Max Rage: Twelve Punches To Mars!

by Jake Bible

  “Yes, but with the excrement smell and the Askerdon urine everywhere, I assumed—”

  “Hold it, Sandy,” Rage said.

  “Mr. Rage, please do not call me Sandy,” Lord Sahndle said with a huff.

  “You want a ride, bitch?” Grandmaster Scunge asked.

  “Well, yes, I do, but I do not see how that—”

  “Then Rage gets to call you Sandy. Fuckin’ deal, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “I got ya, Rage.”

  “Thanks,” Rage said and smirked at Lord Sahndle. “Hold. It. Sandy.”

  “It shall be uncomfortable, but I am an adult and I will not soil myself no matter how painful it becomes,” Lord Sahndle said, turning away from Rage.

  “Scunge? How long is this gonna take?” Rage asked.

  “Not long, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “I’ll put some extra wiggle into it and we’ll be at the first junction in like only a few minutes.”

  “How are you gonna call your bros?” Rage asked. “You said there’s no comms service down here.”

  “Oh, Sphuncters don’t need service to talk to each other,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “But you bitches is gonna want to plug your ears. Shit gonna get loud. I mean off the fuckin’ hook loud, yo.”

  “Good to know,” Rage said and jammed his fingers into his ears. “Talk away, Scunge.”

  “Well, hold on now. I haven’t—AAAAAAAAAA!” Lord Sahndle screamed until he managed to jam tentacles into his earholes.

  Rage would have smiled at the Ghej’s discomfort, but he was too busy wincing from his own pain. Scunge was not wrong. It was getting off the hook loud in there, yo. Rage not only could hear Scunge screeching out some message in his Sphuncter language, but he felt every last syllable all the way up his legs, into his guts, up his spine, into his brain, then back down again. His bones throbbed and ached from the vibrations of the Sphuncter’s speech.

  The horrid noise died down for a second, but Rage didn’t remove his fingers.

  Lord Sahndle removed his tentacles and regretted it within half a second as Scunge began speaking once again.

  “They’re talking back and forth, moron!” Rage shouted at the stunned and dazed-looking Lord Sahndle. “Keep your tentacles in your damn earholes!”

  Lord Sahndle complied and slumped down against Scunge’s intestinal wall.

  After about ten minutes of communication, the screeching stopped.

  Rage waited for a few seconds then took his fingers out of his ears.

  “We good, Scunge?” he asked.

  “We’re good, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “One of my best buds is gonna meet us at the first junction. He’ll be there when we get there, yo. The guy is like super fuckin’ fast. Bitch slides around under Mars like a damn sprinter, yo.”

  “Good to know,” Rage said as he picked up his rifle and checked it over. “How many of your buds are we going to be riding in?”

  “Just two, yo. Jumpin’ Jack will get us most of the way then we switch it up and ride with Missy T. You’re gonna love her, yo. Bitch is funny as shit. Gonna be jokes for fuckin’ miles ridin’ with her. I can’t wait, yo.”

  Rage cocked his head then glanced at Lord Sahndle.

  “Does it sound like he’s riding with us?” Rage asked.

  “I believe so, Mr. Rage,” Lord Sahndle replied. “I am curious as to how that will work.”

  Eighteen

  “Everyone out my ass, yo!” Grandmaster Scunge yelled as he came to a stop. “We’re gettin’ off here!”

  Rage and Lord Sahndle had already been instructed to move to the front of Grandmaster Scunge. Or what they assumed was the front. Whatever it was called, they made their way through all of Grandmaster Scunge’s guts until they were at the anus opposite the one they had entered.

  Lord Sahndle went first and immediately ran off to relieve himself.

  “Hey, Rage?” Grandmaster Scunge said quietly, which wasn’t really quiet at all. “I was totally fuckin’ with the Ghej, yo. The bitch coulda pissed in my guts. Who fuckin’ cares, right?”

  “Good one, Scunge,” Rage said.

  He turned to regard the new anus they’d be entering. There was something different.

  “Um… Is that a tattoo?” rage asked.

  “You like it, maaaaaan?” the new Sphuncter, Jumpin’ Jack, asked in a slow, stoner drawl. “Supposed to represent the twelve signs of the Sol System’s zodiac. Pretty groovy, huh? I got blazed to shit one night and was like fuck it, man, I’m getting my north anus tatted up. Gotta say by the time the dude got to Capricorn, I was done. That’s a lotta ink for one anus, man. Lotta ink.”

  “Lotta ink,” Rage agreed.

  “Yo, Jumpin’ Jack, you ready for us bitches to catch a ride or what, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge asked.

  “Hop aboard, man. I am your guide and your ride. Gonna get ya where ya need to go in like no time, man,” Jumpin’ Jack replied. “You bringing your Asker-dasker-dos or are they hangin’ back here?”

  “You mind if they hang in you while I see the show?” Grandmaster Scunge asked.

  “No problemo, man,” Jumpin’ Jack replied. “Me bowel es su bowels, man.”

  “That’s fire, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “You the worm, Jack. You da fuckin’ worm.”

  “I am confused,” Lord Sahndle said as the anus behind them opened up once more and five Askerdons came bouncing out.

  They saw Rage, screeched, and hurried through Jumpin’ Jack’s tattooed anus, lost from sight within the new Sphuncter’s intestines.

  “Scunge? You keep talking like you’re coming with, but how?” Rage asked.

  “Gonna show ya, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “Uh, you might want to roll your jeans up.”

  “I might want to—?”

  Rage didn’t get a chance to finish as a wave of water exploded out of Grandmaster Scunge’s anus. It was butt water and smelled of it as it washed over Rage and Lord Sahndle. In seconds, Grandmaster Scunge was reduced to about the size of a large cucumber, all dried up and wriggling in the foot deep puddle of worm water.

  “Had to shrink down, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said, his voice a small squeak of what it had been. “Do me a solid and pick me up, bitch.”

  “He’s talking to you, Sandy,” Rage said. “I need to keep my hands free to operate the rifle, if needed. You’re the one with the extra tentacles.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Sahndle said and gingerly picked up the foot long, shrunken Sphuncter. “Will I be holding you the entire journey, Mr. Grandmaster Scunge?”

  “No, bitch, I don’t want your nasty ass tentacles fondling my worm parts the whole damn time,” Grandmaster Scunge snapped. “Just get me in Jumpin’ Jack and I’ll chill on his guts.”

  “Yes, of course, silly question to ask,” Lord Sahndle said.

  “No shit, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “You gotta think, yo. Use that royal brain and think ahead.”

  “I must admit, I’m a little out of my depth at this point in our journey,” Lord Sahndle said.

  “Eh, business as usual for me,” Rage said with a shrug. “Total SNAFU.”

  “SNAFU?” Lord Sahndle asked.

  “Situation normal, bitch, all fucked up, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said.

  “What he said, but take out the bitch and yo,” Rage said, seeing the confusion in the Ghej’s eyes. “SNAFU.”

  “Oh, I see,” Lord Sahndle said. He gestured at the tattooed anus. “Shall we?”

  “Might as well get it over with,” Rage said and walked inside the new butthole.

  It took Rage only a few seconds to realize that the aroma inside Jumpin’ Jack was much, much different than inside Grandmaster Scunge.

  “Is that…jasmine I smell?” Lord Sahndle asked once inside and had set Grandmaster Scunge down. “It is jasmine.”

  “Oh, yeah, man, I get regular colonics from this chick that also makes the fatty burritos in the Jam Band Plaza,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “She, like, really hoses me out. Keeps me regular and smelli
ng fresh, man.”

  “I gotta get her digits, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “I ain’t too into colonics, but damn, you are smellin’ dope, yo.”

  “Thanks, man, I appreciate that,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “You all comfortable? Need some pillows or anything? My Asker-dasker-dos can bring you some pillows. I know this other chick that stitches them by hand out of trash she finds on the boulevard. Got, like, cute little sayings and shit on them, man. You want?”

  “No, we’re fine, Jack,” Rage said. “Just need to get moving.”

  “Oh, sure, man, no problemo,” Jumpin’ Jack replied. “Let’s get a move on, man. Kick back and relax, Jumpin’ Jack has got ya covered.”

  Rage didn’t kick back or relax. He kept his rifle ready and stayed standing. For about three seconds before Jumpin’ Jack really started to accelerate.

  “Yeah, bitches! We flyin’ now!” Grandmaster Scunge shouted. “Go, Jack, go!”

  “Oh, my!” Lord Sahndle exclaimed. He plopped down on Jumpin’ Jack’s intestinal floor and steadied himself with all of his tentacles. “Well, isn’t this exhilarating!”

  “I’ve gone faster,” Rage said and shrugged as he got back up onto his feet. “Not in a butt worm, though. That part’s new.”

  “You guys like the Dead?” Jumpin’ Jack asked. “I got a bootleg from when they played Venus last year. Man, the whole scene has been the best since they resurrected the band. Keeping Jerry off the horse ain’t been easy, but if he ODs they can always resurrect him again.”

  “I was told that resurrecting celebrities had been outlawed in the Sol System,” Lord Sahndle said.

  “Oh, it has, man, it has,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “But Earth Corp bought up the old contracts of all the band members, even Pigpen, man, and you know all music industry contracts are for eternity, right?”

  “No, I was not aware of that,” Lord Sahndle said. “Eternity, you say?”

  “Oh, yeah, for sure, man,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “All musicians sold their souls back in that time. When Earth Corp bought out the Devil then they got rights to like a billion musician souls. All they had to do was get the contracts too and they could resurrect anyone they wanted, man.”

  “That sucks,” Rage said.

  “For some, man, yeah,” Jumpin’ Jack responded. “But you should hear the Dead. They are at their best now. I think they totally dig the 26th century.”

  Music started to echo around the intestines. There was the unmistakable guitar of Jerry Garcia backed by the rest of the Grateful Dead. Then Bob Weir’s voice cut in.

  “Some folks don’t dig Bobby, but he’s my guy,” Jumpin’ Jack continued. “Man’s gotta have solid chops to be rhythm guitar for a band like the Dead. He catches a lot of shit, but I think he’s like the backbone, man. You ain’t got a band without Bobby.”

  “Such strange music,” Lord Sahndle said then perked up as a new song started. “Oh, I know this one! Rolling Thunder performed it at the last competition!”

  “Hold the fuck on,” Rage said. “How can you know that?”

  “Excuse me?” Lord Sahndle looked confused. “How can I know what, Mr. Rage?”

  “That an a cappella mime troupe has performed this song. They’re mimes. You can’t actually hear the music,” Rage said.

  “Oh, but you can, Mr. Rage. You can,” Lord Sahndle said. “True a cappella mime troupes can interpret music so masterfully that even without sound, you recognize the song immediately.”

  “If you say so, Sandy,” Rage said and grinned as the Ghej bristled.

  They stayed silent for the rest of the journey.

  Jumpin’ Jack slowed down then came to a stop just as the bootleg recording of the concert ended.

  “How’d you play that?” Rage asked.

  “Got my guts wired up for sound a few years back, man,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “I met this surgeon on a Hot Tuna message board and he came to Mars to do some work on me. Best choice I ever made, man. Got my tunes with me no matter where I go. Gotta have your tunes, am I right?”

  “You’re right,” Rage said. “I bounce at a bar full time and half the reason I stick around is the free shows.”

  “Sweet, man,” Jumpin’ Jack said. “Hey, Scunge, man? You mind showing them the way out?”

  “You got it, yo,” Scunge said. “Lord bitch, pick me up again. We’re gonna take a walk to the front butt and you bitches get to meet Missy T.”

  “Can’t fucking wait,” Rage said.

  Nineteen

  Missy T was ginormous. Rage hated that word, but it was the first one that came to mind when he walked out of Jumpin’ Jack’s front butt and came face to anus with Missy T.

  The Sphuncter was huge.

  And, uh, moving around. A lot.

  “Scunge?” Rage asked. “What’s she doing?”

  “Dancin’, yo,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “Can’t you tell dancin’ when you see it, bitch?”

  “You do know I can crush you in my hands now, right, Scunge?” Rage said.

  “Bitch, you’d be breakin’ the deal,” Grandmaster Scunge replied. “You do not wanna go there, yo. Sphuncters be huntin’ your ass across the galaxies, bitch.”

  “How? You barely get around down here without having to hand folks off to other Sphuncters,” Rage said. “You think I’m worried about you flying in ships? Nope.”

  “Come on, baby,” a voice boomed. “Don’t be one of those macho muscle guys that thinks he knows everything about everything. Sphuncters got depth, baby. We can fly anywhere. All it takes is willpower, baby, willpower.”

  “Hey, Missy T! Wassup?” Grandmaster Scunge called.

  “Nothing much, baby. Just grooving to some sweet, sweet a cappella mime troupe tunes right now,” Missy T replied. “You feeling that, baby? Mmmm-hmmmm, that’s what I’m talking about.”

  “I don’t hear… Never mind,” Rage said and nodded at the giant anus in front of him. “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Permission granted, baby. Permission granted,” Missy T said.

  The Sphuncter’s sphincter dilated open and Rage sighed then walked through into yet another stinky hell. No jasmine smell in Missy T. It was back to pure ass like with Grandmaster Scunge.

  “So who you watchin’, yo?” Grandmaster Scunge asked once he, Rage, and Lord Sahndle were inside Missy T and the sphincter had closed behind them.

  “Oh, baby, do I have a treat for you or what,” Missy T said and laughed. “You will not believe who I came across down here. You will not believe it, baby!”

  “Who is it, yo? Stop twisting my nipples and tell me, bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said.

  “Oh, no you do not!” Missy T shouted. “What did we talk about last time, Scunge?”

  “No callin’ you a bitch,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “But I wasn’t callin’ you that. It’s how I talk, yo. You gotta let Grandmaster Scunge be Grandmaster Scunge.”

  “I do not have to do no such thing, baby,” Missy T said. “You want a ride then you show a lady some respect. You hear me, Scunge?”

  “I hear ya, I hear ya,” Grandmaster Scunge said. “No more bitch shit.”

  “Damn right, baby. Be respectful or my Asker-dasker-dos is gonna be having a good old time peeing on your ass, Scunge.”

  “Uh, Ms. Missy T, you mentioned a treat for us? And it sounded as if the treat might be a cappella mime troupe-related,” Lord Sahndle said. “May you enlighten us as to the specifics of this treat? Being a connoisseur of—”

  “You can quit talking right there, Lord Sahndle,” Missy T said. “I know who you are. Any fan of the troupes knows who Lord Sahndle is.”

  “Well, I’m flattered,” Lord Sahndle said and took a bow. “It is my honor to be in the presence of a fan.”

  “I never said I was a fan, baby,” Missy T replied. “Not after that judging fiasco on Golgon Six. You gave Lotsa Love a five, Lord Sahndle. Lotsa Love deserved at least a seven. Five? No, sir, you did them wrong.”

  “I am sorry you feel that way, Ms. Missy
T,” Lord Sahndle responded, sounding very offended. “But I stand by every score I have ever given a troupe. I believe if you were in my shoes, you’d feel different.”

  “I doubt that, baby. I highly doubt that,” Missy T said.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna be the dick and point out that neither of you wear shoes,” Rage said. “So this argument is stupid as shit.”

  “Oh, damn!” Grandmaster Scunge called out. “Rage is bitchin’ both you, yo! You got Raged!”

  “That’s not a thing,” Rage said.

  “You all want to see the treat or not?” Missy T asked.

  “Maybe we should get on the way first,” Rage said.

  “Baby, we been moving since my butt closed up,” Missy T said. “Missy T is smooth, baby. Smoooooth.”

  “Then let’s see this treat,” Rage said. “Might as well.”

  “Don’t do me no favors, Rage,” Missy T said.

  “Let our bygones be bygones, Ms. Missy T,” Lord Sahndle said. “What is this treat you are teasing us with?”

  “Move on up, baby. Move on up and see for yourself,” Missy T said.

  Rage shrugged, made sure he had a firm grip on his rifle, and lead the way. They walked for several meters through Missy T’s intestines before light began to appear. Then Rage stopped short and blinked a few times.

  Ahead of him were twelve douchebruhs, all pantomiming in an elaborately choreographed way that Rage had never seen before.

  “Jesus Christ it’s worse than I thought,” Rage said then his eyes went wide. He recognized all of the douchebruhs. “What the…? Junior!”

  The douchebruhs faltered in their choreography for only a second then continued on as if Rage hadn’t shouted at them.

  “Whoa! Time fucking out!” Rage shouted and made a T with his hands. “I said time fucking out! Stop moving, you morons!”

  “That was not the response I was expecting,” Missy T said. “You a Punching Air hater, Rage?”

  “I’m a Junior and his missing douchebruhs hater,” Rage said. “That kid. The yellow one with the green hair. Well, the short yellow one with the green hair. I know him. I came to Mars with these dipshits. I’m supposed to be protecting them then I got roped into protecting Lord Birkenstock here, instead.”