The Ballad of Gay Vampire Birds

Eastwood is at the helm of Air Force Two, flying at an altitude of 37,000 feet just above the clouds. It is a beautiful day; the sky is clear and if it weren’t for the world coming to an end, he would be able to sit back and enjoy it all. Air Force Two was not quite as luxurious as Air Force One, but it had everything you needed for a comfortable flight.

President Bacon, Mick, Eggs, Ted Striker, Cecilia, General Usrodd, Stanley, Kitty, Yukon, Marietta and Dr. Fritz Rommel were all buckled in and relaxing. They were watching Sex and the City and Death III, which was not even out at theaters yet. The director had given Mick an early copy. It was right at the climax of the movie, where Mick, whose character’s name is Brad Shaw is confronting his boss.

It was you; you killed my partner. You set me up.

That’s right; I killed your partner and now I’m going to kill you.

Kneel before Zod, bitch! *fires rocket launcher*

Everyone on the plane clapped, including the President, who had already heard the line a thousand times, because he always helped him rehearse his lines. It had been one thing after another since this all began, and they were happy for a moment of peace. The rest of the group with the exception of his husband, had felt a little awkward around the President since the vampire bombshell. The President noticed that every time he tried to make eye contact with someone, they quickly looked away.

They need time to get used to this, after all it’s not every day you find out the President of the United States is a vampire. Too bad former President Trump wasn’t a vampire; he’d be in his fourth term of office right now. He had the law changed on term limits. I wonder how he would have handled this situation. He probably would have built a wall around the United States using cheap immigrant labor, he thought.

They heard a thump and the plane bounced a little bit; everyone just thought it was turbulence, until there was another louder and bigger thump that made the plane really shake. The President unbuckled his seat belt and went to the rear of the plane, even though the seat belt sign was on.

He looked out the window past the, “How’s my flying” bumper sticker with a 1-800 number, and saw an alien spaceship hot on their tail.

“It’s an alien spaceship and they are firing on us.”

“What do we do? This is a commercial plane, not a fighter jet. We have no way to fire back at them,” Ted Striker said.

“Eastwood will have to out run them,” said the President. Then he shouted toward the cockpit, “Eastwood, do a barrel roll!”

Eastwood’s voice came on over the intercom. Attention passengers, please return to your seats and buckle up. The shit’s about to get real in this mutha fucka. As always, thank you for flying Air Force Two.

“Mr. President, we need to get you out of here,” Director of Homeland Security said.

“What are you talking about Lunch Box?”

Cecilia, “the Hammer” Hammerstein understood the gravity of what Stanley was saying. “He’s right Mr. President; we do have to get you out of here. Your safety is always the number one priority.”

“Would someone tell me what the hell you are talking about?”

“There is one parachute on this plane, which would obviously be for the Vice President in normal circumstances, but you need to put it on and jump out of this plane,” The Hammer said.

“What? Who the fuck do I look like? D.B. Cooper. I don’t need the parachute, remember? I am a vampire; I can fly and so can Mick. We’re not abandoning the rest of you though.”

“It won’t be safe for you to remain on this plane. We have no weapons and it’s doubtful Eastwood will be able to out run the spaceship; the odds are greater for your survival if you guys flew out,” Lunchbox said.

“You both need to go quickly. I’m not sure how much longer Eastwood will be able to out maneuver them,” Cecilia said. “Especially with all this added weight.”

“Hey!” cried out Stanley when Cecilia nodded his way.

“We’re not leaving the rest of you on this plane to die.”

His Chief of Staff weighed in. “Mr. President; I know this is hard, but remember your oath of office. You have a duty to the American people first and foremost and I’m afraid that supersedes everything, even your friends.”

Mick squeezed his husband’s hand. “We have to do it.”

“I can’t.”

“We have to go; especially you, you have to lead what’s left of humanity. You’re still their Commander and Chief and they need you to fight.”

The President had tears in his eyes and brushed them away with his hand. It was the first time any of them had seen him cry. He looked at Lunchbox and nodded. Stanley unbuckled his extension seat belt and headed towards the front of the plane. He opened the cockpit door, where Eastwood was doing everything he could just to hang on. Stanley heard him curse.

“Shit up a wall!”

“The President is going to jump out of the plane.”

Eastwood only nodded. It didn’t need to be explained to him; he already knew what the outcome would be. They were in dire circumstances. The plane shook again.

“Another direct hit and we are done for. I’ve already lost engine one. You better hurry and get the President out of here,” Eastwood said as he descended.

“Everyone to the front of the plane and make sure you are buckled up. I’m going to open the door,” the President said.

Everyone moved up to the front, except for Lunchbox, who stayed near the President and First Husband, so he could quickly close the door. The President didn’t turn around to look at his friends and colleagues, because if he did; he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He held his husbands hand and with the other, his Beretta. The two of them jumped out together and at first, it looked like the two of them would plummet to the ground, but they began soaring through the air, like two gay vampire birds. Stanley Johnson quickly closed the door just in the nick of time, because there was another thump and he could see one of the engines was on fire.

Eastwood got on the intercom. Everyone get into crash position; we are going down.

The First Husband aimed his Beretta and fired at the ship, but the bullets didn’t even penetrate. The alien craft was soft like poo, but their shielding stopped any projectiles and even missiles evaporated before connecting. To everyone’s knowledge, nobody had successfully taken an Inkaku ship down.

Evan watched in horror as Air Force Two was steadily falling out of the sky. They may survive a crash landing, but it was still getting pounded by the Inkaku ship, like it was Apollo Creed in Rocky IV.

Without a word, Mick leaned into a dive after the ship and Evan followed suit. Evan watched as Mick reached behind his back to produce a huge, Crocodile Dundee sized knife that he had tucked away in his belt. Mick caught up to the craft and reached above his head with both hands grasping the knife, then plunged it deep into the ship as hard as he could. With a quick tug on the knife, he slit the ship’s fuselage, creating a gash in the cockpit and exposing the pilot.

“On behalf of Earth… Fuck you!”

And with that, Mick grabbed the alien by the back of it’s flight suit and yanked it out of the ship. Both the alien and its vehicle fell towards the ground, exploding upon impact.

Evan was beginning to slow down, not because it was over or because he was catching up to Mick, but because Mick’s actions just made him less aerodynamic.

 

* * *

As the sun rose over the mountain, Inkaku ace fighter pilot Suka Sis’ki is awoken by a beam of sunlight, pouring in through the bay window of his suite on the Camdar Prime, which is the lead Inkaku warship. He began peeling off the numerous females of various species in his harem that he had collected over the past 180 years. Every warrior can collect a”trophy wife” from each planet they conquer. There was no limit to how many wives an Inkaku could take, but never more than one of a particular species because eww.

Today was Suka’s birthday. It had already started with a bang with making love to his new Earth bride.

“¥°∆ &4ê $¶€¢|∆[, Bessie.” He said to her softly. In English, it roughly translated to, You are special, Bessie.

Suka decided to call her by the name etched into the giant bell on her necklace, since he could not yet understand her language. After twenty minutes of deep love making, Suka adorned the trappings of a fighter pilot of his caliber and headed off to continue the fight.

As he walked down the slimy hallway on his way to the command room to receive his orders, his friends and colleagues paused to wish him “#∆¶¶¥ wTf ß!4πd∆¥.” Happy Birthday.

He stopped by the j’Lava shop for a Gargantuan Nonfat Triple Shot Caacaa Alppachino with extra Whipped Salivaberry Cream and to check to see if his Powerball lottery numbers hit.

1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 and 6 was the powerball.

“¥°^£™$!” He exclaimed. As usual, he picked 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 and 7 for the Powerball and won a free Alppachino. Best. Day. Ever.

The command center of the ship was all decked out in the best golden slime available. Only the best for the crown jewel of the fleet. The commander, j’Ustin Beebr, was adorned in a similar fashion with the shiniest gold and white armor imaginable. Suka Sis’ki modeled his flight suit after Commander Beebr. It was a beautiful array of blue and black. Suka always looked up to the Commander. He was his idol and his best friend, as well as his older brother and father.

Upon entering the command center, everyone revealed their hind quarters to Suka in the customary fashion when an officer entered the room. He returned the courtesy and upon turning, was genuinely surprised to see Commander Beebr rolling out a cart of red birthday pudding, which was his favorite. Things could not have been better for Suka that day.

Suddenly, a siren sounded out and lights flashed throughout the room. The Camdar Prime was floating the entire night, after the news was relayed via psychic radio, that one of their zombified humans had successfully misted the leader of the Americans. Everyone aboard was waiting for the Supreme Leader’s next order. They weren’t expecting chaos this early in the morning.

The Commander called out for the situation to be projected to the main screen. An operator ran to the front of the room and pulled down the white canvas screen. Another operator in the rear of the room, flipped the switch on the projector. Light spilled onto the main screen in stunning 480p clarity. Suka stepped forward when he saw the aircraft on the screen. He knew the markings; it was the vehicle of the leader of the Americans.

Suka was quick to volunteer for the task of taking it down. The leader of the Americas was thought to be taken care of, but no psychic link with his zombie was established so they didn’t want to take chances. Failure was not an option; the price was too steep. If an Inkaku failed at a task, his head was removed and placed in the cafeteria for others to have sex with while they ate. It would remain there until the head eventually died of boredom a few weeks later.

Being the fleet’s top fighter pilot, Commander Beebr didn’t hesitate giving the order. Suka was to down the enemy craft and return to eat his red birthday pudding. The First Mate would sit in it to keep it warm for him, as per tradition.

Suka Sis’ki wasted no time; he ran to the flight deck and slid across the hood. The cockpit opened to receive him, and he sank in as the cockpit sealed around him. Suka grabbed the control stick, and the console lit up like it was on fire. He flipped the switch to fire the engine and a puff of smoke blew out the back rocket. He flipped the switch again, but this time to the off position and removed the power module. Suka raised the module to his lips and blew the dust out. He returned the module and tried again. The ship raised up and in a flash, flew out the bay door.

Once clear from the command ship, Suka input the code for the shielding.

Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, Start.

The shield enveloped the ship like a gazelle’s womb. He pressed the stick forward as far as it would go and zoomed after the enemy vessel.

In no time, he was in range and fired his glob cannons at the ship, hitting it with both shots. He began winding the crank to charge his next shots. Now that his presence was known, his target would be more challenging. One shot missed horribly, but the second connected. As he began to wind up his next rounds, he noticed two bodies fall from the ship. He must have breached it’s hull.

He lined up his next shot, but as he pulled the trigger, something flashed on his shielding making him miss both shots. Projectiles were disintegrating on his right side. He knew they couldn’t penetrate, but he was not expecting any form of attack and it threw him off momentarily. He looked to see what was firing upon his ship.

A human? How could this be? Humans can’t fly, he thought.

Suka continued to charge up his next shots. Flying humans, though weird as shit, were no real threat to him. What could they possibly do? Especially to him and especially today of all days.

Two more shots found their target on the already wounded plane as it was descending. As Ace Inkaku Fighter Pilot Suka Sis’ki charged the cannons, on what was to be his death blow, he let his mind envision that warm, succulent red birthday pudding. Life was grand.

Before he could squeeze the trigger and release the glob payload, a long, shiny metal pierced his cockpit and a rush of air poured in over him. He leaned to the side just in time, as it ripped past his fuggly head, and a panorama of sky was presented above him. To his surprise, a human was looking down at him nonchalantly.

“On behalf of Earth… Fuck you,” yelled the human and Suka felt the back of his flight jacket tighten, as his enemy grabbed it and yanked him from his seat.

As he accelerated to the planet’s floor, he watched his ship sink into the forest and explode. With his final breath he yelled out, “[{√ ¶^@@’ñ℅!” My pudding!