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.”

“Ew.”

“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!”

“Great!”

“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.”

“What?!”

“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.

Shit.

“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.

“THIS!”

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.

Advertisements

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 Awesomesquading. The most any of us had done was when Lady Caggiano and I hired on our new Covert Ops expert, Series of Japanese Symbols. Lady Caggiano 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 Caggiano 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 Caggiano 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 Caggiano, 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 Caggiano 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 Caggiano 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 Caggiano 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 like Mexico!”

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 Caggiano glared at me. “My name is Sefani Germanotta, but you may have heard of my stage name: Lady Gaga.”

I looked to Lady Caggiano 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 Caggiano casted 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 Caggiano 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 Caggiano’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.

Once she had hung up, Lady Caggiano screamed, “WHY THE HELL ARE WE DISCUSSING WHETHER OR NOT WE’RE GOING TO DO THIS, YOU DICK?!”

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

“Don’t be thick, Minigan.” Caggiano 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 Caggiano and I blurted out in unison.

“That’s hilarious!” I cried.

“That’s not true!” Lady Caggiano 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 Caggiano even more furious, “That could be anything!”

I retorted, “Yeah, like a penis.”

“Go to Hell, Minigan,” Lady Caggiano 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 Caggiano 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 Caggiano, I still didn’t trust Lady Gaga. She was famous singer after all.

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

“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 Cagginao- Queen of bitchy rhetoric,” she added sarcastically.

From her seat, Lady Caggiano 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 Caggiano 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 Caggiano, along with the rest of us, ran to her aid.

“So, Minigan,” Lady Caggiano 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 looking 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 Caggiano reassured her.

“Right,” Lady Gaga said dismissively. 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 Caggiano and myself ran to the nook and through the door. Lady Gaga then said to Lady Caggiano, “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 Caggiano holding back the urge to punch me in the face. After a second or two of glaring at me, Lady Caggiano 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. I coughed and tasted blood. 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 Caggiano’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 Caggiano 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.

“What?!”

“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 Caggiano, 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 Caggiano. She put both her hands in the air and stepped backward. No one spoke, not even Gaga. We all just stared from Lady Caggiano to Lady Gaga, expecting Gaga to make a demand that Caggiano 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!” Caggiano 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 Caggiano. 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 Caggiano, 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 Caggiano in a mock 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 Caggiano, 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 tightly to the tail boom (I swear I didn’t make up that name) of the Awesomecopter! with no intent on letting go.

I muttered an expletive 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 Caggiano 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 my 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 my 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.

“Damien?!”

“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.”

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?”
“FUCKING NOW!!!”
“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.
“JUST BUILD SOMETHING THAT DOES WHAT I’M ASKING FOR!!!”
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?”
Nothing.
“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?”
“5”
“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 3!: Attack of the Fashionista

Well, here we go again.

Wait, that isn’t the right tone for this blog. Let me try again.

JESUS-DRADLE-SPINNING CHRIST, ANOTHER AWESOMESQUAD BLOG!!!!! EVERYONE GET DRUNK AND  PARTAAAY!!!

Woo! Doug wrote another blog!!!

[clears throat] That’s better. I am particularly happy about this blog, since I haven’t updated ya’ll since September on this topic. Here is a refresher: I have decided to create my own superhero team, and I have been scouring the interwebz for suitable people. Here is my list of people so far and their job:

Me: Leader/ something I will discuss later in this blog.

Ashley Caggiano: Second in Command/ Jane of all trades

Everett Bradford: Weapons Technician

Jessie James: Mechanic/ Vehicle Builder

Criss Angel: Mindfreak. More commonly known as WITCH! BURN HIM!!

Damien Walters: Gymnastic Trainer

My brother or the owner of my gym: boxing instructor (I will update this too)

Derren Brown: Mentalist aka less cool Criss Angel

GMZ: Hacker

Emily Kohlberg: Psychologist

If you want a full description of why I picked these people, and who our  nemesises (what the fuck is the plural form of “nemesis?) are, look at the first two. they are here and here

Before I go into the updates, I would like to congratulate Lady Caggiano for being promoted to the Second in command in my team. Ashley, I would say that you owe me oral now, but that would constitute sexual harassment, and even my team cannot avoid those lawsuits. Instead, I will make the idea of oral optional. Congratulations again.

For the first update, I am going to talk about the name. If you remember, I hadn’t come up with a name for my group, so I left it up to you guys. Unfortunatly, I forgot that no one really gives a shit about me (otherwise you would post a comment) and you left me hanging. After a while, I realized that I had already come up with a pants-shittingly fantastic name for the group. Yes, the group name is “Team Anal Rape and Murder Our Enemies.” TARAMOE for short. I can hear it now, a bunch of pissed off Muslims in some shithole of a country that is in the Middle East (Originally, I thought the Middle East was a burger joint for the longest time. I just found out yesterday what it really is). They are shooting at things with no regard for human life, civility, or even ammo rationing. But suddenly, the winds pick up. A thundering roar comes down from the sky like a meteor. They begin to piss themselves with fear.

“Derka, Derka, TARAMOE derka, derka!” They cry out.

A kick ass Plane designed by Jessie James shoots two rocket powered chainsaws at the enemy’s machine gun turrets. They explode with such huge fireballs that even Michael Bay would think it’s over the top. As the Plane is hovering (yea, my plane can hover, What of it?) over the group of terrified terrorists, the bottom hatch opens up. Lady Caggiano rappels down a rope while firing off an AK-47 with one hand. She is followed by Everett Bradford, who is shooting flames out of his one hand, electricity out of his other, and wielding a sword with his other. I fall straight to the ground, about forty feet. I am wearing a cloak similar to the one in Assassin’s Creed. My brother and/ or the owner of my gym throw down my pole arm, or what I like to call “My justice stick.” I reach up and snatch it out of the air. My partially conceled face smirks ominously, and I tap a keg of whoopass on the terrorists.

like this, only 1573 times more badass

The boxing instructor, and Damien Walters repel down to the desert floor, but you shouldn’t be looking at them; you should be focused on how awesome I am being. Shit, you missed it! I just stabbed a guy with my justice stick (wow did that sound gay) it went straight through him and caught another baddie between the ribs, puncturing his right lung. I pull it out, spin it around while it makes that cool “whoosh” noise, and beat the faith out of  another guy right before I send my palm at an upwards angle towards his nose. The cartilage pierces his skull and enters his brain. He is dead before he hits the ground.

Somewhere in the background, Damien Walters is doing back flips or some strange shit.  By this point, the battle has moved away from him, so he just looks like some random dude doing flips and shit in the desert.

The last terrorists still alive run away screaming like little girly-men which is insulting to women because Lady Caggiano kicked some fucking ass during this battle. You didn’t notice because you were too focused on me.

“I scream to our fleeing enemies, “Derka, Derka Muhammad Jihad, jihad derka TARAMOE, Bitches,” which roughly translates to “ You just got fucking pwned by TARAMOE, bitches!”

We then head home for debriefing and our traditional celebratory hooker run.

Oh, and actually I lied. The name of the group is Awesomesquad; TARAMOE was my second choice.

Anyway, update #2: my position in the team.

Recently I have rediscovered a rare gift that I have. I was at a party; I was a little drunk, and we were playing “are you smarter than a fifth grader?” my team won because I answered a question before my mind could doubt myself. The question was “what happens to light  when it moves through water or glass?” I blurted out, “It moves slower.” I was fucking right. And since I am technically sober right now, I can assure you that I still doubt my answer.

This brings me to my contribution to the team. As long as I remain a little drunk, I gain amazing abilities. I don’t mean I gain confidence; I mean that I become good at things I am not normally good at. It happens all the time: darts, pool, Pictionary, Are you smarter than a fifth grader, driving. I become very talented at these things when I am half way to hammered. Now, for me to function, I will need to have alcohol with me at all times during an excursion, but I have figured out a solution to this. That solution is Tucker Max Death Mix. It is one bottle of Everclear, one quart of Gatorade, and one Redbull in a camelback hydration system.

my awesomesquad brand awesomepotion!

So for that story I just fucked your mind with, you should have seen me take sips in between fighting each terrorist.

Update #3: boxing instructor

I still haven’t picked one yet, mainly because they suck and haven’t been fighting for that spot. My brother said he would train to punch someone so hard that they threw up, but he hasn’t, and I don’t think the owner has even read any of the Awesome Squad! Posts, so he doesn’t have a fucking clue as to what’s going on.

But I still want one of them to be the boxing instructor, so I am just going to commit some heinous liable on both of them. Maybe this will get them off of their lazy asses and fight for that spot, Goddamn it.

  1. My brother is gay. I mean, really gay. I mean, the posterchild of the gay stereotype. He seriously loves some huge black dong.
  2. The owner of my gym strangles babies.
  3. My brother (who is really gay) takes shits on cop cars. He then proceeded to spread the poo all over the hood of the car-using his face.
  4. The owner of my gym buys mail order brides just to sell them into the sex slave trade.
  5. My brother (the gay) stabs homeless people with syringes filled with AIDS.
  6. The owner of my gym hates America. He pisses on the flag regularly.

If you are wondering if I am afraid that they will kick my ass when they read this, I am not, because those twunts won’t read it. And if they do, DO SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT I SAID, BITCHES. *

*please don’t kill me.

However, Misty did give me a good alternate. So now Benny “The Jet” Urquidez is in the running.

Update #4: New Members!

I know that my group is getting kind of big, but these next few people are important. I still have people that need to be added, but I don’t know who they are yet, but I’ll get to that later.  Here are the newest additions:

This dude: Ninja/ covert ops

I have no clue who this guy is.  Let’s just call him “Series of Japanese Symbols.” Hey, that’s less offensive than my original ideas “Kung Pow Chicken,” or “Engrish.” Of course, I doubt he has an extensive knowledge of breaking and entering, but I also think he is a for realsies ninja, so he probably does. And if he doesn’t I’m sure there is a website for that kind of stuff.

Danica McKellar: Mathmatician/ spy

Yes it does. Don't lie.

Everyone knows that whatever you are taught in Math classes growing up is only useful until you reach college, and then it depends on your major.  At least that’s what the Math Professors want you to think; the truth is that no one uses trigonometry in real life. But, That show Numb3rs has got me convinced that people who are Mathsy are capable of solving any crime with the magic of mathematics, and using numbers as letters. 80085. See, I just solved like fifty crimes right now, simply by spelling boobs with numbers.

And if you are wondering why I chose Danica McKellar to be in my team, it is because she is a Math genius.

I would like to convert her fractions into decimals

She as written two books about math :Math Doesn’t Suck and Kiss My Math. Both of which encourage middle school girls to learn Math.

She also coauthored a scientific paper  (dealing with some boring math shit) with a fellow student and a professor. The result of the paper is the Chase-McKellar-Winn Theorem.

If you’re wondering how a mathematician can be a spy, look at this picture.

This is Danica when she was younger. Does she look more familiar? If you ever saw an episode of The Wonder Years, she should. That’s right, Winnie from the Wonder Years is a Math genius. And a damn fine one to boot. She doesn’t do a lot of acting now, but who can blame her? She had to kiss Fred Savage in the pilot episode of The Wonder Years! That would effectively end any woman’s love for acting.The fact that she is not a lesbian now is nothing short of a miracle. Plus the fact that she kissed Fred Savage and did not run away screaming is a testament to her acting ability.

These are the remaining positions that still need to be filled:

  1. Rich person who funds everything-?????- he will need to buy the tools needed to build Everett’s weapons and Jessie’s vehicles, the abandoned warehouse that we will convert into our super-secret HQ, the gym equipment for the gymnastic area and the boxing area, and whatever magic cards, top hats, trick coins, etc. that Criss and Derren will need.
  2. Genetic biologist-?????- someone willing to manipulate the teams genes to give them heightened reflexes, heightened senses, higher running speed, and more agility and stamina.
  3. Medic- ?????- someone who can tend to our wounds. I can handle some of the minor stuff, but it would be necessary to have a professional in the team in case shit goes down.

Update #5: the Villian

I had always been suspicious of this villian, but I just thought that the person was too strange for my taste. I did not sense any evil coming from this, that is, until I saw this video.

Now this video was a little subtle, but the point it was trying to convey is that Lady Gaga has a penis. But then I saw this picture.

I see plenty of hooha, but no gaga

I think this settles the debate about If Lady Gaga is a lady, or if she has a gaga. This did invoke more questions from me, however. I did some researching, and I discovered that Lady Gaga is actually an alien that wants to enslave the Human race. I was able to aquire a picture of Lady Gaga in her true form. Brace yourselves.

Actually, this is less terrifying than what she looks like normally.

Sadly, Lady Caggiano loves Lady Gaga, so this will cause some major conflicts to arise amongst the group. But eventually good will win out, and Ashley will fight against Gaga.

Later

Awesomesquad assemble!

I had a good day today. I know that most of you who know me on a personal level are saying to yourself “Minigan, a good day to you is a mediocre day with one good thing that happened.” Then, you plot to end my life with a roll of bubble wrap and a pet rock… Well yes, it was a pretty normal day except I got to listen to the White stripes song “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground,” and the Killers “When You Were Young.” It makes my day when I unexpectedly hear those songs. Also, I got to say a joke I had wanted to say for a long time. I forget which comedian I heard say it, but I have been waiting to say it for years. The conversation was between My boss “Zulu,” my coworker “The Hobbit” and me “Sexy Beast.” This is it.

Zulu- The owner is going to be in tomorrow morning.

The Hobbit- Good thing I won’t be in tomorrow morning.

Zulu-oh yea

The Hobbit-Well, I’ll be in here tomorrow to pick up my son’s birthday cake.

Zulu- Oh really, how old is he?

The Hobbit- He is going to be five

Sexy Beast- Oh, that’s the year that they kill their parents.

Zulu- Yea, I saw it in a movie once.

Sexy Beast- Me too! The one that was based on a true story?

Zulu- Yea!

My boss and I thought it was really funny, the Hobbit did not laugh. But oh well, fuck him. That joke was funny. I hate that dude anyway. He talks shit on everyone, so I’m pretty sure he talks about me behind my back. I have no proof that he does, but if someone talks about everyone else, you can only assume that the person talks about you. This is not my self-diagnosed paranoia talking; it is perfectly rational thinking. DON’T JUDGE ME!

Anyway, I digress…

The reason I called all of you here today (and by “call you” I mean “you find my blog and start reading)  is because I have come up with a brilliant idea. I have decided to put together an elite team of select individuals to join me to fight crime.  I have researched this for many moons now and I have figured out what members a team like this would require. I have not named the group yet, but here is my (uncompleted) list of positions, my choice and my reason.

  1. Weapon technician- Everett Bradford- This video is the only explanation you need.
  2. Mechanic/ vehicle builder- Jessie James- Other than being a total badass, and married to Sandra Bullock, I chose Mr. James mainly jesse_jamesbecause I associate him with the Discovery Channel show “Monster Garage” where they would take a normal car, and make it into something insane and amazing. Some of their most memorable were: Ford Ambulance-Wheel Stander, PT Cruiser-wood chipper, Police car- donut shop, and the School bus- Pontoon boat
  3. Criss Angel- I don’t have a “title” for him. My only reasoning for even having him in this group is because what he does has to be real magic. I have one condition for him, however. He is not allowed in this group if he insists on having that stupid emo haircut. That only makes him look like a tool, and I don’t allow tools in my club.
  4. Gymnastic trainer- Damien Walters- this one also comes with a video, but it will definitely need some explaining. Not only does Damien make gymnastics look not gay (except for those two times), he also makes me kind of wish I was a gymnast. His agility and ability to scale buildings would be perfect to chase down our enemies, especially if we paired his abilities with Everett’s flame throwers.
  5. Boxing instructor- Now I have two options for this person. Neither of these people are famous for their boxing ability, but I know both of them and I have seen their kick boxing abilities even if only on youtube. The first option is my older brother; the second is one of the owners of the gym that I work out at. Here are the pros and cons for each option:

By the way, sorry about this graph, WordPress was being incredibly retarded.

Bro pros Bro cons
  1. At one point (I’m not sure if he still is) he was ranked #3 in the world for his division in kick boxing
  2. He is my brother, so I can trust him
  3. He has a mouth on him- he can probably trash talk our enemies enough that they get too pissed off to fight properly.
  4. He could probably handle driving Jessie James’s vehicles.
  5. He would be willing to fight dirty
  6. He is fun to drink with
  1. Sibling rivalry
  2. I would never think of my own brother betraying me, which makes him a perfect candidate for being a traitor.
  3. He can be a bit of a douche, but then again, so can I
  4. He would probably lose interest fairly quickly
  5. I doubt he has trained anyone in kickboxing
  6. We would have to fake our deaths to protect our families. That would effectively knock out 2/3 of the people that could carry on the family name.
Owner pros Owner cons
  1. He can punch someone in the stomach and make them throw up
  2. He is a personal trainer, so he can teach the rest of us how to fight
  3. I have no reason not to trust him
  4. He is smart- definitely smarter than my brother (no offence, bro)
  5. He is open to trying different things
  6. He has seen more of the world than my brother
  1. The punch to the stomach thing only happened one time. He could probably do it again, but it cannot be classified as a skill yet.
  2. I don’t know him as well as my brother
  3. Similar as #2 in bro cons
  4. He and his wife are going to have a child. If my knowledge of action movie clichés serves me correctly, this means that he will definitely die.
  5. He can fight, but would he be willing to kill a man if it came to that
  6. I don’t know if he could handle driving one of Jessie James’s monster machines

6. Mentalist-Derren Brown- if you watched the Sci Fi channel (syfy is Derren Brownfucking gay. I refuse to watch that station until they apologize for the attempted murder of my language ) you may have heard of Derren. He had a short lived show called “Mind control with Derren Brown” basically he could hypnotize people and get them to believe whatever he wants. He’s like Criss Angel, except he can get prisoners to tell secrets without torture and he has an awesome British accent.

7. Rich person who funds everything-?????- he will need to buy the tools needed to build Everett’s weapons and Jessie’s vehicles, the abandoned warehouse that we will convert into our super-secret HQ, the gym equipment for the gymnastic area and the boxing area, and whatever magic cards, top hats, trick coins, etc. that Criss and Derren will need.

8. Genetic biologist-?????- someone willing to manipulate the teams genes to give them heightened reflexes, heightened senses, higher running speed, and more agility and stamina.

9. Medic- ?????- someone who can tend to our wounds. I can handle some of the minor stuff, but it would be necessary to have a professional in the team in case shit goes down.

10.  Hacker- ?????- someone who can break through the firewalls of our enemies and steal their information. Also (in extreme cases, or if we  want to use the prototypes of top secret aircrafts) our own government. Sometimes when fighting the world’s filth, you need to get a little dirty.

11.  Stealth expert/ covert ops- ?????- someone who knows how to do things without being seen. They will need to know how to use cloaking devices, and how to sneak up on our enemies.

I do not know my place in this team yet, which scares me because my only discernable talent is writing and that can’t help me fight crime. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing if you make a team so completely and utterly awesome that you, the founder of said group, should be kicked out due to uselessness.

If you noticed, the people I have chosen are all real people (except for Jessie James who I assume is a heavily tattooed android sent from the future to steal Sandra Bullock away from the rest of us.) If you have any suggestions of a person who could work well in categories 7-11, or who will work better as the boxing instructor, suggest them. As long as the suggested people for 7-11 are competent, I will consider them. I am hoping to diversify it though, so far everyone in the group is a white male.  I do not want it to be a Caucasian sausage fest, so please take that into consideration as well.

Here are some of the positions that failed to make into my group

1.      The Eater- Takeru Kobayashi – really, the only reason for him being in the group was to eat any incrimidating documents if the government tried to break into our fortress. I decided that all of our paper would be made out of the pulp from oranges, and taste delicious, so that everyone would eat them if such a situation would arise.kobayashi

2.      Ammunitions expert- ?????- thrown out because that is what the internet is for, and everyone in the group would be armed to the teeth in high tech weaponry, not just guns.

3.      Ballistics expert- ?????- ditto

4.      Aquatics trainer- Michael Phelps- really the only reason I thought he would be a good idea is because we could mutate him into more of a man/fish hybrid that what he already is.

5.      Priest- ?????- I doubt that any priest will be willing to shoot someone. I just wanted a man of the cloth on our side to make sure Yahweh would be cool with what we would be doing.

Oh, and most importantly, I forgot to tell you our first nemesis. It is Donald Trump’s hair.

yes, yes, all shall bow to my mighty folical glory!

yes, yes, all shall bow to my mighty folical glory!

Peace between the fleece with chicken grease.

Be sure to check out the thrilling second and third installments of the Awesomesquad!

  • I am this popular!

    • 95,314 hits
  • Blast from the Past!

    November 2017
    S M T W T F S
    « Mar    
     1234
    567891011
    12131415161718
    19202122232425
    2627282930  
  • The Vault