I Got Clubbed 2

I found out what this fucking Sexahol stuff is, man. We got a bunch of it, and that’s all I feel like saying about that. Just stockpiled it and the rest of the stuff we need for this week at the Lair. That’s what I’m naming the place. We all had a democratic vote about it. Carl wanted to call it “Club Villain” and Moai suggested “Underworld”. I thought the first was too easy to use as a taunt if a hero ever used a blunt instrument on me, and the second sounded too much like a movie series about ogling a hot British vampire in dominatrix gear. Put one of those fucking werewolves in a black latex outfit and then get back to me, you sick pervs. I don’t mind a lady with a little natural body hair.

My suggestion for the name was “The Secret Lair”.

“Isn’t that a bit obvious, boss?” Carl asked. Moai nodded in agreement. As is common in a democracy, I pulled out a bomb and declared that if I didn’t get my way, I was going to destroy the whole place. Simple politics. Useful bomb, too. It’s like a smaller version of the F-bomb, but it’s a purely high-pitched noise that’s even worse for stuff around. I’m thinking of putting it on a rocket designed to penetrate heavy armor and calling it the Fili-Buster. Or maybe I can use it somewhere in Philadelphia first, and call it the Philly Buster. I could see if it’s useful for taming young horses and then name it the Filly Buster. Actually, that one sounds like a porn name. Hello ladies, I’m Filly Buster. Now, which one of you wants to get broken in?

Anyway, I named my club. I even have F-Uhaul putting the sign up. I got them helping me out with all this too. They don’t like me too much, but they like my money, and so do their friends in the construction business. I don’t care if they keep it a secret, either. What, someone’s going to think I’m doing something silly and stupid again or even going legit? Ha!

If I was really concerned about what someone thought, I’d probably go pick their brain myself. That’s not a euphemism. Just crack open the skull, give the ole gray matter a poke or slice, and then call it lunch. Or call it a damn beehive for all I care, not like its original owner’s going to be complaining at that point.

I’ve been using the past few days to get the construction stuff done. The walls are up to reinforce some side rooms I wasn’t doing anything with, or to build a few booths. Most of the infrastructure was already in place as far as tables and a bar. My throne is up there too, but we had to go for something besides hanging it up there. Instead, it looks like a giant man in a cape, hood, and tights being pulled open by heavy chains that stretch out taut to the walls. The opening in his body is where I sit. I chose to have the sculptor take artistic liberties with some of the anatomy so I didn’t have any weird organs poking me in the ass.

Good fellow, that sculptor. Needed a guy who works with metal and I happened to find him. He needed me too, I think. Fellow had been in a relationship that wasn’t necessarily serious, but he cheated. She left to parts unknown, which I hear is a very cold and snowy place that produces a lot of mysterious pro wrestlers. That shit happens, as much as people don’t like to hear it. Not like it was the end of the world. For one thing, I wasn’t involved in it. Just being honest. I expect I will be mixed up with the destruction of Earth somehow or another, and I doubt that’s much of a stretch for y’all.

It wasn’t the end of the world, but this guy had a friend who was really religious and a bit controlling in a creepy way. Like, went out of his way to adopt a lot of kids kind of controlling. Not anything where he’s touching them, he didn’t think, but for some reason this guy liked to adopt and lord over kids as a father figure. If I had to guess, he probably had a thing for Dominance and submission stuff but didn’t know it because of how he’d been taught to repress his sexuality. The sculptor was religious too, after all, but there’s a point where it becomes an important character trait and you can count on verses being quoted in casual conversation.

So this guy was getting shamed by his friend. Pretty much every female that walked into the neighborhood they lived in would get warned off from dating the sculptor because he just wanted sex and would sleep around and was a cheater and all that mess, according to the friend. Makes it hard to go on a first date, you know?

Anyway, I put together a couple lasers for the sculptor to use to work on this big ass throne for me, then I let him have them as payment. Not sure what he’s going to do with them, but it oughta be fun. I gave the guy some advice, though. I said “Well, you could pray for something to happen, but I hear that sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Then I handed over the power cells so he could use those lasers on his own. He left with a gleam in his eye. It was either sweet, sweet revenge, or perhaps a future kid of his.

That’s how I got the giant metal superhero sculpture as my throne. I might change it later with a proper application of C4. Also, when we get the basement level cleared, I might put the main opening there at the base of the big throne. Until I get the basement, the catwalk has to serve as the lair. We got a lot of the gadgets and tools up here while I work on figuring out how to blow open a huge chunk of whatever’s under this place without also destroying the building it is under. That second part, not blowing up a building in the process, is what makes it more difficult. Under most circumstances, I would consider it a stupid idea to avoid blowing up some place.

I was considering some acid from Max, actually. Never got around to it, though, thanks to an incident that I don’t feel like discussing here.

So, after a day wasted snarking on SuperBowl car commercials that implied STDs, I was finally able to get back to work. Work, in this instance, refers to taking some of the liquor on a test drive while Carl was busy interviewing candidates to handle the regular DJing, bartending, and managing aspects. Just because I want the place to run on its own doesn’t mean I can handle all the boring stuff, but I was able to lend Carl a hand.

He had a line of a few people wanting to handle the DJ stuff and sent Moai to fetch me. I’d have had Moai doing interviews, but my pet rock has remained rather mute.

So, yep, not a lot going on this time. Nope. Not much at all. I mean, I think there’s been stuff in the news. Some survivalist pro-theocracy militia killed some cops, bombed a funeral, and tried to get into a militia war, but was easily thwarted by some APCs and choppers backed up by drone surveillance. A wizard tried to zap Congress with a lightning bolt from atop the Washington Memorial, but was stopped by Captain Thunder. Actually, poll numbers show that a majority of Americans wish the wizard was successful. I hear that guy is already being picked as a potential Presidential candidate for whenever he gets out of the hospital and prison. Oh, and a man in a panda outfit robbed Busch Gardens down in Florida. Reports say he showed up, ate a little, shot up the place, and left.

Makes sense. After all, a panda does eat, shoots, and leaves.

Nope, nothing all that out of the ordinary around here, no matter how much certain minions watching over my shoulder might imply otherwise. You read that, Moai?

Moai might have a point. Ok. So, that Sexahol stuff I’ve mentioned before, that’s supposed to be the next big thing around here. Some sort of microbrewed liquor of questionable legal status. When we went on a big run to buy up proper supply for the bar, we grabbed a whole bunch of that stuff too. I gave Carl a break from hitting the bottle and insisted I try it instead. For all Mix N’Max’s insistence on not trying a lot of things on me, I think they mostly work the same way. He was probably just worried about delicate compositions and so on.

So I tried the Sexahol to see how excellent or bogus it would be. From the very first sip of that amber liquid, I loved the stuff. You could taste the alcohol, too, but not in that usual obnoxious way, and it warmed me like brandy as it flowed through my mouth and down my throat. Maybe it had a strawberry or cherry taste to it. Seemed to change.

It was great, though, and I kept on downing it. I gulped that shit down on an empty stomach. What followed was what I’ve been able to remember and piece together from various security cameras and dash cams.

I got goofy on this stuff. Fuzzy brain, overanalyzing each step, all of that. Like I was manually managing hydraulics to keep walking correctly. “Oh no, we slid it down the left pantleg today and didn’t compensate correctly! Seal that bladder now, boys, because we’re going doooooown!”

I didn’t fall, though, due to my inherent superior balance and because Carl was walking by at the time and I grabbed onto him. Turns out he needed my help discouraging a few people. “They think it’s a joke. Maybe you can scare off the ones who aren’t serious? Maybe you can put the armor on and show them you mean business?”

“I’d love to,” I told him with a smile on my face. Big smile. Lots of teeth. I ran over to the line of people who were there for various jobs. I opened my arms wide, huge grin on my face. “How are you fantastic people doing today? Oh, how nice to have so many people show up. I’m glad y’all are all here.” I walked right up to the guy at the head of the line who wore a giant floppy green hat and a domino mask.

“You there, floppy flop person, with the floppiness. You want to work at the Secret Lair?”

He scoffed and toyed with his nose with one hand, “Yeah man. That’s right. I’m totally a bad dude.”

I gave him a biiiiiig hug. “Me, too, man. Me too. I feel you, dude. Totally.” I even wrapped my legs around his hips and hugged him that way. He started to say something, but I didn’t want him to ruin the moment, so I headbutted him in the throat. He couldn’t really talk after that. He just kinda struggled to breathe and fell over while I hugged onto him.

The moment was ruined by the next person in line, a woman in a fuzzy purple and black pimp jacket and a football helmet. She wouldn’t stop screaming. I tried to shut her up nicely by putting my hand over her mouth, but she bit me. I wasn’t angry. I remember being very happy just to be around her. As she turned to run, I hugged onto her and tried to haul her back. I wanted to show her I wasn’t all that bad, but she was fighting me. So rolled backward, launching her into what you’d call a German suplex. There was a bit of a snap when her head and neck hit the ground, but I rolled with it until I was sitting down with her in my lap, snuggling her. She didn’t fight me then. She was my own snuggly person doll.

“I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world. Wrapped in plastic. It’s fantastic!” I was singing to myself.

Carl came running up and was all like “Hey, Boss, that was a bit much. Maybe you should go outside for awhile? Get out of here. Stop scaring off people, or even scare them back in. You can take, uh, your new friend there with you, if you want.”

I laughed and let him push me out the door. “You’re a great guy, Carl. Very dependable in the short time I’ve known you. You want to come party with me?”

“No sir, boss. Not at all.”

Then, out there on the street, I saw this sexy car. Whoever was driving had good taste, because that thing had some awesome curves. That’s what I assume I was thinking based on the fact that a stoplight camera shows me getting thrown off the roof car further away from the bar, and then security camera footage shows me attempting to fuck it in the grill. In my defense, though, I should note that it was a Cadillac and those are notably snobby cars who don’t like such public displays of affection.

As it burned rubber out of there, I walked after it, singing my heart out. “IIIIIIIIIIIII, will always looooooove, youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!” I can’t tell if I hit the right high note or if it was just the normal response to my singing that prompted the vomiting, but I did attempt to chase and hug the old guy who lost his lunch. He didn’t want the apology, no matter how many times I raised him on my shoulders and spun him around and around. I lowered him and grabbed onto his ankles like it was one of those disco things, but I lost my grasp on him and some of my balance. He went flying into a post box with a loud ding and an end to all his old, crotchety movements.

It was sad to see him go, I remember that much. At least he’s in a better place now. Hawaii, if I figured the postage right. “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor one or two, but definitely no more than four, dead bodies stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds. Don’t ask us about huge green things with teeth or cake.”

Before you go thinking I massacred a lot of people, you should know there was this cop who tried to stop me. I just massacred him. It’s ok. If cops weren’t put here for us to kill, why would their shields be comically undersized?

I let him get a cuff on me so I could slip the other on him and keep him close. It’s unclear if I was attempting to get frisky with said officer, mostly because that’s the level of skepticism I use to interpret the footage of me shoving my tongue in his ear, but things got a little more violent when I tore his belt off and started spanking him with it.

He managed to crawl back to the car with me doing this to him, at which point I sat in the driver’s seat, pushed my pants down, and wiggled my bare ass in the seat cushion. The officer didn’t survive when I decided to see how good it felt with the car going. That really was my reasoning, turns out, because you can clearly hear me on the tape going, “Oh yeah, my balls want to kiss your vibrations. Let’s crank this bitch up and get some speed on!”

The cop was still handcuffed to me, though, but he was outside the car when I took off in it and did my best to hit ninety miles an hour. Instead I hit a yogurt store and got busy with the yogurt machine. By the time Moai tracked me down and carried me back, I had declared myself the “Yo-player”.

I don’t know how Moai managed it, but somehow my minion got me with a nanite syringe and then sat on me while I rode out the rest of the fuzzy brainness. The next day, he even helped me around, like my own personal crutch. Except in the bathroom, of course, where my pee was apparently a translucent black color.

Not that that’s all that important. I’m sure you would all rather have heard about Panda-Man’s raid on the beer company’s amusement park.

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5 thoughts on “I Got Clubbed 2

  1. Pingback: I Got Clubbed 1 | World Domination in Retrospect

  2. sevenfoldrage

    like dicussing here
    period
    After all, pandas eat, shoots, and leaves.
    subject verb agreement problem.
    pandas don’t shoots and leaves.
    a panda eats shoots and leaves, but if you’re going for the pun it needs to be singular.

    Reply
  3. Pingback: I Got Clubbed 3 | World Domination in Retrospect

  4. Masterofbones

    “I didn’t fail, though, due to my inherent superior balance”

    Fall?

    Also, it seems that you cause LESS damage when raving drunk than when sober. Just another aspect unique to you I guess.

    Reply

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