this is like a wedgie and a suicide note all rolled into one

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

It didn’t start like a train wreck, not with a vague feeling, nor with a blast of thunder. It started with the presence of a black full-body suit with rusty deodorant stains on the pits sitting innocently on a dryer. This is how great boy bands are endangered.

Butch, the sloppy impressionable botch that he is, noticed him first. It may have been the cape. It was probably the deep voice. But it was absolutely the way he’d avert his dark gaze from Agatha’s tits when she tried to wring money out of him. Dead eyed and zen as if he could will his spirit to leave his body one minute and slap her five chins into her nose the next. It was clear from the way his lip wobbled when no one was looking, that much closer to breaking.

He just had to talk to the dark, broody newcomer. Unsure of what he does all day [but his yelling sure made an interesting accompaniment to the usual shrieks that peppered the complex throughout the day] Butch gets his chance one evening Cassidy’s on the warpath. [no he did not smear her 3 dollar lipstick in her pantyhose—who does that? Everyone knows she doesn’t wear them…her harpie talons catch a run every time]

The guy doesn’t smoke but Butch catches him in the boys’ smoke spot anyway, eyes closed and knees tucked beneath him Samurai style. The Team Rocket agent wonders for his numb legs [and not feet he’s not gross] before lighting a cigarette.

He immediately begins to sweat. If Dave were here he’d have a good opener. Something sassy and hilarious and meaningful. Butch’s got—

“I heard soda helps with the hangover. Want some?” He doesn’t even have any soda, or pop. Just a pack of cigarettes and his own stupid ideas.

“I don’t have a hangover,” and holy shit, his voice is way deeper than he’d realized. But kind of airy. Like what girls think manic pixie boys sound like. “I’m meditating. Reaching out with my senses to speak to the universe.”

A pause. “Not to mention soda is bad for you.”

Stars shine out of Butch’s butt, this guy is meditating (like Bruce Lee!!!) and something slots into place.

[this is when Badou feels a disturbance in the bro force]

It’s Badou’s favorite time of night: Harley time. Now one might think it’s all giant vats of jello [pudding has been banned in that quantity] and sexytimes but in reality, it’s compilations of vines and hot Cheeto dust.

“Can you not get that on my tit? I don’t get a cool breeze to blow Cheeto smudges off, you know,” Badou huffs at her, rubs aforementioned smudge of leftovers from his bare chest only to wipe it onto her very taut belly.

“Are you saying my tits are constantly out? That’s the kinda shit Pam would pry your hog off for.” Harley doesn’t quite tut at him but the side-eye she returns expresses exactly the pearl-clutching mother in law rep she sports. Despite having no children.

Badou in return turns a little green to match his underpants. “She doesn’t eat it, she lets Dave do that for her—ulp, stop. Stop, we agreed to not talk about—urrrgh, it’s coming…”

“Make me,” she dares, and oh her eyes are a fierce, fierce blue that makes him forget he wants to barf. It takes one second for him to pounce, two more for the two of them to knock a lamp off the bedside table while his fingers skate across her sides, dig into her hips—

“Stop, stoppppiiiit Patches, I’m gonna fart!”

“The neighbors will definitely hear that.” He doesn’t stop, not because he’s got a fetish but the high octaves of her laughter bounce straight from his brain into his heart. It’s mushy, so sue him.

“You know, speaking of neighbors, have you seen the new guy?” His fingers stop at the utterance.

“He’s kinda cute. Built like Optimus Prime—”
“Why the hell do you want to be with Optimus—”
“Got a real bad boy vibe about him. I think he’s been through some shit.”

Oh no. Oh no Badou doesn’t like the sound of that. Warning bells are ringing.

“I’ve been through some shit,” he mumbles, lets his lower lip jut out.

“Pam told me that the weed he still hasn’t found in his closet told her he has a creepy mask he talks to sometimes. I wonder if he’s Batman.”

He might be sick again at the thought. “Don’t think Batman wears a J cup bra.”

“Hey, he might! Don’t bash a man’s need for identity.” Now she does wag a finger at him. He reaches out—and sticks her finger right up his nose.

“BADOU!” She shrieks, thankfully closing the subject.

[Pam was probably the first to actually sense anything, if only because the weed told her.]

Another day, another viney end to a mega-conglomerate. The Queen of Green herself sits atop her luscious jade throne as her babies skyrocket right out of the earth and through steel and concrete. Mother Earth truly gets hers in the end. The screams of the fallen and the frightened are music to her ears, particularly the useless man at the front desk. Not, she isn’t a man-eater [24/7] but he’d clearly underestimated her upon informing her she had no appointment with the CEO. She sure appointed him—king of the compost.

A hiss-crack of energy and the aching loss of one of her babies grabs her attention, along with the giant moose of a man who strides out from the ruins, cape billowing behind him.

“I hadn’t finished in there,” he declares with sad eyes and an even sadder cape. The wind abruptly cuts off.

Pam cocks a brow at him. She’ll give him that much. “Oh? And what’s that? What could you possibly want with a company like that? Murdering more plantlife? Trendy gluten-free products?”

He lifts a gloved fist. “Power. They had something in the lab…but you knew that, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here. I’ve been watching you, Pamela Isley. I know who you are….you should join me,” his voice rises, soulful eyes filled with hate. “Join me and we’ll destroy them all.”

His fist opens, hand extended.

Her green eyes flicker down his form; black body suit and the strange weapon he has. He’s confident in his abilities but there’s something there, something clumsier than cunning, something that screams out.

She turns away. [she isn’t the first to turn from him]

“I only have room for one cuck in my life.”

[If this were a funny anime Dave would sneeze somewhere far away at the mention]

[it also takes him about a month to notice]

It also takes his brother physically sitting him down.

“We have to do something about that asshole.”

David Nails, 30 some years old, looks up from the chipped toenail he’d been digging at, ankle crossed obscenely over his own shoulder, blank faced.

“For the last time, I’m not killing Kakashi. He’s too badass and I’m scared of what Gai’ll do to me. He’ll let me live, but…will I want to after seeing him naked?”

Badou sighs. “No, it’s the newbie—when did you see him naked too?”

Anything to get away from this line of thought, the elder Nails sits up at attention. “The new guy? What about him? He smells and he’s kinda handsome I guess?”

“He’s stolen Bitch!”

“What?” Dave just doesn’t get it. He squints at his brother. “But he’s right there.” Points to a manikin dressed in a flowery guayabera and only that.

“That’s a manikin!” Badou explodes and if he were in the mood he’d throw it across the room. That would be disrespectful to Butch, however.

“Ooohhh…no wonder it didn’t say anything when I had my shirt off,” Dave decides, a little crestfallen. He gets up. “Guess we’ll go see what he’s up to? See what crawled up your ass?”

It doesn’t take long to find them. The big palooka Butch has eyes for doesn’t even acknowledge them over the various maps and charts he has spread across his dining room table.

“Hey man,” Dave starts, “wanna go have a smoke? I got a new trick where I can blow a IUD-ring…”

Their blessed little goon doesn’t look away from the other man’s poo brown eyes. “That sounds great, Dave, really—but I gotta help Ren save the galaxy or something. He says I can really help!”

The rage that normally simmers beneath his freckly, pasty skin boils. He hikes right up to the giant in the body suit, looks up his nose at him,

“You got my buddy bout to start some kinda movement? And I don’t mean in his ass.” Dave’s fingers curl into fists at his sides.

The man, Ren, what kinda freaking name—he finally looks at Dave like he’s crap on the bottom of his boot. “Not everyone can see the vision. Your friend has the power to do that. He’s incredibly important to this work.”

The scummy look fades. There’s something dark in his dark eyes, beyond dead-eyed stares and zen.

[it’s the screams of whatever is on the other side of his important work]

“Frivolous things cannot get in the way.”

[Dave shivers]

They retreat to their smoke spot. Badou can’t help but note how empty it feels without Butch there bitching or shmoozing or anything.

“How can we fight that? The guy’s a genius.” Dave ashes into the potted plant he knows Agatha only keeps in the corner of the fire escape because she’s waiting for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or whatever.

“He’s a nazi is what he is.”

“So how do you fight nazi cucks?”

A long leg stomps against the doorway, braces a booted foot. A familiar leg.

“I'll tell you how.” Cassidy stands in all her blonde glory, like some kind of horrible angel. She takes a seat between the brothers, brushes her windswept hair from her face.

“Did you guys have to spend so long talking about the game? It’s times like these I remember you’re actually men.”

Dave leers at her. “I think you’d find it hard to forget my manliness—”

Badou realizes this is the worst team up of the century.

“Your sensibilities, this is what we do—”

Kylo Ren started at the top—apprentice to a power man [or rotten pumpkin, still up for debate], enforcer of a ruthless guard named after him. Leader of a fleet, feared and admired.

And now he’s got an apartment in the shittiest city on this planet they call Earth. No glory, no honor, no fleet. His cape is a rental. But at least he has minions. Useful minions who keep going into his closet for some odd reason, who press his body suits.

He cannot sink any lower.

[the voice that sounds oddly like his uncle begs to differ]

He feels it before he hears it. The building shakes, every single hair on his body stands on end.

“Benjamin Chewbacca Organa Solo.”

There are women scorned and then there’s your mother who flew halfway across the galaxy to drag you back home.

[maybe he should have faked his death]

As the reunited smoke break boys and Cassidy watch a grown man be slapped up and down the block by his own birth giver, Badou can’t help but point something out.

“You know what we did was basically tattle-tale shit, right?”

“Not at all!” Cassidy declares happily. Happy since Butch hasn’t taken his eyes off her tits since this started. “He had a bounty on his fluffy head. It’s business.”

A scream of agony sounds in the distance.

“Do you think he’ll come back and kill us?”
“Oh absolutely—”
“I pissed in his mask so yeah—”
“God I hope so.”

Four pairs of eyes flit to Harley.

“What? It’s been awhile.”