Jesus! It's been a long time since I've updated this thing.
Going on patrol is harder than ever because I've got my girlfriend living with me now. I have to wait until she's asleep to go on patrol, or I have to go while she's at work. Luckily I think beating Jiftofen scared any potential supervillains away for the time being. I've always had this paranoid delusion that all the supervillains in Indiana hang out together and they're all whispering about me.
"He took down Jiftofen! That guy had a BLIMP!"
"Yeah, better not mess with the Punchernaut!"
Man, that'd be so cool.
More about my girlfriend: I'm starting to lose the notion that she might be the Iris Pirate. At first it made sense, especially when the Iris Pirate started showing up in town after she moved back, but my girlfriend is always in bed when I get home from patrol, whether I saw the Iris Pirate that night or not. She can't be in two places at once...
But damned if the Pirate didn't start showing up when my girlfriend moved into town. I can't really shake it.
I'm sorry, friends, but I haven't gone on any adventures or anything. No supervillains. Even very few smalltime crooks. It's pathetic here.
I guess that's a good thing.
Even though I'm bored.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
PUNCHERNAUT UPDATE!!
Okay, I finally got the Jiftofen story out. Sorry it took so long, Puncherfans, but I've been so busy in the last month, I wouldn't be able to do the story justice.
The zeppelin crash-landed over on the Illinois side of the river in an abandoned field. There were no civilian casualties and the flight roster said that everybody but Jiftofen was arrested. Evidently it was a huge mess getting all those freaks into the backs of cars, and we were pulling police units down as far as Indianapolis to maintain them all. The feds even showed up! I didn't see any of it, except for on the news later that day once I got home.
I got some good press, too. Once again, I'm being hailed as a hero. Nobody knows Jiftofen was in town just to get me, so I guess I'm in the clear as far as that goes. The weird thing is, Jiftofen wasn't arrested, and his body wasn't found. Any of you familiar with your comic books knows that he's probably still alive and he'll show up again. Just like Dr. Doom. Just when the Fantastic Four thinks they got him, it was one of his damn Doombots.
My shoulder took almost three weeks to heal. Whatever he shot me with, it burned right through me. It didn't get infected, thank God. The Wabash is a filthy river, and I was scared of what I might catch, even with my superhuman immune system.
I took two of those three weeks off. I didn't even go on patrols. Finally I saw in the paper that everybody was wondering where I was, so I decided to go on patrol and let a few security cameras and civilians see me.
As far as breathing underwater goes, I did some experiments. I've now got gills on my neck. Luckily, when I'm not breathing with them, they kind of blend in with my skin and you can't see them unless you're really looking for them. I filled the bathtub while I was home by myself one day and laid down. It's incredible! It shouldn't make any sense, but I'm breathing underwater.
THROUGH MY NECK
The police are angrier at me than ever for doing their jobs for them. I love it.
In other news, in like five days I'm going to Wisconsin to pick up my girlfriend.
The girlfriend that I think might be the Iris Pirate.
She's moving in with me...
We'll see how that goes...
So until next time, Puncherfans, keep your eyes to the sky and your fists to the jaw of the unjust.
Or whatever.
I need a catchphrase.
The zeppelin crash-landed over on the Illinois side of the river in an abandoned field. There were no civilian casualties and the flight roster said that everybody but Jiftofen was arrested. Evidently it was a huge mess getting all those freaks into the backs of cars, and we were pulling police units down as far as Indianapolis to maintain them all. The feds even showed up! I didn't see any of it, except for on the news later that day once I got home.
I got some good press, too. Once again, I'm being hailed as a hero. Nobody knows Jiftofen was in town just to get me, so I guess I'm in the clear as far as that goes. The weird thing is, Jiftofen wasn't arrested, and his body wasn't found. Any of you familiar with your comic books knows that he's probably still alive and he'll show up again. Just like Dr. Doom. Just when the Fantastic Four thinks they got him, it was one of his damn Doombots.
My shoulder took almost three weeks to heal. Whatever he shot me with, it burned right through me. It didn't get infected, thank God. The Wabash is a filthy river, and I was scared of what I might catch, even with my superhuman immune system.
I took two of those three weeks off. I didn't even go on patrols. Finally I saw in the paper that everybody was wondering where I was, so I decided to go on patrol and let a few security cameras and civilians see me.
As far as breathing underwater goes, I did some experiments. I've now got gills on my neck. Luckily, when I'm not breathing with them, they kind of blend in with my skin and you can't see them unless you're really looking for them. I filled the bathtub while I was home by myself one day and laid down. It's incredible! It shouldn't make any sense, but I'm breathing underwater.
THROUGH MY NECK
The police are angrier at me than ever for doing their jobs for them. I love it.
In other news, in like five days I'm going to Wisconsin to pick up my girlfriend.
The girlfriend that I think might be the Iris Pirate.
She's moving in with me...
We'll see how that goes...
So until next time, Puncherfans, keep your eyes to the sky and your fists to the jaw of the unjust.
Or whatever.
I need a catchphrase.
Shatzi Von Jiftofen (Epilogue)
I lost sigh of Jiftofen in the murky water. I turned to swim back to the surface, but something slammed into me. It was hot. I realized it was the engine from one of our planes. I tried to swim around it, but it was caught on my shirt.
I struggled and tried to rip my sleeve off, but it wouldn't come loose. I felt weak.
I've over-exerted myself. Transforming into a shark, time travel, transforming back, blowing up a zeppelin, crashing a Nazi biplane. I guess I'd just done too much in one day.
And the one good way to kill somebody that's bulletproof is to drown them.
I felt my arms go weak from lack of air.
I should have seen this coming.
I'm not a superhero. I'm just some punk kid from a planet far, far away, and even there nobody wanted me. I'm a menace to the authorities here on the planet where I live. And now, here in this polluted river, it's all over.
I'm through.
I thought back over all of my adventures. All of the ones that nobody even knows about. Fighting King Gator in the sewers with GURP-O.
I thought about the time Figbot and I wrestled gorillas on top of the apartment building where my best friend used to live.
I thought about the Iris Pirate and her eye of blue...
I thought about Professor Whimsey when he and I... Wait a minute.
Whimsey!!
What was it he told me?
I gasped.
Wait, I can gasp underwater?
My fingers push themselves through the water and I find on my neck three long slits, all of them sucking water in. There are three on the other side, too.
"Breathe with your neck."
If Whimsey was here, I'd kiss him.
Moments later, I'm crawling out of the river. I stop breathing with my neck and I make my way to the waiting crowd. They see me and they all start to cheer. I flash them my best superhero smile. I'm covered in mud and my shoulder is still bleeding, probably infected from that filthy water, but I feel great.
I look up into the sunny sky and I feel the heat on my flesh and I smile.
I'm still alive.
And with that thought in my head I rip up, up, up and away through the heavens, headed home.
I struggled and tried to rip my sleeve off, but it wouldn't come loose. I felt weak.
I've over-exerted myself. Transforming into a shark, time travel, transforming back, blowing up a zeppelin, crashing a Nazi biplane. I guess I'd just done too much in one day.
And the one good way to kill somebody that's bulletproof is to drown them.
I felt my arms go weak from lack of air.
I should have seen this coming.
I'm not a superhero. I'm just some punk kid from a planet far, far away, and even there nobody wanted me. I'm a menace to the authorities here on the planet where I live. And now, here in this polluted river, it's all over.
I'm through.
I thought back over all of my adventures. All of the ones that nobody even knows about. Fighting King Gator in the sewers with GURP-O.
I thought about the time Figbot and I wrestled gorillas on top of the apartment building where my best friend used to live.
I thought about the Iris Pirate and her eye of blue...
I thought about Professor Whimsey when he and I... Wait a minute.
Whimsey!!
What was it he told me?
I gasped.
Wait, I can gasp underwater?
My fingers push themselves through the water and I find on my neck three long slits, all of them sucking water in. There are three on the other side, too.
"Breathe with your neck."
If Whimsey was here, I'd kiss him.
Moments later, I'm crawling out of the river. I stop breathing with my neck and I make my way to the waiting crowd. They see me and they all start to cheer. I flash them my best superhero smile. I'm covered in mud and my shoulder is still bleeding, probably infected from that filthy water, but I feel great.
I look up into the sunny sky and I feel the heat on my flesh and I smile.
I'm still alive.
And with that thought in my head I rip up, up, up and away through the heavens, headed home.
Schatzi Von Jiftofen (Part 5)
The Divine Art of the Punching Fist is a tough thing to learn.
You see, years ago, back in the ancient days before anything, fighting was invented here on Earth. The first form of fighting invented was punching.
Then came kicking, headbutting, scratching, biting, and about anything else you do in a fight.
With all these innovations in fighting, punching just got thrown in the mix for most people who fought.
But not with the Knights of the Punching Fist.
For them, punching was the only way to fight. They honed their punching skills and learned to do all things through their fists.
In short, nothing can stand in the way of a true master of the Divine Art of the Punching Fist. Entrapment, magic, disaster, nature, even death. It all just falls to the wayside.
I learned the Divine Art of the Punching Fist from Bijorik Baldursdóttir, just before I was banished from my home planet. He told me I learned faster than any other student he's ever taken on, and I'd learned more in my three years with him than anybody else had learned in a lifetime.
Even himself.
So, now, I'm faced with a problem. I'm miles above the city of Vincennes, surrounded by Nazis who are half-animals, and I'm in a steel coffin that will not only turn me into one of them, but will also make me a mindless zombie forced to fight for their cause to obliterate the human race and repopulate the Earth with real-life furries.
The Divine Art of the Punching Fist should only be used in dire circumstances.
If anybody can think of any circumstances more dire than mine, let me know.
I was holding my breath, and everybody outside knew it, "Ve'll just leave you in zhere until you haff to breaze, Chassit," Von Jiftofen told me, "It's inevitable. You vill be one of us..."
So I decided to bite the bullet and take care of the consequences later.
I took a breath.
The gas didn't smell particularly bad. It was actually kind of pleasant. A mixture between those old Strawberry Shortcake figurines and Play-Doh.
The thing I didn't like was the change I felt as soon as I took that first breath.
It started out as a mild irritation. By my second breath it was anger. By my third, it was rage. All of my bones seemed to liquefy with the fourth breath. Under all the anger and the rage and the pain of my bones rearranging themselves, I felt hunger. I was on my fifth breath when the hunger turned into this savage empty pit at the bottom of my stomach. I swung my arms and realized my fingers were all melting into one hard piece. All of the sneering faces outside the tiny window looked like prey. They were making me hungrier. I was ravenous. I wanted meat. I wanted blood. I wanted to rip into them with my teeth.
My teeth. I could feel them getting longer and pointing at the bottom. Another row was opening up behind the first row of teeth and my neck was expanding, absorbing my shoulders. I could hear myself screaming, but I wasn't scared. I was angry. It was a roar.
My muscles tensed and I felt stronger. That's when I noticed I was hitting the sides of the chamber I was in. That's when I noticed the faces outside were looking worried. That's when I noticed I was punching large holes in the sides of the chamber.
And the people outside looked absolutely...
Delicious.
My arm ripped another hole in the side of the tank I was in as I felt my eyes slide to the sides of my head. My nose was getting longer and pushing up, up, up to where my forehead should be.
"Gas masks!" I could hear everybody outside the chamber shouting, scrambling around.
With a few more well-placed rips at the metal around me, I was out. The red gas was everywhere, producing a thick fog in the room. Without thinking I grabbed the figure closest to me. It was another cat-man. I ripped into his throat with my new teeth and began devouring him.
"RELEASE THE MIND CONTROL GAS!" I could hear Jiftofen screaming, "UND OPEN FIRE ON HIM! DAT VILL ZLOW HIM DOWN!"
I tried to talk but all that came out were inarticulate growls and grunts. I threw the twitching body of my prey aside and lunged toward the source of the voice, moving like liquid.
That's when I realized what I was doing.
A superhero can't kill anyone.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
I just killed somebody... I... ate him? What have I become?
I fought down these new instincts and went back to my training. The Divine Art.
There's only one thing I can do to take this back, and it's risky.
And it may get me out of this mess.
I strode through the smoke in the room and I saw a figure dressed in black, cowering behind one of the computers.
"You're coming with me," I said as I grabbed him by his tie and drug him to his feet. I was growing accustomed to my new mouth. The back of my shirt ripped as a knife-like fin shot out of my spine.
"D-don't get hasty, Chassit," Jiftofen began, but I headbutted him with my new nose. It felt good.
"We're getting out of this." I said. "We're going back to where this all began."
"Vhat are you talking about!?" but it was too late. My fist was already moving through the air.
One of the most dangerous and most useful skills of the Divine Art of the Punching Fist is being able to punch through the fabric of time and space itself. The trick is to throw the punch before you ever even move your arm.
Easier said than done.
Luckily, I'd practiced.
As soon as I threw the punch, I felt the world around me suck away. The air was pushed from my lungs and everything exploded in violet light. I held onto Jiftofen as long as I could, then I let go, letting him spin through time.
This is so cool.
My body twisted, expanded, smashed down, imploded, spun, slammed against the walls of time itself, and I landed back in my body, a couple hours ago.
The thing with time travel is, if you go back to a time where you already exist, the body you used to travel through time with kills the body you're traveling to. You take your own place in time by killing yourself.
Pretty grisly, I know, but then you can relive past events and fix your mistakes.
I fell into my body just as I was saying, "You might want to issue a new order to your troops."
"And wha-, Wait, what happened to you? You look like... a shark?"
"OPEN FIRE!" I say and I throw my fists (fins) forward. Even now then, I can feel myself changing again. The fin on my back starts to melt. I can see my fingers splitting out of the ends of the fins I used to have. The Nazis in front of me fall back under the wall of air I created and I fall forward, sliding across the floor for the second time on my belly. Again, I flipped over and kicked the shaggy dog in the crotch. Again I swiped his gun.
This time, I took no hostages. I opened fire on the pile of missiles over in the corner.
The explosion was deafening.
The heat robbed the air of all oxygen and I felt my lungs being assaulted, but still I was changing back into my old self again.
I was thrown off of my feet, directly through the wall behind me. The flames licked over my clothes, lighting my shirt, my hair, my jeans, my shoes, everything. I let it carry me down the hallway I was lead through earlier at gunpoint and I landed, just as I knew I would, on the control deck.
I grabbed the door frame and let the fire whip past me into the control room. I could hear the instrument panels shattering and breaking. The glass in the windows exploded outward and I could feel the wind from outside rushing in.
Then, except for the sound of the fire alarms in the ship, everything was quiet.
I stood up and put the fires out on me. God, I looked horrible.
But I was human again.
At that moment, the door to Jiftofen's office swung open. There he stood, clutching his throat and gasping. Time travel is pretty rough on those of us without super powers. He had blood dribbling off of his muzzle and out of his nose. One of his eyes looked like somebody had tried to push it out from behind. His clothes were ripped and stained with his blood. One of his arms looked broken. "Vhat... Did... You... DO!?"
He rushed at me and I was ready to strike, but he dashed past me into another hallway. I chased off after him. Jeez! He was fast!
I found myself in a bay full of old German biplanes. All the soldiers inside looked confused. They were all looking toward an open bay at the far end and I saw Jiftofen getting into one of the planes and starting the engine. "Oh no you don't!" I started to say, but he was too fast. He was already out the bay door.
I have no idea how to fly a biplane, so I think it may have been a stupid idea to jump in one and press the little switch that said "IGNITION" but you know... some of my best ideas come without me even thinking of them.
I raced down the short runway as the guards in the hangar opened fire on me. Bullets dinged off the side of the plane. One hit me in the neck and I shrugged it off like a mosquito bite. I flew out the bay door and cut across the sky, toward Jiftofen. I had no idea what to do once I caught up to him, but he couldn't get away.
You know, flying one of those things for real isn't too different from doing it in a video game. I was just starting to have fun when I lost sight of Jiftofen in a cloud and heard the guns of his plane firing.
There was a headset on the panel in front of me. It was squawking. I put it on and heard Jiftofen in mid-sentence: "--losing altitude!? PULL UP DUMMKOPF! Vhat do you mean zhere is no control left!? VE ARE ZE MASTER RACE! He's NOSSING!"
"Hey, pooch!" I said over the headset, "Looks like your hot air balloon is toast!"
"YOU! You are... Zis is... FOR ZE FOURTH REICH!"
And at that moment Jiftofen burst out of the cloud I lost him in, headed right for me, both of the guns mounted on the front of his plane blasting at me. White hot, they ripped through my propellers, the cockpit of my plane, and one even ripped right through my shoulder. I clenched my teeth and flew through the plane, my engines roaring.
We were headed right for each other. Jiftofen dipped low, trying to avoid me, but I was falling anyway. I pointed the plane down and went into a tail-spin, but I was headed right for him.
"NO! NOOO!" I could hear him screaming, but it was too late. We were locked in the middle of an aerial game of chicken, and I knew that I wasn't going to back down. I didn't open fire. I didn't have to. We collided in air.
Somehow, one of our gas tanks must have lit, because I felt heat throwing me from the cockpit. I was sailing through the air, ripping through the steel pieces of airplane, even then readying my arm for the blow to come. My left hand, the one attached to the arm that had been shot, grabbed Jiftofen in mid-air by the front of his shirt. My right hand came crashing down into his jaw with brutal force. It hurt my knuckles.
"I win, you God damn mutt," I snarled at him.
"Mein Gott..." He gasped, holding his broken jaw in his hand. "Ve're falling."
"Yes."
"You... destroyed mein plane..."
"Yes."
"Und mein zeppelin..."
"Yes."
And then we landed in the Wabash River.
You see, years ago, back in the ancient days before anything, fighting was invented here on Earth. The first form of fighting invented was punching.
Then came kicking, headbutting, scratching, biting, and about anything else you do in a fight.
With all these innovations in fighting, punching just got thrown in the mix for most people who fought.
But not with the Knights of the Punching Fist.
For them, punching was the only way to fight. They honed their punching skills and learned to do all things through their fists.
In short, nothing can stand in the way of a true master of the Divine Art of the Punching Fist. Entrapment, magic, disaster, nature, even death. It all just falls to the wayside.
I learned the Divine Art of the Punching Fist from Bijorik Baldursdóttir, just before I was banished from my home planet. He told me I learned faster than any other student he's ever taken on, and I'd learned more in my three years with him than anybody else had learned in a lifetime.
Even himself.
So, now, I'm faced with a problem. I'm miles above the city of Vincennes, surrounded by Nazis who are half-animals, and I'm in a steel coffin that will not only turn me into one of them, but will also make me a mindless zombie forced to fight for their cause to obliterate the human race and repopulate the Earth with real-life furries.
The Divine Art of the Punching Fist should only be used in dire circumstances.
If anybody can think of any circumstances more dire than mine, let me know.
I was holding my breath, and everybody outside knew it, "Ve'll just leave you in zhere until you haff to breaze, Chassit," Von Jiftofen told me, "It's inevitable. You vill be one of us..."
So I decided to bite the bullet and take care of the consequences later.
I took a breath.
The gas didn't smell particularly bad. It was actually kind of pleasant. A mixture between those old Strawberry Shortcake figurines and Play-Doh.
The thing I didn't like was the change I felt as soon as I took that first breath.
It started out as a mild irritation. By my second breath it was anger. By my third, it was rage. All of my bones seemed to liquefy with the fourth breath. Under all the anger and the rage and the pain of my bones rearranging themselves, I felt hunger. I was on my fifth breath when the hunger turned into this savage empty pit at the bottom of my stomach. I swung my arms and realized my fingers were all melting into one hard piece. All of the sneering faces outside the tiny window looked like prey. They were making me hungrier. I was ravenous. I wanted meat. I wanted blood. I wanted to rip into them with my teeth.
My teeth. I could feel them getting longer and pointing at the bottom. Another row was opening up behind the first row of teeth and my neck was expanding, absorbing my shoulders. I could hear myself screaming, but I wasn't scared. I was angry. It was a roar.
My muscles tensed and I felt stronger. That's when I noticed I was hitting the sides of the chamber I was in. That's when I noticed the faces outside were looking worried. That's when I noticed I was punching large holes in the sides of the chamber.
And the people outside looked absolutely...
Delicious.
My arm ripped another hole in the side of the tank I was in as I felt my eyes slide to the sides of my head. My nose was getting longer and pushing up, up, up to where my forehead should be.
"Gas masks!" I could hear everybody outside the chamber shouting, scrambling around.
With a few more well-placed rips at the metal around me, I was out. The red gas was everywhere, producing a thick fog in the room. Without thinking I grabbed the figure closest to me. It was another cat-man. I ripped into his throat with my new teeth and began devouring him.
"RELEASE THE MIND CONTROL GAS!" I could hear Jiftofen screaming, "UND OPEN FIRE ON HIM! DAT VILL ZLOW HIM DOWN!"
I tried to talk but all that came out were inarticulate growls and grunts. I threw the twitching body of my prey aside and lunged toward the source of the voice, moving like liquid.
That's when I realized what I was doing.
A superhero can't kill anyone.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
I just killed somebody... I... ate him? What have I become?
I fought down these new instincts and went back to my training. The Divine Art.
There's only one thing I can do to take this back, and it's risky.
And it may get me out of this mess.
I strode through the smoke in the room and I saw a figure dressed in black, cowering behind one of the computers.
"You're coming with me," I said as I grabbed him by his tie and drug him to his feet. I was growing accustomed to my new mouth. The back of my shirt ripped as a knife-like fin shot out of my spine.
"D-don't get hasty, Chassit," Jiftofen began, but I headbutted him with my new nose. It felt good.
"We're getting out of this." I said. "We're going back to where this all began."
"Vhat are you talking about!?" but it was too late. My fist was already moving through the air.
One of the most dangerous and most useful skills of the Divine Art of the Punching Fist is being able to punch through the fabric of time and space itself. The trick is to throw the punch before you ever even move your arm.
Easier said than done.
Luckily, I'd practiced.
As soon as I threw the punch, I felt the world around me suck away. The air was pushed from my lungs and everything exploded in violet light. I held onto Jiftofen as long as I could, then I let go, letting him spin through time.
This is so cool.
My body twisted, expanded, smashed down, imploded, spun, slammed against the walls of time itself, and I landed back in my body, a couple hours ago.
The thing with time travel is, if you go back to a time where you already exist, the body you used to travel through time with kills the body you're traveling to. You take your own place in time by killing yourself.
Pretty grisly, I know, but then you can relive past events and fix your mistakes.
I fell into my body just as I was saying, "You might want to issue a new order to your troops."
"And wha-, Wait, what happened to you? You look like... a shark?"
"OPEN FIRE!" I say and I throw my fists (fins) forward. Even now then, I can feel myself changing again. The fin on my back starts to melt. I can see my fingers splitting out of the ends of the fins I used to have. The Nazis in front of me fall back under the wall of air I created and I fall forward, sliding across the floor for the second time on my belly. Again, I flipped over and kicked the shaggy dog in the crotch. Again I swiped his gun.
This time, I took no hostages. I opened fire on the pile of missiles over in the corner.
The explosion was deafening.
The heat robbed the air of all oxygen and I felt my lungs being assaulted, but still I was changing back into my old self again.
I was thrown off of my feet, directly through the wall behind me. The flames licked over my clothes, lighting my shirt, my hair, my jeans, my shoes, everything. I let it carry me down the hallway I was lead through earlier at gunpoint and I landed, just as I knew I would, on the control deck.
I grabbed the door frame and let the fire whip past me into the control room. I could hear the instrument panels shattering and breaking. The glass in the windows exploded outward and I could feel the wind from outside rushing in.
Then, except for the sound of the fire alarms in the ship, everything was quiet.
I stood up and put the fires out on me. God, I looked horrible.
But I was human again.
At that moment, the door to Jiftofen's office swung open. There he stood, clutching his throat and gasping. Time travel is pretty rough on those of us without super powers. He had blood dribbling off of his muzzle and out of his nose. One of his eyes looked like somebody had tried to push it out from behind. His clothes were ripped and stained with his blood. One of his arms looked broken. "Vhat... Did... You... DO!?"
He rushed at me and I was ready to strike, but he dashed past me into another hallway. I chased off after him. Jeez! He was fast!
I found myself in a bay full of old German biplanes. All the soldiers inside looked confused. They were all looking toward an open bay at the far end and I saw Jiftofen getting into one of the planes and starting the engine. "Oh no you don't!" I started to say, but he was too fast. He was already out the bay door.
I have no idea how to fly a biplane, so I think it may have been a stupid idea to jump in one and press the little switch that said "IGNITION" but you know... some of my best ideas come without me even thinking of them.
I raced down the short runway as the guards in the hangar opened fire on me. Bullets dinged off the side of the plane. One hit me in the neck and I shrugged it off like a mosquito bite. I flew out the bay door and cut across the sky, toward Jiftofen. I had no idea what to do once I caught up to him, but he couldn't get away.
You know, flying one of those things for real isn't too different from doing it in a video game. I was just starting to have fun when I lost sight of Jiftofen in a cloud and heard the guns of his plane firing.
There was a headset on the panel in front of me. It was squawking. I put it on and heard Jiftofen in mid-sentence: "--losing altitude!? PULL UP DUMMKOPF! Vhat do you mean zhere is no control left!? VE ARE ZE MASTER RACE! He's NOSSING!"
"Hey, pooch!" I said over the headset, "Looks like your hot air balloon is toast!"
"YOU! You are... Zis is... FOR ZE FOURTH REICH!"
And at that moment Jiftofen burst out of the cloud I lost him in, headed right for me, both of the guns mounted on the front of his plane blasting at me. White hot, they ripped through my propellers, the cockpit of my plane, and one even ripped right through my shoulder. I clenched my teeth and flew through the plane, my engines roaring.
We were headed right for each other. Jiftofen dipped low, trying to avoid me, but I was falling anyway. I pointed the plane down and went into a tail-spin, but I was headed right for him.
"NO! NOOO!" I could hear him screaming, but it was too late. We were locked in the middle of an aerial game of chicken, and I knew that I wasn't going to back down. I didn't open fire. I didn't have to. We collided in air.
Somehow, one of our gas tanks must have lit, because I felt heat throwing me from the cockpit. I was sailing through the air, ripping through the steel pieces of airplane, even then readying my arm for the blow to come. My left hand, the one attached to the arm that had been shot, grabbed Jiftofen in mid-air by the front of his shirt. My right hand came crashing down into his jaw with brutal force. It hurt my knuckles.
"I win, you God damn mutt," I snarled at him.
"Mein Gott..." He gasped, holding his broken jaw in his hand. "Ve're falling."
"Yes."
"You... destroyed mein plane..."
"Yes."
"Und mein zeppelin..."
"Yes."
And then we landed in the Wabash River.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Schatzi Von Jiftofen (Part 4)
I throw up in my mouth a little bit.
"Excuse me?"
"I zaid zat Furs are ze Master Race." He steeples his fingers (and the little doggie toes on his paw hand) in front of his nose. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Half an hour after a guard took my clothes away, they came back. They were full of holes, but clean. Cleaner than before I put them on this afternoon. They were even still warm from the dryer, in fact. If I can say anything for these guys, they're efficient.
After I had my tie back on, the captain of the ship, the Fuhrer, began explaining to me his mission in life.
"Human beings are lazy, ugly, und uncontrollable!" he was shouting, slamming his doggie paw on his desk. "Zey are weak! Zey cannot hear, zmell, or do anysing as efficiently or as perfectly as ve can!"
"So... you decided to base your movement on one of humanity's worst crimes?"
"Ze Nazis of Vorld Var Two vere misguided, but zey vere efficient in vhat zey did. Und remember, it vas instituted by human beings," His lips parted in a smile. It would have been cute if he was a regular dog instead of some freak in jack boots, "Ve are zuperior to humans in every vay."
"Ve vill not fail."
"Ugh," I said.
"You zeem to be havink zome trouble acczepting zis, Chassit. You yourself are not a human being. You, too, are zuperior," He stands and walks around his desk. His hands (well, hand and paw) land on my shoulders, "Dat is vhy ve suck you out, Chassit. To help us."
"In your dreams," I said and shook his hands (well, hand and paw) off of me. "I've sworn to protect those weak, and probably inherently evil beings, not wipe them out."
"Dat's vhat I was afraid of hearing..." At that moment, the door to his office opened. "Take him to ze Transformation Chamber."
I didn't put up a fight. If I did, he could level Vincennes. I had half a dozen guards around me, all of them pointing those little ugly submachine guns at me. I let them take me away down several unimpressive corridors in the ship. Nobody rushed me. Jiftofen walked in front of me with his hands behind his back. Nobody said anything.
The more we walked, the dimmer the lights in the ship got, and I had a feeling that we were a long way from the office where Jiftofen laid his cards on the table. At the end of the hallway we were in was a door marked with a biohazard symbol. Around the door was that all-too-familiar black black and yellow striped pattern that I always associate with trouble. Jiftofen himself opened the door and I was ushered inside.
The room was round. Perfectly round. The walls were lined with control panels and blinking lights. There were no windows and the only lights in the room were around the edges, leaving the center of the room in darkness except for at the center.
In the center of the room was a round bay of lights shining down on a steel container with one glass window in the door. It reminded me of those tiny submarines they explored the Titanic with, or maybe a rocket ship in an old science fiction movie. It was about seven feet tall and the door in the front was open. The insides of the steel container was lined with tiny holes.
I was looking at a one-man gas chamber.
"You look vorried, Chassit," Jiftofen said. He wasn't looking at me, but his grip tightened on his riding crop. I could almost smell the excitement coming from him, thick and acrid like BO.
"You zee, every living human has an animal locked inzide of him. Zis device, of my own design, releazes dat animal, und transforms him into," he turned to look at me finally and swept his doggie paw down his torso as if he was selling a new washing machine to me, "one of us."
"Into ze chamber!" he barked, and a rough hand fell on my neck.
Again, I didn't put up a fight. I was forced inside and the door was closed. I barely had any room to move.
I would have put up a fight if I'd heard the next words Jiftofen said before the door was locked.
"Alzo, zere is a mild sedative in ze gas ve'll be transforming you with," he smiled at me through that tiny window, "It vorks as a mind control agent."
And with those words, a mildly reddish smoke began leaking out of the holes in the walls.
I held my breath and once again wondered what I'd gotten myself into.
"Excuse me?"
"I zaid zat Furs are ze Master Race." He steeples his fingers (and the little doggie toes on his paw hand) in front of his nose. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Half an hour after a guard took my clothes away, they came back. They were full of holes, but clean. Cleaner than before I put them on this afternoon. They were even still warm from the dryer, in fact. If I can say anything for these guys, they're efficient.
After I had my tie back on, the captain of the ship, the Fuhrer, began explaining to me his mission in life.
"Human beings are lazy, ugly, und uncontrollable!" he was shouting, slamming his doggie paw on his desk. "Zey are weak! Zey cannot hear, zmell, or do anysing as efficiently or as perfectly as ve can!"
"So... you decided to base your movement on one of humanity's worst crimes?"
"Ze Nazis of Vorld Var Two vere misguided, but zey vere efficient in vhat zey did. Und remember, it vas instituted by human beings," His lips parted in a smile. It would have been cute if he was a regular dog instead of some freak in jack boots, "Ve are zuperior to humans in every vay."
"Ve vill not fail."
"Ugh," I said.
"You zeem to be havink zome trouble acczepting zis, Chassit. You yourself are not a human being. You, too, are zuperior," He stands and walks around his desk. His hands (well, hand and paw) land on my shoulders, "Dat is vhy ve suck you out, Chassit. To help us."
"In your dreams," I said and shook his hands (well, hand and paw) off of me. "I've sworn to protect those weak, and probably inherently evil beings, not wipe them out."
"Dat's vhat I was afraid of hearing..." At that moment, the door to his office opened. "Take him to ze Transformation Chamber."
I didn't put up a fight. If I did, he could level Vincennes. I had half a dozen guards around me, all of them pointing those little ugly submachine guns at me. I let them take me away down several unimpressive corridors in the ship. Nobody rushed me. Jiftofen walked in front of me with his hands behind his back. Nobody said anything.
The more we walked, the dimmer the lights in the ship got, and I had a feeling that we were a long way from the office where Jiftofen laid his cards on the table. At the end of the hallway we were in was a door marked with a biohazard symbol. Around the door was that all-too-familiar black black and yellow striped pattern that I always associate with trouble. Jiftofen himself opened the door and I was ushered inside.
The room was round. Perfectly round. The walls were lined with control panels and blinking lights. There were no windows and the only lights in the room were around the edges, leaving the center of the room in darkness except for at the center.
In the center of the room was a round bay of lights shining down on a steel container with one glass window in the door. It reminded me of those tiny submarines they explored the Titanic with, or maybe a rocket ship in an old science fiction movie. It was about seven feet tall and the door in the front was open. The insides of the steel container was lined with tiny holes.
I was looking at a one-man gas chamber.
"You look vorried, Chassit," Jiftofen said. He wasn't looking at me, but his grip tightened on his riding crop. I could almost smell the excitement coming from him, thick and acrid like BO.
"You zee, every living human has an animal locked inzide of him. Zis device, of my own design, releazes dat animal, und transforms him into," he turned to look at me finally and swept his doggie paw down his torso as if he was selling a new washing machine to me, "one of us."
"Into ze chamber!" he barked, and a rough hand fell on my neck.
Again, I didn't put up a fight. I was forced inside and the door was closed. I barely had any room to move.
I would have put up a fight if I'd heard the next words Jiftofen said before the door was locked.
"Alzo, zere is a mild sedative in ze gas ve'll be transforming you with," he smiled at me through that tiny window, "It vorks as a mind control agent."
And with those words, a mildly reddish smoke began leaking out of the holes in the walls.
I held my breath and once again wondered what I'd gotten myself into.
Schatzi Von Jiftofen (Part 3)
I'm sitting in a chair with my elbows on my knees. I've got a dead anthropomorphic dog's blood dripping off of the end of my tie, pooling in a tiny puddle on the floor. Around me, chubby girls with felt cat ears on their head and other anthropomorphic dogs, skunks, cats, and pigs walk around me, chattering in either English, broken English, German, or broken German. All of them are wearing brown uniforms with red armbands.
I'm on a ship high above the fair city I've sworn to protect. It appeared here a few hours ago while I was at work. As far as I can tell, it opened fire on several buildings in the Main Street area.
And all of this was just to get at me.
I'm a popular guy with furry Nazis.
My skin is tingling all over. A little over a dozen of these creeps opened fire on me with submachine guns about 15 minutes ago. I can already see bruises developing on my arms and I can see bumps on my shoulders. Big bee-sting-looking welts. They're so fresh and so tender that even a gentle breeze sets them on fire.
This sucks.
There are four guards standing around me, each of them facing me, each of them with a machine gun pointed right at my head.
If there's one thing I hate more than being shot, it's being shot in the head with machine guns.
So I'm playing it cool.
There's an anthropomorphic buffalo standing between the two guards in front of me. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asks.
"Piss off," I tell him, and I spit on the floor, right into the puddle of the dead sheepdog's blood.
"Very well," he says. I don't look at him, but I can tell he's smiling. I'd like more than anything to wipe that smile off his face, but on the way up to the command deck, he explained to me that there are at least a dozen soldiers posted throughout the ship with their finger on a button that will reduce Vincennes to dust and ashes. He may be bluffing, but I don't think I'll take the chance.
Besides, they've piqued my curiosity.
A door on the other side of the command deck opens. "The captain will see you now," Says a feminine voice. I look up in time to see a fox in a black uniform looking in my direction before she disappears into the room she just came out of.
"To your feet, Punchernaut," the buffalo says, but I'm already standing up. I'm eager to get this over with. Two machine guns push into my shoulder blades, not unkindly, and lead me to the door. Two guards stay in front of me. The buffalo brings up the rear.
Through the door is a small anteroom. Stationed in the center of the room is a reception desk. Foxy Lady is motioning to a red leather door beyond the desk. "Right this way."
The guards in front of me stand aside and the buffalo opens the door. They all follow me inside.
The first thing I notice in the office is the dark figure silhouetted in front of a tremendous picture window that's looking out over Vincennes. The next things I notice are the short, cropped, triangular ears on top of the figure's head, sticking almost comically out from the sides of a short black cap.
The figure stands tall and proud in its black uniform, hands clasped behind its back. One hand, I see, looks deformed at first, but then I realize it's a dog's paw. Clutched in the other hairy, but relatively normal hand is a black riding crop.
The figure speaks in a deep, thick voice that for some reason reminds me of chocolate. "Leave us."
"But mein Herr --"
"Leave us," the voice is still calm, smooth, almost hypnotic, but this time there's a sharp edge on the words.
"Jawohl," the buffalo and the four armed guards say at once. They exit the room and close the door.
The figure remains silent. He stands rigid and strong, more like a statue than a man, or whatever these things are. The authority in the room is almost palpable. My eyes wander as I think of what to say. There are framed portraits all over the walls. The majority of them are marching brownshirts, screaming Hitlers, and army tanks. Others are maps and battle plans. Others are of various animals. The figure stands on the opposite side of a wide mahogany desk covered in a lacquer so thick and so clear the objects on top appear to be floating an inch or two above the surface.
"From up here," the figure finally says begins. His accent is so thick it gets jammed up in my ears and I have to let it sink in slow to understand him, "Your little town is very beautiful, Chassit."
I don't say anything. Words fail me. How did he know my name?
"You're very quiet," I can hear him smiling, "Didn't sink I'd know dat, did you? Vould you prefer I call you by your Earth name?"
My throat is dry. I manage to croak out, "No. Punchernaut is fine."
"I much prefer Chassit," he says this conversationally. He's still not looking at me, and it's driving me insane, "I've met many people in my life, Chassit, und none ever had such an interestink name..."
"Hm." The shock starts wearing off and I get bored.
"Vhat does it mean?"
"Nineteen," I tell him.
"Very interestink..."
All right, the shock is gone. I've had enough.
"Listen, bub," I begin, "I'm not here to play your little namby-pamby Nazi wargames. I'm here to send you and your glee club a-packin'."
He just chuckles.
"Shall I give ze order to level zis beautiful city? It vould be a shame..."
"It'd be a real damn shame if I sent your flea-bitten ass flying out that window," and I leap across the desk, my elbow cocked back, ready to send him on the ride of his life, when suddenly the unthinkable happens.
I don't even see him move. I feel a strange heat around my wrist, tight as a vice. He's facing me now, and I'm staring into the deep black eyes of a German Shepard. "Not zo fast," he coos. He twists my arm and I'm facing away from him. He's got me in a classic half nelson, and believe it or not, it hurts like hell.
"I could zmell your anger a mile a way," venom drips off of each syllable. The accent makes it worse, "Und I could feel ze air movink around you as you moved to attack me. You are very predictable, Chassit."
"Leggo of me you mutt," I gasp as I wrench my arm away. I'm just strong enough to do that, and I think it surprised him. That makes two of us.
"Are zere any more ztupid ideas going on in zat little head of yours, Chassit?"
If I could kill with a glare, I think this would be the one to do it. I'd be standing over a crumpled, dead, Nazi German shepard right about now. "I guess not."
"Vould you giff me a chanze to explain myself?"
"Yes."
"Zen haff a seat," He gestures with his paw toward a high-backed chair on the other side of his desk.
"I'd rather stand."
"Nonzense. Ve may be here a little vhile."
"All right, fair enough. But first you have to wash my shirt."
"Of course."
"Get the bloodstains out of my tie, too."
"Of course."
"Then we'll talk."
"Of course."
I pull off my tie and white shirt and lay them on the desk. The blood's already dried on my black t-shirt and wristbands, so I let it go.
I sit and wait to see what's next...
I'm on a ship high above the fair city I've sworn to protect. It appeared here a few hours ago while I was at work. As far as I can tell, it opened fire on several buildings in the Main Street area.
And all of this was just to get at me.
I'm a popular guy with furry Nazis.
My skin is tingling all over. A little over a dozen of these creeps opened fire on me with submachine guns about 15 minutes ago. I can already see bruises developing on my arms and I can see bumps on my shoulders. Big bee-sting-looking welts. They're so fresh and so tender that even a gentle breeze sets them on fire.
This sucks.
There are four guards standing around me, each of them facing me, each of them with a machine gun pointed right at my head.
If there's one thing I hate more than being shot, it's being shot in the head with machine guns.
So I'm playing it cool.
There's an anthropomorphic buffalo standing between the two guards in front of me. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asks.
"Piss off," I tell him, and I spit on the floor, right into the puddle of the dead sheepdog's blood.
"Very well," he says. I don't look at him, but I can tell he's smiling. I'd like more than anything to wipe that smile off his face, but on the way up to the command deck, he explained to me that there are at least a dozen soldiers posted throughout the ship with their finger on a button that will reduce Vincennes to dust and ashes. He may be bluffing, but I don't think I'll take the chance.
Besides, they've piqued my curiosity.
A door on the other side of the command deck opens. "The captain will see you now," Says a feminine voice. I look up in time to see a fox in a black uniform looking in my direction before she disappears into the room she just came out of.
"To your feet, Punchernaut," the buffalo says, but I'm already standing up. I'm eager to get this over with. Two machine guns push into my shoulder blades, not unkindly, and lead me to the door. Two guards stay in front of me. The buffalo brings up the rear.
Through the door is a small anteroom. Stationed in the center of the room is a reception desk. Foxy Lady is motioning to a red leather door beyond the desk. "Right this way."
The guards in front of me stand aside and the buffalo opens the door. They all follow me inside.
The first thing I notice in the office is the dark figure silhouetted in front of a tremendous picture window that's looking out over Vincennes. The next things I notice are the short, cropped, triangular ears on top of the figure's head, sticking almost comically out from the sides of a short black cap.
The figure stands tall and proud in its black uniform, hands clasped behind its back. One hand, I see, looks deformed at first, but then I realize it's a dog's paw. Clutched in the other hairy, but relatively normal hand is a black riding crop.
The figure speaks in a deep, thick voice that for some reason reminds me of chocolate. "Leave us."
"But mein Herr --"
"Leave us," the voice is still calm, smooth, almost hypnotic, but this time there's a sharp edge on the words.
"Jawohl," the buffalo and the four armed guards say at once. They exit the room and close the door.
The figure remains silent. He stands rigid and strong, more like a statue than a man, or whatever these things are. The authority in the room is almost palpable. My eyes wander as I think of what to say. There are framed portraits all over the walls. The majority of them are marching brownshirts, screaming Hitlers, and army tanks. Others are maps and battle plans. Others are of various animals. The figure stands on the opposite side of a wide mahogany desk covered in a lacquer so thick and so clear the objects on top appear to be floating an inch or two above the surface.
"From up here," the figure finally says begins. His accent is so thick it gets jammed up in my ears and I have to let it sink in slow to understand him, "Your little town is very beautiful, Chassit."
I don't say anything. Words fail me. How did he know my name?
"You're very quiet," I can hear him smiling, "Didn't sink I'd know dat, did you? Vould you prefer I call you by your Earth name?"
My throat is dry. I manage to croak out, "No. Punchernaut is fine."
"I much prefer Chassit," he says this conversationally. He's still not looking at me, and it's driving me insane, "I've met many people in my life, Chassit, und none ever had such an interestink name..."
"Hm." The shock starts wearing off and I get bored.
"Vhat does it mean?"
"Nineteen," I tell him.
"Very interestink..."
All right, the shock is gone. I've had enough.
"Listen, bub," I begin, "I'm not here to play your little namby-pamby Nazi wargames. I'm here to send you and your glee club a-packin'."
He just chuckles.
"Shall I give ze order to level zis beautiful city? It vould be a shame..."
"It'd be a real damn shame if I sent your flea-bitten ass flying out that window," and I leap across the desk, my elbow cocked back, ready to send him on the ride of his life, when suddenly the unthinkable happens.
I don't even see him move. I feel a strange heat around my wrist, tight as a vice. He's facing me now, and I'm staring into the deep black eyes of a German Shepard. "Not zo fast," he coos. He twists my arm and I'm facing away from him. He's got me in a classic half nelson, and believe it or not, it hurts like hell.
"I could zmell your anger a mile a way," venom drips off of each syllable. The accent makes it worse, "Und I could feel ze air movink around you as you moved to attack me. You are very predictable, Chassit."
"Leggo of me you mutt," I gasp as I wrench my arm away. I'm just strong enough to do that, and I think it surprised him. That makes two of us.
"Are zere any more ztupid ideas going on in zat little head of yours, Chassit?"
If I could kill with a glare, I think this would be the one to do it. I'd be standing over a crumpled, dead, Nazi German shepard right about now. "I guess not."
"Vould you giff me a chanze to explain myself?"
"Yes."
"Zen haff a seat," He gestures with his paw toward a high-backed chair on the other side of his desk.
"I'd rather stand."
"Nonzense. Ve may be here a little vhile."
"All right, fair enough. But first you have to wash my shirt."
"Of course."
"Get the bloodstains out of my tie, too."
"Of course."
"Then we'll talk."
"Of course."
I pull off my tie and white shirt and lay them on the desk. The blood's already dried on my black t-shirt and wristbands, so I let it go.
I sit and wait to see what's next...
Schatzi Von Jiftofen (Part 2)
BOOM! The air around me shakes as the redirected missile makes contact with the blimp. It may have shaken, but it could have been my imagination.
I'm hovering in air, waiting for another attack. I must have really surprised them.
So up, up, and away!
I'm tearing through the air now at an almost offensive speed. I feel like Superman.
WHOOF the air around me pressurizes around me and I land on the tread plate surface of the blimp's interior. It's dead quiet.
All around me, there are figures in brown uniforms. All of them have stopped what they're doing to turn and look at me.
All of them have a short, mean-looking machine gun on a strap over their shoulder.
And most of them... are... animals?
The one closest to me is about six feet tall. There's a hole in the back of his pants and a long cat-like tail twitches nervously in the air. Furry hands slowly clench into fists and then go limp again. Yellow eyes stare back into mine and a pink nose in the center of its face twitches almost imperceptibly. Slowly its cloven mouth splits open, revealing tiny, white, perfect, and sharp teeth. The teeth of a carnivore.
"REEEAOOOOWWWW" it says as it makes a drop for its machine gun.
I can't say I'm not surprised. It takes me a moment to react. I feel the air light on fire as I instinctively dodge gunfire. Behind me, something explodes and I see a shatter of sparks out of the corner of my eye.
A guttural voice voice roars over the machine gun fire, "YOU IDIOT! Our orders are to take him alive!!"
Another shot rings out and the Cat Man falls dead, a smoking hole in his forehead. I spin toward the source of the voice and I see a buffalo's head staring back at me. It's wearing a black uniform with a black trenchcoat. He's got a smoking Luger in his hand. Or hoof. I can't tell what it is. There's an enormous hump on its back.
Jesus Christ.
"Now, now, Punchernaut..." the buffalo says. "We've been expecting you."
"Oh have you?"
Behind him are two fat girls in Nazi uniforms. One is wearing a headband with felt cat ears attached to the top. She swipes at me and whispers sinisterly, "Nyaaooh..." The other one hisses. They're both pointing disturbingly black machine guns directly at me.
"It's the whole reason we're here, dear, dear Punchernaut," the buffalo says.
"And you expect me to come along quietly?"
"Well, seeing as how you're outnumbered..." he whistles through his teeth, which I must assure you, is a sight to see. Whistling buffalo men. What next?
In response to the whistle, I hear the clattering of at least 20 people arming their submachine guns and I see about a half dozen behind the buffalo and the catgirls pointing them my direction. Three of these half dozen are also animals. One more cat and two dogs. One has a black circle around his eye like the dog from the Little Rascals. The other three are humans. Two skinny girls wearing cat ears and one dopey, chubby boy with a skunk tail attached to his uniform pants.
What in the hell have I gotten myself into?
"Are you guys... furries?"
Everyone in the room gasps. The buffalo spits, "Swine hound! How dare you use that word!?"
Swine hound? I think he means schweinhund. For a Nazi, this guy needs to brush up on his German.
"Furries? Or guys?"
Everyone gasps again.
"We are not... I can barely bring myself to say it... FURRIES!!" The word erupts from his mouth and everyone in the engine room groans. "We are FURS!"
"Um." I say.
"Still your vile tongue before you insult us further!" a voice from behind barks. Literally barks. I spin around and it's another dog, this one in a black uniform to match the buffalo's. This one is a shaggy sheep dog with disquietingly human eyes. His tongue lolls out after we stare at each other a few seconds and he pants quietly. I turn back to the buffalo.
The buffalo speaks: "Enough! Enough of this! Punchernaut, come with us."
"I hate to tell you how to do your job, Herr Buffalo," I said, "But you might want to issue a new order to your troops."
"Oh, Punchernaut? And what would that be?"
"Open fire," and before he can respond, both of my fists shoot forward like lightning. So fast and so hard I get windburn on my knuckles. I push the air like an invisible wall and all six of the critters sitting in front of me fall backwards. I hear noses smashing under the pressure of the air and the smell of blood comes to me.
Oh, man! This is going to be AWESOME!
The sound of submachine gun fire erupts behind me, deeper. I'm moving so fast everything around me seems to be going in slow motion. I feel a few slugs rip through my shirt, but they never touch me. I land face, first on the floor, catching myself with my fists. I'm grinning like a lunatic as instrument panels in front of me erupt in white light. The buffalo is screaming "CEASE FIRE YOULL TAKE THE WHOLE SHIP DOWN" but I doubt the gunners can hear over the commotion.
My hands slide under me and I shove with both arms, sliding across the steel floor backwards on my belly. One good push and I'm right under the feet of the SS Dog behind me. I spin around and grin up at him as he looks down at me, horrified. "I hope, for my sake, you're not fixed, Rover." and I drive the heel of my Converse up where his legs meet in the middle.
He folds like a napkin and I snatch his gun. I can punch harder than a bullet ever can, but this is faster, and I'm after destroying equipment at this point.
The other gunners don't know what to do. I've got their commanding officer on top of me, and I get to my feet, dragging him up with me. I push the submachine gun under the Shaggy Dog's chin. Everybody freezes.
"Cease fire!" the buffalo yells. He's finally getting to his feet. Or hooves. I can't tell. He's wearing jack boots.
"Yeah, cease fire, alla you Kraut bastids!" I'm high on adrenaline. I start laughing, "Point those peashooters elsewhere or I'm gonna fill Biko here fulla lead, see!"
"You misunderstand, Punchernaut," the Buffalo Bill says, "I was merely concerned about more damage coming to our instruments. Herr Morgenstern is secondary to our mission."
"Open fire."
I hate being shot.
So bad.
Especially by submachine guns.
Herr Morgenstern liquefies in my arms and the bullets rip through him and into me. I begin screaming and I lose my hold on the gun I swiped. It skitters across the floor as hot blood seeps into my shirt. I fall to my knees and start scrambling across the floor as more bullets drive into me, ripping my shirt in some places, bouncing off in others, but bruising everywhere. I'm yelling a thousand curses as the Bill orders a cease fire. My hands are sticky and slippery with warm blood.
What have I gotten myself into?
"Now, Punchernaut, you have an innocent life on your hands," Buffalo Bill sneers. "Shall we lose any more of our men, or will you come quietly?"
"You drive a hard bargain, Bill," I pull myself up off the floor and almost slip in Herr Morgenstern's blood. I'm going to need to buy a new shirt.
"Der Fuhrer awaits us on the command deck," Buffalo Bill says, "And he's very anxious to meet you."
"Lead the way."
I've got a bad feeling about this.
I'm hovering in air, waiting for another attack. I must have really surprised them.
So up, up, and away!
I'm tearing through the air now at an almost offensive speed. I feel like Superman.
WHOOF the air around me pressurizes around me and I land on the tread plate surface of the blimp's interior. It's dead quiet.
All around me, there are figures in brown uniforms. All of them have stopped what they're doing to turn and look at me.
All of them have a short, mean-looking machine gun on a strap over their shoulder.
And most of them... are... animals?
The one closest to me is about six feet tall. There's a hole in the back of his pants and a long cat-like tail twitches nervously in the air. Furry hands slowly clench into fists and then go limp again. Yellow eyes stare back into mine and a pink nose in the center of its face twitches almost imperceptibly. Slowly its cloven mouth splits open, revealing tiny, white, perfect, and sharp teeth. The teeth of a carnivore.
"REEEAOOOOWWWW" it says as it makes a drop for its machine gun.
I can't say I'm not surprised. It takes me a moment to react. I feel the air light on fire as I instinctively dodge gunfire. Behind me, something explodes and I see a shatter of sparks out of the corner of my eye.
A guttural voice voice roars over the machine gun fire, "YOU IDIOT! Our orders are to take him alive!!"
Another shot rings out and the Cat Man falls dead, a smoking hole in his forehead. I spin toward the source of the voice and I see a buffalo's head staring back at me. It's wearing a black uniform with a black trenchcoat. He's got a smoking Luger in his hand. Or hoof. I can't tell what it is. There's an enormous hump on its back.
Jesus Christ.
"Now, now, Punchernaut..." the buffalo says. "We've been expecting you."
"Oh have you?"
Behind him are two fat girls in Nazi uniforms. One is wearing a headband with felt cat ears attached to the top. She swipes at me and whispers sinisterly, "Nyaaooh..." The other one hisses. They're both pointing disturbingly black machine guns directly at me.
"It's the whole reason we're here, dear, dear Punchernaut," the buffalo says.
"And you expect me to come along quietly?"
"Well, seeing as how you're outnumbered..." he whistles through his teeth, which I must assure you, is a sight to see. Whistling buffalo men. What next?
In response to the whistle, I hear the clattering of at least 20 people arming their submachine guns and I see about a half dozen behind the buffalo and the catgirls pointing them my direction. Three of these half dozen are also animals. One more cat and two dogs. One has a black circle around his eye like the dog from the Little Rascals. The other three are humans. Two skinny girls wearing cat ears and one dopey, chubby boy with a skunk tail attached to his uniform pants.
What in the hell have I gotten myself into?
"Are you guys... furries?"
Everyone in the room gasps. The buffalo spits, "Swine hound! How dare you use that word!?"
Swine hound? I think he means schweinhund. For a Nazi, this guy needs to brush up on his German.
"Furries? Or guys?"
Everyone gasps again.
"We are not... I can barely bring myself to say it... FURRIES!!" The word erupts from his mouth and everyone in the engine room groans. "We are FURS!"
"Um." I say.
"Still your vile tongue before you insult us further!" a voice from behind barks. Literally barks. I spin around and it's another dog, this one in a black uniform to match the buffalo's. This one is a shaggy sheep dog with disquietingly human eyes. His tongue lolls out after we stare at each other a few seconds and he pants quietly. I turn back to the buffalo.
The buffalo speaks: "Enough! Enough of this! Punchernaut, come with us."
"I hate to tell you how to do your job, Herr Buffalo," I said, "But you might want to issue a new order to your troops."
"Oh, Punchernaut? And what would that be?"
"Open fire," and before he can respond, both of my fists shoot forward like lightning. So fast and so hard I get windburn on my knuckles. I push the air like an invisible wall and all six of the critters sitting in front of me fall backwards. I hear noses smashing under the pressure of the air and the smell of blood comes to me.
Oh, man! This is going to be AWESOME!
The sound of submachine gun fire erupts behind me, deeper. I'm moving so fast everything around me seems to be going in slow motion. I feel a few slugs rip through my shirt, but they never touch me. I land face, first on the floor, catching myself with my fists. I'm grinning like a lunatic as instrument panels in front of me erupt in white light. The buffalo is screaming "CEASE FIRE YOULL TAKE THE WHOLE SHIP DOWN" but I doubt the gunners can hear over the commotion.
My hands slide under me and I shove with both arms, sliding across the steel floor backwards on my belly. One good push and I'm right under the feet of the SS Dog behind me. I spin around and grin up at him as he looks down at me, horrified. "I hope, for my sake, you're not fixed, Rover." and I drive the heel of my Converse up where his legs meet in the middle.
He folds like a napkin and I snatch his gun. I can punch harder than a bullet ever can, but this is faster, and I'm after destroying equipment at this point.
The other gunners don't know what to do. I've got their commanding officer on top of me, and I get to my feet, dragging him up with me. I push the submachine gun under the Shaggy Dog's chin. Everybody freezes.
"Cease fire!" the buffalo yells. He's finally getting to his feet. Or hooves. I can't tell. He's wearing jack boots.
"Yeah, cease fire, alla you Kraut bastids!" I'm high on adrenaline. I start laughing, "Point those peashooters elsewhere or I'm gonna fill Biko here fulla lead, see!"
"You misunderstand, Punchernaut," the Buffalo Bill says, "I was merely concerned about more damage coming to our instruments. Herr Morgenstern is secondary to our mission."
"Open fire."
I hate being shot.
So bad.
Especially by submachine guns.
Herr Morgenstern liquefies in my arms and the bullets rip through him and into me. I begin screaming and I lose my hold on the gun I swiped. It skitters across the floor as hot blood seeps into my shirt. I fall to my knees and start scrambling across the floor as more bullets drive into me, ripping my shirt in some places, bouncing off in others, but bruising everywhere. I'm yelling a thousand curses as the Bill orders a cease fire. My hands are sticky and slippery with warm blood.
What have I gotten myself into?
"Now, Punchernaut, you have an innocent life on your hands," Buffalo Bill sneers. "Shall we lose any more of our men, or will you come quietly?"
"You drive a hard bargain, Bill," I pull myself up off the floor and almost slip in Herr Morgenstern's blood. I'm going to need to buy a new shirt.
"Der Fuhrer awaits us on the command deck," Buffalo Bill says, "And he's very anxious to meet you."
"Lead the way."
I've got a bad feeling about this.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Schatzi Von Jiftofen (Part 1)
Being a superhero is REALLY hard work. Being superhuman, though, when you're not being a superhero is almost as bad.
I haven't updated in a long time, and I'm sorry friends. I'm about to go into my biggest bust on a supervillain yet, just to make it up to you.
Anyways, the reason I haven't been updating this thing is I got sort-of-kind-of promoted at work. Get this: I've got the JOB of our old night manager. I've got the PAY of our old night manager. I've got the RESPONSIBILITY of our old night manager, but I don't have the TITLE of night manager.
This gets us back to my first point. Being superhuman is HARD when you're trying to hide it. As a superhero, hell, I'm supposed to be! But as just a schlub who's ALMOST a night manager at a hotel, I'm supposed to be just pulling a paycheck.
See, my job is to set up and tear down the banquet rooms here at the hotel and make sure everything's set up. Now, a normal guy can carry like three or four of the chairs for banquets at a time pretty comfortably. I could probably lift 100 of them. The catch is, if I'm carrying six stacks of 8 chairs each, three on each arm, and somebody walks in, they're like "HES A FREAK" and I get fired and ousted and my enemies go after my family. It's the whole Spider-Man thing. So I have to pace myself and use dollies and things. It really sucks and makes the job really tedious.
The good news is, unlike when I'm working front desk here at the hotel, or when I'm the Punchernaut, I can listen to music on my iPod while I work.
That's why I missed the explosions.
They were all the way downtown, so of course the ground didn't shake. I didn't know about it until I got off two hours later.
"What do you think of those attacks downtown?" That's what my boss asked me as I walked into the office to clock out.
"Attacks?"
"Yeah, that blimp!"
"Blimp!?"
"With the Nazis!"
"NAZIS!?"
I clocked out and walked as fast as I could out to my car. I could see the blimp to the south, right about where I last fought Willie. I got my uniform and walked as fast as I could to the dumpsters. I got into the dumpster as fast as I could and changed. Then I took off for downtown.
I took my car, and scoped the news radio on the way there. That's one thing I love about my superhero costume. It's just a white shirt and tie. If I have my glasses on and my eyepatch off, I just look like a guy in a tie driving his car. I used to make fun of the whole Superman/Clark Kent thing, but it works surprisingly well. Hell, I even go with contacts sometimes. It's all in the eyepatch.
Anyway, the radio. That's where I heard the broadcast I mentioned in my last entry. This is going to be so damn cool. I'll be fighting Nazis just like Captain America! And what's more American-Hero than fighting Nazis?
So I ditch my car a few blocks away. Sure enough, there's a big Swastika on the side of the blimp. It was so huge I couldn't see the sun and half of the downtown area was covered in its silhouette. I was pumped. I jumped in the air a few times, trying to fly, but it wasn't working. I needed an audience.
So naturally, I just threw myself in the thick of things.
SWAT teams were posted all around the Main Street area, and all the guys in their Kevlar vests and riot helmets were standing around. "How the hell do we fight a goddamn blimp?" I heard one mutter. That was right before he saw me. Then he said something along the lines of "Oh shit..."
I heard shotguns being cocked and saw them being pointed in my direction. I ignored it, though, because there was some reluctance. The TV news crews were everywhere, and just like the shotguns, the cameras were all pointed on me. Time to be the stoic hero.
I surveyed the area. A big smoking hole in the old Showplace 3 Cinema to my left, another one in the street in front of the funeral home. I tucked my hands into my pockets and looked at the blimp, then over to the smoke rising up over by the Old National Bank building.
The police had set up a perimeter, and despite the fact that they'd issued an evacuation warning, droves of citizens had flocked to the area, standing behind the yellow "POLICE LINE" saw horses. Every eye was on me. I could feel their gaze tingling over my body like electricity.
This is going to be awesome.
"Punchernaut! Get your hands where I can see them!" A trembling voice coming through a bull horn.
"Take a flying leap," I spat. "I've pulled your fat out of the fryer more times than I can count and I'm about to do it again."
There was a bay open on the bottom of the blimp. I guess that'd be the best way to go in.
"I- You ass hole!" the police captain said, putting the bull horn down on the hood of his squad car, falling silent.
"Just leave this to the professionals," I wiped my hands off on my jeans. "Okay... here we go." I straightened my tie.
I hatch a plan in my head. First step, fly. Second step, land inside that bay on the bottom of the blimp. Third step, beat everyone inside up.
Sometimes with things this big, it's best to have no plan at all.
And with that thought in my head, I took off, ripping through the sky with my tie flapping in the wind. A cheer rose from the spectators below, lifting me higher and faster toward the blimp. It got bigger.
Then bigger.
Then bigger.
And about that time I realized how immense it was, and how high I was flying.
My God, I thought, I can't see anything but that blimp.
And then, a tiny white line shot out of that bay I was headed for.
A white line that grew into a white cylinder.
The white cylinder was leaving a blue-gray trail of smoke.
"Oh shit, a rocket!" I spun through the air and grabbed hold of it. I was being pulled down, down, so fast the wind was hurting my cheeks. My fingers dug into the steel sides of the rocket, my thumb digging into the middle of a sloppily painted swastika. My feet dug into the fins on the back and I kicked. The rocket upturned and flew right back at the blimp.
Direct hit. Just at the lip of the bay. Showers of smoldering metal sail past me and chunks of debris land in my hair. Another cheer from below, so far away now.
God, this is going to be awesome.
If they didn't already know I was coming, they do now.
I haven't updated in a long time, and I'm sorry friends. I'm about to go into my biggest bust on a supervillain yet, just to make it up to you.
Anyways, the reason I haven't been updating this thing is I got sort-of-kind-of promoted at work. Get this: I've got the JOB of our old night manager. I've got the PAY of our old night manager. I've got the RESPONSIBILITY of our old night manager, but I don't have the TITLE of night manager.
This gets us back to my first point. Being superhuman is HARD when you're trying to hide it. As a superhero, hell, I'm supposed to be! But as just a schlub who's ALMOST a night manager at a hotel, I'm supposed to be just pulling a paycheck.
See, my job is to set up and tear down the banquet rooms here at the hotel and make sure everything's set up. Now, a normal guy can carry like three or four of the chairs for banquets at a time pretty comfortably. I could probably lift 100 of them. The catch is, if I'm carrying six stacks of 8 chairs each, three on each arm, and somebody walks in, they're like "HES A FREAK" and I get fired and ousted and my enemies go after my family. It's the whole Spider-Man thing. So I have to pace myself and use dollies and things. It really sucks and makes the job really tedious.
The good news is, unlike when I'm working front desk here at the hotel, or when I'm the Punchernaut, I can listen to music on my iPod while I work.
That's why I missed the explosions.
They were all the way downtown, so of course the ground didn't shake. I didn't know about it until I got off two hours later.
"What do you think of those attacks downtown?" That's what my boss asked me as I walked into the office to clock out.
"Attacks?"
"Yeah, that blimp!"
"Blimp!?"
"With the Nazis!"
"NAZIS!?"
I clocked out and walked as fast as I could out to my car. I could see the blimp to the south, right about where I last fought Willie. I got my uniform and walked as fast as I could to the dumpsters. I got into the dumpster as fast as I could and changed. Then I took off for downtown.
I took my car, and scoped the news radio on the way there. That's one thing I love about my superhero costume. It's just a white shirt and tie. If I have my glasses on and my eyepatch off, I just look like a guy in a tie driving his car. I used to make fun of the whole Superman/Clark Kent thing, but it works surprisingly well. Hell, I even go with contacts sometimes. It's all in the eyepatch.
Anyway, the radio. That's where I heard the broadcast I mentioned in my last entry. This is going to be so damn cool. I'll be fighting Nazis just like Captain America! And what's more American-Hero than fighting Nazis?
So I ditch my car a few blocks away. Sure enough, there's a big Swastika on the side of the blimp. It was so huge I couldn't see the sun and half of the downtown area was covered in its silhouette. I was pumped. I jumped in the air a few times, trying to fly, but it wasn't working. I needed an audience.
So naturally, I just threw myself in the thick of things.
SWAT teams were posted all around the Main Street area, and all the guys in their Kevlar vests and riot helmets were standing around. "How the hell do we fight a goddamn blimp?" I heard one mutter. That was right before he saw me. Then he said something along the lines of "Oh shit..."
I heard shotguns being cocked and saw them being pointed in my direction. I ignored it, though, because there was some reluctance. The TV news crews were everywhere, and just like the shotguns, the cameras were all pointed on me. Time to be the stoic hero.
I surveyed the area. A big smoking hole in the old Showplace 3 Cinema to my left, another one in the street in front of the funeral home. I tucked my hands into my pockets and looked at the blimp, then over to the smoke rising up over by the Old National Bank building.
The police had set up a perimeter, and despite the fact that they'd issued an evacuation warning, droves of citizens had flocked to the area, standing behind the yellow "POLICE LINE" saw horses. Every eye was on me. I could feel their gaze tingling over my body like electricity.
This is going to be awesome.
"Punchernaut! Get your hands where I can see them!" A trembling voice coming through a bull horn.
"Take a flying leap," I spat. "I've pulled your fat out of the fryer more times than I can count and I'm about to do it again."
There was a bay open on the bottom of the blimp. I guess that'd be the best way to go in.
"I- You ass hole!" the police captain said, putting the bull horn down on the hood of his squad car, falling silent.
"Just leave this to the professionals," I wiped my hands off on my jeans. "Okay... here we go." I straightened my tie.
I hatch a plan in my head. First step, fly. Second step, land inside that bay on the bottom of the blimp. Third step, beat everyone inside up.
Sometimes with things this big, it's best to have no plan at all.
And with that thought in my head, I took off, ripping through the sky with my tie flapping in the wind. A cheer rose from the spectators below, lifting me higher and faster toward the blimp. It got bigger.
Then bigger.
Then bigger.
And about that time I realized how immense it was, and how high I was flying.
My God, I thought, I can't see anything but that blimp.
And then, a tiny white line shot out of that bay I was headed for.
A white line that grew into a white cylinder.
The white cylinder was leaving a blue-gray trail of smoke.
"Oh shit, a rocket!" I spun through the air and grabbed hold of it. I was being pulled down, down, so fast the wind was hurting my cheeks. My fingers dug into the steel sides of the rocket, my thumb digging into the middle of a sloppily painted swastika. My feet dug into the fins on the back and I kicked. The rocket upturned and flew right back at the blimp.
Direct hit. Just at the lip of the bay. Showers of smoldering metal sail past me and chunks of debris land in my hair. Another cheer from below, so far away now.
God, this is going to be awesome.
If they didn't already know I was coming, they do now.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Schatzi Von Jiftofen (Prelude)
Music to my ears. Dig the newscast:
"A dark cloud has fallen over the city. A dirigible displaying a German Swastika on the side entered Vincennes airspace and machine guns opened fire on the downtown area. Citizens were given an evacuation order.
"Police are baffled and have no idea how to respond.
"What hope does the city of Vincennes have?
"Where is the Punchernaut!?"
I'm right here, baby.
Don't worry.
"A dark cloud has fallen over the city. A dirigible displaying a German Swastika on the side entered Vincennes airspace and machine guns opened fire on the downtown area. Citizens were given an evacuation order.
"Police are baffled and have no idea how to respond.
"What hope does the city of Vincennes have?
"Where is the Punchernaut!?"
I'm right here, baby.
Don't worry.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Totally Whimsical
Being a small-town superhero sucks.
I haven't posted in a long time, Puncherfans. This is because there has been no crime whatsoever that has deserved my attention in the past FOREVER.
One day, out of costume, I stopped a fight between a bunch of fifth graders. Two big bullies with cigarettes picking on some dumb looking kid. I pulled up in my car, pulled the cigarettes out of the bullies' mouths and flicked them into the dirt and told them to beat it. The kid I saved ran away in the confusion.
Some people have got no damn gratitude.
In fact, no crimes have gone on AT ALL, but finally something I think might be worthwhile happened the other night.
I was on patrol, sitting on top of the bank building that got robbed in my last update. I was eating some peanut butter cheese crackers I'd stolen from my father's house and listening to the police scanner when I heard this... wail.
"....aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAA"
What the hell is that?
I stood up and started looking around. It was hard to get a fix on where it was coming from.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
Jesus Christ! How annoying!
Maybe it's coming from behi--
"AAAAAAAAAAAAGGAA--"
And right then, as I turned around to see what was behind me, Professor Whimsy, caught in a strong breeze, slammed into me at top speed. He bounced off of me and floated away like a soap bubble before landing daintily on the cement roof of the bank building.
I, on the other hand, was staggering backwards, taken by surprise. My heels backed out over th edge of the bank building and suddenly, all the weight in my body was pushed into the balls of my feet, my toes, and then I fell six stories to the parking lot below, leaving a good crack in the concrete.
"You ASS HOLE!" I yelled once I got my breath back. With one good leap I was back up on top of the bank building.
"Oh dear me!" Whimsy said. He was wearing one of those stupid velvet suits he always wore. His top hat was on sideways and he was stuffing long, puffy curls of his hair back into it. Think Willy Wonka with a black Jew-fro and little Ben Franklin glasses. "How rude, yes, quite, how INCONSIDERATE of me!"
"I've got half a mind to give you a black eye, you son of a bitch. What's the big idea?"
"Sir Punchernaut, I can't apologize enough!" He finished stuffing his hair back into his top hat and then pulled the hat off again, giving a low bow. "Gracious me, but you know how it is! Traveling on the wind and all that!" He stood up and looked me in the eye.
The next thing I knew, he was holding his jaw, a thin line of blood trickling down his chin.
Oh, right.
One of Whimsy's powers is making you relive your fondest childhood memory any time you lock eyes with him.
I must have relived one of my first fights.
This happened last time I met him, too.
"I didn't mean to do that," I told him, rubbing my knuckles. "Even though you did deserve it."
I do have to admit, though, I did feel pretty good.
"Oh, Punchernaut! It's been too long." He pulled his hat back on and then picked a tooth up off the ground. "Only one knocked out this time, I see! Well!" He flipped it off his thumb and caught it right in the gap where I knocked it out. I swear to God, his tooth sighed with relief as it sunk back down into his gums. "That's how it goes."
"You all right?"
"I always am, Chassit." He smiled at me, and sure enough, the blood on his teeth was gone and the tooth I knocked out was safely back in place.
God this guy creeps me out.
I never told him my real name, either, and this is the first time he's ever called me by it.
But, as with the last time I ran into Whimsy, I decided to just let it go.
Asking Whimsy questions was just asking for trouble.
If you ask me, he just likes the sound of his own voice too much.
"Last time we met, Chassit, you weren't wearing that dreadful thing on your face." He pointed to my eyepatch. "They say eyes are windows to the soul. Have troublesome boys been hurling rocks through the windows of your condemned soul?"
"No, last time I had my bionic eye in, I was in street clothes, and you almost blew my cover, Whimsy."
"Oh right! Again, I can't apologize enough, of course!"
"It's fine. Look, I've got other things I need to be doing," which was a lie. "What do you want?"
"Want? I want nothing, Sir Punchernaut, Sir Chassit of Iceland. I go where the wind deems my presence necessary. You know how I operate more well that most, I suspect. I've come here with some warning for you."
"A warning?"
"Yes, or advice, or some such. Divination has never been my strong suit, I'm afraid. Of all the things a Professor is good at, he must have at least one at which he fails. Where did I put that note? I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget, and of course, I forgot where I've put it." He was digging through his pockets, his walking stick tucked under one arm.
That's when I noticed the wind picking up.
"Whimsy, you better hurry."
"Oh dear, you're right!" Panic was creeping into his voice. More frantically than ever, he was digging through his pockets, throwing things out. A deck of cards, a brown frog, a box of Mike & Ikes, a copy of the Necronomicon.
"Come on, Hurry!" Somehow, Whimsy has a way of imposing his feelings on those around him. I was starting to panic, too, even though 30 seconds ago I couldn't give a damn about this warning he had for me.
Suddenly, with a flourish, he produced a sheet of paper, yellowed and ancient. "Aha!" he said, "Here!"
I took it from him. It was a recipe for a truth potion.
"What am I going to do with this?"
No sooner had the words left my mouth than his feet left the ground. He was being pushed along by the wind, waving his walking stick in the air above him "ON THE BACK, PUNCHERNAUT! ON THE BACK!"
I flipped the paper over, but was interrupted by Whimsy's frantic screams as the wind carried him off.
"BE WARY, PUNCHERNAUT! AND REMEMBER! BREATHE THROUGH YOUR NEEEEEeecck...."
And that's just when he was out of earshot and out of sight.
I flipped the paper over.
"PUNCHERNAUT BEWARE THE DOGS OF WAR! Or more accurately, the Dog of War. He will come upon you from above, threatening to steal our freedom to be."
And below that, in smaller letters:
"Who could have thought a SHARK could defeat an EAGLE."
And in even smaller letters below that:
"Or was it BEAGLE?"
I should have known.
Gibberish.
And "Breathe with your neck"?
Give me a break.
I go back to my crackers and the police scanner.
It's been a long month.
I haven't posted in a long time, Puncherfans. This is because there has been no crime whatsoever that has deserved my attention in the past FOREVER.
One day, out of costume, I stopped a fight between a bunch of fifth graders. Two big bullies with cigarettes picking on some dumb looking kid. I pulled up in my car, pulled the cigarettes out of the bullies' mouths and flicked them into the dirt and told them to beat it. The kid I saved ran away in the confusion.
Some people have got no damn gratitude.
In fact, no crimes have gone on AT ALL, but finally something I think might be worthwhile happened the other night.
I was on patrol, sitting on top of the bank building that got robbed in my last update. I was eating some peanut butter cheese crackers I'd stolen from my father's house and listening to the police scanner when I heard this... wail.
"....aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAA"
What the hell is that?
I stood up and started looking around. It was hard to get a fix on where it was coming from.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
Jesus Christ! How annoying!
Maybe it's coming from behi--
"AAAAAAAAAAAAGGAA--"
And right then, as I turned around to see what was behind me, Professor Whimsy, caught in a strong breeze, slammed into me at top speed. He bounced off of me and floated away like a soap bubble before landing daintily on the cement roof of the bank building.
I, on the other hand, was staggering backwards, taken by surprise. My heels backed out over th edge of the bank building and suddenly, all the weight in my body was pushed into the balls of my feet, my toes, and then I fell six stories to the parking lot below, leaving a good crack in the concrete.
"You ASS HOLE!" I yelled once I got my breath back. With one good leap I was back up on top of the bank building.
"Oh dear me!" Whimsy said. He was wearing one of those stupid velvet suits he always wore. His top hat was on sideways and he was stuffing long, puffy curls of his hair back into it. Think Willy Wonka with a black Jew-fro and little Ben Franklin glasses. "How rude, yes, quite, how INCONSIDERATE of me!"
"I've got half a mind to give you a black eye, you son of a bitch. What's the big idea?"
"Sir Punchernaut, I can't apologize enough!" He finished stuffing his hair back into his top hat and then pulled the hat off again, giving a low bow. "Gracious me, but you know how it is! Traveling on the wind and all that!" He stood up and looked me in the eye.
The next thing I knew, he was holding his jaw, a thin line of blood trickling down his chin.
Oh, right.
One of Whimsy's powers is making you relive your fondest childhood memory any time you lock eyes with him.
I must have relived one of my first fights.
This happened last time I met him, too.
"I didn't mean to do that," I told him, rubbing my knuckles. "Even though you did deserve it."
I do have to admit, though, I did feel pretty good.
"Oh, Punchernaut! It's been too long." He pulled his hat back on and then picked a tooth up off the ground. "Only one knocked out this time, I see! Well!" He flipped it off his thumb and caught it right in the gap where I knocked it out. I swear to God, his tooth sighed with relief as it sunk back down into his gums. "That's how it goes."
"You all right?"
"I always am, Chassit." He smiled at me, and sure enough, the blood on his teeth was gone and the tooth I knocked out was safely back in place.
God this guy creeps me out.
I never told him my real name, either, and this is the first time he's ever called me by it.
But, as with the last time I ran into Whimsy, I decided to just let it go.
Asking Whimsy questions was just asking for trouble.
If you ask me, he just likes the sound of his own voice too much.
"Last time we met, Chassit, you weren't wearing that dreadful thing on your face." He pointed to my eyepatch. "They say eyes are windows to the soul. Have troublesome boys been hurling rocks through the windows of your condemned soul?"
"No, last time I had my bionic eye in, I was in street clothes, and you almost blew my cover, Whimsy."
"Oh right! Again, I can't apologize enough, of course!"
"It's fine. Look, I've got other things I need to be doing," which was a lie. "What do you want?"
"Want? I want nothing, Sir Punchernaut, Sir Chassit of Iceland. I go where the wind deems my presence necessary. You know how I operate more well that most, I suspect. I've come here with some warning for you."
"A warning?"
"Yes, or advice, or some such. Divination has never been my strong suit, I'm afraid. Of all the things a Professor is good at, he must have at least one at which he fails. Where did I put that note? I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget, and of course, I forgot where I've put it." He was digging through his pockets, his walking stick tucked under one arm.
That's when I noticed the wind picking up.
"Whimsy, you better hurry."
"Oh dear, you're right!" Panic was creeping into his voice. More frantically than ever, he was digging through his pockets, throwing things out. A deck of cards, a brown frog, a box of Mike & Ikes, a copy of the Necronomicon.
"Come on, Hurry!" Somehow, Whimsy has a way of imposing his feelings on those around him. I was starting to panic, too, even though 30 seconds ago I couldn't give a damn about this warning he had for me.
Suddenly, with a flourish, he produced a sheet of paper, yellowed and ancient. "Aha!" he said, "Here!"
I took it from him. It was a recipe for a truth potion.
"What am I going to do with this?"
No sooner had the words left my mouth than his feet left the ground. He was being pushed along by the wind, waving his walking stick in the air above him "ON THE BACK, PUNCHERNAUT! ON THE BACK!"
I flipped the paper over, but was interrupted by Whimsy's frantic screams as the wind carried him off.
"BE WARY, PUNCHERNAUT! AND REMEMBER! BREATHE THROUGH YOUR NEEEEEeecck...."
And that's just when he was out of earshot and out of sight.
I flipped the paper over.
"PUNCHERNAUT BEWARE THE DOGS OF WAR! Or more accurately, the Dog of War. He will come upon you from above, threatening to steal our freedom to be."
And below that, in smaller letters:
"Who could have thought a SHARK could defeat an EAGLE."
And in even smaller letters below that:
"Or was it BEAGLE?"
I should have known.
Gibberish.
And "Breathe with your neck"?
Give me a break.
I go back to my crackers and the police scanner.
It's been a long month.
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