Fuuuuuuck fucking piece of fucking fuck fucker fuck fuckity fuck poop fuck!
I didn’t care about killing that kid. You know that assuming you were paying attention last time. That’s one thing that made it hard for me. Properly motivated, I could kill someone with a tomato. A motherfucking tomato.
I’m motivated now.
Holdout survived. Barely dressed piece of shit with that those big, needy eyes.
Last time was about convention. You capture the hero’s sidekick, you tie them up, you rough them up a little bit, and then you try to kill them. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have the time to spend on overly elaborate deathtraps. If I throw a refrigerator on your head, you damn well better stay on ice. Even if I don’t care about killing someone, they stay dead. That goes double for any necromancers out there thinking of raising some zombies. You summon up their bodies to do your earthly bidding, you and I are going to have words. Words with fists attached to them.
That’s right, motherfucker, I’ll fist your earholes until your brains pop out. And then everyone will know to beware Psycho Gecko, Fister of Teen Boys.
There needs to be more cusswords.
I found out just recently. Got moved into the new base, a former icecream place this time. Headed out to celebrate out at the bar. There was a big guy just inside the door this time. Looked like he had a crocodile head. I think. Possibly an alligator head. Not that I’m going to voice either one near the guy. Not like I want to offend the guy, you know?
Anyway, Crocofucker actually tried to stop me. Something about me not wearing a mask. I like my armor. In fact, I love my armor. It’s just hard to drink in it. Crocofucker was just trying to enforce the bar’s mask policy.
“It’s alright, just check with the bartender,” I told him as I turned and pointed to him. The barkeep’s eyes went wide as Crocofucker looked. Probably because he also saw my other fist driving up into the bouncer’s stomach. He doubled over and grabbed on to me. On top of the desire for retaliation, he probably wanted some support. He of course turned to look back at me, so he didn’t see the hand I pointed with coming back around to punch him in the throat.
Basic lesson about various enemies. They need to breath. Even giant crocodile men. I slipped out of his grasp while he focused on drawing air, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and told him, “Walk it off, biggun.”
The bartender held up his hands to ward off my wrath. I just told him to get me some hot wings. Also, that the new bouncer better watch his ass. “I guarantee you he’s going to wind up through a table.”
It didn’t take long for him to bring me some. Not that I was going to hurt him for the slight with the bouncer. If that guy wants to keep up that whole “mask rule” business, I’ll simply keep beating him up. I’ve got tenure at the university of ass kicking. Mess with me and I’ll start handing out degrees.
So it was time to check the news. I have got to hand it to the civilians. They really don’t care. I’ve seen huge hulking masses of muscle on so much pot they have a Mexican cartel named after them give more of a fuck than people out there making a national crisis out of a singer lip syncing to her own song at an inauguration. We work so hard to get respect at times and instead Joe Schmo out there is too busy watching a con artist on Oprah try to tell people they can quantum heal their cancer with the power of positive thinking as taught in this one specific $49.99 book he sells.
Which, frankly, is insulting considering all the money he makes off it. At least I’m upfront and honest about robbing people blind. I don’t even trick them into thinking it is for their own good, except for this one time. I had a really good reason though. Really.
The major networks don’t have too much to interest me though. Figures. You want good information about technological advances or rare artwork coming to town, you’ve got to go with NPR or BBC. I switch to the local news, though. Never know when they’ll have something.
This time, it was talking about how Sixgun and Holdout took down a drug ring. I was surprised Holdout was back on his feet so quick, but it was him. The bruises were distinctive, especially the one from the spoon on his nose. Plus, as much as I don’t care to acknowledge it, I recognized his ass.
If I cared about you judging me maybe I wouldn’t be killing people all over the place.
Like I’m going to do to Holdout.
I ordered a beer real quick, something crappy. The bartender asked me to narrow it down among domestic beers, but I glared at him until he brought me something. Then I turned and threw it at the far wall with a cry of “MotherFUCKER!”
The bouncer started to move, then started to stop, then reluctantly started to move toward me again. He looked relieved when Elita the Warrior Woman walked into the bar. He had to stop her since she wasn’t wearing a mask. She put him through a table with a backhand. How does a crocodile reset its jaw? Do they ever need to?
It was entertaining but I just wanted to stew and plot. A different story was on when I turned back. Advances in asteroid tracking technology at a local research lab. I made a note of it as Elita stepped up to the bar. “Anything interesting?”
“Holdout is alive.”
“Oh yeah? Thought you’d be happy about that?”
“The fuck’s that mean?”
“I heard all about you oiling him up and choking him out from the ScrewHaul.”
I hopped off that stool and onto the bar, and then backflipped over Elita. I grabbed her by the collar and waistline, pulled her onto my shoulders while ducking, then threw her over me where she broke through the table next to Crocofucker.
First, I rekill Holdout. Then I kill those movers.