Dry Serial

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Roxanne vs. Bismarck

Roxanne Bond vs. Otto von Bismarck

“Do you haf anyzing to declaaare?” The customs agent glared at Roxanne as she calmly sat and waited. The man had an eyepatch over one eye and a bloodshot appearance in the other that currently glared back at her. It was a bit unsettling, and Terry would have deduced that the Germans did this on purpose to make foreigners feel unwelcome. But Roxanne kept her calm composure.

“Goodness, no, no…I’m just a pretty girl who has requested the pleasure of the great Kaiser’s company.”

“You haf?”

“I have.”

“Ah, you must be another vun of dose English whores he likes! Vun second, pleass.” The man retreated behind a curtain, and then returned with a different set of papers. “Okay, qvestion vun…are you a spy?”

“Good heavens no!”

“Ah, danke.” The man checked off a box on his sheet. “I apologize, madam, but this is for both your own security and that of our Great Leader Bismarck. You do understand, right?”

“Of course.”

“Now, qvestion two. Are you really not a spy?”

“No.”

“Number three. Are you not not a spy?”

Roxanne stumbled for a bit, then replied, “No.”

“Good, because a spy vould realize I vas trying to trick him and refuse to answer.” The man checked off a few more boxes on his sheet, “Und how long vill he be enjoying ze pleasure of your company?”

“Oh, I’d say till about tomorrow morning.”

“Danke, Madame Broxis. Ve shall escort you to ze grand palace.”

___________

“Muhuhuhuhahahaaaa…I am Otto von Bismarck!” The German Kaiser roared, “and you will all bow to me, or I will crush you under my heavy German boots!”

“I’ll never submit to you, Kaiser!” The English king angrily shouted in a low-pitched voice.

“Oh, is that so?” Bismarck smirked.

“Yeah, we English are stupid dumb poopyheads who don’t recognize when we’ve been beaten!”

“Then I shall finish you off! WAH!” The Kaiser smacked into the English king, sending his figure toppling off of the table while Bismarck mimicked a low “NOOOOOOOO!” from the corner of his mouth. “Now that I am ruler of all Europa, it is time for having the sex with my new English queen!”

“No, go away I hate you I hate you!” The queen murmured in a high-pitched voice.

“Ohoho, you say that now. But consider that English woman are attracted to money. And power. And I have both.”

“Oh, now I find you strangely attractive.”

“Here, I will kiss you and then we will have efficient German sexing.”

The two figures moved in, their painted faces rubbing against each other as their wooden, painted feet were lifted off the ground. “Ohhhh…” A high-pitched moan came from the queen’s side, “your helmet is sooooo biiig…”

“Mein Kaiser!”

Bismarck jumped and swept all of the dolls under his body as one of his subordinates entered the room. “Mein Gott, have you not heard of knocking?” Bismarck shouted at the guard.

“Sorry sir, but your English whore has arrived for your pleasure sir! I figured you would want to know about that, sir!”

“Did you see anything?”

“No sir! I did not see you playing with your dolls again, sir!”

“What was that?”

“Excuse me, I did not see you playing with your action figures, sir!”

“GOOD!” The Kaiser quickly swept up his dolls/action figures and shoved them into a chest. “Now send her in!”

Roxanne slowly walked in, making sure to appear as innocent and unthreatening as she possibly could. Considering her usual demeanor, this wasn’t much of a challenge. However, seeing the infamous Bismarck in full military dress and accompanied by a steampipe rendition of some Prussian military anthem did seem a bit unsettling. It seemed as if he was trying to cover up for some sort of inadequacy.

“Ah, you are the Madame Broxis? Velcome into my humble abode.” Bismarck gripped Roxanne’s hand tightly. Very tightly. Was this how German men normally greeted their women? It didn’t seem right at all. “You vant something to drink? Perhaps some tea?”

“Tea would be nice, Mr. Bismarck.”

“Oh please,” Bismarck blushed, “call me Otto.”

“Alright then, Otto. Would you mind if I have a seat? My feet are rather sore from traveling such a long distance to meet with a great man like yourself.”

“Of course. Come, I will show you my latest invention in furniture. I call it, the Otto-man!”

“Really?”

“Of course! I bet that hundreds of years from now, people will be resting their feet on this very thing. Oh, one second…” Bismarck walked over to the door and hissed at the nearest guard to find the errand boy and get him a cup of tea. Meanwhile, Roxanne was smiling inwardly. This assignment wouldn’t be too hard at all. All she had to do was string Bismarck along and pump up his ego long enough until he went to sleep. He wouldn’t even see the knife coming.

___________

Otto sat across the room, resting his feet on the Otto-man as he sipped a cup of tea. Roxanne folded her hands in her lap and simply watched. Occasionally, she mimed drinking the tea, but didn’t actually drink any of it in case the liquid contained drugs.

“So, mein lovely little whore–” Bismarck began.

“Courtesan.” Roxanne interrupted.

“Vhat?”

“Otto, I prefer to be referred to as a courtesan.”

“No, you are a whore!” Otto shouted, tumbling off the chair and the Otto-man before standing back up. The gold trim on his full Germanian battle dress still gleamed brightly from the gas lamps hanging around the room, “You are a dirty English whore who is only here for my pleasure and my amusement! You need to learn your place, woman!”

“Otto, you remember you have invited me here, correct?”

“Yeeeessss?”

“Well, you are not showing proper deference to your guest.”

Otto’s angry face suddenly twisted into an expression of puzzlement. “Proper deference?”

“Yes, this is not how you would talk to a normal lady, would you?”

“It isn’t?”

“Not quite, my good Commandant.”

Otto sniffed for a minute as Roxanne simply continued observing. Was he crying?

“You…you really think I’m not showing proper d-de-def…whatever that word was?”

“It’s alright,” Roxanne stood up.

“I’ve just never met anyvun who could make me cry like that…”

“There’s no shame in crying.”

“Of course there is!” Bismarck snapped, “To cry is to be veek! Und I am not veek!” He ripped the spike off the top of his special army helmet and held it out in Roxanne’s direction, “Do not insult me again, whore!”

“You are absolutely correct.” Roxanne walked slowly over to Bismarck, opening her arms to show she meant no harm. “You are a lovely man. You are smart, and attractive, and…”

Bismarck sniffed again, trying to hold back the mucus that was desperately trying to leave his nose.  “No, you’re just saying that. Everyone always says things like that to me but they don’t mean them.”

“Come now, you invented the Otto-man. Surely a man with your skills can go on to invent things that will rock the world over?”

Bismarck thought about that for a moment. “Well, there is one idea I had.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and then shook his head, “But you’d think it stupid.”

“Otto, I don’t think you’re stupid.” Whiny, insecure, and emotionally stunted? Sure. But not stupid.

“Well…I was thinking of commissioning a kind of road that would one day unite all of Europe. I am thinking of calling it…the Otto-Bahn!”

Sasha’s Missing Doll

“Hey, you, new boy!”

I pointed to myself, in a gesture to ask if the infamous Chef Gordon Ramsay was really referring to me.

“Yeah, you think I didn’t see you there? You think winning Season XXX: ‘Hot Steamy Action’ of Hell’s Kitchen entitles you to slack off? Guess what, the President wants the full fucking Gordon Ramsay experience!”

So why did that have to involve me?

“Well, it wouldn’t be the Ramsay experience you bloody Americans want if I didn’t have someone to yell at half the time, now would it?”

I shrugged my shoulders. You think a guy who was just invited to cook a meal for Barack Obama would be in higher spirits.

“Now get to work on breading that chicken breast! Don’t let me catch you slacking!”

I thought he could at least help with the pasta, but Chef Ramsay ducked out for a quick smoke. So there I was, cooking the chicken breasts by myself and waiting for the rest of the White House cooking staff, when who should I see walking through the kitchen but The Man Himself, President Barack H. Obama. Granted, he seemed to be bounding through the kitchen, as if he was afraid a protestor of some kind was going to leap from a nearby oven and strangle him until he signed a petition. It wasn’t the look of someone who owned the place. But anyways, I tried to strike up a conversation with him. I started out by simply saying, “Hi Mister President!” in as cheerful a voice I could manage.

“What?” Obama whipped his head around to face me, like an actor who had just forgotten his lines, then cleared his throat and took a brief second to recompose himself. “Oh, uh…sorry. I uh…didn’t see you there. Who are you again?”

“You don’t recognize me?” I said, “Winner of the XXX season of Hell’s Kitchen? Ring any bells?”

“Sorry, I don’t like to watch those kinds of shows in front of the children.”

“I don’t doubt you. Besides, I’m sure Michelle’s got all the action you’ll need.”

I’m pretty sure Barack blushed at that moment, but I don’t remember. I do know that he said, “Um yeah. She’s uh…she’s real hot. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got…uh, Presidential things to do.”

“Hey, Mr. Obama, do you think this chicken is fresh enough for your liking?” I handed the President one of the boneless breasts I planned on cooking. He fumbled it around in his hand for a few seconds before he tossed it back in the pan. He then left in a huff before I could offer him a chance to taste my cooking. Then again, I didn’t want Chef Ramsay to mysteriously appear behind my back and find something to yell at me again. Instead, I focused on pan-frying the breaded chicken.

A few minutes later, Chef Ramsay returned and chastized me for letting the pasta cook too long. I replied that it was perfectly on time and pointed him to an egg timer, and even stuck my hand in the pot of boiling water to offer him a sample. My male pride unfortunately overrided my common sense, and by the time the latter regained dominance in my brain, I screamed in pain. Great, first-degree burn and I hadn’t even finished making the main course dinner for Obama. Good thing he wasn’t able to see this.

“Oh, so now you’re going to run your hand under some cold water? You’re such a bloody queer!” Ramsay whined in his disappointed tone, which stung just as harshly as the boiling water did on my pain-wracked hands. “You think I let a little thing like scalding hot water stop me from serving food to the Prime Minister back home? Bah, you Americans think you deserve everything on a silver platter!”

I didn’t feel like arguing with him, and instead decided to finish making the large order of chicken parmesean while Chef Ramsay worked on the appetizer. Apparently, the normal White House cooking staff would be working on the rest of the meal, or maybe they already had. It would certainly explain why both myself and Chef Ramsay were the only two people in that very well-kept kitchen.

I don’t know how much time had passed, only that my left hand was burning like crazy. Unfortunately, I was more afraid of what Chef Ramsay would do if he saw me slacking on my special tomato-basil sauce than what would happen if I lost all the feeling in that hand. Eventually, the White House staff sent down a cart to help us carry all the food upstairs. Apparently, the appetizers and the wine were prepared in a seperate kitchen. Two kitchens for a family of four and hundreds of staff and Secret Service. Must be a nice place to live in.

I loaded the first round of food onto the plates as the servers prepared to take us to the dining room to witness how the President and his family liked our food, until a Secret Service agent came down with standard-issue suit and his standard-issue tie and his standard-issue earpiece and his standard-issue pistol hidden under his jacket. And he told both myself and Chef Ramsay to come with him.

“We have a situation,” The agent said in his standard-issue monotone with his expression hidden behind standard-issue sunglasses. “I’m going to have to ask you two to come with me.”

“We got ourselves a President and his family to feed!” Chef Ramsay yelled, “What’s the meaning of this, Mr…?”

“You can call me Agent Stan. And the President wants you to leave the food here for now. He will consider eating it after the situation has been resolved.”

“What’s the situation?” I asked.

Chef Ramsay sharply flicked my ear with his finger. As I winced more in pain than annoyance, he exorciated me in front of Agent Stan. “Quiet boy, the men are talking!” Turning to Agent Stan, he repeated the exact same question I asked a moment ago.

“Long story short, Sasha’s doll has gone missing, and he wants everyone who might be remotely connected to this disappearance = to be sent to the dining room for questioning.”

“But what about the food?” Chef Ramsay asked again.

“I told you, the President and his family will not eat it until we resolve this situation. If worse comes to worse, the food will be packed into doggie bags and then distributed to local homeless shelters.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” I cried out.

“I know how you feel,” Agent Stan said with as much standard-issue emotion as he could muster, which amounted to very little. “However, this doll was very important to Sasha. So if you two will please come with me…”

_______________

“Friends, enemies, and other assembled folks, we have a situation.” The President sighed as he stood behind the chair, and clenched the back of it very tightly in his hands. “My sweet daughter’s little dollie has gone missing. We’re not leaving this room until we figure out who took it.”

“So buy her a new one,” Congressman Contrarian shouted, “it only costs her a few hundred thousand dollars!”

You might be shocked to realize that in the year 2008, the value of that same doll was just about $10. No one knew exactly how the economy hit hyperinflation in such a short time, though some suspected the recently-passed Throw Money At The Problem Until It Goes Away Act might have had something to do with it.

“Maybe you did it, then!” Kenneth Kneejurk shouted back, “You were always opposing the President’s budget for the sake of your masters in Israel!”

“Calm down, people.” Barack Obama said in a stern tone, “My daughters don’t want to see us fighting in the dining room! Now, if this was the war room, we’d be singing a different tune.”

“Damn straight!” General Lee Threatening grunted as he chomped on an unlit cigar. No one ever saw the man without his uniform on or his cigar in his mouth.

“But for their sake, let’s all calm down and think this through.”

Suddenly, everyone in the room just stopped talking and decided to take a look at all points of view. The President had that mysterious power. Even the verbally-abusive Chef Ramsay seemed to be a teeny bit calm, but I didn’t want to ask him a question and break the moment, so I just waited for Obama to continue.

“Now, Dr. Snidely Evilton, where were you about one hour ago?”

“I will tell you nothing! Not even torture can break me!”

“Pleeeeease? For the sake of my children, and their children, and their children’s children?”

Dr. Evilton stared into Obama’s wide eyes for a second. “Gah! Enough! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” Evilton took a moment to take out his inhaler while Agent Smith whipped out his pistol, expecting that Evilton was pulling out a portable death ray like he did last time. Oh, that crazy Dr. Evilton, always being sent to jail and then mysteriously breaking out of that same jail within 24 hours.

“Okay, I was concocting an evil plot to blow up everyone at this table once the main course arrived. But then I saw the visage of a familiar figure, the face of one of the people in this room! Even with my asthma, he seemed emit the powerful stench of cooking oil mixed with uncooked chicken. My plot was foiled before I even had a chance to enact it! All because of that accursed President!”

Everyone in the room thought about that for a moment. Mostly about why the President kept letting this man into the White House despite his frequent attempts to kill him. But apparently no one could stop Dr. Snidely Evilton from getting wherever and whatever he wanted. He just never really had a endgame in mind once he put his plans into action.

“There’s only one place that raw chicken could have come from…the kitchen!” Obama pointed an accusatory finger at Chef Ramsay, “You! What were you doing one hour ago?”

“I was taking a smoke break, Mr. President. What the bloody hell did you expect me to do?”

“So you didn’t handle the chicken?”

“No, I left that task up to my…capable assistant here.” He sharply flicked my ear again, causing me to wince in annoyance. “Well boy, I didn’t know you had a thing for dolls.”

“I don’t!” I shouted, “Why would I want to steal your daughter’s doll, Mr. President?”

“Because you secretly have a doll fetish!” Congressman Contrarian shouted out of the blue. A long awkward pause followed before Contrarian continued, “Uh, just y’know, exploring the possibilities of his motives.”

“More like you’re projecting your own fetishes onto others,” Kneejerk muttered.

“You have no proof! Those negatives were burned three weeks ago outside my apartment!”

“I never said anything about proof, Mr. Contrarian.”

“Both of you, shut the hell up!” Chef Ramsay shouted so loud that even General Threatening started cowering behind his chair, careful as to not drop his cigar from his mouth. “I don’t know how you can accuse my student of wanting to steal Sasha’s doll! He may be a lot of things: A good-for-nothing slacker, an emotional trainwreck, a beaten-down pussy, a retard, a spoiled brat, a loser, a virgin and a person that not even the ugliest monkey at the zoo would want to date…but he does not steal people’s dolls!”

“Uh…thanks?” I mumbled, trying to fight back the urge to cry. I was grateful to Chef Ramsay for defending me, but simultaneously wondering if I could ever show my face in front of these people again after tonight.

“Okay, so if it wasn’t the two chefs, then who could it have been?”

Wait a minute, the only other person besides myself and Chef Ramsay was…”Barack Obama!” I pointed at him, “It was you who stole her doll!”

“What? Why would I steal my daughter’s own doll?”

“To teach her a lesson in personal responsibility, that’s why!”

“Well yes, I teach her that all the time, but I would never steal her doll.”

“But I saw you down there! I was talking to you about Michelle…”

“I never went to the kitchen, I was too busy trying to get General Lee Threatening to stop fondling his cigar for the sake of this dinner!”

“So wait, if that wasn’t you in the kitchen, then who was it?”

“I have the answer to that one.” Agent Smith appeared, dragging another Barack Obama by the collar before he threw him face-first onto the table.

“Barack Obama’s evil twin brother?” Kneejurk wondered aloud.

“No…just his body double B.B.”

“Alright, I confess! I did it!” B.B. shouted

“Why, B.B., why?”

“Why? Do you know what it’s like being the body-double of the most popular man on Earth? It’s real fucking exhausting, and I wanted you to be exhausted trying to find you daughter’s precious doll!”

“C’mon B.B., tell me the truth.”

“I can’t say it here…”

“I’ll give you a coooookiiieeee.”

“Alright alright! God I can’t withstand those eyes!” B.B. growled, “I just really, really like dolls! It’s in my pants!”

________________

And so the tale comes to a close. Sasha found her missing doll, Barack Obama saved the world from the misguided plans of Dr. Snidely Evilton, and Chef Ramsay was hailed for cooking the best damn chicken parmesean a President and his assorted family and friends had ever tasted. I would’ve taken the credit, but the Chef said I still had a lot to learn about cooking. And so I set out for greener pastures, cooking for the local homeless shelters until I could one day call myself a true chef.

The End.

Into the Heart of America

[Loosely based on true events.]

We sat around for awhile, pondering what would we have to eat for dinner tonight? We first eliminated some of the suspects from our list. I had sushi for lunch, so anything from the Far East was probably out. Mark was stuck in Florida, so Mexican and Cuban was a definite no-no. Issac could get us a sweet deal on burgers, but I already chowed down on McD’s not once, but twice yesterday. I did not wish to relive that experience again.

Suddenly, Mom talked about digging up some old stuff and said she found a $25 gift card to TGI Fridays that no one had used. We briefly discussed maybe trying that place out. After all, we had gotten a sneak preview with the many, many commercials for Ruby Tuesday’s and Applebee’s that had popped up during the basketball game on TV that had ended an hour ago. I remember falling asleep halfway through, an act that would shame anyone with alliegance to either Maryland or Duke University. When I woke up, the postgame took on a solemn tone, with the local news anchor forced to confront the fact that his hometown team was probably not going to be making it to the big dance this month.

Anyways, we all decided to do something incredibly daring: rather than feasting on fancy Italian or dining at the cheap-yet-cozy Chinese resturaunt, we decided to brave the Pike and hit TGI Fridays, giftcard in hand that Mom had so graciously uncovered and lent to us. We were going to venture into the dark heart of American cuisine. No telling what we’d find there.

Perhaps I should rephrase that: we had a pretty good idea of what we’d find. We expected to find steak, mashed potatoes, and a bunch of boiled green beans off to the side that they would call “veggies.” Even with this in mind, we hopped in the car and sped off to Fridays. Upon arriving, there were several people sitting off to the side. Julie was afraid we wouldn’t be able to get a seat, and her will was beginning to waver. Nonetheless, I went up to the nearest waiter and asked how long it would take for them to clear a table for three people. They gave me an estimate of 10 minutes.

I was willing to wait that long, but then out of the shadows a server struck, perhaps eyeing a possible tip or another sucker to get hooked on the stuff they were selling. “We could send them to table eight,” she said, “They just finished cleaning that table.” And so Julie’s intuition was thwarted by the server who had sprung the trap, leading us to our table and slapping down a few menus before we could turn back. We asked for some water and then glanced through the multi-colored menus laid before us.

The Fridays was indeed a celebration of the dark heart of American cuisine, and I hadn’t even ordered yet. The ceiling with the barberpole-striped red and white color scheme, curving down a nearby black column that provided a solid middleman as it lanced in between panes of opaque, star-studded glass. It looked like the rejected color scheme of a Washington Wizards uniform. My feelings sunk even further when we saw what was actually on the menu itself. The vast majority of items on the menu fell into one of two categories, as Julie later pointed out.

1) Fried and/or covered in cheese

2) Came with meat (even the meat).

Continuing down the dark path, the caffiene from my recently-ordered Coke fueling my desire to keep on pushing further and further. It was too late to back out now. So I went for one of the “Custom Combos by Jack,” involving a hearty glaze of Jack Daniels-flavored BBQ sauce pasted over a 6oz. piece of sirloin and a skewer of “bacon-wrapped shrimp.” Julie went for a similarly-sized piece of steak and asked for broccoli on the side. Tom was feeling a little more daring, and went with the fried shrimp with fries, but also threw in an appetizer of fried green beans with a “cucumber-wasabi” dip.

As we waited for the food, we could hear the screaming, the pandemonium and chaos that ruled in the Fridays and over America. Babies were screaming for their mommies to make their troubles all better. Fat women were chattering over the last episode of Gray’s Anatomy as they scarfed down their desert of crumbled brownie pieces with ice cream on top. One Latino gentlemen sat across from a woman and was paying with a gift card as well. Maybe they were close enough that such an action was no longer considered to be in poor taste.

Across the resturaunt, someone was cheering as the wait stuff sang the Happy Birthday song. At the bar, someone was cheering when the Washington Capitals scored another goal against the hockey team from the ice-less Carolina. The people sitting at the table adjacent from us looked like the cross-breed of giant lizard men and inbred women who got drunk on moonshine and collapsed in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart. I was already freaking out, and hoped that they would speed up with cooking our food so we could eat and leave.

Eventually, our orders came. The fried green beans had a taste familiar to fried zuchinni sticks, and gave the impression that they were healthier than simply scarfing down the fries that would come with Tom’s main dish. Julie recieved her plate, and not only did they undercook it but they had given her vegetables to me while they gave her a small dish of cheddar-covered…something. I valiantly plunged my fork into the concoction after recieving her permission to do so, and took a bite. It was mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes under a layer of cheddar cheese.

Finally, they set down my plate. The steak was unevenly cooked, but otherwise not bad. The “bacon-wrapped shrimp” meant that they literally wrapped one thin strip of bacon around the entire skewer of shrimp before they tossed the whole thing on the grill. The mashed potatoes were pretty good, aside from the fact that some bits of cheddar had gotten into the mixture. And the veggies were small, pathetic attemps to balance out this artery-clogging dish that sat before me.

We ended up eating most of it, thought Julie tried to get her steak cooked a little bit more as she found that she couldn’t eat it. That feeling only got worse later when the waitress returned with her steak. In a rare display of chutzpah, the cook had simply burned the already-burnt outsides while leaving the middle mostly untouched.

Finally, we declined to purchase dessert as we packed up and left, leaving only the gift card and a small tip in our wake. We didn’t want to be in that madhouse any longer. The cuisine was definitely from the dark heart of America, where everything was fried or had cheese on it. Maybe the French had the right idea when they opposed us during the Iraq War. We totally deserved to be nuked by Saddam, if this food and the people who normally ate this food were any indication.

God Bless America.

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. VI

Several hours later (including the abrupt change in time zones), somewhere aboard the Xcalibur…

“Joe…”

*ahem*

“Fine. Awesomer X?”

“Oh, A.L.E.X., my trusty robot sidekick! Have you picked up the signals of our comrades in Japan?”

“I’m a holographic avatar representing the ship’s computer, not a robot sidekick.”

“A.L.E.X., I asked for those signals, not your opinion!”

“Yes, fine. I’ve located the three mobile suits, but there’s something else that’s strange about this location.”

“What’s the problem? Are they being held deep underground inside some dark enemy base? Is the villain hot?”

“Well, not exactly. But there appear to be several wind turbines off the coast of Japan that are somehow catching fire, similar to a recent case in America that no one paid attention to outside of a few news articles…”

“A.L.E.X., we can argue about wind turbines later. Now tell me where our friends are!”

“To answer your previous questions…the transponder beacons are resonating from within a high-class sushi resturaunt in Tokyo. I’m getting Newman, his roommate, and Chase. They seem to be in relatively okay health, according to the health monitors in–”

“So they’re being held hostage in a restaurant, probably owned by some evil Japanese gang, right? I bet they wanted to get a ransom out of us!”

“Well, it is a private party, but it’s not–”

“See you later, A.L.E.X., I’m going to rescue them! Weeeee!” Joe hit the rocket boots and sped off through the ship. A few seconds later, he crashed into a wall. Joe hit the intercom in his suit, “Uhhh, A.L.E.X., can you remind me which way is the hangar deck again?”

________________

Meanwhile, somewhere in Tokyo…

Chase wasn’t sure what he was doing here. He vaguely remembered something about a mission, something involving a guy he hated wearing armor like his, but fully helmeted. One moment, he fell out of the sky and landed on a bunch of nerds. The next thing, some well-rounded Japanese chick was taking him out to dinner…which was totally cool with him, though he wasn’t sure why she invited these old Japanese guys to watch her eat.

A waiter guy set down a tray full of strange, small, food-things. Actually, the tray looked more like a canoe for a family of small mice, and this chick called the food-things “sushi.” It kinda looked like raw fish, so he summoned a waiter over to his table and handed him the canoe full of sushi. Whispering in his ear, he said, “Hey, uh look, I’m not knocking your cooking or anything, but there’s a bunch of raw fish in that stuff. Do you think you can throw it in the microwave or something?” The waiter did not understand him at all, so Chase raised his voice, “Mi-cro-wave, for uncooked fish-like thing!”

“Dude, it’s sushi. You’re supposed to eat it like that.” Chase turned around to see a pair of helmeted Xtacles behind him. One of them took the mini-canoe from the waiter and started picking random pieces of sushi.

“Hey, what the hell are you two doing here?” Chase hissed at the Xtacles, “I’m trying to make the move on this girl, and you’re totally messing up my vibe right now!”

“You’re going to a sushi party with Keiko Tsundere, and you didn’t invite us?” Newman whined as he took some sushi and opened up his helmet just a crack to eat the sushi. “C’mon, man! I thought we were buddies!”

“I’m not your buddy, I’m your teammate. There’s a difference.”

“Chase, do you remember why we came here?” The other helmeted Xtacle asked as he also opened up his helmet just a crack to eat some sushi.

“Uh, does it matter?”

“Do you even remember my name?”

Chase thought for a minute, and then said, “Not really, no.”

“My name is–”

“Y’know what? I don’t care. Now shut up and take off those helmets. You’re never gonna get any chicks if you keep hiding in your battle armor like that!”

The two Xtacles took off their helmets as Chase, Keiko, and the surrounding businessmen gasped out loud.

Suddenly, Chase struggled to catch his breath as he tried to ignore them and talk to Keiko again. He was getting that strange feeling again. His eyes wandered back to his teammates, except their faces were  no longer those of humans, but strange lizards with bumpy skin and sharp teeth.

“Chase?” One of them sounded a lot like Newman. “Chase, are you okay?”

Chase stumbled around, and found a nearby ninja holding a small wakizashi. <You there,> Chase said in his best Japanese voice, <Give to me your sword.>

The ninja did not give him the sword, so Chase took it from him.

“Holy shit,” the unnamed Xtacle asked, “Why is he stumbling around like that?”

“I think that large piece of glass stuck in his head is giving him hallucinations. Maybe we should take him to a hospital.”

“Yeah, but Keiko Tsundere’s right there! How often are we going to get the chance to bask in her loveliness?”

Chase took the wakizashi and launched an attack on the unnamed Xtacle, trying to stab him in the chest, except the armor was too strong for that sushi knife Chase was really wielding.

“Holy shit!” The Xtacle shouted, “He just tried to stab me!” Chase dropped the sword and punched him in the face, and then pulled out the man’s pistol and aimed it at Newman.

“Chase! It’s me, Newman!”

<You are not Newman!> Chase shouted in Japanese, <You are a lizardman with Newman’s voice and his sacred armor! Your trick will not work on me!>

At that moment, A figure broke through the surprisingly weak glass window of the fancy sushi restaurant and tackled Newman, sending him into the opposite wall with his rocket boots.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” The figure shouted in a voice that sounded like it had just passed puberty, “I am Awesomer X, and I’m here to free my trapped comrades!”

Chase stared at the vision of manliness before him. It looked just like his hero Awesome X, but somehow Awesomer.

“C’mon Chase! You’re wanted back in America!”

“No! You cannot leave yet!” Chase looked behind him as the large breasted Japanese woman from his dream appeared to be floating in mid-air, “Our land still requires your services!”

“Look, you’re real hot, but I just beat the lizardmen!”

“Oh Chase, I am truly grateful, but there is another task you must face.”

“What task is that?”

The entire city of Tokyo began to shake.

“Aw, c’mon!”

blah blah blah, blah blah? Next time!

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. V

“Alright, men.” Commander Jack Taggart spoke sternly over his suit’s comlink, “You all know what our mission is, and now it’s time we carried it out.”

“Are you sure about this, Commander?” One of the men spoke, “I mean, perhaps there are other ways of…”

“The other ways have failed, Private!” Taggart snapped before the man could finish his sentence, “There’s only one way to move the President’s cold, icy heart on this one. Follow me, boys!”

Taggart led his squad quickly towards the front lawn of the White House, where President Stan and the General were surveying the non-violent protest from inside the Oval Office

“Wait, are those the Xtacles?” President Stan wondered, “I don’t know why they felt like painting their suits green, but it’s about time they…wait, what are they doing?”

“Well sir,” The General looked at the same monitor Stan was watching, “they appear to be planting new trees on the White House lawn.”

“I can see that! Why aren’t they dispersing the crowd with disproportionate violence already?”

“Well sir, as you requested, the Xtacles went on a mission to attack the headquarters of the Earth First interest group in DC, but I’m not sure what happened after that. Maybe they didn’t feel like shooting unarmed civilians.”

“Are you kidding me, General? These are the Xtacles we’re talking about!”

“Maybe someone at the headquarters persuaded the Xtacles’ commander to join their side?”

“My God, if those evil hippies have that kind of power, we’re doomed!”

“Sir, it’s really just a bill that would promote the use of alternative energy sources in the country. In fact, it might–”

“Dammit, General! Get a hold of yourself!” President Stan grabbed his advisor by the collar, “We haven’t lost yet! If we stick together, we can get through this mess! Computer, get me a line to the Xcalibur!”

“Uh, sir?” The General tapped Stan on the shoulder, “We don’t have a voice-activated computer installed in this office yet.”

“Fine!” Stan pushed a button on his desk, “You, at the other end! Whatever your name is, get me a line to the Xcalibur! I need to find out what happened!”

_________________

A short moment later, aboard the Xcalibur

“Hello, can I help you?” A.L.E.X. asked the onscreen image of President Stan

“Quickly, holographic woman,” Stan gasped, “are there any Xtacles still alive?”

“Well, we don’t have any confirmed dead, at least not since a few days ago during Operation: Clam Bake.”

“Who’s running the ship?”

“I am.”

“You? A hologram? Where are the humans?”

“The only human currently on active duty is absorbed in his fantasy world for the time being and possibly has delusions of power. So tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh, fine. It’s not like I’m being surrounded by enemies and all the heroes willing to help us out are dead or missing in action. Take a look at this footage.” The face of President Stan switched to a view of the White House lawn, where Commander Taggart appeared to be furiously digging up the soil and planting trees with several other members of the active-duty Xtacles. “Do you see the problem here?”

“Well, I will admit it’s uncharacteristic of them to care about the environment that much, if that’s what you mean.” A.L.E.X. was briefly relieved at confirming that the Xtacles weren’t somehow dead, but the green-painted suits puzzled her.

“Those hippies did something to the Xtacles, and if you don’t figure it out soon, they might shame me into signing an environmentally-friendly bill that’s already passing through Congress as we speak!”

“Mr. President, how is that a problem?”

“Oh sure, it’ll start out with a small thing like encouraging people to build electricity-generating windmills. But the next time, those hippies will demand I sign off on things like improving national health care, or not bombing a small country because their leader owes me $20 from an online poker game!”

“What?”

“Um…I meant to say their leader harbored terrorists who were planning to destroy America!” After an awkward pause, President Stan continued, “And besides, if those Xtacles are using their high-tech armor suits to plant trees, how long do you think it will be before the hippies try to use those for their own malicious purposes?”

“Well, I suppose you have a point.”

“Of course I do. I’m the President of America! Get those damn Xtacles, and those kids, off my lawn! I can stall them for 24 hours, but if you can’t think of a solution before then, I will be forced to take extreme measures!” Stan appeared to be taking a swig of alcohol from a metallic flask, and then he said, “Good luck,” before signing off.

A.L.E.X. downloaded an emotional AI update from the internet, and then visibly sighed before trying to get Bigsby on the ship’s intercom. “Joseph? We have a mission!”

“Who is this…Joseph you speak of? I…am…AWESOMER X!” Joesph jumped through the open doorway into the bridge area, wearing a papercraft Awesome X mask. “Sorry, I couldn’t find any colored pencils for the mask, but you get the idea.”

“Joe…”

Bigsby cleared his throat. “It’s ‘Awesomer X’ now. Like Awesome X, but twice as strong and ten times more popular with the ladies!”

A.L.E.X. scoffed, “Fine. Awesomer X?”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to have to find Chase and the other Xtacles who went to Japan. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Something’s happened to the rest of the team, and we’re going to have to rescue them.”

“Woohoo! Finally, a chance to be a hero! Full speed ahead, A.L.E.X.! We’ve got to save our colleagues being held by the Japanese menace!”

“Yes, sir.” A.L.E.X. set the autopilot of the Xcalibur to go full speed towards Japan.

_____________

Meanwhile, somewhere in Japan…

The three ponytailed businessmen quietly opened the door of the darkened warehouse.

“Bill, are you sure you had to be so harsh to that guard?”

“Phil, all I did was give him literature about our group?”

“But he can’t even understand English!”

“So, I’ll fire up Google’s Translator later! The important thing is, we’re here to locate that special briefcase to convince President Stan of the righteousness of our cause. Will, are you sure this is the right place?”

“Hey,” Will replied, looking at his PDA, “the guy said he’d meet us here.”

“What was his name?”

The three ponytailed businessmen squinted as several lights in the warehouse were suddenly turned on. They found themselves standing in the middle of a modestly-sized underground fighting ring, with spectators of all kinds surrounding them. A voice from above the ring cut through the ambient noise and laughed at them. “Welcome, to the newest chapter of less-than-legal fighting rings owned by myself, Torpedo Vegas!” A heavy-set, babyfaced man, flanked by a pair of beautiful women, slowly descended on a platform, “You see, all three of you apparently wanted the magic briefcase, so I decided that hey, if life handed me lemon seeds, why not plant a lemon bush in the ground and sell lemonade at high prices?”

The ponytailed businessmen stared blankly at Torpedo Vegas.

“Alright, it lost something in Japanese. Anyways, I have decided to let you have the briefcase, on the one condition that you fight each other to the death for it!” Torpedo pointed to the briefcase that appeared to magically descend on its own. “Here is the briefcase, which has been held up with an invisible nylon thread. In this ring, I will drop a ladder and a knife. The first one of you to assemble the ladder to reach the briefcase and use the knife to free it can keep it for yourself!”

Somewhere in the crowd, Mr. Ford held up some betting slips, “Hey, y’all! I say that whiny guy in the back’s gonna win this one! Any takers? $10 says he wins! $10!” He started collecting bets from the spectators who understood English.

“Now, let the fight begin!” Torpedo rang out a gong, signalling a couple workers to drop the ladder and the knife from the rafters into the ring. Phil, Bill, and Will all tried to figure out how to escape their situation, and wondering if they could really bring themselves to kill their friends.

A few seconds later, the decision was made for them, as the falling ladder smashed Bill’s head to the ground, and the falling knife landed blade-side down into the back of Will’s neck. The spectators gasped in shock, then booed at the abrupt end of the fight.

“Hey folks,” Mr. Ford spoke sternly, “Ain’t my fault those two didn’t wanna fight. You lost a bet, now accept it like a man.” The crowd continued to boo as Mr. Ford slipped out.

Meanwhile, Phil took the ladder and the knife from the corpses of his now-dead friends. “Sleep well, sweet princes.” He cried out, “For with this briefcase, I shall avenge your deaths! I will make our dream come true!”

What is Phil’s dream? And will it come true? Find out…soon, I guess.

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. IV

The young man called Chase slowly woke up expecting to see little more than the familiar surroundings of his bed on the Xcalibur, but instead found himself lying on a beach. He slowly picked himself up, and tried to shake some of the sand out of his suit, but found it difficult, so he simply pushed the release valve on his chestplate and watched as the two halves of his Xtacle torso fell on either side of him. He thought he heard the voice of a man muttering some curse at him, then something about getting a drink, but he could not  see. At least now he could get the sand out of his body.

“Chase-sannnnn…” A soft, womanly voice called out to him, “Chase-sannnnnn…“

Chase looked around, but could not see who the voice belonged to.

“Are you the legendary warrior, sent forth from far off lands to destroy the evil giants?”

Chase still couldn’t find the source of the voice, but just replied to the wind, “Ummmm, yeah? I guess I am?”

“That is wonderful news, Chase-san!” A beautiful, petite Japanese woman appeared behind him, clad in a loose red dress. “I knew that you would be the chosen one! It is said that the hero would carry a clear horn and a brave heart into battle with him!”

“Clear horn? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You will find out in due time, Chase-san! Now go, the trial of the wind awaits you!”

“Okay, but first…do you think you can do a little favor for me?”

_____________

“Chase? Are you okay? Chase?” The helmeted Xtacle was about to try performing CPR when Chase unceremoniously grabbed the Xtacle and started making out with the helmet, only to realize a few seconds later that it wasn’t the face of the beautiful Japanese woman from before.

“UGH! What the hell, man?”

“Thank God you’re alive. I thought that flaming windmill almost got you!”

“Hey, I don’t interrupt your wet dreams with real, life-threatening situations, do I?”

“Chase?”

Chase pointed an accusatory finger at the helmeted Xtacle and said, “You are like my least favorite Xtacle! Just go and find your damn roommate, I’m going back to the Xcalibur myself.”

“Chase?”

“Stop talking to me, dammit!”

The helmeted Xtacle was about to warn him about his lack of fuel when Chase fired up his rocket boots. Instead, he just dismissively threw up his hands and walked in the opposite direction. After a few more minutes, Chase suddenly felt the rocket boots start to taper down.

“Huh, maybe I should’ve asked him where we are.” Chase thought out loud before the rocket boosters shut off from lack of fuel.

Meanwhile, inside a Tokyo office building…

<Folks, we have a problem.> One man spoke in Japanese, <those damn gaijin managed to figure out a way to travel to Japan for relatively low money. Now they are at our doorstep.>

<Oh no! How could this fate have befallen us?> A second Japanese man asked, <All we wanted to do was give the American audiences what they wanted! Is it our fault that their networks were afraid of publishing our glorious material?>

<I think I understand the problem here.> A Japanese woman spoke up.

<Quiet, Keiko Tsundere! You’re a woman! How could your tiny brain possibly understand the intricacies of the Japanese cartoon industry?>

<For your information, I’m the head of your character design department!>

<Get out Tsundere, there are men conducting Serious Business in this room.>

Keiko stomped over to the desk and smashed her fist down hard upon its surface, <Do you think I enjoyed drawing all those…those hentai pictures of Nookie-chan? There’s a reason that your shows are being pirated in the United States instead of bought: because no so-called otaku gaijin would be caught dead with our product on the street!>

<Well then, Tsundere, what do you suggest?>

<We need something that the American youth will eat up and spend money on. Something with bulky men with big guns and swords in  robot suits! They love those!>

<Are you crazy? Such a design would never work!>

Keiko sighed, <Well, at the very least it would serve to get rid of those gaijin protesting outside our building.>

<But how can we get someone in a bulky robot suit out there to drive these gaijin away in such a short time?>

Just as Keiko Tsundere was about to answer, Chase suddenly appeared in the window, quickly falling down to the street in his Xtacle armor sans helmet. Finally, he crashed down to the street, his fall broken by the bodies of several protestors clustered outside the office building.

<I think I have our answer,> Keiko said as she smiled evilly.

At first, the protestors were horrified by the sudden appearance of the strange armored man with what appeared to be a piece of glass stuck in the top of his head, but then they slowly inched closer and started trying to ask questions. However, Chase had slipped back off to dreamland.

_____________

“Chase-san! I thought I had lost you!”

Chase’s spirits perked up. The hot Japanese girl had returned!

“Now Chase-san, you must undergo the first step of your training!” The woman began to step on his bare back, expertly massaging it with her own bare feet. “Do you think yourself ready to undertake the task set before you?”

“Hey babe, if it means spending some more time with you, I’d jump naked through a ring of fire while strapped to a Filipino midget.”

“I am so glad to hear that, Chase-san!”

“Hey, why do you keep saying Chase-san? You know my name’s Chase, right?”

“I know, it’s just…I find you so damn irresistable.”

“Hey, I didn’t say to stop.”

“My apologies, but it appears that your time may come sooner than you think. You are a hero trapped between two worlds, yet while you are a hero within one, you will be thrust into another. I am sure you will do fine.”

Chase felt the woman squat on his back, and then suddenly leap up into the air. Chase turned around and found himself facing another hot Japanese woman, except she was totally ignoring his hotness and was speaking to…

Chase blinked his eyes. He was in a city, and the woman was speaking in broken English to a bunch of nerds. Chase looked down at himself to find that he was actually still in his Xtacles-issue battle armor, sans helmet. The woman wasn’t exactly as hot as the other one he had been having dreams about, but she still had nice tits in his opinion, and his opinion was the only one that mattered.

_______________

At the outside of the ring of protestors, two helmeted Xtacles watched as Keiko Tsundere, the head character designer of Nage Hentai Nookie-chan, was holding up Chase Fontaine as the hero of some brand new series. The various nerds who hadn’t been crushed underneath Chase’s armor applauded the announcement.

“What?” The helmeted Xtacle called Newman shouted, “I’ve been a fan of Tsundere’s work since before I joined the Xtacles! How come he gets all the fame? He doesn’t know the first thing about anime!”

“Newman, let’s just go home.” The other helmeted Xtacle said, “The Commander’s going to chew out all our asses if you stay here longer.”

“But we don’t have any spare fuel for our rocket boots!” Newman protested, “How are we going to get home?”

“Well, maybe Mr. Ford knows some…hey, where is Mr. Ford anyways?”

Where is Mr. Ford? And what does this have to do with the rest of the story? Find out…next time!

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. III

Aboard the Xcalibur:

A.L.E.X., the avatar representing the Xcalibur’s state-of-the-art computer, had just recieved an emergency call from President Stan’s office. She immediately informed Commander Taggart that President Stan was contacting the ship. Taggart asked A.L.E.X.

“Unfortunately, you Xtacles are the only heroes available right now, and I–I mean, we need them more than ever.”

“Just tell us what evil needs to be destroyed, Mr. President. We’ll crush them no matter what the cost.”

President Stan perked up, and A.L.E.X. could swear that he was smiling through the videofeed, “That’s just the kind of bloodthirsty attitude I need! Get as many of your men as you can, I have an important mission for you.” Stan pushed a button somewhere on the communications console in his office, and the video feed switched to a scene of environmental protestors and hippies chanting slogans and holding up signs just outside the fence around the White House.

“My…God…” Taggart said, “Those lunatics are going to overthrow the President in a bloody coup if we don’t save him!”

“Uh, Jack?” A.L.E.X. protested, “Those aren’t terrorists, those are just a group of young eco-conscious 20-somethings with too much time on their hands.”

“Look at those signs, A.L.E.X. A lot of them say ‘Earth First,’ obviously the name of a new terrorist group if I ever saw one…which I have!”

“Jack, Earth First is the name of an environmental lobbying group. They have an office in Washington, and they don’t do much more than call up Congressmen to beg for support for environmental legislation.”

“So, a bunch of rebellious terrorists are threatening Congress, and using the cover of an environmental group to overthrow the President in a bloody coup? Clever, but not clever enough for us!” Turning back to the image of the President, Taggart assured him, “Don’t worry, Mr. President. We’re going to save you from these terrorists!”

“Godspeed, Xtacles!” President Stan signed off.

“A.L.E.X., upload the coordinates of their headquarters to my helmet visor.” Taggart snapped his Xtacle command helmet into place, “I’m going to assemble the men. If we cut off the head of the snake, the rest of the body should be good eating.”

“Jack,” A.L.E.X. protested, “first of all, you’re mixing your metaphors. And second, you’re making a big mistake! Don’t you see the President is just using you?”

“A.L.E.X., less talking, more uploading!”

A.L.E.X. couldn’t sigh, so she let her avatar do the sighing for her before she obeyed the Commander and uploaded the coordinates of the Earth First environmental group’s main office in Washington, DC.

Taggart tapped into the ship’s PA system. “All Xtacles! Report to the flight deck, except for Bigsby! He’s staying behind to watch the ship while we’re gone.”

“Aw,” Joseph Bigsby swung around in his swively pilot’s seat and turned to face Taggart, “Jack, why do I have to stick around?”

“Because someone’s gotta keep us informed of the situation on the ground.” Taggart paused. “From the air.” Taggart paused again. “In case something bad happens.” Taggart paused a third time. “Oh c’mon, Bigsby! Don’t give me that look!”

“But sir!”

“If ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ were candy and nuts, I’d have a delicious bowl of trail mix. But they aren’t, and I don’t, so that’s why I’m even more pissed off at you now for saying that.”

“But…”

“Just keep your eye on the damn ship while we’re gone!” With those words, Taggart activated his rocket boots and prepared to head out with the other active-duty Xtacles.

When Bigsby was confident that Taggart left the ship, he asked the female avatar of A.L.E.X., “Why does the Commander have to pick on me like that? He keeps treating me like I’m just a little boy!”

“Well,” A.L.E.X. responded, “He does that to all the rookies. I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“A.L.E.X., put the ship on autopilot, I’m going to go through a training protocol.”

“Training protocol?” the avatar cocked an eyebrow, “The holodeck room is still under–”

As she spoke, Bigsby started pointing his guns at random places at the ship, then made fake laser sounds with his mouth.

“Oh, why do I even bother?” A.L.E.X. wondered to itself, before diverting most of its power to making sure the Xtacles and the Xcalibur stayed alive.

Somewhere in Washington, DC…

“Alright boys,” Taggart shouted over the noise of the wind rushing past his suit, “I’m only going to say this once, so listen good: Terrorists are trying to overthrow the President, and A.L.E.X. found out that they even threatened various members of Congress with very angry E-Mails!” The Xtacles all gasped audibly over the comlink, “Now we’re seeing their plan put into action. There’s too many of them to take out by ourselves, so we’re hitting the ringleaders in this office building. We go in, take ‘em out, and then the President’s Secret Service will handle the rest! Am I clear?”

The Xtacles all gave their affirmation.

“Good. We’re approaching the building now. Make sure to hit ‘em hard!”

In the offices of “Earth First!” Group

“Okay kids,” the lady said, “We’re so glad you could make it today to our sing-along session. What do we want to do?”

“Save the Earth!” The children shouted in unison, or at least the ones who c0uld talk. The ones who hadn’t yet learned how to speak said something more like, “ge geh gaaaa!”

“Alright kids, while all the grownups are out there fighting for a better environment, we can have fun in here, can’t we?”

“Yeaaaa!” the kids shouted, except for the youngest ones who just squealed happily.

The older woman took out a guitar and started strumming, “Now kids, don’t be afraid to sing along with me!” After a minute of strumming, she began singing, “For everything, turn, turn, turn…there is a season, turn, turn, turn…and a time, for every purpose, under heaven…”

She was so lost in her song that she didn’t notice the Xtacles smashing up the office outside, finding it mostly empty except for some computer equipment that had the audacity to be in the sights of their laser pistols. However, two of the Xtacles entered the room with guns drawn, where the woman was still singing and playing her guitar.

A short while later, aboard the Xcalibur…

“Joe!” A.L.E.X. tried to get Bigsby’s attention by using his first name, but to little avail, “Joe, there’s a problem!”

“Shhh, not now!” Bigsby hissed, still stuck in his fantasy world, “I’m trying to save the captured princess from the evil Space Dragon of Disnar-4! Pewpewpew!” He continued with his game.

“Joe, the Xtacles aren’t responding! I can’t get anyone on the comlink! Jack and his whole team have just stopped reporting in, and Chase’s team disappeared from the grid!”

“Wow, are you saying…”

“Yes Joe,” A.L.E.X. suddenly turned solemn, “it seems we’re the only ones left.”

“What?” Bigsby stopped his play-acting for a moment, “You mean I’m the only Xtacle left alive?”

“Hey,”  A.L.E.X. protested, “Let’s not jump to any conclusions…”

“Woohoo! I’m the only Xtacle left alive! In your face, Commander Jackass Taggbutt! Now who’s the superhero?”

“Joe, we can’t confirm if he’s dead or simply…”

“See you later, A.L.E.X., I’m going to go take a dump on his bed!” Bigsby ran off the bridge to do exactly that, while A.L.E.X. tried to piece together what happened. Chase’s suit linkup reported something about a flaming windmill before simply vanishing, but it seemed as if the attack team in DC had voluntarily switched off their comlinks. But why?

Why would the Xtacles switch off their comlinks? And what happened to Chase and his friends? Coming soon!

Operation: Flaming Fanblade Pt. II

Aboard the Xcalibur…

The Xtacles’ Commander, Jack Taggart, paced around the room in his high-tech armor suit, pausing every few seconds to give stern looks at the assembled crew.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” he began.

“Um, no offense, but are there even any ladies on this team?” Joseph Bigsby, the young pilot of the Xcalibur, meekly asked. “I mean, after our brief designation as the Decepticles, I don’t think we–”

Taggart grabbed him by the suit’s collar and held him up in the air with one hand, “Bigsby, if you speak out of turn one more time, I will hit you so hard your future grandchildren will feel it.”

“Really?” Taggart proceed to punch him. Bigsby grimaced from the punch, but something felt off about it. “Huh, that didn’t seem to hurt me too badly compared to your usual abuse.”

“Just sit down and shut up.” Taggart dropped Bigsby back in his chair, “As I was saying…we’re facing a bit of a problem here. Thanks to the leadership of our beloved leader Awesome X, we haven’t had very many threats to deal with.”

“Triumphant boosh!” One of the helmeted Xtacles boasted.

“Normally, I would agree, except this means that we’ve had to fight our own battles. Let me refer you to mission XT-1064, when we had to blow up the FarGate before the Donkey King could invade the Earth. Despite our best efforts, some of the Donkeys slipped through. Now, we had one simple task: blow up the Fargate and kill every non-Xtacle there.”

“Oh, was that the mission where we turned the Fargate into a petting zoo for extraterrestrial animals?”

“Yes, yes it was. And it definitely helped raise money for some desperately-needed armor wax. However, when the Super Yeti from the fourth dimension started invading our world through the Fargate instead of the Donkeys, what did we do wrong?”

“Uh…try to salvage the petting zoo?”

“Yeah, that’s when we should have just blown up the cavern and blocked the Fargate for good. So remember, what’s the lesson we can take from this story?”

Bigsby raised his hand.

“Put your hand down, Bigsby.” Bigsby slowly lowered his hand while Taggart concluded the lesson, “The lesson is, when the primary objective is to kill everything, then making peace with the enemy to raise money is not and should not be an option. Am I cle–hey,” Taggart glanced at an empty seat in the back of the briefing room, “what happened to Newman? I thought I told all active-duty Xtacles to attend this meeting!”

“Newman just up and left.” Another helmeted Xtacle spoke up, “Something about a Japanese cartoon he really liked. I’m not too sure why. Wasn’t much more than some blue-haired kid with glasses who went around a magical school, ignoring all the girls who were lavishing him with attention while he fought monsters with his friends.” The Xtacle paused as he noticed everyone in the room staring at him. “Uh, or so I’ve heard.”

“What’s that? It sounds like you’ve volunteered to go locate him.”

“Ohhhh…”

“Don’t ohhhh me, Private. It’s your fault for not bringing your roommate to this meeting.”

The doors to the back of the room opened while the Xtacle known as Chase Fontaine quickly ran through them, breathing heavily. In between gasps, he finally spoke, “Guys, I came here as fast I could…”

“Chase, because you don’t seem to think my meetings are important enough to attend, you can help the Private there find his cartoon-loving AWOLer.”

“What’s an A-wohler, sir?”

“It’s what I’m going to do to your face if you two don’t leave this instant.”

“Ohhhh…sad boosh.” Chase sulked, and then walked out of the room, with the helmeted Xtacle following behind him.

Meanwhile, back at the White House…

“Mr. President, sir!” One of President Stan’s aides shouted, “We’ve got a Code Green on our hands, sir!”

The President spit out his coffee. “Ugh, this coffee is horrible!” He proceeded to throw the partially-full coffee mug at the offending aide’s head, who swiftly dodged it. “A Code Green, are you serious?”

“Deadly serious, sir! They’re marching non-violently outside the White House right now! If we don’t hurry soon, they might inconvenience traffic and convince Congress to pass that resolution you vetoed at the UN.”

“My God,” Stan said, putting emphatic pauses between each word. “I’ve had enough of these Earth-firsters thinking they can walk all over the capital! It’s time we hit them where they live!”

“Sir,” the General at Stan’s side interjected, “you realize that these people aren’t actually harming anyone? I mean, the Earth First organization is composed of young 20-somethings with enough time and money on their hands to–”

“I don’t want excuses, General! I want a solution to these unclean hippies! Now get me Mecha Constable!”

“Sorry sir, he’s currently challenging the Russian President to a game of chess, and I don’t think he’ll be done anytime soon…”

Somewhere in Russia…

“Bah! Stupid American robot!” The Russian President Stanislaw kicked over the chess board, spilling the pieces to the floor, “I’m not going to lose to you! Set up the board and play another game!” Mecha Constable prepared to leave, but then found himself facing ten different men holding rifles in his face. “Play another game or I will order them to shoot! I will show you my true mastery of chess!”

If he had been programmed to sigh, Mecha Constable would’ve done so by now. Instead, his competitiveness algorithm compelled him to set up the board and continue beating Stanislaw at his own game.

Back at the White House…

“How about the Future Champions?” Stan asked.

“Well, they accidentally time-warped too far to escape the past, and ended up back in the future instead.”

Stan sniffed the air, “Oh no, that hippie stench is starting to permeate this very room! We have to act quickly! Are the Xtacles available?”

“They seem to be open.”

“Ohhhh…” Stan opened a drawer somewhere on his Oval Office desk, and pulled out a flask. After taking a long sip, he ordered the General. “Fine. Get me a line to the Xcalibur! It’s time to deal with these hippies once and for all!”

Later, somewhere over the  Pacific Ocean…

“Y’all better be payin’ for the gas in this thing.” Mr. Ford grumbled as he drove his hovercar towards Japan, “Can’t believe I’m spending my weekend off takin your shiny red asses to some place I can’t even pronounce!”

“Dude, it’s Japan!” Chase shouted from the passsengers’ seat, “Trust me, there are probably some smokin’ hot chicks there, not knowing that the Chase is On!”

“I wonder if there will be any girls like Tsukina over there,” The helmeted Xtacle wistfully wondered from the backseat.

“Wha’? Mr. Ford looked back at the Xtacle, “Why you hookin’ up with some zookeeper?”

“No, her name is Tsukina, from Nage…”

“Dude,” Chase also looked back at the helmeted Xtacle, “If her name is Zookeeper, she’s probably got like, some crazy issues.”

“I remember the last time I tried hookin’ up with a zookeeper,” Mr. Ford said, also looking at the same Xtacle, “She was missin’ three teeth, and she had a crazy love of arm-wrestling. But she was also a vegetarian. We just didn’t click together, know what I mean?”

“Umm, guys?” The Xtacle pointed to the front  of the hovercar.

“Don’t interrupt me, son. Now as I was sayin’, if you got your heart set on datin’ a zookeeper just remember this: she’s probably a vegetarian.”

“Guys?”

“Or a dude.” Chase interrupted.

“Guys?”

“What, what is your problem, man?” Chase suddenly got angry, “We’re just trying to give you some advice on…” The helmeted Xtacle suddenly broke through the rear passenger-side door and flew away with his rocket boots.

Mr. Ford suddenly looked to the spot where the Xtacle was pointing. “Aw hell no,” Mr. Ford complained, “We’re about to crash into a damn flaming windmill!”

“Really? Cool!” Chase had a brief double-take, and then asked Mr. Ford, “Are we gonna die?”

“Not until that zookeeper-lover pays me for the door he broke!” Mr. Ford activated Chase’s rocket boots and held on for dear life.

“Wait, I don’t have my helmet…” Chase flew head-first, straight through the window of the passenger’s side door as the car ran straight into the flaming windmill and exploded.

“My God,” Mr. Ford asked as Chase sped away from the scene with him, “what the hell did those bastards want with my car?”

Who are “those bastards?” And what did they want with Mr. Ford’s car? Find out, next time…

The Xtacles in Operation: Flaming Fanblade

[ed. note: fanfiction again. May the lord have mercy on my soul.]

“Gawd!” The fat, silhouetted figure banged on his desk as he read the news from ten different blogs on five different screens. All of them seemed to point towards a horrible crisis. “Gawd!” He banged on his desk again. “How could they do this? How could the worthless American network cancel Nage Hentai Nookie-chan after just two episodes? I can’t believe this! I totally would’ve watched that show on TV if my mom’s cable box carried that network!”

It had been bad enough when the lovely elf he had met online after playing through months of Worc-Raft had dumped his avatar for some talking cow. It was even worse when the Animu-suku-san forum moderators had banned him for his non-stop trolling. But now his favorite cartoon would no longer be shown in the US! He’d have to subsist on illegally-subtitled downloads of each episode of Nage Hentai Nookie-Chan instead!

That was it! He was going to start an online petition to get his show back! When he brought the full force of the fanbase to flood the Japanese company’s E-Mail box, they would be so ashamed they would beg for a US release of the full series. Maybe they would even do an episode based on a script he wrote! The fat, silhouetted figure chugged a Red Bull as he began to type up the message. As his Cheeto-stained fingers flew across the keyboard, composing what he believed to be the greatest protest E-Mail ever, a giant flaming fanblade dropped from the sky, puncturing the split-level house and slicing the silhouetted figure through the head. He would never be able to type another E-mail again as the flaming fanblade burned down the house around him.

The police would later determine that nothing of value was lost in that fire.

Meanwhile, at the United Nations…

“…and once this body votes upon this critical piece of legislation, we will have told our children that the problem of global warming will be one step closer to being solved, 20 or 30 years down the road! We will have replaced our old fossil fuels with renewable energy sources, like solar power, nuclear power, and most importantly wind power…”

President Stan felt a sharp elbow jab him from the right as the black general cleared his throat. “Mr. President, c’mon! You’re supposed to be paying attention!”

“Oh, why do I have to come to these meetings? Everyone knows we’re just going to set a lot of goals that won’t get done.”

“Mr. President, you are here representing the United States because your ambassador had some personal business to attend to. Something about a Japanese cartoon he really liked.”

“And?”

The general paused, disappointed yet unsurprised by Stan’s reaction. “Well, he put a lot of time into pushing this resolution through the general assembly, and it’s…”

“Oh hold on a second,” Stan tapped the side of his face, “I’m getting a call through my bluetooth.”

“Wait a minute, I didn’t know you had one of those Bluetooth headsets?”

“Headset? I just got a wireless communicator surgically implanted in my tooth, see that blue coloring? That’s science at work!”

“That’s…” the general grimaced, “that’s kinda gross sir.”

“Oh shut up, I’m trying to make a call!”

The UN Secretary-General began to take a vote from each member in the General Assembly. As he did so, President Stan was lost in his own conversation.

“…wait, he did what?” Unfortunately, Stan leaned too close to the microphone and began broadcasting his entire conversation to the General Assembly, “You tell that son of a bitch that if he pulls that stunt again, I’m going to call my friend Vito and have him give that bastard the Vito Special!” As the translators translated the President’s speech for each delegate to hear, every single delegate in the chamber offered a collective gasp. Except the ones who could understand English, for they had collectively gasped a few seconds earlier. Stan continued his conversation, deaf to the budding protests of the delegates. “Well, I don’t care what you think! I am not afraid to Vito that bastard straight into the ground this instant! In fact, I’m going to do that right now! I’m going to Vito him so hard, he’ll be feeling it from every orifice!”

The Secretary-General looked sad as he stepped up to the podium and delivered the news, “The United States hereby uses its veto power to destroy the resolution. Ah well.” He then proceeded to take a lighter out of his pocket and burned the resolution on the podium before finishing the meeting. “Not like we do anything useful here anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Swiss bank account and a Ugandan trophy wife back home.”

Later, in a cafe somewhere in town…

In a cafe somewhere, news of the President’s Veto in the UN had reached the ears of some shady businessmen with ponytails.

“Curses!” One shady businessman grunted, “That President Stan is smarter than we give him credit for, he saw through our resolution to give us all the profits from the wind farms all over the world!”

“What will we do now?” The second businessman cried, “If we don’t raise money from another wind farm somewhere, those Japanese guys are going to turn our office into a sushi supply warehouse!”

“Phil, that is incredibly racist.”

“Sorry, Will.”

The third ponytailed businessman gave Phil a comforting pat, “Look, we’re going to have to face facts: we’ve exhausted almost all of our options, so we’re going to have to pull out the one option I’d hope we’d never have to choose.”

Phil gasped. “Bill! You can’t possibly mean…”

“Yes, I do.” Bill replied sternly as he opened a briefcase and put it on the table. “We’re going to have to call in our favors and get a new briefcase. I mean seriously, this thing’s older than my dead grandpa.”

“But where can we find a briefcase that’s awesome enough to convince President Stan to let us build more wind farms around the world?”

“Well, that leads me to the next part of my plan…”

What plan could Bill have in mind? Tune in…next time!