by Baron Sord
“I can’t. Not until I recharge.”
“What, with more fire?”
“Or any heat source.”
“Is this real?” He grabbed my wrist and turned my hand over. “Where’s the hose to the napalm tank?”
“There isn’t one.” I was now dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, so it was obvious there were no tubes or fuel lines.
Arnold’s mouth hung open. “What did you do today, Doug? How did you get turned into a super weapon?”
After we went back inside to eat our sandwiches, I told him the rest of my story in great detail. The only parts I left out were the fact that LL was a stripper and my ability to read people’s thoughts. I didn’t want to freak Arnold out. But I did tell him about being in Yoga Angelina aka Vanessa’s house and how she had tried to get me into bed.
Arnold laughed gleefully and yelled, “Why didn’t you sleep with Yangelina?!”
“Vanessa,” I smiled around a mouthful of roast beef and cheese.
“Whatever! She was naked! Yangelina was naked!” He screamed with frustration and broke into more laughter. “Did that green eclipse fry your brain, Doug?!”
I chuckled, “I don’t think so.”
“Why don’t I have your life?!” Grinning big, Arnold shook his hands in my face, holding up 2 fingers on each. “Two beautiful women in one day!”
“It’s not like I slept with them.”
“So what?! You got to spend the day with them!” He said it like it was as good as having sex. For us, it basically was. Arnold’s dating history was far worse than mine. He wasn’t a virgin, but he had only had sex once, and he wasn’t proud of it. Or her. Or whatever she was. But that was another story.
For both of us, gorgeous women were exotic things we only read about in books or saw on TV or the internet. I could totally relate to his excitement and would remember my time with both Lady Liberty and Vanessa forever.
I smirked with contentment, “Arn, I told you to take the day off for Comic Con so you could come with. You snooze, you lose.”
“I wasn’t snoozing! I was working! You know I have a huge deadline coming up! I’ve been debugging code all week! I’ll be surprised if Gabe doesn’t make me go in tomorrow! You know how much I hate working Saturdays! As it is, Gabe said I have to go back tonight because I came home to let your sorry ass in the house!”
“So go with me Sunday. You’ve got a ticket.”
“Will they have the green eclipse Sunday so I can get powers too?”
I chuckled, “My guess would be no.”
“You are one lucky fuck, Doug. I mean, look at you. You’re a super weapon, you have two hot babes who clearly want you, and… and… what else? Where does it stop, Doug? Or do you just turn into Superman the Supermodel and call it done?”
“I have no idea,” I grinned. I considered mentioning the mind reading, but decided I better not. Arnold was too excited already.
“And what’s up with your voice? It’s gone down an entire octave. Did your balls finally decide to drop?”
I laughed. He was right. My voice was deeper than I remembered. Maybe not by an octave, but definitely lower.
“Speaking of Superman,” he said, “are you bulletproof?”
“Oh. I’m not sure.”
“Care to find out?”
“No, Arnold! I’m not letting you shoot me. I’m not Superman. Those thugs in the alley hit me really hard. It hurt. I can still feel it.”
“Did you get hit in the face?”
“A few times. I told you already.”
Arnold scrutinized my features. “You look fine to me. I’m telling you, you’re Superman.”
“I’m not Superman,” I groaned. “Quit wishing already.”
“How do you know you aren’t unless we test our theory?”
“It’s your theory.”
“Either way. We need to run bullet tests.”
I snorted, “Bullet tests? Are you fricking kidding?”
“No,” he grinned. Arnold wasn’t a gun nut, but he did own a .22 caliber Ruger SR22 and a 9mm Glock G19. He went shooting at the range somewhat regularly by himself. Sometimes on the weekends, when I wasn’t working on my comic art, I’d go with him and we’d use his SR22 to waste a few hours plinking at paper targets on the cheap.
I smirked, “I don’t think we need to prove the theory I’m not Superman with any bullet tests, which I assume is code for shooting me.”
“But we should,” Arnold said shrewdly.
“Should what?” I chuckled. “Prove your insane theory by shooting me?”
“Yeah. Maybe not with bullets. How about a pellet gun?”
“No pellet guns! Will you drop it already?”
“Okay, no pellet guns. How about these guns?” He held up his flabby arms and curled his chubby biceps. They looked the same curled and uncurled.
“Nice guns,” I grinned and picked up my sandwich to take a bite.
“Put your sandwich down.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to punch you in the arm with my arm guns.” Arnold’s idea of exercise was going to the shooting range to shoot. I could barely get him to go fight with foam swords with The Realm of Andor people. I think he’d gone maybe twice. I was happy to let him hit me in the arm.
“Okay.” I stood up. “Make sure you hit me in the muscle. Here.” I slapped my deltoid. It was a lot bigger and harder than I remembered. “Go for it.”
“Are you ready? Did you know they called me Mu-Harnold Ali when I was younger?”
I chuckled, “I thought they called you Mu-Harnold Flab-bee. Hit me already.”
Arnold threw a punch that connected with my shoulder.
Smack!
“Ow.” Arnold chuckled and shook his hand.
I smirked, “That totally didn’t hurt, Mu-Harnold. Try again, but harder.”
“That was my hardest.”
“No it wasn’t. Do it again. Show me your best Mike Tyson. And I don’t mean the Tyson Chicken hormone-free version. I mean the badass 30-second-knockout version.”
Arnold wound up like a Major League Baseball pitcher. He didn’t know how to throw a punch.
Whack!
“Ow! Geez!” Arnold laughed, shaking his hand. “Well? Did it hurt even a little?”
“Nope,” I grinned. “Maybe we should try something harder than your hand. So I can prove to you I’m not invulnerable. How about a pillow?”
“Ah ha ha ha. A pillow,” he laughed sarcastically. Then he smirked, “How about a claw hammer?”
I smirked back, “Okay, but only if I get to hit you with it first. How about a broomstick instead?”
“That’ll work.” He went into the pantry and brought out a green broom with a metal handle. He held the broom head out. “Where should I hit you?”
“Turn it around first. Hit me with the handle. On the stomach.”
Arnold wound up like a blind baseball batter. His coordination was debatable.
I said, “Maybe we should go outside.”
We went out to the pool deck again.
I lifted up my arms. “Aim for my stomach. Don’t hit me in the balls.”
He frowned, “I wasn’t going to. Geez. Have a little faith.” He took a few practice swings.
“Go half strength this time. To get your aim right.”
“Okay.” He swung.
Crack!
“Anything?” he asked.
I smiled at him. “Nope. Not even a sting.” I lifted my shirt. “Not even a red mark.”
“Wow. Should I go full power now?”
“Yeah.” I lifted my arms again.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Arnold wound up and spun, stepping into the swing with all his body weight, which was substantial.
CRACK!
The broom handle went high and hit the bottom of my ribs. The metal shaft bent in half and the plastic grip on the end flew off like a bullet. It whipped right through one of the kitchen windows.
/> Crash!
“Oh shit!” Arnold laughed. “The window!”
“Oops,” I chuckled.
He shrugged, “I’ll get it fixed. Are you okay? It looked like I hit you really hard. Did I break anything?”
“I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Geez, you are made of steel, aren’t you?”
“Sure seems like it,” I grinned.
“Should I get my Glock now?”
“No!”
“Maybe we’ll work up to that,” Arnold chuckled. “Did you feel anything this time? Any pain at all?”
“Yeah, actually. It was slightly painful, but barely.”
“So your nerves are functional?”
“Oh, yeah. I felt it.” I pulled my shirt up. There was a faint red mark on one rib, but a lot less than it should’ve been, and it was already fading.
“This is insane, Doug. I mean, think of all the things you could do.”
“I know, right?”
“Think of all the chicks you could do.”
I snorted, “I guess.”
“Don’t be coy, Doug. When was the last time you got laid? Oh wait, don’t tell me. Because I already know. Wendy. Two years ago. Before she broke up with you, which was the day after you slept with her.”
“And?” I grumbled.
“And? Are you bonkers? Go get Yangelina! She was begging for it!”
“Vanessa.”
“Vanessa, Yangelina, I don’t care what her name is! Go get her, you dirty dog! Bang that babe! Take one for the team, ése! You know I live my sex life vicariously through you.”
“That’s not saying much.”
“That’s why you’re killing me, Doug! Go get Yangelina before I get my Glock!”
I chuckled. I knew he was joking.
He said, “Do I have to chase you out of here at gun point, or will you do us both a favor and go willingly? I’m sure Yangelina wants you and your steely manhood to do what her fingers can’t.”
“She’s married, man.”
He scowled, “When did you get so churchy? Who cares if she’s married?! Gigi had a fricking boyfriend and you slept with her. What’s the difference?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know she did.”
“So what? It was still used pussy.”
I grimaced, “Used?”
“You know what I mean. Go use Yangelina’s pussy. It sounds like her husband isn’t using it at all.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s just…”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Doug.”
“I wasn’t begging.”
“But she was! I don’t understand you, Doug! You don’t know how long your super powers are going to last.”
“You’re right about that.”
“So why waste them?”
“I don’t know…”
Arnold’s eyes suddenly lit up and he gasped, “I know what it is! You’re saving yourself for Lady Liberty, aren’t you?!”
I rolled my eyes, trying to play dumb.
In a high-voiced grade school chant, he taunted, “Doug likes the girl comic artist! Doug likes the girl comic artist!”
“She’s a woman,” I corrected.
“And you like her!” he singsonged.
Good thing I hadn’t told him she worked at Flashbacks. Knowing Arnold, we’d already be down there so he could see her naked.
I sighed, “So? What’s wrong with a comic book artist?”
“Nothing! But she isn’t interested! Yangelina is!”
“Vanessa,” I said.
“Whatever! Go screw her!”
“What’s wrong with waiting for someone like Lady Liberty who I have something in common with?”
Arnold rolled his eyes, “That’s a weak excuse for not screwing Yangelina. Very weak.”
“Vanessa.”
“Whatever, Dr. Telephone Book,” he groaned. “But if you want to wait…” He paused to think for a moment. “Did you ask her if she has a boyfriend?”
“Who, Lady Liberty?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I didn’t ask.”
“Ahhhhhh. I bet she has a boyfriend. If Lady Liberty is as hot as you say, she has a boyfriend. Two boyfriends. You can be number three. Or, you can go bang Yangelina and be number two.”
“Vanessa.”
“I don’t care what her name is! She wants you, Doug!”
“Aren’t you listening?! She’s married!”
Arnold waved a dismissive hand, “How long ago were you over at her place?”
“I don’t know. An hour? Two hours?”
“You better get moving before she changes her mind.”
“I’m not going to sleep with her, Arnold!”
“Fine. Whatever. But don’t start whining to me a month from now when your super powers and your super looks are gone and you can’t get laid.”
“Looks? What looks?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“No.” Me and mirrors had a passing acquaintance at best. There wasn’t much to see.
“Go look.”
I went inside the house to the small bathroom attached to the kitchen and looked in the mirror. “Whoa.”
“What did I tell you?” Arnold asked, standing behind me.
My reflection looked like me, but my features were more symmetrical, my brow was heavier, my jaw fuller, and my nose more refined. Even my eyes were different too. More… striking.
In a serious voice, Arnold said, “Don’t waste this, Doug. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I don’t know what the hell happened, but you went from nerdy dud to super stud. You need to take advantage of this gift.”
I grimaced, “I’m not a nerd, Arn.”
“Ah ha ha ha,” he chuckled indulgently. “We’re both nerds and we both know it. You just hate admitting it.”
I sighed with irritation. He was right.
“I know, I know,” he said. “Nobody wants to be a nerd. Not you, not me, not even rich nerds like Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg. You think when they were in high school, they looked around at all the jocks hanging out with the cute girls, and said to themselves, Who needs girls, I’VE GOT A FUCKING COMPUTER?!” Arnold spat the words out with wheezy laughter.
I had to chuckle at that.
“Fuck no!” he continued. “They wanted girls, Doug! Not their computers. Girls. But they couldn’t get them, so they locked themselves away behind their keyboards, just like we did. Unlike us, they got rich. When they did, they bought the attention of beautiful women.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. We knew guys from college who’d done exactly that by either starting a successful company that went public or working for one that did. Once the money started rolling in, there were always beautiful women sniffing around.
“Here’s the thing,” Arnold said. “They didn’t get women because they became cool, or because they became studs. No, they got women because they got rich. But it’s not the same, and deep down, they know it and they fucking hate it! All it takes is some broke-ass Chester St. Cock with pecs and a six pack and a huge package to make some rich nerd’s wife cheat on him. We’ve both seen it happen. Remember what happened to Nolan?”
I nodded.
“His two timing wife divorced him! She took half his money so she could go live in Cabo with that tanned asshole! Total bitch!”
“Tanned asshole? I thought people bleached their assholes.”
“You know what I mean. He was a surfer. He was tan.”
“Right.”
“Here’s the thing, Doug.” He put his arm around my shoulder and looked at me in the mirror. “You don’t need money to be cool. Not anymore. You turned into a stud. I mean, look at you! You look like a male model! I’m telling you, Doug, no matter what any of our friends say, deep down, whether they admit it or not, every guy wants to be the biggest dude with the biggest dick who can pull the hottest babes. Not because they’re rich. Because they’re a stud. Now that’s you, dude. So don’t waste thi
s. Enjoy it while it lasts. For my sake.”
“Your sake?” I chuckled.
“As a favor to me,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t let your brother down, Doug. You hear me? Go forth and be studly.”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
How could I argue with that?
—: Chapter 13 :—
“I’ll see you later tonight,” Arnold said when we arrived in his Prius at the parking lot where my car was parked downtown.
It was just past 6:00pm.
The Gaslamp district was still crazy busy with foot traffic and cars here for Comic Con, which had event programming well into the night in various rooms and smaller halls at the convention center.
Arnold said, “I have to get back to work and do some more debugging. You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” I said.
“What are you gonna do now?”
“The Eisner Awards are tonight.” The Eisner’s were named after the late great cartoonist Will Eisner. They were basically the Oscars for comics. “I’ll probably go to that. If I’m not too tired by then.”
“What time does it start?”
“8:00pm.”
“Listen to you, Methuselah.”
“What? I barely slept last night from the excitement. And I’ve been through a lot today, in case you forgot.”
Arnold shook his head. “Uh uh. The night is young. Once in a lifetime, remember? Go forth and party, my man!”
“I guess.”
“Maybe your girlfriend will be there.”
“Who, Gigi?” Yeah, I still thought about her. Gigi was the only girlfriend I’d ever had.
“No, dummy,” Arnold snorted. “Not sleazy Gigi. Your other girlfriend. Lady Liberty. Who else?”
“Oh, right.”
“Is Lady Liberty gonna be here?”
“I don’t know, maybe?”
“Ahhhhh haaaa! You totally hope she’s here!”
“So?” I shrugged, embarrassed.
“No, no, no. Don’t be Bashful the Dwarf, and don’t be Nickelodeon Doug.”
“Who, Doug the cartoon?”
“Yeah. Don’t be him. Dude’s a weenie. Be a man, man! Be Doug the Stud! Go get some of that Stars and Stripes pussy you were telling me about! If anyone deserves some patriotic tail, it’s you, you saint.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“All right, I gotta roll. See you later, skater.” Arnold drove out of the parking lot and merged into a sea of crawling red brake lights on the street.
