Freedom?Posted on February 8th, 2007 2 comments
“You have a flamethrower?!”
“Yes I do.”
“Do you think that might be useful, given the current circumstances?” Mr Enthusiasm manages somehow to sound incredulous, enthusiastic, and confused all at the same time. “You know. Encased in ice. Giant mutant snowman. About to die.”
“Now that you mention it…” The flamethrower embedded in my forearm roars its sweet song, like a rampaging torrent of fire on its way to some kind of really hip party. The ice falls from my body as though it were never there, or as though it is on its way to some kind of really hip party.
It seems the snowman may have noticed us. I deduce this because of my superhuman brain power, and because it seems to be charging headlong for us like an enraged buffalo. Roooooooar says the ten foot tall giant mutant snowman as it lets loose a powerful blast of ice.
Roooooooar says my flamethrower, as it spews forth a raging torrent of liquid fire.
Roooooooar says the six foot giant mutant snowman, as it hurls several vicious looking ice javelins.
Roooooooar says my flamethrower, as it continues to spew forth a raging torrent of liquid fire and uses up a couple more column inches without me having to think of anything new to say.
Roooooooar says the three foot giant mutant snowman, as it welcomes us to Fantasy Island.
Rooooooar says my flamethrower, mercilessly, like a rampaging torrent of fire on is way to some kind of really hip party. (<– just in case you thought I somehow lack the ability to take a really poor joke and just keep hitting it and hitting it and hitting it until you want to scream and wail and tear your own eyes out!!!)
Roooa…. Fuck! says the puddle-shaped giant mutant snowman as it evaporates under the onslaught of my magnificent flamethrower.
“Right,” I announce, triumphant. “Let us get the hell out of here!”
“Uh, Henry…” Mr Enthusiasm is not fleeing. Instead he seems to be trying to indicate something. I am uncertain what. The large block of ice in which he is encased seems to be affecting his ability to communicate. “The ice Henry.”
Oh. Right. I turn my flamethrower to the task of freeing my helpful new sidekick. “Hold still. This might hurt a bit.” I activate the hair trigger…
“Henry you moron,” remarks a sensual, savagely erotic voice filled with confidence and amusement - the rampant eroticism of her wild tones somehow enhanced by screams of agony that have unexpectedly begun to emanate from Mr Enthusiasm. But I do not have time to wonder what his problem is now. Instead I spin to face the evil Bees Knees, like a superhero spinning to face his arch nemesis. Well, one of them. I have quite a few nemeses now that you mention it. She stands in the doorway like a sardonic… um… sardine. “It seems you do have some balls after all.”
“Uh….” I attempt to cover up, but for some reason my clothes have turned to rags, and ash. So, instead I stand tall and proud and erect and naked, and respond with renewed energy in my deep booming superheroic voice; “Bees Knees… uh… hi.”
“We have unfinished business, Henry.”
“Yes. Yes we do!” I agree, stalling for time. Out of the corner of my mouth I hiss for my companion, Mr Enthusiasm, to make a run for it while I deal with the evil overlord and her evil yet enticingly smooth legs, and her firm, round… “Make a run for it,” I hiss, “I will deal with this!”
2 responses to “Freedom?”
very erotic, very Henry, very…damn it, I’m not here!!!!
I can tell that you are not here.