Mime is Money
Mick and Evan lie at t’Evar’s feet, circled by t’Evar’s minions; all of whom are chomping at the bit to end the humans, but this victory belongs to their Supreme Leader. Mick lies motionless, blood draining from his stomach. Evan can’t even crawl over to his wounded husband, because he himself is in a bad way. Both of his arms are useless, and his right knee is shattered. He’s unable to stand or even pull himself across the floor.
Being a vampire, one doesn’t need legs. Vampires can float in the air after all, but without arms, vampires cannot steer. They would bump into everything like a ragdoll in space, or a ball in an underwater pinball machine. Even if that weren’t the case, Evan couldn’t carry Mick and there was no way he would abandon his husband to these monsters.
Evan remained still and watched, as t’Evar strolled his fat ass closer. He wasted a lot of energy breaking into the room. If Evan wasn’t so injured, he could make short work of the inglorious bastard. For now, all he could do was talk and that’s exactly what he did.
“You have no honor. You come to claim victory for your underlings work; you shit crime.”
t’Evar was stunned that his enemy would address him this way.
“Why do you say such things, when you know that I will make you suffer for it?”
“You don’t scare me, you diseased jelly donut fart. If your minions didn’t overpower us, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”
“Jelly donut fart? I don’t even know what that means.”
“You don’t know shit. You’re not fit to lead; you blubber filled cat scrotum.”
“Silence! I’ve had enough of you and your kind.”
“My kind? My kind? Really? It’s not enough that I have to smell your abundance of ass, but now I have to lie here and be insulted by a bigot?”
“What is going on here? What is even happening right now?” t’Evar asked as he looked around at the other Inkaku in the room. They were even more confused than he was, since they did not understand English.
“You know what I think? I think you could have come through that door the whole time, but you knew you weren’t strong enough to take me on, and so you waited behind the door like a coward, pissing yourself in fear, and let them wear us down so you could stroll in and finish the job. Isn’t that right, cock breath?”
“I am t’Evar the Magnificent! No one speaks to me this way! No one is more powerful than I. No one!”
t’Evar began smashing anything he could get his hands on, including a couple unlucky Inkaku nearby. Evan was left unharmed so he could witness t’Evar’s strength and ferocity. It was just as Evan hoped.
With every smash of his fist, Evan grinned a little more, because t’Evar took out some of the competition, spent more of his energy, and bought Evan a little more time… to heal.
* * *
Apollo and Yukon were still firing at the Stamp Zzod, who turned its sights on them and came bounding at them full speed.
“Shit, here it comes,” Yukon said and he and Apollo jumped on top of the roof of the car and over the other side and crouched down. The Stamp Zzod lifted the car up and threw it across the road. The car landed on one of the mimes lying in the road. The Stamp Zzod reached out and grabbed Yukon in one of its massive hands and started to squeeze the life out of him. Apollo had to think quickly, he was out of bullets and he glanced around for anything he could use as a weapon. All he saw were dead mimes, shell casings and a Jib™ Bar.
How did that get there?
He was almost out of time, soon the Stamp Zzod would crush Yukon and then he’d be next. So, he did the only thing he could think of. Apollo crouched down and with all his strength; he hit the Stamp Zzod in the balls with an uppercut. For a moment, Apollo thought he didn’t hit it hard enough, because the creature continued to crush Yukon, but then its eyes rolled back in his head and it released its hold on Yukon, who fell limply to the ground. The Stamp Zzod dropped like a boulder clutching his balls. Apollo quickly grabbed Yukon, dragging him back to the Shoe Carnival.
Eastwood still in a daze from where the Stamp Zzod had hurled him into a car, stood up.
“Hit him with this,” Fritz yelled from the top of the building and dropped something out of the window.
Eastwood sprinted over to see what it was that Fritz dropped; it was a crowbar.
“Hey, I dropped my Jib™ Bar down there; let me know if you see it.”
Eastwood picked up the crowbar and ran over to the Stamp Zzod, who was starting to recover. He swung the crowbar with all its strength and hit it square in the jaw. The Stamp Zzod roared and swatted at Eastwood who dodged its meaty fist.
“No, hit it in the stomach,” Fritz yelled.
Eastwood swung again, this time hitting it in the stomach. He moved quickly out of the way before the Stamp Zzod could retaliate and waited.
“God damn it Fritz! Nothing is happening.”
“I don’t understand; that should have broken the vial. I know; it just needs a catalyst.”
“A what? Speak English.”
“It needs to get its digestive juices flowing. You have to feed it something.”
Eastwood looked around on the ground and saw the Jib™ Bar that Fritz dropped. He quickly undid the wrapper and was going to shove it down the Stamp Zzod’s throat, but he was too late. The Stamp Zzod was furious and elbowed Eastwood hard in the solar plexus. Eastwood crumpled to the ground gasping for breath. The Stamp Zzod was just about to issue the finishing blow, when it noticed an army of mimes marching down the street. The Stamp Zzod roared and charged the mimes.
The Stamp Zzod cut through the mimes like a hot knife through butter. The mimes were pulling invisible pins out of invisible grenades and hurling it at the beast. The Stamp Zzod stood there in confusion. Eastwood who was still clutching the Jib™ Bar, tried to stand but couldn’t catch his breath; the Stamp Zzod had knocked the wind out of him.
“I’ll take that,” said a raspy man’s voice. The man grabbed the candy bar out of Eastwood’s hand. Eastwood looked up and saw a man in his early sixties, with a long white beard that was gnarled with tangles. He was wearing torn jeans, a dirty Van Halen t-shirt that was from the “Party ‘til You Die” tour, trench coat, no shoes and carrying an RPG.
“For once Tad wasn’t bullshitting, there really is a dirty Jason Bourne,” Eastwood said.
“The name is Bob Barnes. Jason Bourne is a douche.”
“Quick, feed the monster the Jib™ Bar.”
“Fuck that shit,” Bob said, as he took a bite of the Jib™ Bar, dropping to one knee and putting the RPG on his shoulder. He took aim and fired into the crowd of mimes. The RPG ripped into the crowd of mimes and black hats and vests went everywhere, but it missed the Stamp Zzod.
“Hey, that was my Jib™ Bar,” Fritz yelled out the window.
“You missed it,” Eastwood said.
“I wasn’t aiming for the creature; I hate fucking mimes.”
Bob took aim again, this time at the Stamp Zzod. He hit it right in the mouth as it was roaring and as it exploded, pieces of the Stamp Zzod’s head rained down everywhere. It still stood upright and a gurgling burp rang out from its neck hole.
Green gas slowly spewed from the throat of the beast as it stood motionless.
“You did it,” Fritz cheered. Yukon and Apollo came out of the Shoe Carnival, along with Geoff, Melvin, Lunchbox and Kitty, who had finally regained consciousness.
Lunchbox had a Jib™ Bar in each hand.
While the group was busy hugging each other and cheering, Bob, not one for a fuss, put the rest of the Jib™ Bar in his dirty pocket and quietly left.
Kitty, who now only had one hand, looked around at all the dead mimes. “Where did all the mimes come from?”
Yukon pointed to the DC Academy of Dramatic Arts, that was right next to the Me So Horny erotica shop. The group watched as a fat alien came out of the store wearing a Me So Horny t-shirt and carrying a giant dildo. The alien saw the group and holding up the dildo in one hand, gave the group a little wave and a smile like Sup, bitches, then ran like hell.
They all just watched him waddle away as fast as his swollen feet could take him; the sound of his Crocs™ shuffling over the concrete.
As he passed the once menacing Stamp Zzod, the headless beast finally fell over, slowly, like a downed mighty oak tree. As it hit the ground, a loud, sharp fart shot out of the beast like a popped balloon. The rush of green gas washed over the fat alien and all that was left, was his shirt, a pair of Crocs™, and a dirty dildo.
* * *
Aboard the mother ship, hovering just a few hundred feet above that dirty dildo, t’Evar was still busy disassembling the room in anger just as Evan hoped he would. Evan was almost completely healed now, but Mick’s wounds would require a bit more time.
Evan saw the hole t’Evar ripped through the door on his way in and thought, if he could reach the hall, the Supreme Leader would chase him out and Mick would have more time to recover. t’Evar was stronger than either of them individually; only together would they stand a chance.
Luckily for Evan, most of the Inkaku that had outnumbered and overpowered him and his husband earlier, were either dead or had fled in fear during t’Evar’s tantrum. Only a few remained, but they were elites and not to be taken lightly.
t’Evar broke the last thing standing in the room; an alien China cabinet of sorts and Evan couldn’t wait any longer. The only thing left to destroy now was Mick and Evan; he had to move.
As t’Evar turned to concentrate his anger on Evan and Mick, Evan clasped his hands together into one fist and swung them up from deep behind his right side; trying his best to merge them with the Supreme Leader’s nuts.
Evan rose up, using his legs to supply more power, and followed through with his blow. t’Evar’s dick flew across the room and slammed through the glass of an instrument panel. Evan was not aware of this, but the Inkaku had detachable penises. Thankfully, for Evan, their scrotum was not detachable. They were very much in place and a major weak spot for the Inkaku.
Like the eye of a great Cyclops, a well placed shot in the infamous Inkaku weak spot was blinding. Evan took this opportunity to attack the Elite Guard in the room, while t’Evar thrashed around on the ground.
Evan darted around the room ripping out throats and detaching penises, as t’Evar regained his sight. Evan donkey punched the final alien guard in the back of the head, forcing it to plunge face first onto its own detached penis; impaling its skull in the process.
With regained sight, t’Evar stood tall and looked around at the heaps of bodies on the floor. He looked at Evan with an eerie calmness. Evan could see Mick struggling to recover directly behind his foe. Time to lead his opponent into the hallway.
“Look!” Evan shouted as he pointed to t’Evar’s right. “A blue-breasted tit swallow!”
t’Evar had no clue what a blue-breasted tit swallow was, but he’d also never heard of the oldest trick in the book. He turned to see what the President was talking about and Evan made a break for it.
Realizing that he’d be duped, t’Evar reached out and grabbed Evan by the foot as he zoomed by. He slammed Evan to the ground right before he made it out into the hallway.
Evan’s face slapped the floor so hard it knocked his fangs out. They would grow back eventually though.
At least I didn’t swallow them, he thought Vampire fangs were needle sharp and passing them is no festival in the park.
t’Evar pulled Evan toward him and easily lifted him up by his leg, holding him upside down off the ground. t’Evar pulled back his other arm in preparation to knock Evan’s head free from it’s body, when suddenly, he felt Mick’s fangs sink into his ankle.
“©R∆¶ -$#X ©R∆¶” t’Evar yelled in his native tongue, which roughly translated to “SHIT, FUCK, SHIT!”
t’Evar yanked his leg away and tore his own flesh in the process, then returned it to Mick in the form of a mule kick. Mick shot across the room and slammed to a halt at the wall.
Evan was filled with rage, and used his razor sharp claws and washboard abs, to pull himself up and claw away at t’Evar’s arm like a pissed off pussycat.
The Supreme Leader released his grip and Evan was all over him, clawing at him and pulling t’Evar’s hair like a madman. Mick found his footing and pressed the attack.
The two men worked on the already exhausted Supreme Leader for what felt like an eternity. The giant alien Rosie O’Donnell, got his fair share of licks in, but he was wearing down and he knew it.
t’Evar backed into the wall and threw all his weight behind it in an effort to crush Mick, who had all the wind knocked out of his lungs and cracked his head against the glass labeled, In Case of Emergency, Break Glass.
Mick slid down the wall like a cracked egg into a seated position and the glass fell around him. A second later, the sphere behind the glass rolled out and fell into his lap, nearly crushing his marbles.
Gathering what strength he had left, t’Evar grabbed Evan by the throat and thrust him against the damaged exit door; the jagged metal pierced him in several places.
“You’ve fought well, human, but I am victorious. I will rape this planet and leave it barren. The universe will refer to this rock as Planet Evan, so all will be reminded of your failure.”
“After today,” Evan struggled to say. “Everyone will call their assholes t’Evar for obvious reasons.”
Evan reached out his hand and Mick tossed him the sphere. He pressed the button on it and using all his might, he punched the device into t’Evar’s detached dick hole.
t’Evar stumbled backwards as he tried to fish out the device in a panic. The sphere exploded, leaving little more than t’Evar’s head and upper torso.
“What was that thing?” Evan asked.
“Well, the tag said ‘Thermal Detonator’ on it.”
“Like from Star Wars?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Evan pulled himself free from the jagged metal door. “We’ll have to see if we can find another one on the way out.”
Evan helped Mick up and they started into the hallway. Mick turned back to look at t’Evar, who was hanging on to life. Just a bit of chest and a head, like a fucked up Max Headroom lying on the floor.
“Should we put him out of his misery?” Mick asked.
The two strolled down the hallway, as t’Evar gurgled slurs in his native language of Vanhalen.