Part 51: Duck vs. Throwbacks
The big day [Aug 30th, 1012|9:16 pm]
[Current Mood| some mix of anger and joy]
[Current Music|I can't hear anything other than my ears ringing]
Well, today was interesting to say the least. We go up bright and early to prepare for the big meet. I had a big breakfast and made Colt wash Ducken so he would look pretty for the judges.
Let's go kick some butt!
YEAH! To the Loonmobile, once more!
I'll call the taxi.
I assure you all, I am moist just thinking about it!
Since this was such an important event, the guards were armed with very big sticks. Colt and I spent a good five minutes watching them beat announcer guy. It was great.
But we have the big event to focus on!
So how does this tournament work?
There are five representatives from each nation, who will each fight in a one on one match. Whichever country has the most victories, wins the tournament.
And who are we facing? I saw some monks chanting around a pink suezo. We don't have them, do we?
No! This has to be a mistake.
What?! What is it?!
As if on cue, our opponents came in. One was a perky girl in green, and skulking behind her was a hideous looking man, who was busy inhaling fumes from a plastic bag. Colt got a little giddy, and ran up to the girl.
Yes. Can I help you?
Oh, sure! Let me get my pen... Norman, why don't you go say hi to the trainer?
Want some jenkem?
Forget it. So you must be our- wait...
Thanks, Blue Pony!
What the everloving FUCK is that supposed to be?
Th-that's my Ducken.
And what the fuck is a ducken?! Just looking at it makes me want to puke on it until it catches fire.
I don't think vomit works that w-HEY DON'T THROW MY DUCKEN!
Get him, Ducken! Go for the eyes!
So! You want to play with the big boys, eh?
Norman, no! Please don't get the dinosaur. We have a match- OW! FINE. DO WHATEVER YOU WANT.
Thanks, Cobalt Chloride!
Norman, still naked, jumped from his dinosaur and onto Duckens. He started gnawing on Ducken's head, then suddenly stopped. He sniffed the air, like a wild animal catching the scent of prey. Holly was pouring out a baggie of white powder in a trail leading to the FIMBA pen. Norman followed, inhaling the powder as he went.
And with that, the two vanished. We barely had enough time left for final preparations.
Norman's monster was some kind of weird purple doggy. His name was supposedly Jet, but Norman and Holly kept calling him dirty. Maybe he had a cleaning problem.
As I pondered that, the match began. Ducken opened up with that new dance he learned.
Ducken swayed and disjointed himself. You could hear a sitar play in the distance.
Norman's doggy was shocked by Ducken's funky moves.
So shocked, that he discharged electricity. I guess. I don't know, I just wanted to be clever.
I tried to shout words of encouragement at Ducken, but every time I opened my mouth, a whiskey bottle was hurled at my face. After the third, all I could think about was where they were all coming from.
Even without my encouragement, Ducken gained a second wind. That wind was just enough to let him suicide bomb the dog.
Victory in hand, Ducken and I danced in unison. I was too into it to notice Norman throwing a bottle at my crotch. He's a real sore loser, you know?
Colt, what's Santa Claus doing here?
I... I don't know.
We won! Yes! In your face, ugly drunk guy!
Hey, we even made a decent amount of cash too! Come Ducken, let us strut.
We'll just have to do better next time, right Norman?
Norman looked like he was going to murder someone. More than he usually does, I mean.
Uh. Well, it was nice meeting you two.
And with that, Norman tossed a molotov cocktail at the bleachers and left for home. Or rehab. God, I hope it's rehab.
Back at home, we got a letter from Santa saying that FIMBA was giving us a license to raise a few of their monsters. This included a cat, a worm, a robot and some mask thing. But who needs those, when I have Ducken.
Speaking of which, I kind of need to know what to do with him next.