Awesomesquad! Assemble! 5.3!

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

Here are parts one and two if you missed them:

part 1:

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

part 2:

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Those were cameras,” Everett replied sheepishly.

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

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

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

Child death is never not funny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No body ever remembers Joey Buttafuoco

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

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

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

really, who actually thinks this is a good look?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

“I’d rather see ‘em all dead.”

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

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

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

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

 

THE END

Awesomesquad! Assemble! 5.2!

If you have never read any of the previous Awesomesquad Assemble! posts before, you can find them here, there, in this general vicinity, at this location, and way over here. I would definitely read the last one, as this post is a continuation of that one. I’ll wait.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Knifemaster stood in the middle of the darkened room with his back to me; the only beam of light in the room was landing on him, and him alone. His shirt, pants, and hair were caked with guido blood.  Attached to each of his fingers was a medical scalpel, making him look like a Carrie/ Edward Scissorhands love-child that wants to be a doctor. He whipped himself around and stared directly at me. His eyes were wide with crazy. I reached beside me and grabbed my Justice Stick, waiting for him to make the first move. He stood there, eerily still, for about a minute. Just as I was about to let my guard down and ask him what he was doing, he jumped straight up into the air, raised his hands, and screamed, “AWESOMESQUAD, AAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMM MMMMMBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”

I stood there silently for about a second, just processing what I had just seen. Then, I stated, “It’s much easier and efficient if you just use the intercom.”

“Oh,” he replied, “Sorry, I’m still kind of new at this.”

I flipped the switch, and the thick, inky black of the room melted into a warm yellow from the walls. A long executive looking table surrounded by high back leather chairs sat in the middle of the room, and on top was a speakerbox. The Knifemaster strode to the table, held down a button on the speaker box, and calmy said, “Awesomesquad assemble in the conference room, Awesomesquad assemble in the conference room.”

“I was half expecting you to scream it into the intercom,” I noted.

“I can if you want me to,” He replied. He pressed the button once again and began to take a deep breath when I said for him not to.

One at a time, eight of the other nine members of Awesomesquad! assembled in the conference room, each one giving an uncomfortable glance at The Knifemaster before taking a seat at the table. I noticed the empty seat (other than The Knifemaster’s empty seat. He didn’t want to get blood on the leather. What a gentleman!)

“Where in Waldo’s name is Mr. Expendable?” I asked, seriously reconsidering choosing people I know for my Superhero team.

“The last time I saw him,” Everett answered, “He was helping me test out my latest flame throwers.  They worked incredibly well; burned the ever loving fuck out of him.”

“That’s great and all, but we need him in here now,” I replied. I nodded to The Knifemaster, and he bounded back to the speakerbox.

He pressed the button once again and yelled, “Bannon, get your regenerating ass in the conference room! And we don’t want to hear any shit about you being in severe pain or needing skin grafts.”

After about thirty seconds of everyone in the conference room sitting quietly, what appeared to be an oversized, man shaped piece of blackened chicken came crawling through the door. It moved in a similar fashion to a sloth, barely lifting it’s limbs off the ground. It cried out (even though it was more of a raspy gurgle,) “Help me.”

“Mr. Expendable,” The Knifemaster boomed, “When I say ‘Awesomesquad Assemble,’ I don’t mean whenever you goddamn feel like it. YOU WILL PAY FOR YOU INSOLENCE! BRAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” The Knifemaster once again jumped high in the air and came down upon the unsuspecting Bannon, his scalpel equipped fingers finding Bannon’s torso and digging in extra deep. Bannon let out a pain filled shriek and squirmed around on the floor, which was followed by verbal protest and shocked cries from the rest of the group.The Knifemaster, begrudgingly complying with the team, pulled this scalpel equipped fingers out of the crusty flesh of Bannon, .

Damien Walters raised his hand politely and asked in his British accent if all this violence was necessary. I was amused that our hand-to-hand combat instructor had a problem with that violence, and decided that I had made at least one good choice when it came to putting the team together.

The Knifemaster answered for me with a, “It sure is, so don’t ask questions, you bloody Brit, or I’ll have to go all kinds of Knifemaster on your ass.”

“Wow,” I commented to The Knifemaster, “You’re really taking this second in command thing pretty seriously, Jibbles”

“I know,” he replied sheepishly, “I just want to make you proud.”

“You are. Your batshit insanity, even though it makes me worry about everyone around you’s safety, makes me see how much fear you can put into the rest of the team. I can only imagine what you will do to our enemies.”

“Fo’ realzies?” he asked, tears forming in his eyes.

“Fo’ realizes,” I answered while putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. I quickly removed it though when I remembered that he was covered in the blood of the guido assassin that he “autopsied” minutes earlier. We then shared an exploding fist bump, not caring what that stupid cracked.com video said, and I turned to address the group.

Realizing that no one was paying attention to him anymore, Bannon jumped to his feet and announced, “It’s OK everybody. I’m alright!”  His burnt flesh began to regrow, starting at his face and moving downward. The sound his healing made was both dry and wet; it was is if crackers were being rubbed together, but the sound was moving mashed jello. When he was done, he was completely nude. “I’ve learned how to control my healing so that I do not heal right away! Isn’t that amazing!”

The group let an a collective disinterested “meh.”

Dissappointed that no one gave a damn about him or his regenerative abilities, Mr. Expendable went to a cabinet, pulled out an extra pair of pants and put them on, and sat in an open chair.

“OK then,” I said, blocking the image of a nude Mr. Expendable from my head, ‘Everyone, we have ourselves a serious problem.”

“You’re damn right we have a problem,” GMZ spouted, “We’re almost all out of Lady Caggiano’s baked goods. HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO WORK WITHOUT SOME GODDAMN COOKIES!!!!!”

There was a murmuring of agreement amongst all of those at the table, including The Knifemaster, even though he has never had the wondrous experience of eating Lady Caggiano’s  brownies (I do not mean that in a sexual way because the sexual connotation is really gross.)

“Look gang,” I conceded, “I know that we are all tweeking from a Lady Caggiano cookie fix, but we come together as a team and get through this. I know we can do it because we, WE are Awesomesquad! and WE are strong… Also, I can bake chocolate chip cookies. Will that help?” There was a moment of silence, and then a chair came flying at my face.

I dodged the chair, and yelled, “Damnit GMZ!  Stop being such an unimaginable prick!” Addressing the entire group, and no longer playing nice, I said, “Listen right the fuck up. I was attacked by a masked assailant in my house earlier today, and the attacker turned out to be a guido, and we all know what that means.”

They did. You could see the fear and disgust etched onto each of their faces. It would be the same face someone would make if they watched a kitten explode. The room got deathly quiet as they waited for me to continue. God, I love being the leader.

I took another moment or two to really soak in their anxiousness for my word chocolate, and then I said, “Pauly D, as we all know, came onto our patented douche-dar several weeks ago when footage was leaked of him shooting a laser out of his mouth.”

Honestly, I don’t think I will ever grow tired of this.

“He obviously sent the assassin as a message for us to stay out of his business, but just like America after 911 and Pearl Harbor, We are going to wage war against this asshole, and probably kill a lot of walking stereotypes along the way.”

Famed motorcycle rider and Sandra Bullock heart breaker, Jessie James interjected, “Honestly, Minigan, I am all for killing a bunch of guidos. They make Italian Americans look bad. But If Pauly D is as dangerous that gif says he is, how are we supposed to defeat him? I hope you have some sort of plan.”

“Of course I do” I replied in a confidant tone. “Criss,” I added, “Put up the projection of the map.”

Criss looked around with a confused look on his face, and asked, “With what?”

I stared at him for a second. I was assuming he was being a smartass. He knew damn well what I was talking about. “With magic.”

“Look, everybody,” he said, standing up, “I am not sure what powers you think I have since I’m a magician, but I cannot create money, I cannot project images, and I cannot raise the dead, so please stop asking. Has any of you even watched my television show? It’s still on the air!”

“It is?” I asked half shocked.

Well, I’ll be damned. It is still on the air.

The Knifemaster stood over Criss and said in a threatening voice, “Angel, If you do not magic the shit out of that picture  and put it up on the screen, I am going to Knifemaster you so hard that your knives will be bleeding  knives right out of your knivy knives. You understand?”

“No,” Criss replied, “I have no goddamn clue what you are talking about.”

“PUT UP THE GODDAMN PROJECTION, OR I’LL FUCKING STAB YOU!!!!”

Criss sighed and rolled his eyes. Luckily for him, The Knifemaster didn’t see it. He then sat back down, set his elbow on the table and opened his palm. Out from it shot a white beam of light that spread out into  a map of our destination behind me.

“Goddamn it,” Criss muttered, more shocked at his own abilities than anything else.

“So,” the shirtless Mr. Expendable said, turning to look Criss in the eyes, “you can raise the dead. WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME?!”

“Mr. Expendable, shut up. Criss, I always believed in you.” I said while giving Criss a friendly wink.

Criss then replied, “Please, for the love of God, stop winking at me. It is really starting to weird me out.”

The Knifemaster jumped onto the table and yelled, “DON’T YOU DARE DISRESPECT MINIGAN LIKE THAT!!!!!”

GMZ then yelled, “I WANT SOME GODDAMN COOKIES OR I’M GONNA KILL SOMEBODY!!!!!”

“Knifemaster, sit down, and calm yourself. Criss, sorry about that, but next time try not being such a douche about it. And GMZ, shut the fuck up or we’ll put you into the detox chamber.” I said. I then turned back to the map projection, and began to explain the plan. As I was pointing out the flight path across the barren, nuclear wasteland to Jessie James, I saw a hand behind me rise into the air.

It was Everett, our weapons technician. He said, “Not to interrupt, Minigan, but do you really think it is safe for us to enter Hell this way. We are going to be way outnumbered by all of the different forms of evil monsters that live there. This kind of sounds like a suicide mission to me.”

“I understand you fears, Everett,” I pointed out reassuringly, “But I promise you, that this mission is going to be safer than what you think. First of all, we are not headed to Hell. You weren’t far off, mind you, but we are actually going to New Jersey. This means that we will only encounter one type of horrible beast, and that is the guido.  Now, guidos are notoriously difficult to kill; their thick pelt is impervious to any form of radiation. This includes heat, Everett, so your flame throwers will be of no use to you this time. I also doubt that your lightning shooter will have an effect on them. You may want to try using your gas launcher, or a standard gun or sword. I know that knives will work, because that is how I killed the guido in my house earlier today.” “Knifemaster,” I continued, “Since their pelt is thick and strong, you will need to make sure that all of our knives, including The Justice Stick, have all been properly sharpened. They will probably need to be resharpened afterwards.” “Damien,” I said, looking to the muscular Brit, “the one thing we know best about guidos and douchebags in general is that they love UFC, but they don’t actually participate in it at all. This means that their fighting style will be a combination of moves they’ve seen in UFC matches and kung fu movies. This is good news for you, because it means that despite them being strong and hard to kill, you should still be able to knock them out at least.”

“What about transport?” Jessie asked, “How exactly do you want us to travel through the thick smog of New Jersey?”

“What’s where I come in,” the super sexy Danica McKellar stated, “Using a complex algorithm that none of you would understand so I’m not going to explain it, I have deduced that the smog is entirely made out of steam from nuclear reactors, Axe body spray, spray tanner, and crippling depression. This should be not a problem to fly through as long as the air filters in the jet are new.  However, this smog fluctuates depending on how much douchebag is in the air. Therefore while calculating contents of the Jersey smog, I was also able to pinpoint Pauly D’s exact location down to within a few feet. Criss, can you put the next map up, please?”

Criss sighed, closed his hand, and opened it again. When he did, the map on the projection screen changed from a state map of New Jersey to a smog map of New Jersey.

Danica walked to the head of the room , and began to point at specific locations of the map while commenting, “All the purple you see is the normal smog of New Jersey, I.E. the nuclear reactors, Axe, spray tanner, depression mixture. However, these blotches of hot pink are vents of douchebag.” She pointed to the shoreline that was very bright pink; it was actually glowing. “As you can see, the entire shoreline of New Jersey radiates douchebaggery. But, as you can also see there seems to be two major epicenters of douchebags along the coast.” She pointed to the larger of the two and said, “This larger one, we are certain is where The Situation is, but this one,” motioning to the one in the center of the shoreline, “is where Pauly D and his thugs all reside.”

Jessie then asked, “What can we expect turbulence-wise when we get close to Pauly D?”

“Well,” Danica said, “The turbulence will be pretty bad all the way through Jersey, but you can only expect it to get worse when you go through the patches of douche smog.”

Looking at Jessie, I added, “Due to the size of the Awesomesplane! and to the lack of open areas near the shoreline that isn’t a beach, you are going to stay airborne while the rest of the team takes Pauly out.”

“Why can’t he just land on the beach?” Mr. Expendable asked.

“Because the weight of the jet will cause it to sink in the sand, and even if we were able to land onto the beach, the sand will get ruin the engines,” Jessie replied.

“Not to mention it gets just everywhere and is impossible to get rid of,” The Knifemaster added with a lisp for some reason. Everyone stopped looking at the map and turned to him. Realizing that all eyes were on him, The Knifemaster added, “What, IT DOES!”

The complete silence in the room lingered before I continued without acknowledging The Knifemaster’s outburst, “What you will do, Jessie is first fly high overhead the nightclub and let Series of Japanese Symbols parachute down and stow our bags in the nightclub’s men’s room.

“Series of Japanese Symbols,” I said turning to the lone Asian man of the group.

“For the millionth time, my name is Steve,” Series of Japanese Symbols groaned, “Why must always call me that?”

“I’m sorry, I cannot understand you.”

“But I’m speaking perfect English! Will someone please convince this asshole that my name is Steve.”

The group let out another disinterested “meh,” and Series of Japanese Symbols began to bang his head on the table. Everyone looked shocked, but I assured them that is Japanese custom to bang their heads off of the table in the middle of a conversation, and that Series of Japanese Symbols (Fuck it; I’m naming him Steve… It’s shorter) does it every time he has a conversation with me.

“Anyway, Steve,” I continued once Criss changed the image on the whiteboard from the smog map the a blueprint of the nightclub, “Once you break into the nightclub, you will need to crawl through the rafters to the men’s  restroom where you will hide our four bags in the second stall. Place all four in the third ceiling tile from the wall behind the toilet, and second tile from the right hand side. After that, leave the way you came and go to the rendezvous point here.” I nodded at Criss, and once again he closed his hand and opened it, changing the image from the blueprint of the nightclub to a city map. I pointed to a grey rectangle three blocks away. This area was once a courtyard that had since been reduced into an auto yard.

“The auto yard,” I added, turning to Jessie, “will be where you pick up Steve, and let the rest of the group off. It is fairly dark in that auto yard, so the Awesomeplane! will be impossible to see. The remaining six of us, posing as guidos, will then get into the club, get our stuff, and take Pauly D down. Any questions?”

“Yes, I have a question,” Steve asked, “Did you just call me Steve? That means you can really understand me, and you’re just an inconceivably large dick, or your racism surpasses your common sense so much that you block out everything I’m saying.

Damien leaned over to Steve and mumbled (not very well because I heard it), “Listen mate, I dunno why he cannot understand you, but he can’t. You just need to get over it. We understand what you’re saying, and it isn’t really funny anymore, so I’ll repeat what you say for you. How ‘bout that?”

Steve then  jumped to his feet and shouted in a fit of rage, “That is total bull shit! Who has ever heard of such a horribly retarded excuse. You, Minigan, should be tortured for your douchebaggery!

I looked at him blankly for a second, unsure of what he said, and then begged the group, “Please tell me that one of you can translate what he’s saying from that crazy jibberish. I’m getting nowhere with this guy. It doesn’t even sound like Japanese.”

There was another second or two of awkward silence, and then another chair came hurtling at my face.  The Knifemaster started screaming at Steve, which lead to a group wide screaming match. I just watched as they babbled loudly at one another wondering if starting a new team would be easier than trying to fix the current one. Deciding that it would be too much work for me to kill this group off and put together a new one, I called to them, “We leave at 8:00 tonight . I expect to see Team Pugnastics and Team Prevention/ Protection at the Awesomeplane! launching station by 7:00. I walked out of the room, pinching the bridge of my nose and heard a crash; they were all throwing chairs now. I continued to walk, but their screaming just got louder. Fuck, they’re never going to stop unless I stop them. I turned around and headed back to the conference room; I had already made it halfway down the hallway. As a neared the room once again, I pulled my Bowie spike from its sheath and kept it concealed. I stepped back into the room, but no one noticed my return. I cleared my throat. Still, no attention.

“Everyone, shut the hell up!” I screamed.  I let the handle of my knife flip down so that the blade was no longer against my arm, but pointing to the ground. I raised my throwing arm, and whipped it down, throwing the knife directly at Mr. Expendable. It hit him right between his eyes. As he fell to the floor screaming, I couldn’t help but be impressed by my aim lately. The room went dead quiet in the horror that I would be willing to seriously injure a teammate to get their attention.

The most useful tool a team leader needs.

I said to them, “Listen the hell up. We cannot act like this; how are we supposed to defeat any bad guy if we constantly fight like this. We’ll only end up killing each other. If we all just calm down, then maybe we can solve these problems. First, does anyone know how to make cookies for DMZ?”

“I do,” Emily replied, “I just didn’t want to let anyone know that I could so that I don’t get stuck baking all the time.”

“Well, can you bake some for us this time?” I asked, “I’ll will make some next time.” I then turned to the rest of the group  and asked, “Who else has a problem?”

Mr. Expendable raised his hand and said, “Can someone please remove the knife from my skull; it is making me taste sounds.”

I strode over, put my hand on his forhead and pulled the lodged knife from his head. I then handed it to The Knifemaster and commanded, “Take this back the the weaponry for cleaning and resharpening.  But before you get to that, clean yourself up and that damn autopsy room you bloodied up.” “Who’s next?”

“We still need to  update the flight system in the plane and add on the four silent hover engines, and there is no way we I am going to have that done by 8:00. I’m going to need some help.”

I nodded and then asked, “Damien, Everett, and Mr. Expendable, do you have any problem that needs resolved?”

They all said no.

“Good,” I replied, “then help Jessie get the Awesomeplane! ready. You guys should go ahead and get started now.”

Once they left the room as did DMZ, Emily, and The Knifemaster, I asked the remaining members if they and any problems. They all shook their heads “No,” but Steve was perfectly still. It was as if he was fighting the urge to beat the fear of God out of me with a 2×4.

“Steve,” I asked, “Do you have a problem that needs addressed?” the rest of the team looked towards him. They all shared a look of apprehension of what was going to happen next. Steve was staring down at the table. He absolutely refused to make eyecontact with me, but eventually he did shake his head “No” as well. “Great,” I said in relief, “And at least you can understand me.”

U mad?

Steve exploded with fury and attempted to leap over the table and strangle me. Luckily, Criss and Danica were able to get a hold of him and pin him to the table before he could carry out his plan. As they struggled with him, I called Derren over to where I stood and instructed him to hypnotize Steve into staying calm. As Derren worked his mind magic, I left my room and went to my quarters to lay down. It had been a long day and was still far from over.

To Be Continued…

___________________________________________________________________________

Sorry about that folks, but this is 4,000 words long right now, and everything leading up to and including the fight scene is probably going to be another 4,000 or so words. I promise to have it up within a week or so. But for now, peace.

BRAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Awesomesquad! Assemble! 5!

I turned the knob and the warm water ceased it’s warm, therapeutic strumming on my head and shoulders. I strained the excess water out of my rich, chocolate brown mane, and stepped onto the bathmat.  I stood there for a second just as a towering mass of muscles and sexual energy and then wrapped my towel around my waist without drying myself off first. “Why didn’t he dry himself off?” you might be asking yourselves. Well, that’s because drying off is for pussies. Anyway, I stood there, wet, muscular, and nude when the door burst open and a man holding a rather large handgun stepped in. He was dressed in all black, much like a member of black ops.  He fired his gun, but I luckily dodged the bullet. I then whipped the towel off of me; I’m not sure why I did it, but it seemed like it was a good idea. While he was momentarily paralyzed both by my sudden disregard for modesty and the impressive size of my member, despite it being flaccid, I was able to grab my Coldsteel Bowie spike off of the back of the toilet.

someone’s about to get all kinds of fucked

The masked man realized his mistake (that is, breaking into my fucking house,) turned around and ran out of my bathroom screaming, “I changed my mind, I’m sorry, I’M SORRY!!!!”

I didn’t care. I pulled the Bowie spike from its sheath and threw it at the guy.  The knife sliced through the air, rolling end over end.  It did this in slow motion because that is how I see anything I do that is remotely cool.  Everything sped back up right as the knife split the man’s spine vertically. The intruder fell to the floor, a twitching mass of decommissioned body parts. I was amazed that I didn’t kill him with that. I rolled him over and looked into his eyes. He was in pain; you could see it in his deep green eyes.

It was at that moment that I first felt the hu-mon emotion of pity. I reached behind the man and felt the rough handle of the blade protruding from the base of the man’s skull. With a quick jerk, the blade released from the bone, and the man’s emerald eyes went blank. He was gone, and that feeling of pity left me just as his soul left his body, and I do not mean by me releasing my bowels. Yeah, I know, I totally just killed that moment there, but whatever. My body being dry now, I put on my clothes, and dialed a number on my cell.

A deep (and possibly drunk) voice answered the phone. “What is it Minigan?” The voice asked, apparently weary of my calls.

“Yeah, I got another Code 404.” I replied as I watched the body from the bathroom door.

“Jesus Honeyglazed Christ, Minigan, Another one? That’s like the third one this week.”

“I told you that it happens a lot.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be this often. I always thought giving the scenario in which a masked man tries to kill you once you get out of the shower and you sever his spinal cord by throwing a knife at him was a bit too specific to deserve its own code name, but I guess I was wrong for thinking that.”

“I told you so,” I added, “Also, I think I might have felt pity this this time, but it could have been indigestion. I’m not sure which it was.”

“Did you feel it in your gut?” he asked.

“And chest a little bit too,”

“Hmm, That could be really either one.”

“Let’s just say it was indigestion, I don’t want to look weak in front of the others.”

“But it will also make you look more human.”

“Eh, I don’t really want that,” I replied, “Remember that I took care of that kid to prove that I was more Hu-mon?”  I stared at the corpse as my dogs began to sniff it and poke it with their noses. It figures that the dogs I got for protection would fucking hide while I did the goddamn protecting.

“You mean that time you got us all onto a Government watch list involving child endangerment. Do you know how long it took GMZ to hack into the CIA’s computers to clear all of our names?!?!”

“Hey,” I snapped, “I told the kid very clearly how to properly hold a grenade launcher. It wasn’t my fault the little tyke couldn’t take the kick.”

The voice admitted, “You’re right, that five year old really should have handled himself better.

“But at least he has some really good stories to tell his friends in the orphanage or foster home or whatever he’s staying at.”

“Well, it’s a cemetery, but close enough.”

Good kid, terrible sidekick. You will be missed… Kind of.

“Right. Well, can you send some of the team over to clean up this body; my dogs are starting to eat it.”

“Will do, broseph” the man replied.

“This is why you’re my second in command, Jibbles.  Thundercock over and out.” I hung up the phone without saying good bye. I do it because I think it makes me seem like a badass and a leader. Perceptions are everything. Anyway, as I waited for the body cleanup team to arrive, I shooed away the dogs and pulled a Lady Caggiano by rummaging through the dead intruder’s pockets, looking for money. None. Damnit, They’re learning.

_________________________________________________________________________

Awesomesquad Assemble 5: The Sultan of ‘The Shore’

Bad News Tumbleweeds, (yes, once again I did quote a My Chemical Romance album there) We lost 2 members recently.  I am saddened mostly because they were both people I knew fo’ realz.

The first one was Sean McCormick, who was our genetic scientist who was supposed to alter our genes in order to give us super powers. To my knowledge he dropped out of school and is now going to head down to Peru to become some kind of shaman. I wish I was joking about that. I wish him all the luck in the world, and hope that if he comes back with shaman powers, he will rejoin Awesomesquad!. However this still leaves an opening in my team that needs to be filled. If anyone has an idea of a person who could work, leave a comment BELOW, and if  I like their credentials, I will consider them. I don’t care what they look like as long as they are hot women. I’m thinking about you, Bones.

I know she doesn’t know how to alter one’s DNA. I was just using her as an example of a hot scientist.

The second person I lost is much more upsetting to me. To be honest, I didn’t really give two damns about Sean. This person I give a huge damn about, so I am incredibly sorry to say that Lady Caggiano is no longer on the team either. If you read my blog waaaay back in December (which I am going to blindly assume you did), you may remember that she got into a bad car accident because of that giant shit monster that lives in Pataskala. You know the one I’m talking about. No, I don’t mean me; close though. Anyway, since then, she has only talked to me once, and that was to tell me that she wasn’t pissed at me, which I assume was a lie since that message was back in February. So, although it hurts me to say it, fuck her. If she doesn’t want to bother to text me, but she can tweet every time she takes a shit, then I am obviously not that important to her, and I don’t need to bother anymore. And therefore I don’t need her on my team. Lady C, if you are reading this (which I doubt) and you still want to be on my team (also doubt) you will need to have some kind of conversation with me. And I mean a back and forth conversation not a “You send me one message on facebook and never reply to my reply” conversation.  Lady Cagg, please note that I am not trying to be a dick about this, I still have every intention of being friends with you, and I genuinely miss your company, but being friends with you is impossible when you don’t at least confirm that you are still alive. I feel that this is totally reasonable. I also have a really good idea for our TV show that I want to run past you, if that entices you at all.

I, however, feel that she is probably not going to read this, let alone have an actual convo with me, so I needed to find a replacement. Luckily, I already have a Second in Command replacement lined up. And as you could tell by that story up there, it is Jibbles or “Jimmy” as he is sometimes called. I have mentioned this cavalier of men on this blog several times before.  For now on, however, I shall call him The Knifemaster. This came about when he gave me a Coldsteel Bowie knife(also in the story above) for my birthday and also the fact that he is obsessed with the idea of me owning machete. He will be incredibly useful in teaching me how to properly use my Justice Stick (get your minds out of the gutter, I mean a pole arm), as well as teaching the whole group how to fuck someone up with our standard “Killin’ Machetes” and how to throw knives so well that we make John Locke look like a retarded, knife wielding asshole.

You just know he as, like, 10 knives on him at the exact moment this picture was taken.

He will also do all the things that the previous second in command did, that is, helping with formulating strategies of attack, assisting in executive decisions that I cannot make on my own, calling our group into action, and also getting the groupies. All important jobs, all to be done by someone I trust, and all fitting jobs for The Knifemaster.

There is one problem with having the Knifemaster in my group. That problem is that his sister is already our team psychologist. As I assume you remember from my first Awesomesquad Assemble! post, I mentioned one of my issues with me including my brother on the team was that if we both died, we would knock out a good portion of our gene pool and an even greater portion of people who would carry on our family name. Now, you might be assuming that this might cause me to reject The Knifemaster’s talents, and if this was a perfect world, you would be right. I have two reasons that I am willing to disregard that conflict of interest: the first one is that Emily is part of “Team Protection/ Prevention,” but The Knifemaster is part of “Team Pugnastics.” That is Emily is a part of the team that does not do much fighting. This isn’t to keep them from harm (although that is a plus), but to provide intel and to keep the morale of the team up and their minds sane. However, if in the very unlikely and unimaginable event that we were to lose The Knifemaster to that great knife shop in the sky, she may want to join “Team Pugnastics” in order to avenge her brother. And when has that ever happened to someone and resulted in mental instability.

Pictured: a mentally stable adult male

The second reason that I am going to allow this is because I am not related to them, and therefore, don’t care too much. I love you, Kohlberg Family!

OK, onto the third bit of bad news. The warehouse I had chosen to be our base of operations has been bought by some stupid fucking company or some shit, so I have to find a new place. I do have one good idea in mind, and it is based off of this house:

Suck on this, villians.

Basically, it is a house that seals itself up in case of a zombie apocalypse, or more likely for my purpose, an attack by terrorists/ ninjas/ ninja terrorists/ or angry groupies. The only (known) entrance to the facility would be across a drawbridge (I shit thee not) which would rise up and become a concrete barricade when not in use. There would be two to three secret entrance/ exits for the vehicles, and several secret entrances for members of Awesomesquad! Each of which would be only known to a couple of members and no one else. These would also be carefully monitored and labeled so that if some of the members were to leak the entrance location, then we would have a limited number of suspects. Man am I untrusting.

Anyway, in the event of an attack, huge concrete slabs will slide over the windows and skylights and lock in place, creating a giant concrete box which will be impenetrable to planes, bombs, and the fevered clawing of an army of horny, horny women.

Ok, on to the next bit of news: I have one new member for the team! That exclamation point was probably a bit hasty, especially since the only reason he’s going to be on the team is because he threatened me with creating a rival team if I didn’t invite him into mine. Normally I would take such a silly threat as some fun competition and a good way to build up loyalty within my own team. This rivalry with BAAsK (Bad Ass Awesomesquad Killers) was actually going to be the focus of an update I was going to write back in December, but Lady Caggiano got into her car accident, and I felt that that story was more important, so the Awesomesquad! Vs. BAAsK update got postponed indefinitely. Eventually, with my team losing 2 members, I felt that it was necessary that I nip that nasty little “Competing team” in the bud, and let the founder of that group join mine.

The man I am talking about (though he already knows I am talking about him) is Mr. Bannon Keeran (yes, that is his real name), but his code name will be Mr. Expendable, or Seňor Expendablé if we’re in Mexico.

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

Before Sean left for his Peruvian spirit trip or whatever, he was able to make a vaccine that would give the taker the ability to regenerate damaged tissue at a much faster rate than normal. However, when The Knifemaster found it, none of the team wanted to try it. Then, in comes Mr. Expendable for our scheduled meeting in which I would induct him into the team. After filling out some forms and a waiver (none of which he read. Cha Ching!), taking a blood sample, urine sample, and fingerprints, and swearing his allegiance to the death, we offered the vaccine to him. He accepted (without us having to explain it at all), and injected himself with it. This man has moxy. We then did a series of tests to make sure the vaccine worked. And by “tests” I mean “we attacked him with several different types of weapons. Not only did he heal, his reflexes and fighting ability were greatly boosted. He was able to disarm each of us one at a time, even though we were attacking him simultaneously.

With his new ability, Mr. Expendable will always be the first one into enemy territory, followed closely by myself. I will go in second because I am the leader, but also because I care for my team’s well being more than I do my own. Except, of course, Mr. Expendable; I don’t care for his because he can regrow his own goddamn limbs.

Ok, wow this is pretty long already (That’s what she said), but I still have one more update, and it is the most exciting one! NEW VILLIAN

We all know of (unfortunately) the latest villain to the world. I recently had come across some evidence that proves that the piece of shit I am talking about is more than just a- um- piece of shit. I am of course talking about Pauly-D from the cultural black hole that is “The Jersey Shore.”  Originally, I assumed that either Snooki or The Situation would have been bigger threats to national security than some douchebag disk jockey, but then I remembered that the only way Snooki could destroy the world is by procreating, and there was no way in the world any man would dive penis first into that clam pit. (Note: I accidentally wrote “clap pit” first, but then changed it. I do think that both are accurate names for Snooki’s vagina.) And, of course I remembered the Comedy Central roast of Donald Trump and came to the conclusion that the Situation couldn’t even form a sentence even by the loosest definition of the word, let alone form an army to take over the world. I then, however, saw the Pauly D’s true nature in this gif:

Ho-ly-shit.

Why did none of us notice this before? We must have been blinded either by that show, or by our hatred of that show. Either way, we are all at fault for letting this asshole continue to live. Here are the abilities that I have figured out so far in convenient list form:

  1. Can shoot laser beams out of his huge mouth
  2. Impossibly strong (from the steroids)
  3. Has irrational fits of explosive anger (also from the steroids)
  4. His hair is as hard as titanium, and as sharp as a razorblade. If you’re not sure how he would use this, watch this axe commercial and draw your own conclusions.
  5. His orange skin is impervious to all types of deadly radiation.
  6. Worst of all, he has an insatiable desire for attention, meaning that he will go through extreme and potentially dangerous measures in order to get people to look at him.

How the hell will we deal with such a formidable and douche opponent? The answer may be below…

__________________________________________________________________________________

As I stood over the dead body the hallway outside my bathroom, I noticed that the man’s head had a bizarre shape to it. It wasn’t rounded at the top as you would see with most people that one would consider hu-mon, but instead had a wide and flat top to it, almost as if as a newborn he had placed upside down on the floor, and his soft skull flattened to support its body.

I touched the top of his head. I was right; the top of his head was as stiff as a skull should be. Was this a genetic variation? A hideous deformation? A sign of allegiance to a particular evil organization (The Salvation Army I bet)?  A practical joke by a cruel, yet hilarious God?  I had no clue. The only way to check was to remove his mask.

As I was about to remove the mask and find out what particular kind of disgusting monster broke into my house, the voice I had talked to over the phone, called out from behind me, “let’s get it back to base before we figure out what group this asshole worked for.”

I then replied, slightly annoyed, and “Why is it so easy for people to break into my house?”

“No time to answer that,” The Knifemaster said as he waved hand in between us. He was holding a butterfly knife in that hand, so as he waved, the knife flapped around, clicked, and gave a dazzling display of reflected light. “We need to get this body back to base, so that we can perform an autopsy.”

Just as I was about to argue that he could answer that question before everyone else showed up, Criss Angel, Danica McKellar, and Derren Brown came up the stairs and into the hallway. Criss’s hair had finally grown back out, and so he no longer looked like a complete cock.  Derren was holding a bucket of soapy water and a scrubber brush, Danica wasn’t holding anything; she must be supervising again. Criss magicked (magiked? Magiced?) the corpse and its limp body levitated off of the ground, over the banister, and down the stairs. Criss followed it. Derren got down onto his hands and knees, and feverishly began to scrub the blood spot away. Danica and I watched him for a second or two before she took her eyes off of the floor and gazed at me.

She put her arms around my neck and whispered into my ear, “Oh, Minigan, last night was amazing! We really REALLY need to do it again sometime. I want you so bad.”

I want to stick my hypotenuse into her Pythagorean theorem.


“Yes we do,” I replied, “but unfortunately, we are going to be really busy now, what with having to figure out who that bastard worked for, and adding more security measures to my house. We’re gonna have to wait until tonight at the earliest.”

At this point, Derren was done scrubbing (That was fast), and all that was left of the man I killed was a heavily scrubbed wet spot. Derren stood up, saluted me (I had no clue why, I never told him that saluting me was customary), and walked down the stairs and out of the house.

Danica put her mouth close to my ear once again and whispered, “I will see you at the base.” She then gently nibbled on my earlobe for a second or two, and when she let go and started to walk away, she  gently ran her smooth hand down my face to my rock hard pecs, all while locking her deep brown eyes with mine. She gave a small yet mischievous smile, and followed Derren out.

The Knifemaster, who was standing in the hall awkwardly as the conversation between Danica and myself transpire,d walked up to me, extending a clenched fist, and said, “Dude, nice. You hit that?”

“Yes I did. I hit it like Chris Brown,” I replied as we fist pounded. Our hands then exploded back as we both made explosion sounds with our mouths.

We then shared a good, hearty, man laugh, and then The Knifemaster said, “OK, I am going to get to base and start the autopsy. What time do you think you’ll be there?”

“In a few; I need to figure out how that guy got into my house.”

The Knifemaster nodded in agreement and left without another word. I finished cleaning up after my shower, and once I found out how the masked assassin got in (I left the garage door open again), I made my way to my secret entrance to the Awesomebase!. I cannot (for obvious reasons) tell you the location of my entrance, but I can tell you that it may or may not be in Ohio. Anyway, I type in my access code, insert my access card, say my code phrase, then scan my retina and my fingerprints to finally gain access. The hallway I entered was dimly lit; you can only see about a foot in front of your face. I did this on purpose so that any intruder will not know where they are going, nor that their every step is being watched.

After about ten minutes or so of walking and singing this song out loud (I know. Don’t judge), I finally made it to the entrance of the base. You can tell because the corridor comes to an abrupt end. I pushed on the right corner of the wall, and it easily gave way, opening up to the high ceilings and bright walls of Awesomebase!. I walked across the main hall of Awesomebase! as my eyes adjusted to the light, and made my way upstairs to the autopsy room.

I almost threw up. I walked in the door and the sight I saw would probably be best at home in one of the better saw movies. Blood splatter covered all of the walls, ceiling, and light fixtures. Organs were thrown haphazardly around the room, most of which were on the floor, but one, maybe the spleen, was sitting on top of the computer monitor like some rated R desk toy. The Knifemaster was standing at  the foot of the autopsy table. He was covered from head to toe in blood. The body on the table no longer looked like a body, but more like a pile of bloody dog food with arms, legs, and a masked head growing from its center.

“What the fuck happened here?” I screamed both out of anger and of fear.

“KNIFEMMMMMMAAAAAASSSSSSTTTTTEEEEERRRRR!!!!!!!!” he screamed while raising both of his hands to the sky. From the looks of it, he had taped scalpels to each of his fingers, and proceeded to go all kinds of Freddy Kruger on the corpse.

“Dude, Jibbles,” I said, feeling like I might have made a mistake letting him on my team, “I said he needs an autopsy, not his body mutilated. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“KNNNNNNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he screamed again, this time while wiggling his fingers in a frantic, but still spirit fingers kind of way.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and clenched my eyes shut, “Well, did you find out anything about this…guy.”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” The Knifemaster replied, completely snapping out of his insane spirit finger of death stance, “I first noticed that the man’s skin was orange and leathery, like if a wallet was soaked in Tang and vomit. When I opened him up, I discovered that he had no organ that housed his soul. I assumed he must have had one, so I began a frantic search for one, hence why all of his non-soul housing organs are all over the place”

I sighed, “Jibbles, the soul doesn’t have an organ. It’s just in there.”

“Oh,” he said, looking somewhat dissappointed, “Well that doesn’t matter anyway because judging by his thick leathery hide, and his flat skull, this thing is obviously not human.”

“Have you looked at its face yet?”

“No,” The Knifemaster answered, “I was about to do that right as you walked in.”

I made my way to the center of the room, careful not to slip on the puddles of blood or to step on any of the organs. Once I got there, The Knifemaster cut off the mask, revealing a leathery face that looked as though it was covered in makeup. I asked The Knifemaster is this was a woman, and he pointed to the crotch, where a small, shriveled up penis sat. we both chuckled a bit, and then looked back at the face.

“Yeah, he is definetly wearing lipgloss,” I commented.

“And eyeliner. Jesus hairstylin’ Christ, look at the top of his head!”

My eyes moved from the face of the creature that attacked me and to the top of its grotesque misshapen head. However, the skull was not what made it misshapen like I had previously thought. No, the shape of his head specifically came from is over gelled hair.

 For the second time in five minutes, I felt like I was going to throw up. “Well, Knifemaster,” I said slowly, trying to keep my lunch down, “you were close when you said that the creature wasn’t human. This thing is just barely human: it’s a guido.”

“What does that mean, Minigan?” He asked.

“It means Awesomesquad! Is going to have a rough and tumble with Pauly D.”

The Knifemaster replied with a simple, “Sweet merciful Fuck.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Sorry, but this was getting to 5,000 words long. That is a ridiculous length for a blog post. If the world doesn’t end this Saturday, It will be my next post. And if we all die on Saturday like those religious crazies say we will, I say we meet up in Hell and take that place over. Who’s with me?!?

Peace until Saturday, and then its everyman for himself.

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