do my own laundry
  3. I am a good writer, so if another man ever disrespects you, I can write him an eloquent, yet demanding cease and desist letter.
  4. I’ve got long hair. I have been told that that is a plus.
  5. If the killer is chasing us, I will debate on whether or not I am going to trip you before I trip myself and let you escape. (in my defense, I am pretty sure you can heal like that in real life, so you aren’t in any danger anyway)
  6. I am a robot from the future
  7. I am not Eastern European/Russian/ whatever the hell that monstrosity that you call your current boyfriend is. (Side note, Hayden’s current boyfriend, please don’t kill me)

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not perfect, and I will never claim to be. Just as you think you are a singer, I think I am funny. But these minor imperfections are what will make our relationship that much more entertaining. You can sing  crappy, but none the less catchy,  songs and I will stand there making jokes about how the cameraman can’t aim a camera for shit.

So if you have liked any of what you have read today, please comment on this blog and let me know, that way we can schedule a rendezvous. If you at all disgusted or offended by what you read, you should probably reread this post over and over until you feel the way I do: tired and a little bloated.

Please don't make your shirt a liar, Hayden.

Peace be with you. So much peace be with you.  Mmmmmmmm

And to everyone who is not Hayden Panettiere, I hope you enjoyed this week’s ramblings. I would like to point out that as of now, I still have a week and a half until I am allowed to get back onto facebook, not 4 days as my shitty math  in my previous blog calculated. Yea, I’m pissed too. Also, if you like my blogs, or if you feel like you don’t click enough buttons on the internet, you should subscribe to my blog. The button for it is up on the top on the left hand side. Hayden, feel free to click on it all you want. Purrrrrr

Awesomesquad Assemble! 4: Mark of the Oil Beast

Before I get started, I would like to let Chris Thorn know that he does not need to waste those precious few moments he has left in his sad, decrepit life by reading my blog. Chris, since I am giving you the option to go, I do not want to hear any shit from you about me wasting your life.  I hope you enjoy the time I am giving back to you and can only expect that you will use that time to facebook stalk me. Also, I would check my grammar, but fuck you.


The hallway was dark, quiet, and deserted. On one end, a group of leaders of the terrorist organization known as” Murderhorn,” gathered together. They pointed their AK-47s into the black, shooting at whatever movement they hallucinate. One of the men was attempting to pick the lock and break into the room closest to them. On the other end of the hallway, around the corner, a group of badasses armed to the teeth with custom weaponry was planning their next move. A black-haired man wearing guy liner, a pair of tight fitting jeans, and a leather vest was standing up against the wall next to a woman in full body armor. She has more firepower on her than a fireworks shop owner with a score to settle. The terrorists broke through the doors and rushed in, closing the doors behind them. The terrorists left behind a group of five heavily armed thugs to buy some time.

Our two mysterious figures concealed in the dark looked to the opposing wall, where two of their team members are also concealed. The man in the front, wearing a white cloak and a camelback hydration system(product placement), turned to the man behind him and said, “Everett, you blind them, and I will run up and fuck their shit up.” he then continued to the rest of the team, “Once I have them distracted, you three will run up and engage them. They will show no mercy, so don’t expect or give any.”

He crouched down and quickly, but silently moved forward. When he was almost within sight of the group guarding the door, a small cube flew through the air, over the head of the cloaked man, and towards the thugs. They watched as the cube fell into the middle of them and exploded into a flash of blinding white light. The men stumbled around for a second or two before regaining the use of their eyes. When they did, the man in the white cloak was standing perfectly still in the center of the circle the bad guys had formed. The armed thugs pointed their fully automatic guns at the cloaked individual  and began to fire.

The cloaked man grabbed the barrel of one of the man’s guns, pulled it past him, and then grabbed onto the gun holder’s shoulder and firing hand from behind. The other thugs shot at the cloaked man, but the bullets merely hit their comrade. The cloaked man, used his human shield’s gun to shoot at the other thugs, taking out one of them. The other three members of the cloaked man’s team came forward and quickly dispatched of the remaining guards using their own style of combat. The woman using Tai Kwon Do, the man in the leather vest using magic(not the really gay magic, only the slightly gay kind), and Everett using wrist mounted flame throwers.

“OK,” Everett said with a breath of relief, “Now to get through the door.”

The man in the cloak looked to the woman and asked, “Would you mind doing the honor, Lady Caggiano?”

“Certainly,” Lady Caggiano stated as she walked up to the door. She landed one solid kick on the door knob, and the door exploded like something out of a Michael Bay movie, fire and all. The team ran through the gaping hole where the door used to be to see one terrorist, a woman in a black catsuit and wire rimmed glasses, standing guard at the door on the opposite end of the room, ready to kick some ass.

Sarah Palin?

The leader of the group took a sip from his camelback hydration system (product placement), and ran at the  woman. The woman instinctively shot at him. The bullets, although making their mark, only slowed the progress of the man in the cloak slightly. By the time he reached her, she had shot her last bullet, and was frantically attempting to reload. One swift roundhouse kick from the cloaked man knocked the gun from her hand, out of her reach and unloaded. She was basically fucked at this point.

She did a backflip or two to get away from the cloaked man, and then set herself in a defensive position (which is not a sexual position, but more of a fighting one). All the while, making those weird noises that one usually associates with a white person doing karate.

The man in the cloak strode towards her and said, “I am not afraid to hit a woman.” He then produced his pole arm that for some reason was unnoticeable until just then, and buried its blade in her stomach.

She looked at him as if he had just insulted her and said, “But I can see Russia from my house!”

The cloaked man replied, “I don’t care,” and forced the woman off of his pole arm with his foot. She fell to a crumpled and very dead heap on the floor.

His teammates walked up from behind him, Lady Caggiano glaring at him.

“What,” he asked.

“You’re not afraid to hit a woman?” Lady Caggiano snapped.

“Holyshit, that was actually Sarah Palin!” The man in the leather vest exclaimed, staring at the dead woman on the floor.

“ But I didn’t hit her,” the cloaked man pointed out, “I penetrated her with my justice stick.”

“No, seriously guys, this is actually Sarah Palin. Thunder, you killed her!” The man in the leather vest continued.

Lady Caggiano replied hotly, “First of all, I really think it is a bad idea to make domestic abuse jokes to the people who we know control the media. And secondly, that sounded so dirty.”

“Ok, you two, calm down,” Everett stated, “We need to get through these doors and apprehend these terrorists.”

“Am I the only one who finds it weird that there was just a joke, not even 400 words ago that pointed out her resemblance to Sarah Palin, and it actually turns out to be Sarah Palin? What the fuck?” the man asked.

“Shut up, Criss,” Thunder snapped, “You’re breaking the fourth wall again. I don’t care if you are magic, stop doing that, it creeps us all out. Oh, and what did I fucking say about that hair? Put your Goddamn fedora back on.”

Seriously, you look like an asshole.

Criss Angel silently obeyed, and the group moved closed in on the door. On the other side, they heard the frantic whisperings of the remaining terrorists.

“C’mon,” Thunder commanded, “We need to defeat these douchebags and save their hostage so that we can get back to base and get wasted!” Thunder then raised his fist to the air, and called out, “KAPLAH!!!”

“KAPLAH!!!” the other team members called out in unison.

They all stepped away from the door and Everett raised his fist at the door. There was the sound of a faint click, and a grappling hook shot from the reel on the back of his hand and embedded itself in the double doors. With a slight jerk back from Everett, the doors were ripped from their frame and flew over the teams heads. The door was followed by a hail of gunfire. The grappling hook released its grip from the door and Everett and the rest of the team took cover.

Thunder looked over to Criss. “You got this?” he asked in a whisper.

Criss simply nodded, sat quietly with his eyes closed for a second, and then moved to the door way. He raised both of his arms, and started walking forward. The bullets aggressively flew at him, but every single one that hit him passed through without leaving so much as a bruise. With a flick of the wrist, the bullets’ trajectories shifted, and now orbited Criss.  After moving a few feet closer to the shooters, he let both of his hands drop, and the bullet-satellites launched themselves at their former masters. The men dropped to the ground as lead-filled heaps of death. Criss turned to face his teammates, put a smirk on his face, and flicked them the devil horns.

“Oh, thank God you have arrived Awesomesquad!” a voice cried from the corner. A voice, which the entire group was disappointed to realize that belonged to a man and not an attractive brunette named Olivia Wilde. A blond man sporting a flesh colored beard and some soiled, expensive looking clothes came crawling out of a dark corner in a similar fashion to Gollum’s way of walking.

“Holy shit,” Criss cried out, “Is that Spencer Pratt?!?!”

what a douche

“Yea, I’m fucking Spencer Pratt,” the hostage snapped, “Who the fuck would I be, not the most important person on the face of the planet? Get with the game, retard.”

Lady Caggiano, whose mothering instinct suddenly kicked in, rushed over to the crawling douche-bag and asked, “Omigosh, are you OK?”

“Yea I’m fine,” Spencer replied, “They slapped me around and made me wear a dress, but other than that I’m ok”. “I am hungry though,” he continued, “Does anybody have anything to eat?” He looked at Lady Caggiano again, closer this time, and followed her form from her legs to her chest and back down again. “You got a nice set of legs on you, baby,” he added in what he thought was a seductive voice, “I wouldn’t mind chewing on them. PPPPPUUUUUURRRRRRRR!”

The look of caring melted from Lady Caggiano’s face, and she replied flatly, “Chew on this.” She raised her revolver, whom she calls “Ole Shooty Killy” and drove a bullet into Spencer’s brain. He drops back to the ground like the dead log that his personality has reflected for his entire life. “What?” She said as she looked to the rest of the group. That was not the feminist in me that did that, it was the part of me that hates Spencer Pratt, which is actually all of me.”

Thunder replied, “Hey, if we would have had the chance to kill him, we would have, so don’t sweat it.” He turned to the entire group as he continued, “See, this is why we had that catchy one-liner seminar. Good work, Lady Caggiano. Very catchy indeed.”

“Thank You, Thunder,I am pretty awesome, aren’t I?” Lady Caggiano replied. “But I think we should look around and see what these members of Murderhorn had with them,” she then suggested.

Thunder nodded, “Good idea, see if they have any cash on them. I like it.” The three men started to rummage through the pockets of the disceased, a flicker of greed in their eyes.”

“That’s not what I meant by seeing what they had with them,”  Lady Caggiano said in a mildly disgusted voice, “but since you guys seem so intent on stealing from the dead, I CALL DIBS ON SPENCER PRATT’S WALLET!!!”

This call was met by groans from the three men, but  groans quickly died and the four continued on. However, the groans resumed when Lady Caggiano pulled out $500 from the douchebag’s wallet. After several minutes, and collecting at least a thousand dollars worth of spoils, the group as a whole turned to a lone briefcase near one of the leader’s bodies. Thunder opened it, and its contents spilled to the floor. The papers, which all seemed to be important terroristy documents, shared a particular symbol on the top right corner of every page. Our group of heroes gasped unanimously, for they instantly recognized the symbol and the company it belonged to. They stared at the yellow and green symbol in amazement until the bottom of the briefcase, which Thunder was still holding, fell out, and revealed a digital clock counting down towards zero. 1:00, :59, :58…

The feeling that some serious shit was about to hit the fan dropped into Thunder’s stomach as he realized what it was. “BOMB! RUUUNNNNN!!!!”

The four teammates left the suitcase bomb and the crucial documents on the floor as the dashed out of the room and back through the other room and hallway. Thunder, who was bringing up the rear, grabbed one lone document with the symbol on it, lifted his wrist to right in front of his face, and commanded, “Jesse, get the Awesomeplane! started, and bring it around front. This place is going to blow!” :45, :44, :43…

A voice on the other end replied, “Ok, we will be waiting for you.”

The group picked up their pace, and lept over the dead bodies of all of the thugs they killed. As Thunder lept over one body, its hand reached up and attached itself to his ankle, bringing the leader crashing to the earth with an “AAARRRGGGGHHHH!”:22, :21…

His teammates stopped to help him, but Thunder cried, “Just go!”

With a slight hesitation,the group once again ran for their lives towards the exit. The man who was by all accounts not dead, climbed on top of Thunder, pinning Thunder’s hands against the floor,  pulled out his Baretta and aimed it at our hero’s head. “Prepare to die, you bloody wanker.” The man said in a British accent (duh). :15, :14…

Just as the man was about to pull the trigger, Thunder was able to free one of his hands as grabbed a hold of the gun and moved it away from his skull. Thunder pushed the British terrorist off of his person, and was back on his feat in a flash. The terrorist ran at the cloaked man while shooting like a deranged lunatic. Thunder then whipped out his Justice Stick again (all dick jokes aside, where the fuck does he hide that thing?) and stabbed the man in the heart. “Fuck you, your taxes, and your tea, you goddamn Brit,” Thunder growled as he twisted The Justice stick and pushed again, forcing the blade out of the man’s back. He then made a jerking motion  back to remove the pole arm from the once-thought-to-be-dead-but-now-actually-dead man  and once again sprinted to the exit.:05, :04…

Meanwhile, Everett, Criss, and Lady Caggiano climbed aboard the Awesomeplane! out of breath, and worried of what has become of their cloaked leader. Everett, climbed into the cockpit and called, “Minigan is still in there, we can’t leave yet!”

“I’ll give him as much time as I can, but that place is about to blow, and we have to be airborne when that happens, or else we are going to sink with the rest of this island!”

Meanwhile, back inside the building, thunder was racing towards the exit. He quickly turned the corner and saw the open door. He ran at the door, faster than even he thought was possible, while all noises were drowned out by the rushing of his blood to his brain. :02, :01, :00. He did, however, hear the explosion. Thunder sprinted harder. He feared to look back, but it didn’t matter; the the light of fireball rushing down the hallway was enough of an indication of what was behind him. He burst through the door to see the Awesomeplane! about to leave his ass behind. “What the Fuck?!?!” he cried out, still running at it.

Suddenly, the door to the aircraft opened, and his team members beckoned him in. [picture this next bit occurring in slow motion for maximum effect] Pumping his legs with all he’s got, Thunder launched himself off the edge of the concrete platform just at the said platform exploded. The shockwave from the explosion pushed Thunder enough so that he flew straight into the cabin of the Awesomeplane!. [end slow motion]

“Blamo!” Lady Caggiano exclaimed as she helped Thunder to his feet.

“It’s good to see you make it out of there  in one piece, Minigan,” Emily Kohlberg, the team psychologist, affirmed happily, “the party would have sucked tonight if we would have had to make it a vigil.”

“I’m glad to hear I didn’t ruin the party,” Thunder said jokingly, “It’s just too bad that Jimmy was so busy spending time with his girlfriend that he couldn’t join this team and be a part of this awesomeness.”

“Good work team,” a familiar voice eminated from the onboard TV.

“Thank’s Spottswoode,” Thunder said, “Sadly, we could not save the hostage.

“Who was it?” Emily asked.

Ashley replied, “Spencer Pratt.”

“Oh,” Spottswoode interjected, “So you killed him. That’s fine; I would have done the same.”

“We kind of figured that the world would be better off without him,” Thunder stated,”We did, however, learn something new about who funds Murderhorn while we were in there.” Thunder showed Emily and The camera feeding to Spottswoode the symbol on the upper right hand corner of the document he retrieved.

“Oh my God,” Spottswoode uttered, “We have a serious situation on our hands if that company is funding Murderhorn, but lets worry about that after the party.”

The entire group agreed, and proceeded on their way back to their base, making jokes about Jimmy Kohlberg all the while.

Well, see if I let you into my superhero club now, Jimmy. Fucking dick.

Outside the window, the Island that housed the Murderhorn organization sank down to the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, probably causing more damage to the already beaten ecosystem.


If you have not read the first three Awesomesquad blogs, you can find them: right here, over here, and way over there.

Anyway, as with my other Awesomesquad Assemble! posts, I am going to update you on our progress. First off, I would like to say that I contacted many of the people that I want in my group, but I do not know personally. Only one had replied, but his reply was a “yes” so fuck yea! The problem is that he is a public figure (kinda), so we needed to figure out how to get him completely out of the public eye. Sadly, the only possible way to do this was to ruin his name.  Seeing that this was the only option, and he was surprisingly into this whole “superhero team” idea, he agreed to go through with it. I had him cheat on his wife, get caught, and let the media have a field day. Now, you may be saying to yourself that that is counterproductive if I want him to be out of the public eye, but I disagree. I call this tactic the “John Gosslin Ditch.” What it does is makes the person who does it despicable in the eyes of the public. For a while, the couple will be featured on the cover of every shitty gossip magazine in every grocery store, but eventually the media will only focus on the victim (aka the spouse) and the person who committed it will fall into obscurity, only to be brought up in passing. So far, my man has done an excellent job at employing the John Gosslin Ditch. I would like to applaud Jesse James in his determination, and in his desire to not break Sandra Bullock’s heart by being tortured and murdered, but instead by committing adultery. Kudos to you, good sir; your ancestors would be proud.

Pictured- American Hero

Secondly, I have acquired our headquarters! Seeing as though this blog is public, It would be unwise of me to tell you the location or post a picture of it, but then again, I did just specifically state that Jesse James is in my group, so fuck it.


There is an industrial complex near my house, and one of them is sitting there, empty and ready to be sold. Once I figure out who is going to be the rich person who funds everything, I will have him acquire it. Then, we can get under way constructing the super secret tunnel that runs from our base to my house. That will make things convenient for me if no one else. It also adds the theme of trying to protect the ones you love, but you bring them closer to the danger. If you don’t know what I am talking about, it is the reason Peter Parker bitches out of getting in MJ’s pants at the end of the first Spiderman movie

I have begun work on creating the symbol for the group. I have an idea in mind, but I still need to draw it up first. Next time I update, I hope to have some of the choices up for some type of voting process. Yay Democracy!

Next item of business: new members. I actually only have one new member this time and he is going to be my genetic engineer. I work with the man at the WS, so not only do I know that he is smart, I also know that he is a good writer and a fairly decent worker. The person I am talking about is (of course) Sean McCormick! (Sorry Bill and Terry)

He even comes with his own costume and laser gun!

Sean is unfortunately focusing his work on seaweed or some strange shit, so if he would alter our genes,  we would look something like this:

Dudes, I think that weed was bad. I'm totally tripping balls.

-which I still have not decided whether this would be a good or a bad thing. Anyway, he would need to go through some extensive training before he would be allowed to modify anyone in Awesomesquad, but I think that our heightened reflexes/ heat vision would be well worth the wait. And with Danica McKellar looking at his equations, we can be sure that his math will be done correctly. See, there IS a good reason to have a math genius on the team.

I would love to see her lowest common denominator.

I have also decided on who is going to be the boxing instructer! After careful deliberation, and after weighing the pros and the cons of each candidate, I have decided that the title goes to…


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> I’m so lonely

I forget what I was talking about. Fuck. Oh yea, that’s right, the fighting coach. Yea, the person who has that spot is Damien Walters. If that name sounds familiar to you, it is because you have probably read my Awesomesquad blogs before. He is also my gymnastics instructor. If you are wondering why I would let a gymnast also teach me how to fight, you are sane. I would have never chosen him as my fight coach if it wasn’t for this picture:

That is Mr. Walters in the Kickass costume. He was a stuntman in it. But not only was he the stuntman, he was also the assistant fight coordinator for the movie. That’s badass, and it makes him worthy of the second position. I also chose him because neither my brother nor the owner of my gym has mentioned the Awesomesquad blog posts to me other than when my brother accepted the challenge. And I am pretty sure that he has forgotten all about it since then. So yea, fuck those guys. Besides, one less team member means one less paycheck and one less person that could be shot/ killed/ captured/ tortured/ go rogue. A more elite team is probably in our best interest.

So as it stands, here who is in my team so far:

Me- Leader

Ashley Caggiano- Second in Command

Damien Walters- Gymnastics/ boxing trainer

Everett Bradford- Weapons tech

Criss Angel- Magician

Derren Brown- Mind hacker

DMZ-computer hacker

Jesse James- Vehicle builder

Emily Kohlberg- Psychologist

Sean McCormick- Genetic Biologist

Danica McKellar- Math Nerd

This asian dude- Ninja/ covert ops

That’s 11 people so far, but I still need the medic and the rich person to fund everything, so I still cannot complete this group and make sure everything is up and running yet. This disturbs me because our Rouges gallery is growing with every blog post. Our latest villain is the most diabolical yet. He rose to power of a major corporation specifically to make that company bring about the end of days. His soul purpose is to destroy America. He also wants Al Gore to feel the pain of unfathomable sadness, but Hell, we all want that now and again.

The man I speak of gets his power from the tears of environmentalists and from the blood of manatees. Currently, he resides in his volcano lair off the cost of Haiti, where his earthquake machine undoubtedly caused the devastation in that country earlier this year. He enjoys destroying the environment, raising the price of oil, and going on boat rides. The man I am talking about is Tony Hayward of BP.

The son of a bitch

As of this moment, he looks like your normal, everyday, British prick. But with his current power, and his minions who work for the U.S. Government (Texas Representative Joe Barton is still sucking Hayward’s dick), Hayward is quite possibly unstoppable. I have calculated that if his power continues to go unchecked, he could morph into a monster the likes of which have never been seen. Here is my estimate of what he is going to look like this time next year if no one stops him:

God help us

That shoddy photo-shopping is accurate; he will become a sentient mud-beast with shape shifting abilities. He must be brought down. This also means that the symbol on the upper right hand corner of the papers in the briefcase was… Oh my God

For now, I am calling all of the members who have already accepted my offer to join Awesomesquad to actually assemble so that we can defeat this monster. We even have behind us on this one. That basically gives us the go ahead to do something.

Give peace a chance, but only after you have exhausted all of the ways you can fight a war.

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