Political Humor

Chapter 10: I’m Just a Business Man

“So how do you propose we travel the thousands of miles to our new paradise?” I asked as if anything this flitter could say would surprise me at this point.

“Follow me, Max. Let me show you what years of running a nightclub geared towards alternative lifestyles can bring you. You don’t think I put up with all that drama, and glitter for the money, do you?”

We walked through a no-shit Scooby Doo wall. This was one resourceful flitter. This son of a bitch pulled a book on a bookshelf that opened a panel in the wall. The wall hid a large cement corridor leading to an underground garage, and armory. As I entered the dimly lit facility, I could think only of double o seven meeting Q to get his latest Aston Martin DB5 and shoe phone.

“What the hell is all this?” I asked with all the bewilderment of a child going to Disneyland for the first time. Well, that is to say, before Disneyland was left to rot, and taken over by politically correct, ambiguously sexed, meth-fiend prostitutes. Nothing like Cinderella with tattoos, a hot pink mohawk, and an adam’s apple.

Steven raised his arms like a bad Bond villain and said, “Max, haven’t you noticed, I am a thinker? Haven’t you noticed, I plan ahead? Anybody with any sense saw this scenario coming back in the early 2000′s. The only people with the power to stop it were making millions off the global warming stuff. Those of us who were smart began to stockpile things, and get our ducks in a row so to speak. We weren’t sure what was coming, but we knew things were going down hill.”

Seemed a rather glib answer, that. Well, at least an insufficient answer. “Dude, you’ve got two Humvees with mounted fifties, you’ve got a cache of weapons like I haven’t seen since before the cooling, Drums of what appears to be fuel, and an underground-freakin’-lair! That shit don’t come from running a night club.”

Steven said, “Well, let’s just say there have been many people that have been in need of my services, and silence. Neither comes cheap. You know what goes on in VIP rooms. Maybe there are some…” he made those stupid airquote gestures with his fingers, “…surveillance cameras to make sure things don’t get too out of hand in those private rooms. Those images don’t come cheap either.”

I so wanted throw a sarcastic barb in at this point, but frankly, I was too shocked by all this to think of one. I always knew Steven was a bit above the rest of flitters he serviced, but I always chalked that up to megalomania.

“Feel free to restock your favorite jacket with whatever you want. As soon as you gear up, we’re rolling out.” Barked Steven who had somehow managed to find a command presence. I’m not sure if I was listening because of Steven’s new found command presence, or more out of shock like a person in a car wreck does as the first responders tell them what to do.

Something ain’t right. There is something I am not being told. I am feeling like one of those mushroom fuckers Cynthia blew all to hell a while back: I am being fed bullshit and being kept in the dark. I don’t like it, but I am trapped like a small animal that gets trapped a lot. What? You were expecting Shakespeare?

At this point I have no choice. I peruse the racks of long guns. This guy has some sweet equipment. Wait, that didn’t come out right, I mean he has guns that are cool. FN-FALs are good guns. I like the simplicity, and reliability of the AKs. You can call me old fashioned, but I don’t carry commie guns.

When I moved to the next rifle rack, I saw it. I know we were underground, and it was dark out, but I could swear a shaft of sunlight was shining on my Excaliber. I don’t know how Steven was able to get his hands on a rack full of M-14s, but by God, I was liking this cock-sucker more with every passing minute. And I mean that in a purely heterosexual sense.

I grabbed Excaliber, and all the M-14 mags and cases of 7.62 ammo I could find, and loaded them onto the Humvee. I also grabbed a couple flashbangs, and hand grenades for my jacket. Then I snagged a sweet Benchmade auto-folding knife, and a length of rope. I am not really sure why I grabbed the rope, but it looked like it may come in handy at some point in the future.

Cynthia walked over, and asked, “What are you going to do with the rope? You’re not Charles Bronson.”

Again, the shock of the situation prevented me from firing off a pithy come back. Here I am gearing up like I am about follow the homosexual nephew of George Patton into North Africa. It was more than a tad overwhelming.

“Alright, I’m ready when you are.” I said.

Steven, Cynthia, Sergio, and I loaded into one Humvee, and four guys I had yet to meet got into the other. Cynthia got up, and took control of the world killer mounted to the top of the vehicle. We eased our way out the other side of the underground bunker, and started on what I was sure would be a futuristic trail of tears.

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Chapter 9: Escort Service

by Chris Cameron

“Et Tu Cynthia?” I said as she closed the cabin door behind us.

“It’s not what you think.” Cynthia replied and sat down on one of the couches across from Steven and his new boyfriend. “Sit Max.”

I obeyed her command having no choice of course, especially since my old boss was brandishing a shotgun in my direction. Guns aimed at me seem to be a common thing these days. “So are you going to kill me now or later?”

“Neither.” Steven replied, squeezing his companion’s thigh with his hand. “I have a better idea.”

If what they were implying was what I thought it was then I’d rather be dead. I felt like telling them to give me the shotgun and I’d kill myself.

“Max this is Sergio.” Steven said as the boyfriend leaned across and shook my hand in a limp-wristed fashion. “He was the one you overheard talk about a paradise to the south.”

“Really.” I replied. I knew he looked familiar.

“Your arrival here is not by chance.” Steven stood up. “We share the same desires for a better place to live.”

“Well I don’t see my Shangri La dreams matching up with yours there Twinkletoes.” I was confused but I didn’t want to let on. What the hell was he talking about? Is this some kind of sermon before he blows my head off like I did with Bruce?

“Let me see if I can clear things up for you.” Steven said, and talked about his plan. Sergio saw my interest in his conversation about a better life in the tropics. Bruce was a sacrifice to get me to run. Cutter put me on the path to meet Cynthia who brought me here.

“So you set me up.” I said as thoughts about Cutter and my fist in his face the next time we crossed paths raced through my mind. “Why?”

“Two words Max…New Brazil.” Steven reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of wadded-up paper, and unfolded it on the floor into its original shape. It was a crudely-drawn map of what used to be South America.

He told me that where Venezuela and Colombia once existed was now New Brazil. Crops grew outdoors. People worked and lived like they did before the cooling happened. It might not be paradise but it was normalcy.

“We want you to be our security, along with Cynthia and escort us there.” Sergio said, finally breaking his silence. “You used to be a cop, you know how to handle a gun, and Steven tells me you were one of his best bouncers.”

“Are you serious?” I laughed. I was never into geography but I knew that the old Brazil was thousands of miles away and years back in the history books. In the way were the Roaders and Off-Roaders and who knows whatever other groups or gangs were between here and there. Even if this place was real, the four of us would be dead in no time flat .

And these flitters wanted to hoof it there walking funny all the way.

“What if I say no?”

“You are free to go, but you will be left to the angry mob of flitters, as you like to call us.” Steven said. “They will be arriving soon by the way because I told them you were here.”

I had to hand it to the creampuff. Unlike the clothing he wore, Steven covered his ass in the planning department. Was I suddenly feeling a sense of respect towards a fag?

No matter what, it was either take my chances with flitters who wanted to kill me, or two who wanted me to be their bodyguard on a trip to the promised land. “So when do we leave?”

“Immediately.” Steven smiled and threw a gun at me. “It’s the same one Cynthia uses and as you have seen quite capable of taking down those awful UNknowns.”

“What makes you think I won’t kill you now that I’m armed?” I said as the thought crossed my mind.

“Again Max, we share that desire for paradise.”

The flitter had a point there. Not like I haven’t dreamed of the same things they want-a normal place to frikkin’ live.

Well, normal as can be in this crazy world.

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After a few weeks off, Max is back! So let’s pick up where we left off.

Chapter 8: The Giant Killer

by Les James

“Can you kill those things?” I whispered to Cynthia.

She stared past me at the UNKnown. It had just ripped apart the last of the guys we had heard out there earlier. It stood like it had just finished eating a sandwich, or taken a leak. Almost anything other than what it had just done.

The smell of blood, spilled, crushed and flung guts and other body parts was thick in the air. The screams were gone, but they still echoed around in my head. I’ve heard a lot of men die, but never like that.

“I killed the polar bear, didn’t I?” she said.

I didn’t actually mean her when I said “you”, but what could I say to that? Before I even knew what was going on, she quickly thrust her sidearm into the small opening we had been looking though and popped off two rounds. She could have frikkin’ warned me! That gun wasn’t a foot away from my head!

The screams were replaced by a loud ringing in my ears. Son of a bitch, that’s one insanely large caliber handgun. How could such a petite chick even handle something that big? Made me start to wonder how well she could handle… Ah shit, let’s face it, I couldn’t handle it.

Cynthia was outside. She stepped around the bigger chunks in the red splattered snow, as she made her way toward the giant figure. The Chatterbox was face down. Another loud report and its head all but disappeared in pink mist and gray chunks.

This was just too much like what had happened in my room in the back of Thunderdome, not all that many hours ago. She turned and walked into the woods. I figured I was supposed to follow.

“I guess we’re on foot now?” I ventured, after about an hour of busting through the wet undergrowth of the coastal range. She didn’t say a word. I suppose it was a stupid thing to ask.

We continued in silence until it was almost dawn, but we weren’t exactly being quiet, all the crashing through bushes and snapping branches made us kind of an easy target. If anyone was out there, I’m sure they’d have heard us. Well, if we had run across another one of those mushroom eating bastards, I’d have almost felt sorry for it. Almost.

I couldn’t take the silence much longer. “So, are we about to wherever you’re taking me, or what?” I asked. “You said we’re going to see your boss, right?” Still nothing. Damned if she wasn’t just trying to push my buttons. I was about ready to give her a piece of what was left of my mind. There wasn’t much there after everything that’d been going on.

Then the brush abruptly ended in a small clearing. On the other side was a small, run-down cabin. It looked like it had been abandoned some years ago.

“We’re here,” was all Cynthia said. I turned to look at her and noticed she had pointed that massive handgun in my direction. I figured she hadn’t brought me all the way out here just to kill me. I took a chance. “Brigham .62 Magnum?” I asked as I stared at the huge opening in the end of barrel. “I’ve only hear about ‘em. How’d you get it all the way from Utah?” She just smiled.

“Take off your coat. Put it on the that branch over there,” she said as she motioned to the left with her free hand, “and take off your shirt.” I did as I was told, I could see where this was going and it wasn’t headed toward my fantasy life.

“I suppose it’s my boots and socks next and I would guess you’d like me to drop my ah… peashooter strapped to my right ankle too.” I was getting a little cocky.  I needed a good night’s sleep. Cynthia let out a little, low chuckle. It wasn’t supposed to be funny.

Once she was satisfied that I wasn’t packing anything that was even close to lethal, she let me put my shirt back on before we headed to the cabin’s front door. It was still frikkin’ freezing, walking barefoot through the snow. That was a lot more effective than any cold shower. What was wrong with me?

I opened the cabin door and stepped inside. It took only a couple of seconds to realize I wasn’t alone in there. It may have been dark, but I’d know that fruity cologne anywhere.

“Hello Max, we’re so glad you could make it,” a deep, lisping voice within that dark said.

“Hello Steven. Just out of curiosity, how pissed are you at me for taking the head off of your little, leather-clad play toy?”

Interested in writing a chapter for our on-line political satire novel, or maybe another one? Head on over to Mild Max to get the low-down on how you can do just that.