Ragin’ Against Cajuns 4

So I got roped into doing a small task for a mage with a pair of balls. Crystal ones. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Max offered to split the list with me. Good guy. He was eager to fumigate some fairies. Or faeries. There has been a long tradition of nigh-incomprehensible classification, but fairies like sprites, brownies, and pixies were a bunch of tiny fellows. Brownies specifically were like hobs and hobgoblins, as noted in a police corruption case in 2007. Gobs and gobs of hobs and hobgoblins hobnobbing with bobbies and fobbing off the mob.

Enough about those slobs.

First thing’s first, I got to hang with a brownie. That’s where the list of that ballacious babe at AllWays directed me. It was at this decrepit looking house with vines all over the place. I’m pretty sure they were growing all into the soffit, fascia, and siding. It was an old house. Even the vines couldn’t keep it from looking like it was falling apart. I didn’t know what I was walking into. Google said anything related to the faeries usually involved some odd gifts, the ability to look like anything, politeness, and constant potential horrible danger.

Come to think of it, that described me pretty well too.

Seeing as I have so much in common with those kinds of things, I showed up to the old house in a way that would seem to be peaceful, except without my armor. I went bearing Bailey’s and cheese.

When the door opened, I found myself face to face with a lot of pink. Pink and lace. Figurines, too.

Yep. I had seen it before. I had it all figured. Obviously, somebody went crazy. He got delusional. Started thinking of himself as a supreme gentleman who was being neglected by women, who owed him their booty. He was nice to them, so logically he had a right to use their bodies. He hung out with the wrong sorts of people. The type that told him he was right and that bitches be crazy. That the world was fooled like in the matrix, and that they alone in this special community had taken the red pill.

There was only one way this could have gone. He needed to fight back. To fight back, he needed to destroy the trappings of femininity. He moved into a hideout and began retaking pink, the color that used to belong to little boys. It only seemed right given his understanding of interpersonal relationships. He also needed a kind of net that could be easily disguised. Hence the lace. Also, it made a bitchin’ coaster.

The figurines were there because he was getting a little nutty and possibly liked to stick his wiener in them. I might have done the same in his situation. You know, if I was so idiotic about sex that I had to either shoot a load or shoot someone.

I padded through the house as best as I could in my boots, staying low to avoid guns aimed at normal standing level. Then, in the living room, I found a horrible sight.

It was an old, hunched-over lady in her seventies or eighties, still in her nightgown. A very see-through nightgown. “Geez, lady, you know when balloons lose all their helium and go flat like that, you’re supposed to throw them away.”

She didn’t react. She just sat on her frumpy pink sofa and kept watching a snowy TV. I think it was supposed to be a game show, but it also seemed to be using an antenna. A wee little man sat in the loveseat near her, looking up at me. He was a fat little guy. Teardrop shaped, I thought, and the pointy hat didn’t help matters. Pale skin, no facial hair, curly brown hair peeking out from under his cap. Lots of curly hair around the city, I noticed. Might have been the humidity causing it.

Oddly, there were no entitled manchildren in sight.

“Hey there, I kinda got roped into meeting you for someone…want some liquor and cheese?”

The old lady still showed no signs of reacting to us. The brownie shrugged and nodded, so I sat down for us to have ourselves a chat over some Bailey’s and a wheel of cheese that I had painstakingly carved into a replica of my own helmet. Who wouldn’t want a cheese hunk shaped like my head?

“Why does it look like a smiley face that you’ve been biting on?”

“Because I have a problem when it comes to cutting the cheese,” I said with a solemn nod. Getting back to business, I then asked, “So, how do you know the lady with the shaved head and the big balls?”

“Belle?” he asked, perking up all of a sudden.

“Yeah, her. You been bothering her or anything?” I unscrewed the top of the Irish cream liquor and offered it to him.

He took the whole bottle and took a big sip for a little critter. Heck of a job, brownie. “Bothering her? Nooooooooooooooooo.”

Get this, she sent me, the Great and Devious Psycho Gecko, to beat up a brownie with a crush. Yeah, that little guy wasn’t a threat. He was a little overly clingy, from the sound of things.

“Cleaning up people’s houses is what I do, and it’s nice to get a little milk or cream as hospitality, but I never thought she would send someone after me because of a few notes and presents and stolen underwear. Scream at me and throw things, but never anything hostile.”

“Stolen underwear, you say?” I leaned forward, rubbing my chin. “Chances are this is why she doesn’t like you. Now, I’m not much of a relationship person, but I think this is where a little clear communication can help both parties reach an understanding of their expectations and limitations. You know, like maybe we can set a certain underwear quota per month. How many do you steal?”

“I’ve worked up to twelve pairs a month.”

“Wow. Stealing that much, you ought to have sold them and turned a profit.”

He tilted his head as he looked at me. “Sell stolen used underwear? Do you take me for some kind of gnome?”

This was a brownie with some nuts mixed in. “Let’s focus on Belle again. With any luck, this misunderstanding and period of hostility will be brief.”

“Thongs, actually.”

Readers, you would be proud of me. I talked him out of carving notes into the furniture. Instead, he agreed to use red paint and communicate her via the bathroom mirror. Yes, yes, I’m aware he was obsessed with her. Normally, that would leave me the lone sane man to pull his intestines out through his ears, but it’s important to remember that I had a really good reason not to like this woman. I never agreed to do these stupid errands for her either. I was losing time, too. Important time I could spend on killing people.

After that, I went back to the bar to meet up with Max. Have a pow wow. Compare notes. Watch a naked woman fellate a crucifix. Don’t get the wrong idea! It was very tasteful. According to her, it tasted heavenly.

It’s ok, Sam didn’t think it was too good either when she joined us. She looked different somehow.

“You do something with your hair?” I asked as she sat down.

“I’ve had some green in it for awhile now, but no.” She drank down some of the beer she brought with her.

“New outfit?”

“We’re all wearing new outfits after our clothes got shrunk.”

“Something’s not the same.”

“My ribbons are gone.”

“You wear ribbons?”

“You see me every day. How do you not know what I wear?”

“Because it’s your brain that matters to me.”

“That’s…almost kind of sweet of you.”

“Your juicy, delicious brain…I think I need some privacy in a toilet stall.”

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before you got creepy again.”

“Where were you at anyway?”

She set down her beer and pulled out a napkin with an address on it. It was one of them from my little list.

“Huh…” I looked over to Max. He shrugged.

“We thought we would all help you out.”

“What did you find?” I asked.

He turned and pulled back his hair so I could see the lipstick just under one of his ears. “Do you even know what nixies are, Gecko?”

“Didn’t bother looking them up. Why?”

“Water spirits. Female ones.”

“You charmer you.”

I turned back to Sam. “What about you?”


“Damn…I could have shoved a straw up their asses and made pixie sticks. Is that what you did?”

“They agreed to stop holding wrestling matches in this seer’s basement unless they can put up soundproofing.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…wrestling matches?”

“Yeah, they were running a federation out of there.”

“It’s called a promotion, not a federation. Please tell me you got me a t-shirt.”

Sam rolled her eyes and tossed me a shirt. It was pale blue. The design on the back was a pair of purple butterfly wings. On the front was a black domino mask over the chest, with the words “The Butterfly Meanie” underneath it. The shirt was the size of my hand.

“Hmm, now I know what I’m wearing next time I go arm wrestling. So where’s Holly? Did she do all this too?”

Sam and Max looked at each other, eyes going wide.

“Car. Now.” I said as I dived over the table. They followed me out and we rushed off to the last address.

Belle, that bitch, wanted three favors but gave four locations. One of the four was a Faustus place.

We didn’t see much when we pulled up to the place. A tombstone carver. That wasn’t an ominous sign at all. Then we heard the banshee scream.

Some big dog monster crashed through the front door and display window. Caucasian Shepherd big. Hell, that thing was almost as big as a liger, and those things are bred for their skills in magic. This bad boy was at least longer than a wookie. If I had to bet on who would take who in a fight, I doubted it would let the wookie win. It seemed to be furless, with glowing red eyes and a mouth that looked like the throat was on fire.

It was a fucking hellhound or something. It roared at us, blood dripping from gaping wounds all over it. Then it shook itself, trying to knock someone off its back. Holly. She jumped up and brought down some pointy headstone chisel on the back of its neck with both hands. It slumped to the ground and she rolled off, exhausted, chisel clattering on the walkway. We all got out, with Sam and Max rushing to Holly.

“Nothing there, guys,” she said, sounding exhausted. She didn’t look the best. I could see where skin was missing from her arm and muscle showed through. She looked partially scalped, and her leg had a makeshift splint on it. She looked like she’d just survived a slasher movie. Good thing for her, this was the movie where the psycho showing up at the end was there to help her.

I stood guard over the twisted underworld canine, but I had to say I was impressed by Holly’s guts. I was expecting to show up to find her either dead in a refrigerator somewhere, or taken hostage by the enemy. This was a good job. She must have had a lot of pent up rage for some reason.

I had no clue where that much repressed anger could have come from.

Next thing I know, Max is settling Holly’s arm around me. “You watch her. We’ll check it out.”

“This is my score, Max. If anything, you should stay outside and let me scout the spooky abandoned hellhound lair.”

“No,” he said, looking at Holly. “If something else comes after us, you will get her away safe.”

Then Mad and Sam ran into the place to check it out, he with his syringe gun and her with her spray gun.

“Alright, back to the car with you, survivor girl. Never knew you were a virgin.”

“Stop,” she groaned.

“This is no time to forget your sense of humor.”

“No, stop. Trophy.”

Took me a moment, then I got it. I knelt with her and helped her pick up the chisel, then I let her go to carving. She made me proud. “Wow, you’ve learned well.”

When Max and Sam got back and slid into the car where I sat with Holly, they reported to me that the place was empty. It was also much bigger on the inside than it looked, with at least four floors that were maze-like, but no apparent other entrance or exit other than the front one.

Now, they were concerned and I didn’t have either my armor or any heavy explosives on me, so we decided to call it a night, at least at the time. But as I sped away, Max speculating on what he could make to fix up Holly’s wounds, I figured it would be a good idea to pay another visit to that woman with the crystals. I smirked as I heard the soft, squishy thudding of the giant demon dog testicles that hung from the rear view mirror.

Yeah, one more visit to this Belle woman, and then we’ll see who has the bigger balls.





5 thoughts on “Ragin’ Against Cajuns 4

  1. Psycho Gecko Post author

    Sorry, folks. This one’s on Optimal Outer Control, though. Somehow or another, they waited until after a thunderstorm to mess his internet up, so he spent about four hours there unable to do a damn thing, let alone post this. OOC is very, very sorry and will endeavor to write a very stern letter to the company that screwed up, then crumple it up, throw it away, and take it like a bitch.

    Still, that was the holdup.

  2. Pingback: Ragin’ Against Cajuns 3 | World Domination in Retrospect

  3. Pingback: Ragin’ Against Cajuns 5 | World Domination in Retrospect

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