| It
was supposed to have been a nice, quiet visit--my classy gal
pal, Alyssa, and I were out on the West Coast and came a callin’
on that loveable D.J. and the even more loveable Bethany.
But of course, we’re just magnets for trouble, and there’s
no stopping trouble when it wants to do its thing.
The four of us were lounging about out in the living room
of D.J. and Bethany’s hip Santa Monica pad, minding
our own business, eating some delicious chocolate chip cookies.
I’d just finished complaining about how Fox was thinking
about canceling yet another gem of a brilliant sitcom, when…
“WEASELS!”
“Yes! Exactly!” I cried. “They’re
a bunch of weasels!”
“No… behind you!” Bethany kicked over a
stack of comics as she scrambled to get away from the window.
“Weasels are trying to break in!”
Sure enough, we all whipped around to see a swarm of weasels
clawing and biting and gnawing their way into the apartment.
Damn things were almost ready to pour in through the mail
slot!
D.J. ripped a leg off the coffee table and brandished it like
a club. “Damn, I hates me some weasels! Duder, let’s
teach these furry little bastards a lesson…”
“I’m right with ya!” I cried, and I grabbed
the bike pump sitting next to the door. “Gonna take
these bitches out ‘Dig Dug’ style!”
The weasels were everywhere, and D.J. and I threw ourselves
into the fray. To the left, furry devils; to the right, a
blur of brown fur; from above, a weasly death awaited us all.
I gave up trying to blow up the buggers and instead went with
the more effective “swing and smash.”
Bethany grabbed Alyssa and headed for the back door. “Oh
no, they’re coming in here, too!” The sound of
fighting began behind us.
I ripped a weasel off my shoulder and threw it wildly. D.J.
swung at it with the coffee table leg and sent it flying into
the TV.
“MY TV! Oh, balls! They’re going to pay for that!”
I’d never seen anything like it--in a mad rage, D.J.
flew around the apartment crushing and maiming our foe. I
fended off the few daring rodents that tried to take him from
behind. Soon, my lantern-jawed companion had driven them out
of the place and chased them into the street. I followed,
swinging the bike pump like a morning star.
After a few more minutes of intense screaming, damning the
existence of such furry little devils, our remaining foes
were in retreat, scurrying down the sidewalk trailing lines
of foul weasel blood. D.J. and I began to give further chase
but were rapidly exhausted from the effort. I was fighting
a stitch in my side. D.J. slumped over against a palm tree,
gasping for breath.
“Bitches chewed holes in my Weezer shirt. Couldn’t
have been one of my Superman shirts… no, had to be the
shirt I’ve only got one of,” the lummox whined.
I looked myself over and made sure everything was still there.
Everything felt fine, though I could feel the sun drying the
blood on my skin already. I hoped it wasn’t mine. I’ve
always enjoyed keeping my blood inside of me where it belongs.
I got some air back in my lungs and rallied.
“We’d better get back and see if the girls are
okay,” I suggested.
The apartment had actually weathered the weasel storm pretty
well. The damage was mostly around the door and windows. That
was the only good news, though… Bethany and Alyssa were
missing, and in their place was a parchment stuck to the back
door with a cutlass. I didn’t need to read the parchment
to know who had left it there--only one kind of person uses
a cutlass any more, and it sure as hell isn’t someone
from the IRS.
“Pirates!” I shouted, slamming my left fist into
my right hand. “Fuck!”
D.J. ran his finger along the black script and read the message
aloud:
“Avast ye lardy lubbers! We hope ye enjoyed our mangy
Sumatran Weasels... while ye were joined in battle against
their furry hides, we kidnapped yer women folk! If ye want
to see them again, ye had better surrender yer sorry backsides
to us before the setting of the sun, for that’s when
we make yer comely wenches walk the plank! We be anchored
at the pier of Santa Monica. Come and meet thy grisly end!
Love, the Pirates.”
I slammed my slamming fist against the table. “That’s
it! If these guys want to start a gang war on my vacation,
we’re just gonna have to call up some ninjas and go
beat some pirate ass!”
“Wait, there’s more on here…” D.J.
said. “P.S.
Don’t ye even think about bringing ninjas along. We’ll
kill the lasses before ye get here! Nor ye bring Iron Chefs.
Not even that scurvy Bobby Flay.”
“Awww, beans to all that! Let’s go down there
and beat the snot out of em! Sunset…” I looked
at my watch. 4:30. “We’ve got about three and
a half hours, right? Let’s go get some artillery somewhere
and boogey on down there.”
“Uhhh, duder…”
“I mean, even if it’s just us two against them,
if we’re heavily armed, we’ll clean up!”
“Duder, listen…”
“I just got engaged to that girl, I’m
not going to lose her now to some measly pissant pirates!
Pull on your purple fightin’ pants, Deej, and let’s
go arms shopping!”
“Duder! You didn’t change the time on your watch
when you flew out here… it’s 7:30.”
“Balls!”
I pounded the kitchen table some more in frustration. We had
to leave right away, and we were gonna get our asses handed
to us so fast you’d think we’d shipped them next
day air.
“Wait a minute…” I mumbled, “I gots
me an idea…”
Twenty-five minutes later, D.J. and I were rolling down to
the coast in my rented Sebring convertible. We’d only
had a few minutes to get ready for our battle royale against
the damn pirate dogs, so we’d hit an antique store on
Santa Monica Boulevard. I now had a sweet-ass 40s-era Louisville
Slugger strapped to my back and a lovely gilded candlestick--the
dealer couldn’t tell me the pewter smith, but it looked
Victorian era American--at my side so I could pull some mad
“Colonel Mustard in the Study” action if I had
to. To protect my head from the deadly pirate assault, I’d
picked up a nice spiked German Army helmet from WWI and I’d
strapped that bad boy on like I was born to it.
D.J. had found himself a medieval gauntlet, to which he was
madly trying to duct tape a set of steak knives. Lying in
the backseat of the car were his other weapons of choice,
a wrought iron fireplace poker and shovel. He’d only
wanted the poker, but the dealer made him buy the two as a
set.
Done with taping the steak knives, he brandished his gauntlet
in the air. “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah dawg! Bitches gonna
get some Wolverine!” He slammed it down into the seat,
ripping up the upholstery with the steak knives.
“You lummox, don’t fuck up my rental car!”
“Sorry man… just trying to get worked up for the
fight.”
We arrived at the pier just as the sun was starting to sink
into the sea. I skidded the car up over the curb and down
toward the water. There, down by what had probably been a
busy promenade earlier in the day was a scene of pirate devastation.
They’d attacked the place with cannon, and everything
was in shambles. The Ferris Wheel lay partly submerged into
the sea, and at the end of the pier the pirates had anchored
their ghastly luxury yacht. I stopped the car in front of
a delegation of heavily-armed buccaneers.
 “You
ready to do this, Deej?”
“Gots to save them women, bro.”
We leaped out of the convertible, I with my bat, D.J. wielding
his gauntlet and poker, and approached the band of pirates.
The one with the most teeth stepped forward to parlay.
“Ye lubbers with your cheap goods are no mach for us
this time! Now we finally get to off ye, and then yer lasses
be ours for the taking! We have many a pot and pan that need
to be scrubbed during our voyages!”
I drew myself into a battle stance. “No way, you pirate
scum… we’re here to liberate the women!”
The repugnant pirate scoffed, and his crew laughed.
The tension in the air was so thick, no one had noticed the
arrival of the UPS guy. He pushed his way past D.J. and I,
eyeing our peculiar garb. He held out his electronic pad to
the head pirate.
“I think this stuff is for you guys…” the
UPS man intoned to the pirate, “Sign here.”
“Arrr… what be it? This isn’t the best of
times.”
“Shipment of one muzzle-loading heavy cannon from the
Daughters of the American Revolution. We’ve been following
you lot around for weeks trying to deliver it. Just sign.”
The pirate eyed the delivery pad, then his mates, and then
the pad again. He sighed and made an X on the line.
“I suppose that’r be coming in handy in our voyages.”
“Great, can your guys come help me unload it? It’s
really damn heavy.”
“Avast, for the love of Mike! We be trying to have a
battle to the death!” He raised a gnarled finger at
D.J. and I. “You lot mind yer business! It’ll
be yer turn by the next bell!”
The lot of pirates ambled over to the waiting truck and gathered
around the door. The UPS guy climbed back in and called out
“It’s unlocked now, you can go ahead and open
it!”
A pirate pushed the door open, revealing the mouth of a huge
cannon... which promptly went off, wiping out all the pirates
gathered in front of it.
“Yeaaaahhhhh!” D.J. screamed at the destroyed
attack party. “What can Brown do for YOU, fuckers!”
I eased up on my baseball bat. “I can’t believe
that actually worked! We even told them it was a cannon! Man,
only in L.A. would a cheap Warner Brothers bit like that work...
we still have to deal with the crew left on the yacht, though.”
“Let’s go, bro!” D.J. cheered as he raced
off toward the ship, the setting sun glinting off his jaw.
The deck was empty, as was common area below decks. We worked
our way back toward the living quarters, teeth clenched, weapons
ready. We heard groans from behind a large wooden set of double
doors. I nodded to D.J. and he raised his foot to kick it
in...
WHAM!
We stormed to room to find the bodies of pirates strewn about
the cabin. The girls turned from the widescreen TV at the
far end and looked at us.
“Uhhhh...” I said.
Alyssa waved. “We got tired of waiting, and Gilmore
Girls came on.”
D.J. looked at Bethany, shocked. “You’re watching
the Gilmore Girls? You always made fun of me for loving it!”
Bethany shrugged sheepishly as I assessed the carnage. “You
two took care of these guys all by yourself?”
Alyssa picked up a skillet off the couch and waved it around.
“They gave me cookware... Bad idea.” She donked
the pan against the head of a disabled pirate. “Cast
iron, too.”
Bethany hopped the couch and walked toward us, putting her
hair into pigtails with two yellow rubber bands as she walked.
“After Alyssa had knocked a few over, it was easy for
me to grab a few of their swords and go ninja on their skanky
asses.” She beamed, patting D.J. on the head.
I looked over at D.J. and shrugged as I loosened the strap
of my helmet. “Okay, then... you guys want to go get
some sushi?” |
