Episode Four: A Love Ballad
When two men high-five once too many and the bullets begin to fly, how can they high-five ever again? Because if they ever did, bullets would fly. Right? Or was it a one-time thing? I don't know. I guess I wasn't paying attention.
Chapter One – How much is six percent calculated towards a religion based on protesting? Too much
Our heroes were in a steam room, doing what they normally do: sharpening knives, sweating, and having awesome conversations about badass things.
“We have to get our H1N1 flu vaccines today.” Moonchops said as if he were a doctor.
“What’s that?” Slade asked, sharpening an awesome knife on an awesome sharpening stone.
“Swine flu.”
“No. The HN11 thing you said.”
“It’s the Swine flu.” Moonchops took his towel off his waist and began stretching his hamstrings.
“I know what Swine Flu is. I’m asking about the H11M1 thing.”
“H11M1 is the designator for Swine Flu.”
“I thought H1N1 was the designator.”
“You’re right. H11M1 is the designator for the environmentally friendly super-death gas guns we have.”
“OK. Makes sense. Wasn’t the Swine Flu a Swedish thing?”
“No. It was Mexican.”
“I knew the Mexicans were up to no good. It probably escaped from some bio lab they’ve got in the middle of a desert somewhere.”
“It did. The world thinks it just came off a farm or some shit. But those of us who know, know it came from Scientologists. Mexican Scientologists.”
“The worst kind.” Slade, feeling the beautiful steam, assumed a Yoga Child’s Pose position on the bench, but he did it better than any Yoga queer ever could.
“Actually, I always thought that lesbian Scientologists were the worst.” Moonchops replied to the statement Slade had just made.
“Do they have labs in Mexico, cooking up flu?”
“I believe one sect does… no, that’s in Chile. So no.”
“Well then. Who’s the worst now? Mexicans or lesbians?”
“They all blur together.” Moonchops said as he looked off into the distance, a fathomless stare behind his secret agent/death killer eyes. He says from a million miles away: “They all blur together now.”
“This is what I say: if it comes down to saving the world any time soon, and Mexico benefits from that, then we don’t save the world.”
“Agreed.” And just like that, they knew their agreement.
“But I’m not sure about getting the Swine flu vaccine.” Slade says, easily sliding into a modified Yoga Runner’s Pose where his back supporting leg is over his head.
“Why?”
“I hear it contains a tracking device in it. We won’t get the flu, but satellites will know where we are at all times. They’ll monitor our shopping habits and inundate us with ads tailored to our tastes. We’ll never get away in secret again.”
“Oh. Big drawback. We might lose our Blacked-out Ninja Over-the-top Clearance if satellites follow us. The very same clearance we burned off our fingerprints for, all just flushed down the sink.”
“Don’t let the sun set on that, Moonchops.”
“I won’t.” With stud horse determination: “I won’t.”
“You know,” Slade said, sharpening his awesome gun on an awesome sharpening stone, “I also heard the Swine flu vaccine makes you feel White Guilt much more.”
“Speaking of which, Slade, how are your wife and children?”
“Oh, they’re fantastic. They got their Christmas wish.”
“Wonderful. So the missionaries finally came and dug a well for the village?”
“Yup. The Baptist ones, not the Unitarian ones.”
“I thought the Unitarian ones were slaughtered when they offered rice and medicines only in exchange for believing in Christ?”
“Right. Which is how I know it was the Baptist ones.”
“Got it. The ones who built the coffee house and ran the Catholics out?”
“Yes. They have my family’s village tending fields, so the Baptists can sell the produce. The money they got for that they used that to build the well.”
“Very awesome.”
“Super awesome. Although my wife says the Baptists use almost all the well water to steam milk for espressos and lattes that they then sell to the village in the name of Christ.”
“Do they at least discount it for them?”
“No.”
“How Christian is that?”
“Not much.”
“I’ll say. It might be fourteen (14) percent (%) Christian. But that’s a big maybe.”
“You know, one night I ran the numbers and I came up with six (6) percent (%) Christian.”
“Six (6)?”
“Yup. Six (6).”
“Six (6) is the number of the devil.”
“And the devil isn’t Christian at all.”
“So that can mean only one thing…”
“Yup. Baptist missionaries aren’t Christian. They’re the devil.”
“I love how deductive your super tactical brain is.”
“Thanks. I’ve worked hard on it.”
“Slade, when was the last time you visited your family?”
“Oh God. Uhhhh… let me think…”
“Christmas maybe?”
“No. The air fare is so expensive during the holidays. Plus, this Christmas you and I were on that cruise.”
They both smile at the memory. Then, after the memory, Moonchops says: “Right. When the Intergalactic Communist Regime Party tried to conquer the world by using that cruise boat as a launching platform.”
“Yes. It was a good mission.”
“I can’t believe they only had one room on that whole boat for the two of us.”
“Yeah. How crazy is that?”
“Anyways. What about for a birthday? Your wife’s maybe?”
“No. I’m trying to remember when…”
“Think about it while we go for our new mission briefing.”
They left the steam room and went and got briefed.
Chapter Two – The revelation
As they walked down super-secret hallway, Slade turned to Moonchops and said: “You know, I’ve been thinking about using more Kung Fu when I kill people.”
Moonchops nodded knowingly, as if he knew this day of revelation would come. It did. It just came.
Chapter Three – the next things that happened
They drank mochas and wore knitted booties. It was the only French disguise they had.
It worked better than the cancer patient disguises they had used before, and those disguises were fucking righteous.
“Ready to bring the thunder, undercover brother?” Slade shouts, tearing off his fake pencil-thin mustache and jumping to his feet. He tosses his beret into the air and reveals his hardcore .72mm bullet gun in the restaurant crowd they were disguised in. His chair flies back and hits an old man sitting at the table behind them.
“No, not yet.” Moonchops says. “The target isn’t here yet.”
“Oh, OK.” Slade uses his Ta Kwon Do-like art of non-chalant, sits down and puts his mustache back on. The entire restaurant never knew a thing happened. That’s how badass the Kung Fu-like art of non-chalant is.
“We’re looking for an old WWII criminal known as the Pulverizer of Both Spain and Portugal. The criminal will be dining here tonight. It will be his last meal ever. Know how I know?” Moonchops asks through the art of sleep-awesome questioning.
“Because tonight the Pulverizer of Both Spain and Portugal will die tonight?” Slade says, grinning like a clown on a playground.
“No.” Moonchops says. “Because we’re going to kill him tonight.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No. It’s not.”
The front door opens and Slade ninja rolls past four tables, lands on his feet and slashes the throat of the patron who walked in. He makes eye contact with Moonchops, who shakes his head ‘no’ and keeps looking for their target.
“Damn it.” Slade says, and uses the Krav Maga-like art of non-chalant to hide the body so well no one notices ever, including the dead guy’s date.
He sits back down. They wait, always ready to kill. Always.
Always.
Chapter Four – Killing the Pulverizer of Both Spain and Portugal
Finally, the prized WWII war criminal enters the restaurant.
Slade and Moonchops waste no time hurling death bullets at the criminal, who is an elderly woman with a two-fisted walker. Each shot hit her worse than the last until she was mutilated beyond anything seen in a movie like Nightmare on Elm Street.
When it was over, Slade and Moonchops approached her. Moonchops knelt beside her, tore her old lady blouse open and on her chest she had a big Swastika tattoo. They nodded to each other, knowing this person was clearly the one meant to be dead tonight. Even more so that the other people Slade accidentally killed.
They were walking away when the Pulverizer of Both Spain and Portugal jumped to her feet and screamed something stupid in German and pulled out an amazingly compact rail gun and fired six shots. Slade and Moonchops dodged them all like they were in The Matrix, a movie not as cool as our super heroes’ everyday lives.
Slade spun and did a super awesome Kung Fu kick through her face, be she didn’t go down. It only took seventy-six (76) more to do the job. Slade’s revelation from Chapter Two (2) paid off.
On the street, some French retard started shouting about how their fight to save freedom and democracy was ‘overkill’ or whatever the French word for it is. Moonchops shot him in the asshole just to show him what’s up.
“Swallow a little of that and try to digest it.” Moonchops says, firing a second asshole bullet into the idiot.
They left before the French cops got there. Not like they would have been a problem or anything. Both Slade and Moonchops had seen the Pink Panther movies so they knew.
Chapter Five – Revelation Number Dos
“You know Moonchops, maybe I will go visit my family.” Slade says, bags packed.
“Do what you have to do.” Moonchops says, doing push-ups in the art of sleep push-ups.
But then something else happened and Slade never went.
The End
*No Nazis or Nazi sympathizers were consulted before the Pulverizer was cast as the main villain in this story. For an old woman she was a huge bitch, and, even though she was ugly (not just old-ugly, but she probably was ugly when she was young also) she had this ridiculous Princess complex. I could barely stand to work with her. Slade and Moonchops wouldn't even be on set with her unless we were shooting a scene.
