LT.Hit-Man wrote:
The end
Nice.......
I put forth my entry.....
*****************
As the souls of the damned circled around Mike, ready to brutally sodomize
him with toilet plungers, barbed wire dildos, and other nasty implements of
death, a bright light suddenly came out of nowhere and transported him
out of Hell and into the middle of a field.
Looking around, Mike saw nothing but lots of trees surrounding the field,
which was out of season. It was then he noticed that he had been fully
healed by whatever force that had brought him here.
In front of him was none other than Mark Sheppard himself, along with
his associate, Col. Falkenhorst. Mike immediately dove to his knees,
ignoring the pile of cow shit he landed in, to try and lick Sheppard's
boots.
For his cowardly act of suckupism, he earned a steel toed boot in the face
from Falk that resonated through his empty skull like a gong, and with an
explosive *cruuuunch*, he felt his jaw shatter, along with several of his
teeth.
"Whuh--Wh-hha?" sputtered Mike as he tried to form words with his shattered
mouth.
Shep took out a hankie and patted his forehead with it. "Awfully hot
here in ALABAMA, isn't it Falk?"
"Yep." replied Falk, grinning evilly.
"Back to the topic, Mike..." Shep then kicked Mike in the nuts with his
left foot. "I'm tired of your suckupism. It's time to PAY THE PIPER!"
All the color drained from Mike's face. No...it couldn't be! Not after
all the pain and torture Solid Snake and the LT had inflicted on him!
His role model was abandoning him!
He let out a primal scream, ignoring the pain from his ruined mouth.
"Shut up, you scumbag!" shouted Falk as he sent his steel-toed boot slamming
into Mike's mouth again, knocking what remained of Mike's teeth out. Unfortunately,
before he could give Mike a thorough workout, Sheppard put his hand out in front,
motioning for Falk to stop.
"Now, now, my dear friend, We're here to give Mister Mike a chance to...rehabilitate
himself, not to inflict wanton pain and suffering on him." commented Sheppard in
a raspy voice, not much unlike Anthony Hopkins' voice.
Mike stared openmouthed at Sheppard.
"Yes, we're giving you a chance to redeem yourself in our eyes," continued Sheppard.
"All you have to do is retrieve that flag from that tower over yonder...."
With that, Sheppard pointed to a flag flying from a wooden tower in the middle of
the field, several hundred yards away.
"Once you have that flag, you have to bring it back to the farmhouse over there."
Sheppard then pointed to a small, neatly-maintained farmhouse about 500 yards away.
"There is no time limit. You merely have to show up at the farmhouse with the flag,
and all is forgiven."
Mike stared open-mouthed at Sheppard, his bloody spittle drooling out of his mouth
in an enormously long thread. "Well, what the fuck are you waiting for? Go to it!"
shouted Sheppard.
Mike turned around, and began bounding towards the tower, in sheer delight. The Master
would forgive him! Yayyyyyy!
He was so caught up in that, he didn't hear the explosive *craaaaaaack* of a
high-velocity rifle firing before his right kneecap shattered in a spray of blood
and bone.
Screaming in pain, he tripped over and fell face first into the muddy ditch that
he had been about to jump over. The brackish water felt odd as it hit Mike's face,
but that was easily overpowered by the pain, oh my god, the PAAAAAAAIN from his
shattered kneecap.
Sheppard watched Mike collapse into the ditch. Smiling, he lowered the smoking
M-1 Garand, and handed it over to Falk, who grabbed it and put a Model 700
into Sheppard's hands.
"Go get us some lawn chairs and hustle up some coke while yer at it. Don't worry,
I'll keep the little cocksnorter pinned down."
[Six hours later]
Mike moaned as he shat yet again into his pants. The water he had fell into had
given him an explosive case of the shits, and his kneecap was now turning a putrid
color of black. On top of all this, the brutal Alabama sun burned down onto him,
cooking him alive.
Whenever he tried to raise his head above the ditch to see what was going on,
a rifle shot would always ring out, forcing him to duck down.
300 yards away, Falk lowered his Coke and took an appreciative view of his friend's
shooting. "Nice shot, Shep. Say, where did you get that crap you sprayed into those
ditches before we brought him over here with that dimensional transporter we stole
from Section 31?"
Sheppard grinned evilly. "Travem. I stole it from the LT's secret stash, next to
the wookie weed. I don't think he's gonna miss it, and if he DOES, then well, look
at what we're doing with it."
Sheppard then took a long slug from an ice-cold coke. "Ahh, this is the life."
[Six Hours Later]
The sun was now setting, and it was getting dark fast.
"Hey Falk, we've been here all day. What you say we get some shut-eye?"
Falkenhorst looked towards the ditch where Mike was still rotting away in.
"What about that fucknut?" he asked, jabbing a thumb towards the ditch.
"Don't worry about him. I got someone to fill in for us during the night."
From behind, a man dressed in a plaid shirt and wearing overalls came up.
"Hey Jimmy-Bob!" cracked Shep, greeting the Alabamanian with a bear hug.
"Remember, you get a grand if you keep that fucknut pinned down in that hole
all night!"
"No prob, Mister Sheppard, I'll keep him down all night!"
[That night]
Mike tried to crawl up the ditch the moment the sun dipped below
the horizon and the blackness of the night took ahold. Suddenly,
a shot rang out, and Mike dropped below the ditch again. Damn!
He'd just have to wait a bit longer, until Sheppard and Falkenhorst
were asleep before making his break.
[The Farmhouse]
Sheppard snorted in his sleep and turned over in his bed, pulling
the pillow over his head, to block out the sound of gunshots in
the night. In another room, Falkenhorst did likewise.
Out front, Jimmy Bob took a long drag from a Budweiser and aimed his
rifle at the ditch with shaking hands....
[The next morning]
"Here's your thousand," remarked Sheppard as he peeled off hundred
dollar bills from the big fat wad of bills in his wallet.
"Where'd you get that kind of cash, Shep?" asked Falk, curious where
Shep was getting the money from.
"Got it from undisclosed sources, man."
"Good enough for me."
"Time to check out our 'friend'. Did those biohazard moon suits arrive last night?"
"Sure did," replied Falk, holding up one of them.
"Ok, lets get into them and check out Mike."
[15 minutes later]
Sheppard and Falkenhorst both approached the ditch wearing their moon suits. Even
through the biohazard filters and air recyclers, they still could smell the
Travem-induced shit from forty feet away.
"Jeeeeeeeesuz, how much shit can that little scrawny bastard have in him?"
cursed Falk.
Climbing the berm, they both stared at a horrible sight, enough to make a grown
man retch. In the ditch, surrounded by nearly a hundred pounds of pure grade-A
fresh SHIT, was none other than a horribly dehydrated and half-dead Mike.
Mike raised his head to stare at his opressors, and through his heat-baked
brain, he saw Sheppard hold up a ACME Medi-Kit, and say the HORRIBLE WORDS:
"Don't worry, Mike, we'll fix you all up good as new and then WE'LL START OVER
AGAIN until you get that flag to the house..."
A primal scream erupted from Mike's mouth, which was now raw chapped hamburger, and
he got up and began to straggle away, ignoring the horrible pain from his ruined leg.
Suddenly, he saw his salvation. Hell couldn't be as bad as THIS, and with that last
thought, he dove head-first into the wood chipper.
Sheppard then turned towards Falk as the wood chipper spat out red guts.
"And he did it OF HIS OWN FREE WILL...."
= Newtype Monkey, BotM
