by Unce, Bo
"Dat be our spec-ial-ty!" Koochy reminded me.
"Did you ever hear about any of this Cleveland Jesus stuff around the time of Obama the second?" I asked him.
"Hm..." he thought for a moment. "Nah. Nah, son. I don't believe I do."
"Yeah, me either," I shrugged.
Remembering TK, I looked around Koochy. "Hey, how's she doing?"
Koochy smacked his mouth. "Sheit, I reckon at dis rate she'll wake da fuck up tomorra some time."
I nodded.
"Well," I yawned. "I'm so tired I can't tell you how tired I am. I'm going to take a nap."
"Kill it, playa," Koochy said.
I crawled into the row of seats and cuddled up next to TK's body. It was flush with the heat of accelerated healing activity.
Smiling, because I knew I would soon be reunited with my TK, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
***
When I opened my eyes, the skyline of Old Detroit was visible and looming on the horizon. Unlike Old Cleveland, which had been far more residential, Old Detroit was a sprawling, stretching metropolis. Stratoscrapers crowded the city, protruding from thick foundational pillars, each the size of entire city block, and reaching high, high up into the atmosphere, as far as the eye could see.
"We made it," I whispered.
"Oh, hey, Preston! Welcome back!" Alphonso warmly greeted me.
"Hey, Alphonso. Where's... where's Koochy?" After a further second I realized I was alone on the bench of seats. "Wait, where's TK?"
"Oh, they're out back with Aoas and the crew," he nodded to his right.
"What?" I asked, bewildered. TK had recovered to the point of walking? And she had gone out with Koochy?
"Yeah, they usually hang out with those guys in the mornings," he said, matter-of-factly.
His word choice seemed peculiar to me.
"What do you mean, usually?" I inquired. "How long have I been sleeping?"
"Oh, dude. It's been days. Three days? Maybe four?" he shrugged.
"What?! Are you fucking serious right now?" I demanded.
"Yeah, sorry, Preston. I figured you knew," he grimaced.
"How... how would I know?" I marveled at his stupidity.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Argh!" I said in frustration.
The door to the ship was hanging lazily open and we were still moving at the speed of a normal human walking pace. I stuck my head outside and looked behind us. A dark mob comprised of thousands of my followers staggered after us, clearly exhausted and malnourished. In the few seconds I watched, I saw two people expire and fall beneath the feet of their companions as they were crushed into red slush.
This had been going on for days now? We should have reached Old Detroit by now. It hadn't been that far away from Old Cleveland. Where the hell were we after days of marching?
I hopped out of the steadily moving GMS-KJH86. Aoas and his posse were right where I had seen them last: about a hundred feet behind our low-flying ship, leading the rest of my throng. My heart stopped momentarily when I first caught sight of TK. My love! My mother! Mother of my lost children.
TK was fully recovered and gorgeous. She had changed her hair; now it was short and bright. Otherwise, she looked just as I remembered her. Her voluptuous body undulated rhythmically back and forth as she pranced around Aoas' hovering sarcophagus.
She was dancing!
Then, I saw Koochy, who I noticed was also dancing. He was far less fun to watch though, so I turned my attention back to the seductive TK. What the hell was going on here?
"TK!" I called out. "Marcus! What the hell is going on here?" I demanded.
TK froze when she heard me. An enormous smile grew to cover her face.
"Preston Chesticles!" she gasped, enrapt. "Oh, my sweet, sweet Chesticles!"
I broke into a full speed run towards her. She did the same. The world seemed to swell in anticipation of our meeting. Our flesh smashed into each other and our lips were reunited. We smooched passionately for what felt like minutes. It felt wonderful to hold TK in my arms; all of them.
"Eeeeeekk!" TK recoiled when she noticed Bronson, who for some reason had maneuvered his head to her eye level.
"Bronnnsssssonnnn," Bronson hissed, frighteningly.
"Oh my god, Preston! What is that.. thing?" she pressed herself deeper into my other two arms. She didn't realize Bronson was also one of my arms.
"Shhh, TK, shhh. It's okay, baby. Calm down. I've got you. Don't worry. Don't worry about anything," I petted her head.
"What? What do you mean? You aren't freaked the fuck out by that... penis thing? What am I missing?" TK was smart and got to the point.
"Oh, uh. Well, baby. Let me introduce you to Bronson," was apparently the best response I could muster. TK still looked severely confused. I continued, "He was kind of like, grafted to my body as part of my recovery process." I pointed to the place on my side where Bronson and I were conjoined.
"EeeeeeeEEEEEHHHKKKK!" she shrieked even louder at this revelation.
"Jeez, chill, baby! Bronson is cool, baby," I comforted her.
After another few lungfuls of screaming, TK calmed herself.
"Well, Preston, baby... that is going to take some getting used to," she regarded Bronson uneasily.
I smiled.
"I thought you would like it, baby," I cooed in her left ear while Bronson sneaked up and kissed her right ear.
"Ewww! No! Gross!" she slapped Bronson away. "Keep that dickhead away from me!"
"Hey, you have to accept me for who I am!" I protested. "I...I love me. I love Bronson. I think my body is beautiful."
"Honey, you are tripping," TK cocked her head to the side and stepped out of my grasp. "I love you, but that dick arm thing has got to go!"
"Hmph!" I sulked as I nursed Bronson. I had waited forever to see TK and within minutes of being reunited we were bickering. I guess this was life when you were in love with your mother.
"Let's talk about it later," she told me. Then she laughed as she grabbed one of my natural arms and pulled me towards the group. "Koochy, look who woke up!"
"Ay, P!" Koochy nodded at me. "What up den, sleepy Jean? You believin' dis daydream yet?"
"Ugh! You guys let me sleep for days?!" I was outraged.
"Ay, cool it, killa," he showed me his palms. "We ain't let you do shit. Couldn't no body wake yo ass up. Dat's how we got all dem sick ass videos we be tweetin' an' shit! Dat shit was humiliatin', yo! Unnnghh!"
I shook my head.
"What the hell, Koochy?" I fumed at his inconsiderateness. "Did those videos make it on the blews? I'm going to call down some holy hell on you, man."
"Chill, kid! I'm jes fuckin' wit' ya. We good!" Koochy laughed.
"Arrgh! Koochy, you're killin' me!" I lamented. "What are you guys doing, anyway?"
"Sideshow, son!" Koochy had not stopped dancing throughout our conversation. "Turns out, Aoas be rockin' dem sick ass beats, son! Get turnt, bitches! Ow! Watch me now!"
I opened my mouth to scold him, but stopped myself. Why the hell not? I was always in too much of a hurry to enjoy the journey, even as a demigod. Instead of verbally attacking my friends, I shut up and let my body move with the music. It was a raw and unrefined street beat that was thudding out of Aoas' floating encasement, from large speakers I couldn't see. I stretched my arms to the sky and let my hips wiggle back and forth as I joined TK and Marcus in celebration.
The song ended. We came together panting and smiling. It had felt so satisfying to move after such a long period of rest!
"That was fun. So fun!" TK's melodic voice was such a joy to experience again.
We enjoyed another kiss.
"It's so good to see you again, baby," I told her between affections.
Aoas said something in Russian that none of us could understand. Koochy produced a compute-pad and held it up to Aoas.
"Is this Cleveland Jesus' concubine?" Aoas asked with the help of the translation app.
I choked on my laughter.
"Excuse me! I'm his lover!" TK shouted, angrily. "And his mother!" she added.
"You are the mother of God?" Aoas' lip began trembling again.
"Look, let's not make this complicated," I interjected.
"Oh, so I make it 'complicated'? Is that what you're trying to say, Preston?" TK barked at me.
"Jeez, TK," I drew back. Was it her time of the month? Why was she so volatile? "Take it easy. No, that's clearly not what I meant.
"Ahem," I cleared my most holy throat. "Concern yourselves not with this woman. She is my dearest companion. Do not question her position within the church of Cleveland Jesus!"
"Yes, of course, my lord," Aoas looked embarrassed.
"Ay, P! Quit clownin' and look," he motioned to the city we were approaching.
"Where are we, Koochy? That's not Old Detroit."
He shook his head vigorously.
"No lie, kid. Dis here road you done carved didn't go to no Old Detroit. Best as I can figure, we lookin' at New London ova dere. I ain't sho' doh. Been havin' a hard time gettin' good coverage out here for the last couple of days. Damn!" he offered his excuses.
"Uh, guys! Hey, guys!" Alphonso's voice came over Koochy's compute-pad.
"Here, pass me the compute-pad," I called to Marcus. He handed it over.
"Guys? This is your Vice Admiral, Alphonso Roy speaking," Alphonso prattled on unnecessarily.
"What?" I demanded. "Just spit it out already!"
His face appeared on the compute-pad now too in a video stream. He looked really concerned, overwhelmingly so to the point of incapacitation.
"Ahh! I don't need to see your face!" I argued.
"Mu'fucka, yo' dumb pie hole look like yous 'bout to fart, nah, like yo' been shittin' yer pants all week an' you jus' sittin' innit," Koochy added.
"Come quick! Look out the window here!" Alphonso sputtered.
TK looked at me from the side of her eyes, still not facing me directly. Was she really still mad over being called just a complication? It's not like I said "it's complicated" for our relationship status. Actually I hadn't even updated my relationship status. Maybe that was the problem?
"TK, look, I'll be right back. We'll sort this out later," I implored. She tossed her hair with a 'hmpf' and looked at her nails.
I followed Koochy up to the cockpit.
"Whatchu want anyways?" Marcus prompted, then he saw what Alphonso had seen.
Ahead of us was the skyline of New London. Now that we were closer, it was clear that this was no ordinary metropolis of seven-hundred-story stratoscrapers, like Old Detroit was. This was a much more European city, one with a lot of culture. I could tell because all the towering high-rises were topped with old monuments to the pre-Good-Man, even pre-Obama styles of architecture.
Every skyscraper was adorned with clusters of Big Ben replicas, or had life-size Tower Bridge reproductions appended to the side, or had a carbon copy of Westminster Abbey or a facsimile of Buckingham Palace atop its flying buttresses. Now that I could truly perceive the refined and dignified nature of this glorious, revitalized city, I felt ashamed that I could have mistaken it for Old Detroit.
One of the megatowers was emblazoned "TACO BELL" in hundred-story-tall letters, and on top of each letter was a huge plastic cup of tea, ascot, or red telephone booth. We were truly in a foreign land now. Each of these traditional symbols was imbued with deep meaning and I longed to become part of this vibrant culture.
However this beautiful historic scene was not what Alphonso had raised the alarm about.
Our unruly band had apparently traveled up the river Thames. Indeed I'd split the seas completely from lake Erie to here, ripping the island nation apart at its asshole. And from that tear in the local geography had come a lot of displaced and angry residents.
Leading the charge against us was a group of men in uniforms.
"Oh sheeit!" Koochy warned. "Ay yo, you know how we done busted up those honky-ass Pontius Grizwald muthafuckas? Popped a cap in dey asses, like BLAOW, BLAOW! Unngh! Damn, son. Dey got Ronnie. Pour one out fo' my homie. Ronnie, muh mane mane, dis fo' yuh! I'mma still skeet on yo' girl, fo' you, Ronnie! Fo' you, son!"
"Yes, Koochy, I remember," I prodded him along.
"Yo, so like, dem honkies be all church an' NFL and tha KKK up in dat, right?" Koochy continued. I turned to see if TK had come running at his mention of the KKK but she didn't appear.
"Right, I remember," I said.
"Well, dis shit be in Europe now, mane. And I ain't talkin' 'bout no Europa, but old skool Europe!"
"Yeah? Get to the point, Koochy," I urged. "They look angry!"
"Well o'er hurr dey ain't got no NFLs. Dey thank 'football' means soccer! Whafuck is soccer, anyway? So when ol' Good Man banned football and KKK and popes 'n shit, right hurr dem soccer and Nazis and gypsy-ass fools got banned! They goan formed up sum damn 'nutha group, on da down low! Dat damn partin'-da-seas like yo' mamma's legs thang you done, shit fucked up they damn home base, fo' rea' doe."
"Don't talk about TK like that! Wait, so you're saying we have some scum of the earth socialist soccer hooligans coming at us now?" I looked closer and could tell they were indeed wearing soccer cleats and swastika patches. "Because we ruined their neighborhood or something? It sucked anyway! Fuck! Alphonso, shoot those assholes!"
"Preston, are you sure?" Alphonso queried. "Remember the last time? You got mad at me! You hurt my feelings. I was sad, you kno--"
"Shut yo' sucka-ass sucka mouf!" Koochy interrupted, grabbing at the weapons joystick and squeezing off a long burst of automatic explosive shells.
Even though he meant to shoot the assholes in their dumb faces, Koochy's impromptu gunfire ended up strafing the ground in front of the approaching mass of soccer players instead. Nothing but a few puffs of harmless dust and dirt hit the first row of our attackers.
I was amazed at the impact this had, though. Nearly all of the members of the threatening mob immediately fell over, clutching at their shins or heads. A swell of noise came from the crowd.
"Are those boos? They're booing us? Really?" I groaned, flabbergasted.
I watched two men roll around on the ground in exaggerated pain until they bumped gently into each other, then after reflexively doing a straight-armed salute with their red-banded right arms, they belatedly screamed in agony and flopped on their backs.
"Yellow card!" one screamed through gritted teeth.
"This is what we're up against?" I lamented. Surely there must be some trick, something I was missing. "Why am I always up against nameless hordes?" My life's ongoing challenges were truly Sisyphean. At least I hadn't tasted shit yet today. This was a metaphor for something, I was sure of it... The prophecy? I shook my head to get back to the problem at hand.
I peered out the side of the cockpit to look behind our hovering ship. Even in their weariness, my large army of followers had a hardened, menacing look about them. They had come all the way from Old Cleveland on this pilgrimage so I could deliver them to their holy scroll, and they were obviously not going to put up with any shit here.
"What tha fuck, mane," Koochy brought my attention back to the encroaching soccer mob.
They had forked their ranks in a split down the middle. This allowed a gang of uniformed men to come jogging out to the front line. They began moving their arms repeatedly in a diagonal direction toward the ground.
"They're signaling... something," I thought aloud.
"Ay, hol' up," Koochy was holding his compute-pad up. "I jes got dis hype ass SCCR app. Lessee what dis bitch can do for muh! Work for muh, you ol' crap ass, app ass, app."
He paused for a moment, waiting on the device to be ready.
"Motherfuck! What tha fuck is yo problem, thang?" Koochy smacked his compute-pad against the cockpit dashboard. "Hell naw, I don't wanna update now. Do it look like now is a good time ta update ta you? Goddammit! Fuckin' auto-update bullshit!"
I shook my head. This was getting us nowhere.
"Try again, Alphonso," I encouraged him.
"Urm... the guns aren't responding, Preston," Alphonso confessed. "I think they might be overheated."
"How can they be overheated? We only fired like three shots!" I complained.
"Something's wrong with the cooling system, I think," he shrugged. "I got this notice about In-Ship Purchases being available. Maybe they didn't unlock the cooling features on this GMS?"
I groaned, reminded of the controversial commercialization of our country's military supply chain. After decades of protest, the Good Man raised the pay for enlisted citizens to sky-high values. The catch? They had to buy all of their own equipment and health care. Nowadays, new recruits got a pair of skivvies and a roll of toilet paper on their first day in the armed forces, but everything from that point on was their financial responsibility. Of course, advertisers and tech start ups rushed in to monetize the troops and everything went to shit after that. The Good Man's forces spent most of their time consuming advertising and playing first person shooters on their VAGs.
"What are we going to do, Preston?" TK asked, curiously.
I knew what I was going to do.
"Gods gonna god," I said grimly, then emerged from the GMS-KJH86.
"Wait, what? Where are you going?" TK called after me, but didn't follow me out onto the snow.
Even though I possessed only the weight of a baby, the sound of my landing on the frosty ground was a deafening thud. It shook the horizon and immediately brought a hush over the crowds, both of them.
We stood there for a moment, under the ageless sky; two enormous hordes of people standing face to face. Separated only by a hairy baby Jesus with a ten foot penis arm snaking lazily in the air. Strained faces tensely awaited my next move.
I opened my mouth to speak, with no idea what I was going to say.
***
Before I could say anything, I saw Koochy trying to get my attention from inside the ship's cockpit. I didn't have a compute-pad, or any other kind of micro-com, so I couldn't hear what he was trying to communicate to me. Turning my torso to him, I shrugged with all three of my shoulders.
