The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Musings And Adventures
To all you virtuous citizens,
As you may be aware, Bush is planning on starting up the draft again. The old draft-dodger and duty-ditcher wants more young American kids to send off to Iraq to fight his father's war. More people to die while killing innocents so that Bush can stick to his normal routine of laying in his Texas-made bathtub (the one with the longhorns attached and a gun rack on the side) and masturbating amidst several gallons of crude oil. With a pile of CIA-provided coke in the soap dish, he soaks and watches his rubber duck float atop petrol, bobbing to the left and the right, as it narrowly avoids the bullets fired from Bush's six-shooter. After eventually tagging "Queer Ducky" as he moves to the left, always as he moves to the left, Bush throws off his cowboy hat and sinks down in the tub, submerging his head under the blessed oil. It is as he returns to the surface that he fills his head with thoughts of lethal injections and finds himself attaining an erection. As he gets to the process of self-manipulation, he thinks, "thank God for this oil! Good lubrication AND it powers my truck."
Of course, being a Texan, he HAS made love to the truck, utilizing the tailpipe in a most unsavory manner.
Back to the point, Bush wants a draft, just as he wants more war. Though he's not advertising this fact (he does want to get re-elected after all), he's already had people start to fill the vacancies left in the long-unused draft boards. The draft will start up immediately after the start of his second term, and this is all the more reason he must not win the election. He must be defeated, just as he was last time, but this time he mustn't be handed the Executive office anyway, as he was the last time, thanks to the largely Republican-president-appointed Supreme Court. I find it ironic that one so quick to avoid the Vietnam War himself is so eager to create and maintain his own. What a presidency it's been, we've had the ambiance of another Vietnam abroad while achieving the subtle overtones of Germany, 1938 at home.
In short, I'm asking you all to not vote for Bush. Because he's an idiot, because he's a war-monger, because I don't want to get drafted. Because it's bad enough he's already sucked my friends back into military service, even though they already completed their terms. Because he's lost sight of what this country's really about. Acceptance of all people (Muslims and the French too), inherent undeniable rights (not Patriot Acts), that all people are created equal (not special restrictions for homosexuals).
From the start of his presidency, the constitution has been widely ignored and abused. This MUST NOT BE. The constitution is the cornerstone of our country, the one thing that gives us stability, the only deterrent we have against our country falling apart, the only protection from a dictatorship (such as the one we've been watching slowly build). The constitution is one of the most progressive things ever written, and I think, the only basis for a government that was ever written realistically, not based on ideals such as the late U.S.S.R and most other governments follow in which every person must do their part in order for the country to function efficiently. That level of trust is a fairytale. The constitution's strength lies in the fact that it assumes that all people have a tendency towards corruption and serving their own ends, and thus the constitution has certain safeguards in place.
These safeguards are worthless however, when the constitution is blatantly ignored and abused. For example, our forefathers made painstaking efforts to prevent one political party from ever gaining complete control of the government through carefully-worded safeguards in the constitution. However, the Republican-majority Supreme Court justices, whose job it is to interpret and follow the constitution, ignored the constitution and gave control of the executive branch to the LOSING presidential candidate, leaving us with one party, the Republican party, in control of the Executive, Legislative, and yes, Judicial branches. Look how quickly they've worked to undermine the constitution, stripping the citizenry of several rights (including the right to vote, I would think based on our last presidential election) utilizing such things as the Patriot Act.
The whole thing sickens me. Things can not function without balance, and there is no balance in a one-party government, ESPECIALLY when it's the Republican party running the show. Let us wrestle control away from the near-Nazi extreme right. Let us have a government for the people by the people!
As a sidenote, is anyone else as bothered as I regarding the recent French-bashing our country has put forth? Does it strike anyone else as being wrong that a country which so loudly proclaims to believe in free speech should vilify the French for vocally disagreeing with our war? That we should consider embargoes due to a difference of opinion? What is with all this ridiculous behavior of referring to food items as "freedom fries" and "freedom toast"? There is no freedom in being told to rename food items because the government wants everyone to follow them blindly and some people won't submit! Has everyone forgotten that we never would have won the Revolutionary War without the French winning it for us? Has everyone forgotten that the French gave us our proudest icon, the Statue of Liberty, and they did it simply to be nice?
All of you people out there bashing the French for the wrong reasons need to pull your heads out of your asses. Mock them for folding to the Nazis, mock them for their cinema, their silly-sounding language, the rudeness of Parisians, but DO NOT mock the French because Bush tells you to. Controlling your wording is a form of mind-control and don't you forget it. Next time you go into a McDonald's to pick up your mad-cow burger, make sure you order some FRENCH fries, and proclaim it damn loud.
I promised you an adventure, didn't I?
Well there I was, last night, standing on the roof of El Faro, looking down upon The Road. A super chicken burrito in hand, I stood as a sentinel in the cool, cool night, my eyes ever-alert for signs of trouble. The area was clear and so I continued onward, for everyone knows you go anywhere, find anything, if only you follow The Road.
I journeyed down, down to the corpse-town of Colma, where there's more dead than living, and every block is punctuated with a cemetery. Colma, where the zombies control city council, and the shopping complexes are built on the dirt of unholy consecrations. Colma, where the Target store is stocked with an abundance of shovels, and the Bed, Bath, and Beyond carries a wide selection of coffin liners.
You can't take a step without tripping over a tombstone in Colma, they've even started squeezing them in between the entrance to the K-Mart and the quarter-operated kiddy rides that grace the front of the store. Up the hill, in the Toys R' Us they've even overtaken one of the aisles. The kids don't like the death aisle too much, crammed there between the videogame section and the Fisher Price toys, but it's appropriate, for everyone knows, that Toys R' Us is haunted. Boxes fly from the top shelves at night, whether there's staff present or not. Some mornings the staff come in to find the place trashed. It's just part of the job.
Toys R' Us is where I was, I was in the mood to accessorize. While I was there I was checking out an intriguing new toy line, Heroes of 70s Rock. I had in my hand the color-change Cat Stevens figure, the packaging proudly proclaimed "put figure in cold water to change to Yusef Islam". On the shelf sat a “Marvin Gaye and Father Two-Pack” set, advertised as having “Real Knife-Fighting Action”. I stood there staring at it and was left wondering if this was how far the toy companies had let themselves sink. What happened to the Zartans and Dr. Mindbenders of my childhood?
I wasn't left much time to ponder the thought. An large group of Orcs came in through the front door, along with a ninja-monkey, the prerequisite Caucasian male trying too hard to look and act like one of them, and a cute goth chick. It never ceases to amaze and annoy me, the inherent female genetic trait that causes them to seek out and be with the worst possible examples male-dom out there. The Orcs sauntered in, dragging their long-handled battle axes, their movements scored by a boombox blasting 50 Cent that one of them carried. The Caucasian in the back trailed behind a bit, unnatural in dragging his axe and unaccustomed to the weight. He continually stopped to pull up the back of his sagging loincloth. The monkey I recognized. He was one of the bastards that lives up the street from me.
Though my knowledge of the Orc-mind told me that they would be drawn to the Nerf crotch-rockets, I knew that under the guidance of a ninja-monkey, they would instead make a beeline for the Pixie Sticks. Silently I followed and observed them, keeping myself hidden from notice behind a large display of talking Britney Spears dolls. The monkey hopped up and down and screeched excitedly as he pointed at the Pixie Sticks. Quickly, the ragtag group of Orcs and Orc-groupies began lining their pockets with the sugar-treat. They snatched them all until there was nothing left to grab.
"And what of us? Where is our promised bounty?" the Orc-leader asked of the ninja-monkey.
The ninja-monkey merely screeched in return. Having picked up some knowledge of monkey-speak from my time spent living with Bobo the Virgin Chimp, I translated the monkey's cries as something like, "Yes, yes, patience! Soon you'll have your Cheez Whiz and kipper snacks." I couldn't yet act, the store was too full, and a battle with Orcs was certain to be destructive on a large scale. There would be an added difficulty with the ninja-monkey present, he would funnel their chaos into order and give them an increased effectiveness. I would have to let them get away with the crime of shoplifting for now.
Out the doors of the Toys R' Us went the Orc raiding party, myself slowly following them with a good deal of distance between us. Three Orcs stopped at the quarter-operated horse out in front and fought over who would be the one to ride it. Meanwhile, the Caucasian lad was by the gumball machines, pumping quarters in to add to his collection of Homies, the goth girl merely stood outside smoking.
“We're in a hurry you fools! No quarters for you!” the ninja-monkey screeched at them.
The Orcs hung their heads and walked away, grumpily. The monkey was in the lead, rapidly consuming his Pixie Stick spoils, pouring them into his mouth, rubbing the sugar powder on his gums, snorting two up his nose, rubbing excess into his skin. Ninja-monkeys are notorious sugar-junkies, I know, they've pilfered root beer and Pop Rocks from my manor on enough occasions.
I trailed them to a supermarket. I knew that serious trouble would soon start and that with this large batch of hungry Orcs, no artificial cheese or compressed meat product would be safe. In the doors they stepped, and quickly they shuffled off to where canned foods are kept, in the aisles they lustily drooled at the sight of processed cheese, and molested cans of Spam with their eyes. The temptation was too much and the frenzy began.
"Goongala!!!" the Orc-leader cried as he raised his mighty axe and let it swing through the shelves. Their was an explosion of meat and cheese everywhere and the Orcs madly grabbed at the half-opened cans, putting them to their mouths and sucking out the food stuffs inside. The Caucasian lad tried to emulate this but found his gums quickly bleeding and badly cut. Again, the goth girl just stood there smoking, and doing her best to look unimpressed and perhaps, depressed.
As the Orcs swung their axes madly, shattering containers of food, and engaging in a feast of gorging that was practically an orgy. The monkey slipped away silently, sneaking off to the candy section. He had used the Orcs, they had provided him with convenient distraction, though they were far too dim to realize what was happening.
The ninja-monkey went mad surrounded by so much sugar. He wrapped himself in loops of Red Vines, rolled around on the floor amidst a pile of Neccos while rubbing his nipples with Hershey bars, and shoving his mouth full of any sweets he could get his hands on. I knew I’d have to take out the monkey first. If he regrouped with the Orcs, there was no saying how much damage they could do. I ran off to the fresh meats department and grabbed a large block of dry ice, then to the condiments section to grab a large amount of honey. Despite the cold-resistance which comes naturally as being a Plutonian, my fingers were starting to burn from holding the cold block.
I ran to the aisle next to the candy aisle and started climbing up the shelf. With a large block of dry ice and 10 large containers of honey beside me, I laid on top of the shelf and peeked over the other side, down at the monkey. He was laying there on the floor amidst a pile of candy, sticking Twinkies on his fingers, and other unmentionable places. It was then I struck, pouring the contents of the honey jars upon the monkey. It coated his fur and sunk into every spot on his body. He screeched loudly, it was no doubt an unpleasant feeling. That’s when I started pelting him with chiseled-off chunks of dry ice, which quickly cooled down the temperature of the honey considerably, making it near-impossible for the downed ninja-monkey to move. He stared at me angrily, able only to froth at the mouth, his spittle the color of Skittles.
The ninja-monkey dealt with, I ran off to deal with the Orcs. First I handled the hangers-on, the Caucasian lad I pushed over after pulling his sagging loincloth around his knees. I bound his hands behind his back, leaving him useless, and then moved on to the goth girl. I pulled a brightly colored and gaudy Hawaiian shirt over her shoulders. It was enough to leave her unable to function. That left only the three Orcs.
There was no getting around it. Fisticuffs were necessary.
One of the smaller Orcs lunged at me, I sidestepped and pushed him as he passed me, redirecting him into a large display of pickled pigs feet. The jars fell atop him, many shattering and covering him in brine. Wet, discolored pigs feet were strewn about the floor. I grabbed at a can of ground coffee, quickly puncturing a hole in it with my atomic-vision, and shoving it into the lead Orc’s mouth. He choked and tried to spit as coffee grounds filled his mouth, leaving his mouth dry and tasting unpleasant.
He swung at me and knocked me back, screaming at his remaining underling, “Argh!!! Find the Half and Half! FIND THE HALF AND HALF!!!”
The underling ran off to the dairy section, leaving the Orc-leader and I alone. I gritted my teeth. The mighty Orc swung at me with his massive axe, sending me leaping backwards. I avoided the jagged blade, but it caught my sleeve, tearing at my jacket. My nice, green jacket.
“Fiend!” I cried, leaping at the villain. My face caught the full force from a mighty right hook, I came crashing down once more into store shelves. Quickly, the Orc was upon me, raining blows down upon my handsome visage. It was then I had a moment of clarity. What a crime it would be if the world were deprived of my beauty. How many adoring females would end their lives if they were faced with a world in which they couldn’t gaze lovingly upon my magnificent countenance? The world needs my strong chin, my beauteous eyes, my gleaming teeth.
With a summoning of all my strength, I threw a punch at the bitch-man’s face. I realized that his strength could indeed be his weakness. He’d been besting me in battle because he was larger, stronger, and tougher. But even the manliest of men are humbled and broken by a solid kick to the groin. So kick the Orc in the groin is what I did. First once, then twice, then thrice. Four times my foot had crushed the villains genitals and still I continued on. I had to be certain.
Shortly after the Orc had passed out, his underling returned, carrying a carton of Horchata. Seeing his leader downed, he dropped the cartoon and charged at me, screaming all the way. I was no longer in the mood to fight and instead threw a couple of pickle-relish filled prophylactics at the ground before his feet. He slipped upon one and flew headfirst into my fist. With that, the entire crew of ruffians were incapacitated.
With expert timing, the cops arrived. I stood tall and proud among the downed villains.
“Did you do this?” the lead flatfoot asked me.
“Why yes, yes I did,” I proudly told the policemen, “and 3 aisles down under a mass of honey and dry ice you’ll find a ninja-monkey with at least 100 stolen Pixie Sticks in his possession.”
And for this they confiscated my Safeway Club Card.
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
As you may be aware, Bush is planning on starting up the draft again. The old draft-dodger and duty-ditcher wants more young American kids to send off to Iraq to fight his father's war. More people to die while killing innocents so that Bush can stick to his normal routine of laying in his Texas-made bathtub (the one with the longhorns attached and a gun rack on the side) and masturbating amidst several gallons of crude oil. With a pile of CIA-provided coke in the soap dish, he soaks and watches his rubber duck float atop petrol, bobbing to the left and the right, as it narrowly avoids the bullets fired from Bush's six-shooter. After eventually tagging "Queer Ducky" as he moves to the left, always as he moves to the left, Bush throws off his cowboy hat and sinks down in the tub, submerging his head under the blessed oil. It is as he returns to the surface that he fills his head with thoughts of lethal injections and finds himself attaining an erection. As he gets to the process of self-manipulation, he thinks, "thank God for this oil! Good lubrication AND it powers my truck."
Of course, being a Texan, he HAS made love to the truck, utilizing the tailpipe in a most unsavory manner.
Back to the point, Bush wants a draft, just as he wants more war. Though he's not advertising this fact (he does want to get re-elected after all), he's already had people start to fill the vacancies left in the long-unused draft boards. The draft will start up immediately after the start of his second term, and this is all the more reason he must not win the election. He must be defeated, just as he was last time, but this time he mustn't be handed the Executive office anyway, as he was the last time, thanks to the largely Republican-president-appointed Supreme Court. I find it ironic that one so quick to avoid the Vietnam War himself is so eager to create and maintain his own. What a presidency it's been, we've had the ambiance of another Vietnam abroad while achieving the subtle overtones of Germany, 1938 at home.
In short, I'm asking you all to not vote for Bush. Because he's an idiot, because he's a war-monger, because I don't want to get drafted. Because it's bad enough he's already sucked my friends back into military service, even though they already completed their terms. Because he's lost sight of what this country's really about. Acceptance of all people (Muslims and the French too), inherent undeniable rights (not Patriot Acts), that all people are created equal (not special restrictions for homosexuals).
From the start of his presidency, the constitution has been widely ignored and abused. This MUST NOT BE. The constitution is the cornerstone of our country, the one thing that gives us stability, the only deterrent we have against our country falling apart, the only protection from a dictatorship (such as the one we've been watching slowly build). The constitution is one of the most progressive things ever written, and I think, the only basis for a government that was ever written realistically, not based on ideals such as the late U.S.S.R and most other governments follow in which every person must do their part in order for the country to function efficiently. That level of trust is a fairytale. The constitution's strength lies in the fact that it assumes that all people have a tendency towards corruption and serving their own ends, and thus the constitution has certain safeguards in place.
These safeguards are worthless however, when the constitution is blatantly ignored and abused. For example, our forefathers made painstaking efforts to prevent one political party from ever gaining complete control of the government through carefully-worded safeguards in the constitution. However, the Republican-majority Supreme Court justices, whose job it is to interpret and follow the constitution, ignored the constitution and gave control of the executive branch to the LOSING presidential candidate, leaving us with one party, the Republican party, in control of the Executive, Legislative, and yes, Judicial branches. Look how quickly they've worked to undermine the constitution, stripping the citizenry of several rights (including the right to vote, I would think based on our last presidential election) utilizing such things as the Patriot Act.
The whole thing sickens me. Things can not function without balance, and there is no balance in a one-party government, ESPECIALLY when it's the Republican party running the show. Let us wrestle control away from the near-Nazi extreme right. Let us have a government for the people by the people!
As a sidenote, is anyone else as bothered as I regarding the recent French-bashing our country has put forth? Does it strike anyone else as being wrong that a country which so loudly proclaims to believe in free speech should vilify the French for vocally disagreeing with our war? That we should consider embargoes due to a difference of opinion? What is with all this ridiculous behavior of referring to food items as "freedom fries" and "freedom toast"? There is no freedom in being told to rename food items because the government wants everyone to follow them blindly and some people won't submit! Has everyone forgotten that we never would have won the Revolutionary War without the French winning it for us? Has everyone forgotten that the French gave us our proudest icon, the Statue of Liberty, and they did it simply to be nice?
All of you people out there bashing the French for the wrong reasons need to pull your heads out of your asses. Mock them for folding to the Nazis, mock them for their cinema, their silly-sounding language, the rudeness of Parisians, but DO NOT mock the French because Bush tells you to. Controlling your wording is a form of mind-control and don't you forget it. Next time you go into a McDonald's to pick up your mad-cow burger, make sure you order some FRENCH fries, and proclaim it damn loud.
I promised you an adventure, didn't I?
Well there I was, last night, standing on the roof of El Faro, looking down upon The Road. A super chicken burrito in hand, I stood as a sentinel in the cool, cool night, my eyes ever-alert for signs of trouble. The area was clear and so I continued onward, for everyone knows you go anywhere, find anything, if only you follow The Road.
I journeyed down, down to the corpse-town of Colma, where there's more dead than living, and every block is punctuated with a cemetery. Colma, where the zombies control city council, and the shopping complexes are built on the dirt of unholy consecrations. Colma, where the Target store is stocked with an abundance of shovels, and the Bed, Bath, and Beyond carries a wide selection of coffin liners.
You can't take a step without tripping over a tombstone in Colma, they've even started squeezing them in between the entrance to the K-Mart and the quarter-operated kiddy rides that grace the front of the store. Up the hill, in the Toys R' Us they've even overtaken one of the aisles. The kids don't like the death aisle too much, crammed there between the videogame section and the Fisher Price toys, but it's appropriate, for everyone knows, that Toys R' Us is haunted. Boxes fly from the top shelves at night, whether there's staff present or not. Some mornings the staff come in to find the place trashed. It's just part of the job.
Toys R' Us is where I was, I was in the mood to accessorize. While I was there I was checking out an intriguing new toy line, Heroes of 70s Rock. I had in my hand the color-change Cat Stevens figure, the packaging proudly proclaimed "put figure in cold water to change to Yusef Islam". On the shelf sat a “Marvin Gaye and Father Two-Pack” set, advertised as having “Real Knife-Fighting Action”. I stood there staring at it and was left wondering if this was how far the toy companies had let themselves sink. What happened to the Zartans and Dr. Mindbenders of my childhood?
I wasn't left much time to ponder the thought. An large group of Orcs came in through the front door, along with a ninja-monkey, the prerequisite Caucasian male trying too hard to look and act like one of them, and a cute goth chick. It never ceases to amaze and annoy me, the inherent female genetic trait that causes them to seek out and be with the worst possible examples male-dom out there. The Orcs sauntered in, dragging their long-handled battle axes, their movements scored by a boombox blasting 50 Cent that one of them carried. The Caucasian in the back trailed behind a bit, unnatural in dragging his axe and unaccustomed to the weight. He continually stopped to pull up the back of his sagging loincloth. The monkey I recognized. He was one of the bastards that lives up the street from me.
Though my knowledge of the Orc-mind told me that they would be drawn to the Nerf crotch-rockets, I knew that under the guidance of a ninja-monkey, they would instead make a beeline for the Pixie Sticks. Silently I followed and observed them, keeping myself hidden from notice behind a large display of talking Britney Spears dolls. The monkey hopped up and down and screeched excitedly as he pointed at the Pixie Sticks. Quickly, the ragtag group of Orcs and Orc-groupies began lining their pockets with the sugar-treat. They snatched them all until there was nothing left to grab.
"And what of us? Where is our promised bounty?" the Orc-leader asked of the ninja-monkey.
The ninja-monkey merely screeched in return. Having picked up some knowledge of monkey-speak from my time spent living with Bobo the Virgin Chimp, I translated the monkey's cries as something like, "Yes, yes, patience! Soon you'll have your Cheez Whiz and kipper snacks." I couldn't yet act, the store was too full, and a battle with Orcs was certain to be destructive on a large scale. There would be an added difficulty with the ninja-monkey present, he would funnel their chaos into order and give them an increased effectiveness. I would have to let them get away with the crime of shoplifting for now.
Out the doors of the Toys R' Us went the Orc raiding party, myself slowly following them with a good deal of distance between us. Three Orcs stopped at the quarter-operated horse out in front and fought over who would be the one to ride it. Meanwhile, the Caucasian lad was by the gumball machines, pumping quarters in to add to his collection of Homies, the goth girl merely stood outside smoking.
“We're in a hurry you fools! No quarters for you!” the ninja-monkey screeched at them.
The Orcs hung their heads and walked away, grumpily. The monkey was in the lead, rapidly consuming his Pixie Stick spoils, pouring them into his mouth, rubbing the sugar powder on his gums, snorting two up his nose, rubbing excess into his skin. Ninja-monkeys are notorious sugar-junkies, I know, they've pilfered root beer and Pop Rocks from my manor on enough occasions.
I trailed them to a supermarket. I knew that serious trouble would soon start and that with this large batch of hungry Orcs, no artificial cheese or compressed meat product would be safe. In the doors they stepped, and quickly they shuffled off to where canned foods are kept, in the aisles they lustily drooled at the sight of processed cheese, and molested cans of Spam with their eyes. The temptation was too much and the frenzy began.
"Goongala!!!" the Orc-leader cried as he raised his mighty axe and let it swing through the shelves. Their was an explosion of meat and cheese everywhere and the Orcs madly grabbed at the half-opened cans, putting them to their mouths and sucking out the food stuffs inside. The Caucasian lad tried to emulate this but found his gums quickly bleeding and badly cut. Again, the goth girl just stood there smoking, and doing her best to look unimpressed and perhaps, depressed.
As the Orcs swung their axes madly, shattering containers of food, and engaging in a feast of gorging that was practically an orgy. The monkey slipped away silently, sneaking off to the candy section. He had used the Orcs, they had provided him with convenient distraction, though they were far too dim to realize what was happening.
The ninja-monkey went mad surrounded by so much sugar. He wrapped himself in loops of Red Vines, rolled around on the floor amidst a pile of Neccos while rubbing his nipples with Hershey bars, and shoving his mouth full of any sweets he could get his hands on. I knew I’d have to take out the monkey first. If he regrouped with the Orcs, there was no saying how much damage they could do. I ran off to the fresh meats department and grabbed a large block of dry ice, then to the condiments section to grab a large amount of honey. Despite the cold-resistance which comes naturally as being a Plutonian, my fingers were starting to burn from holding the cold block.
I ran to the aisle next to the candy aisle and started climbing up the shelf. With a large block of dry ice and 10 large containers of honey beside me, I laid on top of the shelf and peeked over the other side, down at the monkey. He was laying there on the floor amidst a pile of candy, sticking Twinkies on his fingers, and other unmentionable places. It was then I struck, pouring the contents of the honey jars upon the monkey. It coated his fur and sunk into every spot on his body. He screeched loudly, it was no doubt an unpleasant feeling. That’s when I started pelting him with chiseled-off chunks of dry ice, which quickly cooled down the temperature of the honey considerably, making it near-impossible for the downed ninja-monkey to move. He stared at me angrily, able only to froth at the mouth, his spittle the color of Skittles.
The ninja-monkey dealt with, I ran off to deal with the Orcs. First I handled the hangers-on, the Caucasian lad I pushed over after pulling his sagging loincloth around his knees. I bound his hands behind his back, leaving him useless, and then moved on to the goth girl. I pulled a brightly colored and gaudy Hawaiian shirt over her shoulders. It was enough to leave her unable to function. That left only the three Orcs.
There was no getting around it. Fisticuffs were necessary.
One of the smaller Orcs lunged at me, I sidestepped and pushed him as he passed me, redirecting him into a large display of pickled pigs feet. The jars fell atop him, many shattering and covering him in brine. Wet, discolored pigs feet were strewn about the floor. I grabbed at a can of ground coffee, quickly puncturing a hole in it with my atomic-vision, and shoving it into the lead Orc’s mouth. He choked and tried to spit as coffee grounds filled his mouth, leaving his mouth dry and tasting unpleasant.
He swung at me and knocked me back, screaming at his remaining underling, “Argh!!! Find the Half and Half! FIND THE HALF AND HALF!!!”
The underling ran off to the dairy section, leaving the Orc-leader and I alone. I gritted my teeth. The mighty Orc swung at me with his massive axe, sending me leaping backwards. I avoided the jagged blade, but it caught my sleeve, tearing at my jacket. My nice, green jacket.
“Fiend!” I cried, leaping at the villain. My face caught the full force from a mighty right hook, I came crashing down once more into store shelves. Quickly, the Orc was upon me, raining blows down upon my handsome visage. It was then I had a moment of clarity. What a crime it would be if the world were deprived of my beauty. How many adoring females would end their lives if they were faced with a world in which they couldn’t gaze lovingly upon my magnificent countenance? The world needs my strong chin, my beauteous eyes, my gleaming teeth.
With a summoning of all my strength, I threw a punch at the bitch-man’s face. I realized that his strength could indeed be his weakness. He’d been besting me in battle because he was larger, stronger, and tougher. But even the manliest of men are humbled and broken by a solid kick to the groin. So kick the Orc in the groin is what I did. First once, then twice, then thrice. Four times my foot had crushed the villains genitals and still I continued on. I had to be certain.
Shortly after the Orc had passed out, his underling returned, carrying a carton of Horchata. Seeing his leader downed, he dropped the cartoon and charged at me, screaming all the way. I was no longer in the mood to fight and instead threw a couple of pickle-relish filled prophylactics at the ground before his feet. He slipped upon one and flew headfirst into my fist. With that, the entire crew of ruffians were incapacitated.
With expert timing, the cops arrived. I stood tall and proud among the downed villains.
“Did you do this?” the lead flatfoot asked me.
“Why yes, yes I did,” I proudly told the policemen, “and 3 aisles down under a mass of honey and dry ice you’ll find a ninja-monkey with at least 100 stolen Pixie Sticks in his possession.”
And for this they confiscated my Safeway Club Card.
The Virgin Prince
