I Got Clubbed 1

So, I have a club now. That’s new.

Even though I got back from my little deal in more or less good spirits, the fact that my base was apparently now somewhat of a gathering place for regular people was odd. I came very close to pushing the death trap button, too. Maybe put on some Dethklok music while I was at it, a little bonus for the survivors who happened to know about that show.

I am the last person to talk about parties while I’m away, probably because I’d kill whoever I was talking to most of the time, but not my minions. Also, I was impressed that they pulled off some sort of keg mecha.

“We had all the leftover kegs and cans and all that. One day I’m in the bathroom, just minding my own business, when all of a sudden I hear something and it makes me smack my head back into the wall by accident. I got this idea about seeing if I could use what I knew about cars to make the kegs into one of those robots from that movie Aliens. Moai knows a thing or two, I know a thing or two, and between us we managed to make something that works half the time.”

I sat back in my office chair and nodded along to his story, holding a cat in my arms and stroking it. I had found outside and it didn’t seem to mind being brought back so I could play a malevolent boss. I’m a natural in the role. Now, all I need to do is blast open Fort Knox and I’ll have the world’s largest supply of destroyed military fort! Mwahahaha! It would be worth a fortune on the refurbished military fortress market, though usually that involves something a little more mobile.

“I like the keg mecha. Very fitting. With very little effort we can turn it into something with some real power behind it. Maybe some spikes. Some stacks that spew flames. Tell me, how do you feel about have wires jammed in your spinal cord to help you with fine motor control?”

Carl held out a tray on which sat a pair of reddish-orange drinks with little umbrellas in them. I grabbed one of them and took a sip. Mmm, fruity.

“I don’t like the idea, boss,” Carl answered as he grabbed the other drink and settled back in his seat.

I sipped on my drink some more. “What if I were to partially lobotomize you and replace one of your hands with a beam weapon? Do you think that would sufficiently sweeten the pot?”

“Uhhh, no. Not at all. In fact, I think I’m going to go take some fillings out now after all this.” Carl started to stand up.

“Ah yes, taking filings out. That’d mess with your brilliant smile and who knows how that would affect how well you get along with all the guests. You know, the ones at my new club,” I said with a grin as I preempted Carl turning the door handle and escaping a certain discussion. I swept my hand back toward the chair on the other side of my desk. Carl sat back down reluctantly.

“Yeah, we need to talk about that. I just wish you didn’t have that roadkill in your hands while we talked.”

“He has a name, and it’s Mr. Flatsy. Mr. Flatsy is very sensitive about his appearance, so he’s been trying to slim down!” I said as I shook the dead cat at Carl. One of its rear paws fell off and landed on my desk.

“Hmm, seems Mr. Flatsy is a little unwell. He could use a little bit of sunshine and rest,” I explained to Carl as I grabbed a trash can that had been beside my desk and used Mr. Flatsy’s body to sweep his paw off into it. “Mr. Flatsy is going to be going to a little farm upstate to frolic in nature until he gets better.” I chucked the dead cat into the trash can with his paw.

I grabbed a bottle of White Out, which I actually had before all this, but for a different purpose than this, and squeezed it out into the trash can before tossing that in too. I held onto the cap and the little brush that was still wet with the white correction fluid. “Mind if I borrow your lighter?”

Carl set the drink tray down and rifled through his pockets for a lighter he then tossed to me. A few flicks later and the cap brush was on fire. I dropped it into the trash can, sat that off in the corner, and sat back down as flames consumed Mr. Flatsy. “Now then, Mr. Flatsy is on vacation. You aren’t, so let’s hear about business.”

“It all started when I got drunk,” said Carl. With that opening, this story could go either way. “All these people came in. A whole bunch of them in all this black clothing, with loops and metal and mesh and all that hanging on them. They said they were there to party and were wondering who we were. You’d think they would have come around before now if they were going to.”

“So I was like ‘I work for the new owner,’ and they were like ‘Hey, so can we party here?’ and I was like ‘Pay me 200 bucks and I’ll think about it,’ and they were like ‘We got 150 and some alcohol,’ and I was like ‘Okay’. They spent the night playing loud music and dancing around, and I spent the night drunk. Then they kept showing up with more people and one of them was this big guy who wanted a job as the bouncer, so that’s how it all happened.”

I sat with my elbows up on the desk, fingers outstretched and fingertips touching. My face was near and I sniffed them, then turned and held them really close to the fire to try and burn off the smell of dead cat. It backfired, though, and left me smelling of burnt dead cat on hands that no longer had hair on them, or even skin in a few spots. I injected myself with the nanites, cussing all the while because I had to use the same hands that were burned for holding the syringe. The cold mixed drink with its little umbrella soothed my hands and my brain.

“Alright, Carl, I’ve had a moment to think in between painfully burning my hands. I have to say, you’ve disappointed me. My computer shouldn’t be facing the door like this.” I pointed back to behind me. The computer sat against the wall, monitor toward the rest of my office, including the door. “I could be watching porn on this thing and everyone could see it!”

Carl looked past me, “Uh, boss, you are watching porn on this thing.”

“It’s a nature channel documentary on the mating rituals of invasive species of the Equatorial region.”

“My bad. What’s it called?”

“Bitches in The Bahamas 3. As you can clearly see, in The Bahamas, Homo sapiens sapiens males apparently don’t have to do much more than communicate in ways demeaning and degrading to the opposite sex because, near as I can tell, the females have been paid off by some sort of abstract notion that exists either solely as numbers on a computer, or as a physical object that tries to trick people into thinking it is paper. The females, however, are getting back at the males subtly through the use of falsified noises that indicate higher levels of pleasure and arousal than they clearly feel based on body language and behind the scenes interviews.”

“Boss, please don’t discuss porn with me like that.”

“That is what happens when you face the monitors where everyone can see them!”

“Alright! Geez, I’ll rearrange things. Is that all you have to say about it?” Carl had a hopeful look in his eyes.

“We’ll keep it going, for now. It could be useful, but we’re going to need to add on to the place. We need a basement to hide stuff underground where no one can stumble on it. Not that we’re going to hide a damn thing.” I stood up and pointed my regenerating finger to the sky. “Light bulb!”

“Yeah, I see that. I had to change it while you were gone.” Carl shifted in his seat uneasily. For all the time he had spent around me, he was still getting used to the way I thought.

“No, light bulb like one just went off over my head in my brain. We play up the villain aspect. Hire some shady types for the bartending and DJing, see if that crocodile-looking fucker over at Rothstein’s Sports Bar has a relative with fangs that we can stick on the front door.”

Carl stood up now. “Won’t that scare people away?”

“Nope, that’s this place’s gimmick! They’ll think that’s all it is. Get me a big throne overlooking all of them from higher up, like on a level accessible by catwalks over the floor. Even set me up a big giant screen that can descend so I can threaten people from there. We’ll also need some side rooms for private functions and illegal gambling. You can bet your ass you won’t see a bunch of heroes so gung ho to drop in here on a Friday night and blow me away if they’ve got party people in the hizzy fo shizzy, my nizzy.”

“Boss, I think that may have been racist.”

“I’m not even human.”

“I don’t think it matters the way you said it.”

“I might really be black, you know. I could be using nanites to look white.”

“You offended me saying that, and I know I’m white.”

“Damn straight, cracker.”

“Please stop.”

“Alright fine. Anything else we need?”

“Well, if we’re going to keep a bar open in it…” He led me to the obvious conclusion. Alcohol. Liquor. Spirits. Flagons of mead.

“That reminds me, Carl,” I circled around my desk and put my hand on his shoulder, bringing my fruity little drink with me in my other hand, “We have to talk about your drinking. You have a serious problem. You can’t let yourself be bribed into letting people in all the time.”

I guided him to the door and opened it up, sidestepping as I did so. Carl wasn’t quite in front of it himself and managed to jump out of the way as Moai fell in, letting out a loud crack from falling on the carpeted floor. He rolled back up again and the crack was clearly not his own surface. “Oh, good, glad you heard everything, Moai. No need to repeat this. Come along. We’ll need your help getting all the booze back here.”

Moai nodded and put on a cap with straws leading to empty holders far too big for any regular little canned beer.

“I need to talk to you sometime about hiding stuff wherever you keep your hats, Moai. But for now, we’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of firewater.”

Moai nudged Carl as we were walking to the car. “Ow, wh- oh, that’s right. Hey boss, there’s this one place we need to show you, too. They got stuff we’ve never seen before that might be good. Stuff that’s illegal, I think.”

“Well, not like we’re going to be licensed for any of this crap anyway, and woe to anyone who comes to enforce that. What’s this illegal stuff you think we should get?” I tossed my now-empty glass aside to shatter against the side of the wall of the club part. We stepped past a plastic curtain that had been raised to separate the garage area from the main floor. My fuzzy brain was already losing its fuzz thanks to the nanites, so I slid into the driver’s seat of my beautiful big black car.

“The label on it said, ‘Sexahol’.” Carl said as he got into the passenger seat. Moai slid into a laying position in the back seat, a seating arrangement a little better suited to his size and nature as a giant stone statue.

“Sexahol. Well then, let’s go see if we can create ‘Death by sexaholism’.”



6 thoughts on “I Got Clubbed 1

  1. Pingback: A Head of the Game 8 | World Domination in Retrospect

  2. Pingback: I Got Clubbed 2 | World Domination in Retrospect

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