FUCK YOU, SATAN!
UP YOURS, LUCIFER!
and
GET SCREWED, BEELZEBUB!
All these books were screaming shitfits about the dire threat of monsters worldwide, and how none of us will even be alive to experience climate change and the oceans drowning us all, because Satan and his hellspawn will have destroyed civilization long before that day ever arrives.
In the typewriter was a blank page. Rex was stuck for a title to his next book, which would again be about the dire threat of monsters worldwide, but this time with lots more exclamation points. He began to poke around the impenetrable weed patch that was his brain in search of a catchy title.
As he chewed on a pencil in thought, he looked at the framed photo he kept on his desk. It was a picture of the Asskickers taken years ago in Japan, shortly after they had defeated Humungus, the 400 foot behemoth that had been terrorizing Tokyo (and later exposed as nothing more than a 400 foot man inside a costume). The four of them – Rex, Lars, Bruno and Springer – looked dirty and banged up, but their ridiculous, exhausted faces always made him smile.
Suddenly, Rex was struck by inspiration, and he began to type:
FUCK YOU EVEN HARDER, SATAN!
by
Rex Havoc
He rubbed his hands together in delight. By god, he still had the touch. The words flowed effortlessly after that.
* * *
The rain continued all day, and by late evening many streets were closed due to flooding. At a bus stop in the Bronx an old Puerto Rican woman waited in the pouring rain for the Metro. Her shift cleaning offices at the bank had ended at ten, and she was anxious to get home and grab a couple of hours sleep before she had to get to her other job.
Also waiting for the bus was a young, upscale couple who was sharing an umbrella but ignored the old woman, who was getting drenched in the downpour.
Finally the Metro arrived and pulled up to the bus stop. When the doors of the bus opened, the young couple pushed past the woman and made their way up the steps. The old woman was almost knocked to the ground, but she shrugged off their rudeness and then boarded herself.
Aboard the bus, Danny Decay and Naomi Rotts seemed wildly out of place in this crowd of maids and blue collar workers riding home after a long work day. The pair looked like they were on their way to a trendy club Uptown and somehow missed their limo connection.
The man appeared to be a successful Wall Street trader, wearing a Ralph Lauren pea coat over a two thousand dollar Armani suit. The woman looked like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, a tall blonde dressed in tight designer jeans and a suede and leather jacket, and wearing a diamond cuff that was probably worth more than the bus itself.
Danny flapped his umbrella a couple times before closing it, spraying water on the driver and some other annoyed passengers. His girlfriend strolled right past the farebox and plopped herself down in a seat near the front, flipping back her expensive salon-styled hair absently. Danny moved to sit next to her, but the driver grabbed him by an arm.
“That’s three bucks from each of you,” said the driver.
Danny looked at the farebox, and then turned to the poor soaked woman standing behind him, who was busy paying her fare.
“She’ll pay for us,” said Danny, indicating the old woman. He flashed a big smile at her. “Won’t you, darling?”
The woman looked at Danny with bewilderment, and then opened her purse again. She pulled six more singles from her wallet and fed them into the meter. The driver glared at Danny with deep disapproval as he watched this, but said nothing and released his arm.
Danny sat next to Naomi as the old woman found a seat farther back. Across the aisle from them sat a big guy, bald with a lot of prison tats. He stared at Naomi, absolutely certain her swimsuit photo had once graced the wall of his prison cell. Then he looked at Danny and wondered what a smokin’ hot party girl like that was doing with such an asshat.
Noticing the bald guy drooling over Naomi, Danny struck up a conversation.
“Hi. I’m Danny and this is my girlfriend, Naomi. How ya doin’ tonight?”
“Fuck you, fruit,” said the bald guy.
Danny, a little hurt, leaned over to whisper to Naomi.
“Don’t you just hate rude people?”
* * *
Across town, Crayon Oleander stood in the rain, holding a Vogue magazine over her head and trolling for customers. She had been off the streets for two days while she was kept prisoner by the Aldente Clan, but her pimp didn’t buy her kidnapping story and smacked her around a bit to emphasize the point. Now she didn’t dare go back home again until she made some money.
Her pal and co-hooker, Samantha, was standing in the entryway of a nearby office building, trying without success to keep her hair dry. Sam wore a sexy red leather motorcycle jacket, cut short to show off her midriff, while Crayon wore her lucky rabbit fur coat, a disastrous fashion choice in the present monsoon. They looked like a pair of drowned rats, if rats were inclined to wear mini-skirts and high heels and black nylons.
At the intersection, a white Prius stopped at the traffic light, and Crayon and Sam swooped in like vultures. Crayon tapped on the passenger window, and the driver rolled it down.
“Hey, handsome. You look like the party type,” she said. But the driver, a young man with a crew cut and a crazy stare, was clearly not interested.
“God will punish you, whores!” he shouted.
The Prius sped off, splashing gutter water on the girls. Crayon flipped him off as he drove away.
“Hey, asshole! Punish this!”
The girls slogged back to the entryway to get out of the rain.
“I’m wet and I’m starving,” said Sam. “Let’s go home. Nobody’s going to stop in this storm.”
Crayon shook her head. “Can’t go home yet. Sergei wants me to make up the time I missed.”
“While you were kidnapped? That’s fucked up.”
“I know. I got a call in to my union rep.”
Both girls laughed. Then Sam spotted something coming up the street.
“Hang on, hang on. Target approaching.”
A white stretch limousine pulled up to the curb. The excited girls ran up to meet it.
“Looks like our luck has changed,” said Sam, rubbing her frozen hands together.
The tinted rear window rolled down, and a ghastly old man with an oxygen tube up his nose crooked his boney finger at the girls, beckoning them.
“Ewww,” said Crayon, cringing in disgust. She grabbed her friend’s arm, instinctively pulling her away from the car. But Sam saw only a warm, dry limo and a bottle of champagne inside with her name on it, and she pulled her arm free.
“Oh, come on. Maybe he’ll let us spend the night,” said Sam.
“No way. I’ve had my quota of creepy guys for a long time.”
“Suit yourself. But I’ll bet you he has a heart attack after just two minutes.”
“Reach for the stars, girl,” said Crayon.
Sam climbed into the limo with the decrepit old man, who signaled to the chauffeur to drive on. Crayon watched them drive away, and then walked down the street in search of a better corner.
* * *
“I love you so fucking much,” said Danny, running his tongue up Naomi’s neck as he squeezed her breast. Their uninhibited passion was steaming up the bus window.
“I love you so fucking much,” said Naomi, writhing in his lap, her legs straddling Danny in the cramped bus seat. The other passengers were visibly uncomfortable with this very public display of affection, but no one made a comment. There was something… strangely frightening about this pair. Even the driver was unwilling to interfere, and tried to ignore the scene.
“Next stop, 168th Street,” the driver announced.
A tall man in the rear of the bus walked to the back door and pushed the signal button to get off. The driver turned the steering wheel toward the curb and began to slow down, when Danny spoke up.
“No more stops, driver. Just drive to the end of the line.”
The driver peered at Danny in the rear view mirror and complied. He turned the bus back into traffic and sped up.
“What the hell? Driver, that was my stop,” said the tall man, confused and growing angry.
Danny pulled his tongue out of Naomi’s mouth long enough to scowl at the man.
“Sorry, friend, this is an express bus from now on. No more stops ‘til the end of the line.”
The man grew furious, pushing the button repeatedly and banging on the back door.
“Fuck that. Stop the goddamn bus. I’m getting off now!”
Exasperated, Danny moved Naomi off his lap and stood in the aisle. He took a breath and stared at the unruly passenger. At once, the man clutched his head in agony and started to scream. His eyeballs burst inside their sockets as his brain began to boil and blood sprayed out of his ears. Then his skull exploded, splattering several of the passengers with blood and gore.
Everybody freaked out, screaming and horrified.
At the back of the bus, an off-duty cop reached into his jacket for his gun. Several other people ducked below the seats, thinking the fiberglass barrier might somehow protect them.
Danny waved his hands, motioning for calm.
“All right, everybody settle down.”
At once, the screaming stopped and there was tranquility. The passengers sat up again in their seats and faced Danny placidly. He called out to the cop in the back row.
“You, in the back. The off-duty cop. Throw your gun out the window.”
The man opened the window next to him and tossed the out the gun. Then he turned and stared vacantly at Danny, who spoke to the passengers.
“Okay, now everybody just sit quietly. My girlfriend and I are trying to have sex here and you guys are harshing our buzz.”
Danny looked at the driver, who had been concentrating only on his driving the whole time and was oblivious to the mad scene unfolding behind him. Returning to his seat next to Naomi, Danny was about to make out with her again, when he noticed the bald man sitting across the aisle looking at them blankly.
“Hey, pal. A little privacy, please? Shut your eyes.”
The bald man obediently shut his eyes. Danny shouted to the others on the bus.
“In fact, that goes for all of you. Everybody close your eyes.”
Without protest, everyone on the bus closed their eyes. A moment later, the bus began to swerve out of its lane.
“Oops, not you, driver,” said Danny, realizing his slip. “You keep your eyes on the road.”
The driver opened his eyes and quickly regained control of the bus. Danny looked sheepishly at Naomi, who just laughed. He moved in for a deep, sensual kiss and started pulling off her blouse.
* * *
Crayon stood at the corner bus stop, soaked to the bone, no longer caring about bringing home money to keep Sergei happy. She was exhausted and wet and just wanted the night to be over. Down the street the Metro bus was coming her way at a pretty good clip, and she waved to make sure the driver saw her. The bus blew right past her, splashing her as it plowed through a big puddle.
“What the fuck?!” she shouted angrily at the bus.
As the bus drove by, Crayon saw some very peculiar things through the windows. The bus was moving past her very quickly, so she couldn’t be sure of what she saw, but it looked like there was a big splatter of red paint near the rear door, and two people were having sex at the front of the bus in full view of the other passengers. Something really, really weird was going on, and she suddenly felt relieved she had missed this particular bus.
“What the fuck?” she repeated softly.
* * *
Danny looked out the bus window and saw they were close to their destination. Naomi pulled herself together, buttoning up her blouse.
“You’re gonna wanna turn here, driver, into this alley,” said Danny. The driver looked at him in the rear view mirror, and obeyed. He gave the wheel a big turn to the right and drove into the dark alley. The other passengers on the bus offered no protest, sitting quietly with their eyes closed.
“Okay, stop right here,” said Danny.
The driver stopped the bus, and awaited further orders. Danny stood in the aisle again to address the passengers.
“All right, everybody. Eyes on me. In about two minutes, every one of you will be killed horribly.”
The passengers stared at Danny, but there was not the slightest reaction to his words. He could have told them rain was wet and sand was dry and got the same reaction. He continued:
“It’s really gonna hurt and it’s gonna be a real fuckin’ mess in here, so please keep the screaming to a minimum. The faster we get this done, the faster my girlfriend and I can enjoy the rest of the night.”
Again, there was no reaction. All the passengers looked sedately at Danny, sitting quietly in their seats and awaiting his next instruction.
Danny approached the driver.
“Okay, driver, look at me.”
The driver turned in his seat to look at Danny, who placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. Instantly, the driver began to shake uncontrollably. His flesh shriveled and cracked like a dry lake bed and his eyeballs collapsed inside their sockets. The driver’s screams were horrible, but these diminished into hoarse rasps as his vocal cords shrank away. Sparks of green light raced across his skin and surged into Danny’s body as every ounce of energy was drawn away from the man.
When it was over, there was nothing left of the driver but a ghastly, withered husk.
Danny looked at Naomi, who joined him in the aisle. They surveyed the other passengers sitting on the bus, and smiled at each other.
“Dinner’s ready,” said Danny.
“About time. I’m famished,” said Naomi.
The two walked down the bus aisle and set to work.
Chapter 7
“You weren’t out sleep-killing again,
were you?”
Rex had been banging away at the typewriter all day and late into the night, turning sheets of plain white paper into pure gold. Throughout the apartment, the array of TV sets chattered away in the background, but he kept working at a fever pitch, oblivious to the cacophony.
He was deep into a chapter about the evils of science and how scientists invariably fuck everything up and needed to be rounded up and shot, when a voice spoke to him from across the room.
“Hi, Rex.”
He looked up to see a woman sitting on the couch, half-obscured in shadow. He tilted the desk lamp in her direction¸ and then smiled at his dear friend and fellow Asskicker.
“Bruno! I didn’t see you. How long have you been sitting there?”
“Awhile,” she said. “You were so focused on your work, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She looked fabulous, sporting a short, spiky haircut, jeans and a cute maternity top with words that said: “Baby Under Construction.” She was eight months pregnant, but still looked like she could punch out a hive of Xenomorphs. And their mom.
“I came by last night, but you were gone,” she said. “You weren’t out sleep-killing again, were you?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe. Guess we’ll find out on the news.”
Rex wasn’t kidding. Sometimes he had short-term memory problems, and the only way to find out how his day went was to check the local news.
Bruno continued: “Heard you got into some trouble on a TV show.”
He scoffed. “They pissed me off. These Satan worshippers think it’s all fun and games casting spells and sacrificing virgins, but then one day the Devil shows up and takes away their castles and expensive cars and makes them eat shit forever in hell and then things ain’t so goddamn fun anymore, are they?”
Bruno laughed. Anyone else might be alarmed by Rex’s fanaticism, but she knew deep down he was just a big ol’ teddy bear who needed to kill his weight in monsters daily.
“I like the new digs. More room for your wei
rd shit,” she said.
“It’s better, right?” Rex beamed at her approval. “You don’t think it’s too, um, busy?”
The place reminded her of an episode of “Extreme Hoarders,” but she kept that opinion to herself.
“Not at all,” she said. “It looks really nice, Rex.”
He smiled broadly. Goddamn, it was great to see her again.
“Oh!” said Bruno, looking startled. She held her stomach.
“You okay?” asked Rex, concerned.
Bruno chuckled, rubbing her tummy. “Baby kicked. Should be any day now.”
Rex looked away, anguished, trying not to betray his emotions. After a moment he looked back at her and was treated to a smile that absolutely melted his heart.
“That’s good news, Bruno. I’m really happy for you,” he said, working up a fairly convincing grin.
“Thanks. Anyway, Lars just wanted me to check on you. You know, like are you eating something other than rice cakes?”
“I’m okay, Bruno. You guys don’t have to fuss so.”
“It’s no bother, Rex. He worries about you. We all do.”
All the TVs in the apartment suddenly switched to a breaking news story. It showed a city bus parked in an alley, surrounded by a number of squad cars and ambulances. A caption under the video read: BRONX BUS MASSACRE. Rex grabbed the TV remote and turned up the volume.
“—a horrible scene here in the Bronx,” said the on-scene reporter, working mightily to speak into the microphone as the wind and rain tried to wrench her umbrella away. “Fourteen people are dead, including the bus driver, and nobody is certain how they died. Most of the bodies seem to be mummified, as if every ounce of moisture has been drained from them. Officials aren’t saying much right now, but something extraordinary has happened to these passengers. Something truly horrendous.”
Rex muted the sound and looked at Bruno, who gave him a knowing smirk.
“Well, I guess I know where you’re going,” she said.
Asskickers of the Fantastic Page 4
