BIGGER BADDER THICKER: The Poonlantis Chronicles Part II
Dec 17, 2013 19:05:34 GMT -5
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Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2013 19:05:34 GMT -5
Chapter VII: "A Strange Request"
Bobby Cairo is in the decadent living quarters of the Governor's Mansion in Poon Guinea. He's dressed in a mint colored button-up shirt and black slacks. His leather loafers rap upon the marble floor as he paces back and forth. His brow is furrowed. His ire is drawn. He holds a piece of paper in his hands that he just can't seem to understand.
Cairo: What the shit is this?
Cairo opens a gilded letter that shimmers in warbling streaks. The writing on the letter is aqua in color and looks more like horizontal squiggles than words. Finally he throws his hands up and beckons to his tag team partner.
Cairo: Odin!?
“What's up?” calls the All-Father from the kitchen of the home, the smell of Poon Guinean chocolate cake beginning to fill the air. Cairo marches purposefully into the kitchen, holding the document at his chest as he presents it to Odin.
Cairo: Did you get drunk and become your own pen pal again?
Odin glances at the paper as he scratches his forehead and ponders the question.
Odin: Um... what's today?
Cairo: Thursday.
Odin: Ah, no. I don't expect a letter from myself for another few days. Damn Poon Guinean postal service is slower than the collective battle royal entrants. Why, is it addressed to me from me?
Cairo: I don't know. I can't read it. Say, are we part of the Mordor Homeowner's Association?
Odin: No. They kicked us out because I “accidentally” stepped on a pussy ass Hobbit Shire.
Cairo: That wasn't no accident.
Odin: Damn right it wasn't no accident.
Cairo glances at the document again and frowns.
Cairo: Do you think you can read this and tell me what it says? I can't make heads or tails of it. It's written in some funny looking Elvish shit or something.
Odin: Yeah, let me just check on this cake.
Odin pops his head into the oven and lights his doob before reemerging. The All-Father is wearing a big white puffy chef's hat and an apron that reads “Kiss This, Bitch” with an arrow pointing down to the thickness. Cairo hands Odin the letter and Odin looks it over for a moment before shaking his head.
Odin: Nope, can't read it.
Cairo appears to be increasingly annoyed by this mysterious letter and its foreign script.
Cairo: Well it's not Asgardian. What could it be then?
Odin tokes on his doob before passing it to Cairo.
Odin: Maybe it's mutant? Looks mutant to me. Hey!
Odin snaps his fingers, a thought bubble hovering above his head.
Odin: Didn't John Stamos date that chick from that movie that one time?
Cairo: Rebecca Romijn-Stamos?
Odin: Yeah, that blue chick. She's a mutant. Fuckin hot. Smash that poon.
Cairo: Indeed. Perhaps she taught him some of her language when she was bouncin off that Greek cock?
Odin: Is he around?
Cairo: He's been crashing on the couch for like a week now. Ever since the Odinator incident at New Poon-Arctica. He takes his job as Director of Security very seriously. Plus it's to my understanding that the blue mutant bitch gave him the boot from their home in Malibu.
Odin: Oh, I see.
Odin walks into the living room. He cocks his head to the side and lets out a roar.
“HEY GREASE LIGHTNIN'!”
Cairo: My man, that's John Travolta.
Odin: Oh.
“HEY BATTLEFIELD EARTH!”
Cairo shudders at the thought of Battlefield Earth.
Cairo: Again, my friend. John Travolta.
Odin: Really? I coulda sworn it was Stamos?
Cairo: Nope.
Odin: So what did he play in then?
Cairo appears confused.
Cairo: Um, Travolta? Look Who's Talking?
Odin: Oh, shit right. The dead beat.
"HEY CASEY JONES!“
Cairo: That's Elias Koteas!
Odin: Shit, my bad.
“HEY BATMAN!”
Cairo: And that's Michael Keaton!
Odin: Then I don't know who the hell this guy on our couch is? He IS a famous actor, right? So what'd he play in?
Cairo smooths out a slight wrinkle in his mint colored dress shirt and tokes some more of that precious Poon Guinean ganja.
Cairo: Stamos? He played in Full House.
Odin: How could I not know that?
Cairo: Name anyone else from that show.
Odin: Mary Kate – Ashley Olsen. That chick with four names.
Cairo: Exactly.
“HEY UNCLE JESSE!”
“Fuck you, Balfore!” Comes lofting down the hall.
Odin: Hey Broken Arrow, come here. We need you to read somethin.
John Stamos comes storming into the living room from down the hall in TMNT footy pajamas reminiscent of D-LO C-LO. Odin looks him over then looks back at Cairo.
John Stamos: What?
Odin: Really, Cairo? Are you sure Vincent Vega wasn't Casey Jones?
Cairo facepalms.
Cairo: John, we understand that you once banged the blue mutant from X-Men, name of Rebecca Romijn-you. Now, we got this strange letter that looks to be written in Mutantese and we were wondering if you could translate it using the knowledge given to you from all the nights you spent smashin that blue poon?
John takes a look at the letter and scans it carefully. He looks up at Cairo.
John Stamos: This isn't mutant. It's Atlantian.
Cairo: Well, what the fuck is that?
Odin: Whoa whoa whoa. You mean like that mer-bitch we fished out of the ocean while doing black tar with that killer whale?
Stamos eyes Balfore warily before turning his attention back to the document.
John Stamos: I suppose so. It says here that you're summoned to settle a paternity suit and overdue child support payments. You're due in Atlantian family services court in a few days.
Odin: Listen up, Batman-
Cairo: I told you that was Michael Keaton!
Odin: Well what was this guy in?
Cairo: ER!
Odin: The guy from ER played Batman!
Cairo: That was Clooney not Stamos!
Odin: Well what's the difference?
Odin tokes the joint and allows his brain to process the news of this Atlantian paternity suit, the marijuana smoke enhancing his insight into the legal proceedings and expanding his enlightenment.
Odin: I don't understand somethin about this. I killed the mer-bitch. I mean I killed her with my thickness and then Howard the whale swallowed her whole. She can't still be alive. She got digested and shat out of that whale weeks ago. She had to be.
Stamos: You sure about that, Oz?
Odin: Motherfucker, that wasn't me it was Nash!
Stamos: Now you know how it feels!
Odin goes to strangle Stamos but Stamos holds his ground while G-Daddy Cairo physically intervenes to prevent a massacre on his polished marble floor.
Stamos: I'm warning you, Balfore. I am schooled in the ways of Savate, the art of French foot fighting.
Odin: A French martial art? HA! Bring that shit on over to the Asgardian All-Father and your ass will get served fast. I hit you with Surtr's Revenge and it will be lights out, real quick. My fist goes through your skull and you find yourself in a worse place than Queer Street. Don't become another casualty, Stamos. Don't cross Odin's path. Don't get on my bad side. Now is not the time. You want to talk about paternity suits? I say look at the battle royal at ONE. Ten, fifteen, twenty guys competing for a prize that no one wants- a prize that is more akin to a curse. The right to face The Thickness? That's not a right. That's a death sentence.
Odin takes another toke of that good Poon Guinean kush and takes a seat in his bean bag throne. The lava lamp on the table next to him is putting on its psychedelic show, trippy shades of orange, purple, pink and green adding to the sixties vibe. Loose women wearing bellbottoms and tie-dye shirts strip for Balfore's amusement and honor his majesty as only the good poon can.
Odin: Chase Michaels? Cormack MacNeill? Jayden Thunder? I am their daddy. I am all of their daddies, and you can rattle off the rest of the names on the list. It don't matter. I own the WCF Tag Team Division along with this man Cairo.
Cairo stands tall, his face looking firm and fierce- as unflinching as his beliefs.
Odin: I see mid-card level bums being handed an opportunity to compete for these belts.
Rihanna and Jessica Alba strut into the room, that sultry swagger in their step, each wielding a WCF Tag Team Championship belt. The gold of the belts shimmers, complementing the ladies and their mocha and caramel colored skin, respectively. These bitches are not amused. They scowl as if staring into the faces of each competitor in this half-assed tag team contendership battle royal at ONE. These bitches know that the motherfuckers in that battle royal are trying to collect a bounty that lies on the heads of Cairo and Balfore. These bitches know that the competitors in that battle royal, these jobberriffic motherfuckers, are trying to cash in on a tag title shot that they have not rightfully earned and rip those championship belts out of their silky smooth grasp. Riri and Jessie don't like that. They don't like you, Jason Weslow. They don't like you, Dez Angel. They certainly don't like you, David Krink.
Odin: Bitches, who is your daddy?
Bitches: You are, Odin Daddy! And you, God-Daddy Daddy Cairo!
Rihanna, Alba and the hippie bitches concur. Balfore and Cairo are their daddy. They fall in line like fearful competitors in an unjust, unrighteous and altogether capitalistic battle royal.
Odin: You say what you want to, John Stamos. You read me the Riot Act. You talk about paternity suits. You state that Odin owes this money to that bitch and that money to this bitch.
Stamos begins to speak. Odin shuts him the fuck up with a simple thrust of his index finger.
Odin: You do not interrupt Odin Balfore, John Stamos. You shut your mouth and you listen. I am their daddy.
Odin nods toward the bitches.
Odin: I am their daddy.
Odin nods toward the battle royal competitors.
Odin: I am your daddy.
Odin nods at Stamos.
Odin: I got Little Odins runnin all over this dimension and many others. I got Little Odins runnin down my leg right now while J. Alba sucks this All-Father thickness.
Meanwhile, Cairo slams the Rihanna ass poon with authority, her panties around her ankles and her bra cups adorning the lamp shade across the room.
Odin: You think I'm worried about consequences? I live the life of an immortal, a god, a far beyond human wrecking machine who has crushed a thousand or more empires just because I felt like it. Never had to snort the blow, but I did it because I could. Because there was no consequence. I smashed the poon. Why? Because I could. Because there was no consequence. I stepped all over S-PAC and smashed them like ants. Why? Because I could. Because there was no consequence. Wearing the gold is not an invitation to calamity. It is a lifestyle choice. You want the gold that I bear from my loins? Come and take it, Michaels, MacNeill, Thunder and the rest.
Odin flicks the spent joint off the head of a strung out hippie bitch while thrusting his thickness in Alba's mouth, making the bitch deep throat that thickness like only a J. Alba can.
Odin: I smashed the mer-bitch and tendered her spent body to the murky waters of the sea. Why? Because I could. Because there was no consequence. Someone claiming to represent this mer-bitch and her interests wishes to see Odin Balfore in court? The All-Father does not recognize the authority of the Atlantian judicial system.
Odin gestures for Cairo to hand him the letter. Odin takes the letter and studies it carefully, his eyeballs bulging and squinting and looking altogether crazy as he attempts to determine its veracity and origin.
Odin: If you have correctly deciphered the written texts of this letter, Stamos, I am betting with generous odds that my friend Poseidon is punking us. This is his style. The flimsy paper, fruity aqua coloring and limp-wristed writing style. It screams Poseidon.
Cairo nuts in the Riri ass poon and sets the woman aside to allow her rest on the cream colored leather sofa. He adjoins his trousers and belt to his waistline and clears his throat, the business of getting his rocks off having been settled.
Cairo: That is a possibility, my friend, however I think we should take a trip to Atlantis just in case this documentation is authentic. Imagine the controversy if the press should get wind of an Odin Balfore child support scandal in the far away and exotic land of Atlantis? No, this will not do. It is unthick. It reeks of deadbeatishness. I don't like it. It stinks. It stinks like a rat.
Odin: That could be me, actually. I ripped a massive silent but deadly blast in Alba's face when I nutted.
Cairo: Then let me open this window. Stamos, you are our head of security. You must ensure our safest passage to Poonlantis. Arrange the travel accommodations. Nothing less than a five star hotel and resort will be acceptable. I require gourmet cuisine and full body massage with happy ending thrown in for no extra charge. If it's not comped then Bobby Cairo don't play that. I don't pay to lick Sarah Twilight's twat. I'm not the Jonny Fly. Or the S-PAC. I also will not pay to get my rocks off. THAT is unthick. THAT is unbecoming of a World's Tag Champion and Governor of this great Poon Guinean soil.
Stamos: It is understood. Thy wish is my command, my liege.
Odin: I can't believe that we're entertaining this Atlantian legal jive, Cairo. You know they don't have a leg to stand on. We're abandoning our home land and for what? A taxpayer funded trip to a land that time long since forgot? Atlantis hasn't been relevant since the days that Jesus walked this earth, and I am not referring to Jam Willy.
Cairo: My friend, some challenges in this life might be tedious. We look at this child support claim as one example. We look at our tag title defense against unworthy, unthinking and overmatched challengers at ONE as another example. We overcome these challenges not because it is fun. Not because it's even worth our time and the minimal effort required. We do it because we are champions. We do it because we are Bad Motha Fuckas. My ego might be as big as my dick, but you know what? I got brains to boot, Odin, and I'm telling you right now: Whether you can appreciate it or not, this trip to Poonlantis is a good idea.
Odin chugs a hastily prepared Zombie Bomb consisting of diesel, nail polish remover and goat's blood.
Odin: I do not understand your reasoning at all times, Cairo. However if our partnership and these belts--
Odin slaps Alba and Rihanna on their asses, their tits and the championship belts that they wield.
Odin: If they've taught me anything it's that The Godfather intuitively knows that of which he speaks. I will heed to your whims, Cairo. I will engage this request for my appearance in a Poonlantis court of law. I will shake my thunderous loins. I will send the onlooking bitches into pussy twitches and rants. I will throttle their ignorance and make waves that cause a social uprising in Third World America.
Cairo: All of this and so much more.
Alba/Rihanna/Hippie Bitches: All of this and so much more.
Odin: All of this and so much more.
Cairo, Odin, Rihanna, Alba and the Hippie bitches all glare at Stamos.
Stamos: Oh, uh... all of this and so much more?
Cairo: It is settled. Let us ride.
Cairo throws on his Fenrir wolf fur coat and grabs a slice of Odin's chocolate cake before marching out the door into the oncoming storm of paparazzi who have already gotten wind of Odin's pending litigation in Atlantis.
Odin: Damn those hippie bitches. Leakin my shit to the press.
Odin scowls as he walks out the front door of the mansion, shoving reporters to the side and stomping on their necks when they find themselves trampled to the ground in this sea of tabloid inhumanity. Welcome to the fish bowl. Welcome to the pariah tank. Welcome to their clever little game, the hems and haws of a mainstream press turned sour, looking for a scandal and a scoop. Governor Cairo and his Lieutenant Balfore will crack down upon these insolent fools, but not now. Not yet. They have far more important matters to which they must attend.
Cairo: Stamos, handle these fools.
Stamos nods his head in perfect understanding. He reaches into a black case and pulls out a sniper rifle complete with scope. One by one Stamos picks off the media, while Cairo and Odin hop into their solid gold ubersleigh of death.
Cairo: On, Donner! On, Blitzen! On, Rudolph! On, Rihanna! Onward to Poonlantis!
Cairo cracks his tyrant's whip. The reindeer plus Rihanna pull the sleigh into perpetual motion as the entire vessel takes flight, carrying The Thickness and their many bags of very thick luggage to the mystical and once-thought mythical land of Atlantis.
Chapter VIII: "Best Laid Trap"
Deep within the polar ice caves of Greenland, MAVERICK plots his next move while The Odinator smashes that stripper poon. MAVERICK is deep in thought until that process is broken by the satisfying crunch of broken pelvis and exploded hearts. MAVERICK gets up from his state of meditation and looks over to The Odinator with anger and surprise.
MAVERICK: What is the meaning of this? You dare break my concentration with the breaking of this skank's spine? You are The Odinator. The Terminator. The Eliminator of Odin Balfore. Why in blue hell are you smashing the poon?
The Odinator stands up, pants off, a bit of metal skeleton showing from his thighs and midsection.
Odinator: Data indicates that such an act would calm the prisoner. It is also well known that Odin will be able to smell the desecration of his poon from anywhere in the world. The trap has been laid. When Odin Balfore gets here, his life force will be extinguished.
MAVERICK: Oh yeah? If that's such a good idea, then why haven't I thought of it?
Odinator: Probability of success, 91 percent.
MAVERICK: I got it! I'll have sexual relations with this woman and the sheer power of my loins will challenge the mojo of Odin and he'll have to defend his honor! It's brilliant! It's perfect!
“That shit's fuckin dumb.”
MAVERICK: What? Who said that?
MAVERICK looks around. It's only the three of them in the cave. At least he thinks there’s only three of them in the cave. He peers around and looks back towards the entrance. A tall lengthy man stands at the mouth of the cave with a classic goalie's mask on his face. Long black hair partially skews the view as it's complemented by a white muscle shirt and ripped jeans. The man has a wooden baseball in his hands and begins to rap in his palm in annoyance.
Man: Do you mind telling me what you're doing with my sexy little bitch over there? Hmm?
MAVERICK: Who in the hell is that? John Stamos?
Odinator: By appearance it resembles Canadian athlete and ice hockey player Wayne Gretzky on what sensors indicate to be some sort of metabolic enhancer.
MAVERICK's face turns beet red, filling with rage. He looks at The Odinator and screams in anger.
MAVERICK: GGAAHHH!!
Man: Odin?
MAVERICK gets a great idea and runs with it to try and sneak off.
MAVERICK: Yes, YES! That man right there is Odin Balfore. The real Odin Balfore! Not me but that guy right there! And he just fucked your bitch.
Man: Tell me, who are you then?
MAVERICK: I, I- I'm just a simple fisherman out for a pleasure stroll on polar bear infested ice flows. It's quite common this time of year.
Man: Common. Quite.
MAVERICK: But this? What are you gonna do about it? I mean, he fucked her good. Broke her pelvis and what not. I should probably get her to the hospital for ya... heh... yeah. Hospital. She could have internal bleeding.
Man: Look, Balfore, I don't wanna fight you.
MAVERICK: YES! Yes you do! He soiled your woman, you demand satisfaction.
Man: You. Go. Now.
MAVERICK: Right, right. Of course.
MAVERICK gets up and walks over to The Odinator.
MAVERICK: Make this quick. We have a schedule to keep. ONE is only a week away. We don't want someone else cashing in on MY half a million dollars! I don't want him following us!
MAVERICK picks up the stripper and sandbags her over his shoulder and begins to walk out of the cave and out of sight. The masked man approaches The Odinator.
Man: Look, Balfore, I don't wanna fight you. But you broke the code, you fucked my bitch -so- tough rocks.
The man twirls the bat around for a moment before getting into a fighting stance.
Man: The class is Pain 101. Your instructor is Phillip Baines!
Baines takes a powerful swing at The Odinator but the cyborg catches it with ease in his left hand and looks at it in curiosity.
Odinator: A baseball bat signed by American athlete and baseball player Jose Canseco? Inform me that you did not acquire this with currency?
Odinator snaps the bat in half with the squeeze of his fist. Baines backs off, now realizing that this thing in front of him isn't Odin Balfore.
Baines: Odin loves Jose Canseco. Who are you?
Odinator: I am a cybernetic entity constructed of the highest grade titanium alloys, built for the sole purpose of eliminating American wrestling legend and Poon Guinean Lieutenant, Odin Balfore.
Baines: That's nice. I was only being cordial in your last moments of life. I really don't give a fuck. You smashed my poon and now I'm going to smash your head.
Baines takes out a cricket club from the golf bag strapped to his back.
Odinator: Cricket?
Baines: Cricket? What the fuck is cricket?
Odinator: I will bestow upon you the processes of passing down knowledge from one being to another.
Baines and The Odinator square off and begin to circle each other. The Odinator charges but Baines just rears back and takes a massive swing with the club. He takes The Odinator's head off clean at the shoulder and sends it flying out of the cave and into a fjord some sixty yards away.
Baines: I knew I shoulda played for the Yankees last season.
Baines looks down at the prone and immobile Odinator and spits on him.
Baines: So long, freak. I got work to do.
Baines takes off out of the cave to catch up with MAVERICK and his bottom bitch, the curvaceous brunette of questionable morals who finds herself trapped in the clutches of a mad man.
Chapter IX: "Inter-Atlantian Incident"
The Thickness arrives in Atlantis in the solid gold ubersleigh of death, drawing much fanfare from the locals. Atlantian paparazzi surround the WCF Tag Team Champions and their Director of Security, trying to make an absurd spectacle of the proceedings. Odin rapidly grows annoyed by the intrusion of his personal space and readies to squash the paparazzi jobbers, but he is restrained by Cairo.
Cairo: No. This is exactly what I told you not to do. The entire way down here I told you, no international incidents.
Odin straightens out the collar of his denim jacket and steadies himself.
Odin: Shit's already an unthick travesty.
Cairo: Exactly. Don't go making it any worse. You got us into this mess, fuckin around with your dick in the middle of the ocean, fishin around for mer-bitches.
Odin: You smashed her too, you hypocrite!
Cairo: I smashed her ass poon, not the vajayjay. You think I'm trying to catch a paternity case like you, buddy, or them mer-bitch herps?
Stamos: Could be worse, Odie. The mer-bitch could have dragged your giant Nordic ass onto Maury.
Cairo: The results are in... Odin, you are the father!
"HAHAHAHAHA!" Cairo and Stamos laugh uproariously and slap high-fives. Odin snorts a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, the hatred rising up inside of his esophagus and committing horrible crimes against his stomach and intestines. Odin Balfore feels black death inside of his torso. How could an immortal Asgardian All-Father be dragged to the depths of such indignity? Like tag champs being booked to defend their belts against n00bs and jobbers. Odin shakes his head, staring at Cairo and Stamos with eyes filled of disdain.
Cairo stops and stares at his tag partner. He ceases his jocular yammering- straightens his posture and his brow.
Cairo: Odin, we're just trying to loosen the mood, my man. It is all in good fun. Do you remember when I was peeved about losing WAR a few months back, seething with hatred for my rivals and crestfallen by the depressive lows of failure?
Odin: Ay. The memory burns bright from within my cavernous conscience.
Cairo: You were there to support me with bitches, blow and good-natured ribbing. You snapped me out of my funk. From that moment henceforth I stopped giving a shit about WAR. I stopped giving a shit about failure, about shortcoming, about fear and depression. The fog lifted from my eyes and I could see clearly once again. It is not to say that I'll always be high, Odin. It is not to say that I'll always feel like jumping over the moon. I won't feel that good all the time, not even when I'm mainlining dope.
Stamos shakes his head knowingly.
Stamos: I know china white is that shit, but I can't help it- I love black tar. Shit gets me doped to my balls. Hell, I inject that shit straight into my balls. Feels almost as good as smashin the Rebecca Romijn-me poon.
Cairo: Exactly, but even while doped out to one's balls or smashin the Rebecca Romjin-this guy poon, one still feels the pain. One stills feel the moments of humility that keep us leveled. You have to. You can't abandon what makes you human.
Odin: I'm not human, Bobby. That's the point.
Cairo: My man, I don't get that about you. You want to straddle both sides of the fence. You want to rep Asgard. You want to rep Minnesota. You want to rep the immortals. You don't want to rep the humans. But then you do want to rep the humans. You got more personalities than raYne. Who are you? What are you? What makes Odin Balfore tick?
Odin: You prod me, Bobby Cairo? You demand answers? I don't answer to you. I don't answer to this court. I'm here in Atlantis, under the depths of the sea in a land thought to be lost for eternity, to do a little sightseeing and smash that Atlantian poon. You want humility? You want pain? Pain is listening to you talk, Bobby. Humility is me restraining myself from rearranging your facial features.
Stamos intervenes, stepping between the seven-foot Nordic Tank and the six-foot-plus Godfather. Not that Stamos could truly stop the two ring greats from throwing down amongst themselves if they wanted to, but he's trying his damnedest to keep the order. After all, these men- no, no- these gods sign his paychecks and keep him strung out on that good Poon Guinean dope.
Stamos: Guys, this isn't the time. Not here in front of the cameras. The court room's up ahead. The hearing should be starting shortly.
Cairo comports himself, straightens his silky mint julep shaded shirt.
Cairo: How is it that you know all of this, John Stamos?
Stamos: How do you think I get my hair so perfect?
Cairo: Blood of the unborn Atlantian children?
Stamos nods in agreement. Odin casts a skeptical scowl toward Stamos.
Odin: I question the extent of your knowledge, Stamos. In fact, I do more than question- I call bullshit. If you've bamboozled me, wasted my precious time, I will add your skull to my mantel.
Stamos: I don't operate under a cloak of secrecy, Odin. I have no alternate agenda. What you see is what you get when it comes to John Stamos. If I am deceiving the Asgardian War God then I should scalp my own hide and place it upon your mantel.
Odin, satisfied with Stamos's explanation, proceeds toward the courthouse. Odin's frame is so massive that he has trouble negotiating the relatively diminutive entrance of the court building. Flashbulbs pop, bang and crash as the humorous sight of Balfore attempting and failing to limbo through the doorway unfolds, Finally, tiring of the tedious exercise, Odin launches a devastating knock out punch to the arch of the doorway, easily smashing through it like the thickness smashes the poon, and clearing a path for his entrance. Stamos and Cairo follow in Odin's wake as security swells up behind them to block the throng of media from entering the courthouse.
Odin: Finally, some peace from those ticks and leeches. I tell you, lads, the entire ride here all I could think about was facing my accuser in the court room. How dare she sue The All-Father? How dare she expect the great Balfore to financially support his bastard child? You were granted the privilege of taking my load and you have the audacity of trying to encroach upon my wallet? Unthick capitalist greed. She must be smashed and I'm not speaking about the poon.
Cairo listens to his tag team partner's rant. The part about smashing the audacious hag appeals to him. Audacity and disrespect do not jive with Cairo's expectations of how wrestling gods and all-powerful leaders of a fledgling nation should be treated. Cairo thinks about the disrespect that Sarah Twilight has shown Odin and himself. The disrespectful act of throwing any and all WCF newcomers into a battle royal to determine tag team contendership. A battle royal to determine opponents for the most dominant tag team to grace this company since the Man Made Gods three years earlier. It's no wonder why WCF is falling apart at the seams: World title challengers being thrown into jail weeks before a scheduled pay-per-view main event. Nazi doctors challenging steroid junkies for America's Red, White and Blue Championship. Adam Young and Jorge Diaz being booked on the most prestigious pay-per-view card of the year... and against each other, no less.
N00bs, jobbers and mid-card bums scrapping it out for the right to be crucified by The Thickness seems like it's par for the course these days. That doesn't make it right. That doesn't make it just. Cairo is deeply dissatisfied as the door to the court room swings open. He takes his seat next to Stamos on one of the long wooden bench seats. Googly-eyed spectators watch in awe as Odin Balfore approaches the podium to address the court.
Odin: Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the court, my name is Odin Balfore. I have traveled a great distance to be here today, traversing through snow and sleet and tidal waves and tundras to address the most unthick accusations that have been leveled at myself by this court. I am accused of fathering a bastard child and failing to make adequate financial payments of support, yes?
The unthick judge wearing the unthick glasses and the unthick robe nods her unthick head.
Odin: I fail to see how this can be possible when I have never procreated with one of your fine Atlantian bitches. Have I desired to? Of course. My loins burn with passion for the mer-bitches.
The gallery gasps and cries in horror at the irreverent diatribe of The All-Father. The judge bangs her gavel to restore order.
Judge: Balfore, you are facing very serious allegations. Here in Atlantis we view failure to pay child support as an attack on the nuclear family itself. You were summoned to this court for the express purpose of determining whether you are the father of this child and, if so, how much you will pay in support. We have subpoenaed your financial records--
Odin: Your honor, that's impossible. All of my money is tied up in offshore accounts. You can't possibly have access to that information.
Judge: Oh but we are good, Mr. Balfore. We are guuuuud.
The word rolls off the judge's tongue with a buttery almost sexual flourish.
Odin: I don't like the sound of that.
Cairo exits the court room and immediately gets on his cell phone, his finger hitting the speed dial button for his lawyers.
Cairo: Shit, no service here in Atlantis.
Back in the court room...
Judge: We've had a chance to analyze the DNA sample that you provided--
Odin: Your honor, I never provided a DNA sample.
Judge: When you placed your sweaty hamhock of a clobbering paw on that young girl's ass when you walked into the court room?
Odin: How the hell could you lift a DNA sample from her ass?
Judge: Again, we are guuuuuud.
Odin: This is absurd. You're running a kangaroo court, your honor.
The judge is handed a sheet of paper from the bailiff. The text on the paper is written in the same aqua colored squiggles as the letter received at the Governor's Mansion.
Judge: I hold in my hand the results of your DNA test, Mr. Balfore.
Odin: Oh? What say your magical test results that can be lifted from a bitch's ass?
Judge: You are the father of this mermaid's child.
Odin: Of course. Of course I am the father.
Odin twiddles his thumbs, pondering his options. He could whip out his dick and blow the courthouse sky high. He'd just have to flash the signal to Stamos and Cairo, give them time enough to slip out through the back door.
Odin: Your honor, I appreciate the court's findings. With all due respect, I move for the claim for financial support to be dismissed.
Judge: Under what grounds, Balfore?
Odin: As I see it, an immortal Asgardian warlord such as myself has no responsibility for paying support to a mere sea-dwelling mer-bitch.
Further gasps and shrieks of horror and outrage engulf the court room and this time even the banging of the judge's gavel is not enough to silence them. In the midst of this furor, an unnoticed guest has crashed the proceedings. The terminator version of Odin's raccoon friend Gilligan has gunned down the entire team of courthouse marshals and has the judge squarely in his sights. The sound of gunfire ricochets through the court room as the judge catches a bullet dead between the eyes and falls sprawled onto the table in front of her, blood rippling from her wound.
Odin: Well, this is certainly advantageous.
Odin, Cairo and Stamos draw their firearms and take aim at the cyborg raccoon as the spectators from the gallery flee in terror while screaming at the top of their lungs. Grown mer-men and mer-bitches flee the scene, not even caring if they leave their children behind.
Odin: This is where it ends, Gil. Your reign of terror has gone on long enough. I'm bringing you in.
Gilligan: ... ....... .... .......... ... .... ... ...
Odin: My man, that's the craziest shit I've ever heard you say. 98% chance of collecting the half a mill bounty? You know me better than that. You want the half a mill? You better kill me because as long as I got a breath in my body--
The round of gunfire from Gilligan's Bushmaster barely misses Odin, who ducks behind one of the bench seats in the gallery.
Odin: Oh this nig is crazy. You a dead man, Gil! You dead, motha fucka!
Odin jumps up with both barrels blazing from his Desert Eagles, clipping Gil at the knee cap and dropping him while Cairo and Stamos provide cover with their Glocks. Odin approaches the downed cyborg raccoon and puts a boot to his throat.
Odin: Sorry it had to come to this, my friend, but you broke the G-code. Never break the G-code.
Odin puts a final round of bullets into Gilligan's skull, silencing the robotic woodland creature for good. Sparks fly as Gilligan's internal computer system falters and dies.
Odin: What the fuck? A Gilligan terminator? Goddamn you, MAVERICK! I thought I just killed my best friend!
Stamos: Your best friend is a cyborg raccoon assassin from another dimension?
Cairo pats Stamos on the shoulder.
Cairo: My man, why don't we grab a bite to eat? I think Odin needs some time alone. It's been a long day for him.
Stamos nods and escorts Cairo outside where they happen upon a street corner vendor selling Atlantian brews and top grade oyster and caviar. Back inside the court room, Odin slumps to a seated position on the bench, ignoring the death and bloodshed that surrounds him and focusing only on his internal conflict. Maybe... maybe it could have worked out. Odin Balfore, the Asgardian All-Father, a dad to a bastard child of a dead mer-bitch? Maybe... NO. Never.
"Excuse me. Are you Odin Balfore?"
Odin cocks his head to the side, looks the woman over from bottom to top and front to rear. She is an attractive blonde with modest tits and striking dimples.
Odin: You speak to me?
Woman: Yes. I'm Reese Witherspoon. I'm here to protect you.
Odin: Protect me? From what?
Reese: You. I've been sent here from the future by one of your constituents to ensure your survival.
Odin looks down at the destroyed raccoon cyborg.
Odin: Well as you can see, Reese “I'm bout to smash ya poon.” I have things well in hand.
Reese: You do now, but they won't stop until you're dead.
Odin: Look, unless the next words out of your mouth are the gagging torments of my thickness, do not speak to me as the one who is in need of help. I have gunned down not only my attacker but this imposter of my best friend. I stand atop WCF, the most dominant tag team champion in recent memory and for once in this company, such claims are undeniable truths. There is no aid you can offer The Thickness except for being one of our bottom bitches.
Odin looks back down at the dead raccoon and lets out a massive roar that shakes the foundation of the building.
Odin: I am a god! You cannot kill a god! You cannot defeat a god! I stand before the world and WCF a living, breathing instrument of immortality. Along with the rival strengths of Bobby Cairo, we stand amongst mortals like giants to ants. To WCF, all look up and cannot even see our loins hanging down, ready to teabag them at the drop of a card. They look up and cannot see our fists ready to strike down like hammers, shaping the will and souls of men like ever glowing steel. These men in the battle royal, they all know their fate is grim and bleak in the hands of The Thickness. NO combination of team or teams shall defeat us with aims of capturing the unattainable. The Thickness will prevail, Reese Witherspoon. Your services are not required. I do not ask for them. I do not need them. Go tend to Bobby's loins. For there is a moment that I need to myself.
Reese: But I was sent here by yo-
Odin: GO!
Odin barks a thunderous shout that causes the ceiling to partially collapse as Reese runs out of the court room, fearing for her life.
Bobby Cairo is in the decadent living quarters of the Governor's Mansion in Poon Guinea. He's dressed in a mint colored button-up shirt and black slacks. His leather loafers rap upon the marble floor as he paces back and forth. His brow is furrowed. His ire is drawn. He holds a piece of paper in his hands that he just can't seem to understand.
Cairo: What the shit is this?
Cairo opens a gilded letter that shimmers in warbling streaks. The writing on the letter is aqua in color and looks more like horizontal squiggles than words. Finally he throws his hands up and beckons to his tag team partner.
Cairo: Odin!?
“What's up?” calls the All-Father from the kitchen of the home, the smell of Poon Guinean chocolate cake beginning to fill the air. Cairo marches purposefully into the kitchen, holding the document at his chest as he presents it to Odin.
Cairo: Did you get drunk and become your own pen pal again?
Odin glances at the paper as he scratches his forehead and ponders the question.
Odin: Um... what's today?
Cairo: Thursday.
Odin: Ah, no. I don't expect a letter from myself for another few days. Damn Poon Guinean postal service is slower than the collective battle royal entrants. Why, is it addressed to me from me?
Cairo: I don't know. I can't read it. Say, are we part of the Mordor Homeowner's Association?
Odin: No. They kicked us out because I “accidentally” stepped on a pussy ass Hobbit Shire.
Cairo: That wasn't no accident.
Odin: Damn right it wasn't no accident.
Cairo glances at the document again and frowns.
Cairo: Do you think you can read this and tell me what it says? I can't make heads or tails of it. It's written in some funny looking Elvish shit or something.
Odin: Yeah, let me just check on this cake.
Odin pops his head into the oven and lights his doob before reemerging. The All-Father is wearing a big white puffy chef's hat and an apron that reads “Kiss This, Bitch” with an arrow pointing down to the thickness. Cairo hands Odin the letter and Odin looks it over for a moment before shaking his head.
Odin: Nope, can't read it.
Cairo appears to be increasingly annoyed by this mysterious letter and its foreign script.
Cairo: Well it's not Asgardian. What could it be then?
Odin tokes on his doob before passing it to Cairo.
Odin: Maybe it's mutant? Looks mutant to me. Hey!
Odin snaps his fingers, a thought bubble hovering above his head.
Odin: Didn't John Stamos date that chick from that movie that one time?
Cairo: Rebecca Romijn-Stamos?
Odin: Yeah, that blue chick. She's a mutant. Fuckin hot. Smash that poon.
Cairo: Indeed. Perhaps she taught him some of her language when she was bouncin off that Greek cock?
Odin: Is he around?
Cairo: He's been crashing on the couch for like a week now. Ever since the Odinator incident at New Poon-Arctica. He takes his job as Director of Security very seriously. Plus it's to my understanding that the blue mutant bitch gave him the boot from their home in Malibu.
Odin: Oh, I see.
Odin walks into the living room. He cocks his head to the side and lets out a roar.
“HEY GREASE LIGHTNIN'!”
Cairo: My man, that's John Travolta.
Odin: Oh.
“HEY BATTLEFIELD EARTH!”
Cairo shudders at the thought of Battlefield Earth.
Cairo: Again, my friend. John Travolta.
Odin: Really? I coulda sworn it was Stamos?
Cairo: Nope.
Odin: So what did he play in then?
Cairo appears confused.
Cairo: Um, Travolta? Look Who's Talking?
Odin: Oh, shit right. The dead beat.
"HEY CASEY JONES!“
Cairo: That's Elias Koteas!
Odin: Shit, my bad.
“HEY BATMAN!”
Cairo: And that's Michael Keaton!
Odin: Then I don't know who the hell this guy on our couch is? He IS a famous actor, right? So what'd he play in?
Cairo smooths out a slight wrinkle in his mint colored dress shirt and tokes some more of that precious Poon Guinean ganja.
Cairo: Stamos? He played in Full House.
Odin: How could I not know that?
Cairo: Name anyone else from that show.
Odin: Mary Kate – Ashley Olsen. That chick with four names.
Cairo: Exactly.
“HEY UNCLE JESSE!”
“Fuck you, Balfore!” Comes lofting down the hall.
Odin: Hey Broken Arrow, come here. We need you to read somethin.
John Stamos comes storming into the living room from down the hall in TMNT footy pajamas reminiscent of D-LO C-LO. Odin looks him over then looks back at Cairo.
John Stamos: What?
Odin: Really, Cairo? Are you sure Vincent Vega wasn't Casey Jones?
Cairo facepalms.
Cairo: John, we understand that you once banged the blue mutant from X-Men, name of Rebecca Romijn-you. Now, we got this strange letter that looks to be written in Mutantese and we were wondering if you could translate it using the knowledge given to you from all the nights you spent smashin that blue poon?
John takes a look at the letter and scans it carefully. He looks up at Cairo.
John Stamos: This isn't mutant. It's Atlantian.
Cairo: Well, what the fuck is that?
Odin: Whoa whoa whoa. You mean like that mer-bitch we fished out of the ocean while doing black tar with that killer whale?
Stamos eyes Balfore warily before turning his attention back to the document.
John Stamos: I suppose so. It says here that you're summoned to settle a paternity suit and overdue child support payments. You're due in Atlantian family services court in a few days.
Odin: Listen up, Batman-
Cairo: I told you that was Michael Keaton!
Odin: Well what was this guy in?
Cairo: ER!
Odin: The guy from ER played Batman!
Cairo: That was Clooney not Stamos!
Odin: Well what's the difference?
Odin tokes the joint and allows his brain to process the news of this Atlantian paternity suit, the marijuana smoke enhancing his insight into the legal proceedings and expanding his enlightenment.
Odin: I don't understand somethin about this. I killed the mer-bitch. I mean I killed her with my thickness and then Howard the whale swallowed her whole. She can't still be alive. She got digested and shat out of that whale weeks ago. She had to be.
Stamos: You sure about that, Oz?
Odin: Motherfucker, that wasn't me it was Nash!
Stamos: Now you know how it feels!
Odin goes to strangle Stamos but Stamos holds his ground while G-Daddy Cairo physically intervenes to prevent a massacre on his polished marble floor.
Stamos: I'm warning you, Balfore. I am schooled in the ways of Savate, the art of French foot fighting.
Odin: A French martial art? HA! Bring that shit on over to the Asgardian All-Father and your ass will get served fast. I hit you with Surtr's Revenge and it will be lights out, real quick. My fist goes through your skull and you find yourself in a worse place than Queer Street. Don't become another casualty, Stamos. Don't cross Odin's path. Don't get on my bad side. Now is not the time. You want to talk about paternity suits? I say look at the battle royal at ONE. Ten, fifteen, twenty guys competing for a prize that no one wants- a prize that is more akin to a curse. The right to face The Thickness? That's not a right. That's a death sentence.
Odin takes another toke of that good Poon Guinean kush and takes a seat in his bean bag throne. The lava lamp on the table next to him is putting on its psychedelic show, trippy shades of orange, purple, pink and green adding to the sixties vibe. Loose women wearing bellbottoms and tie-dye shirts strip for Balfore's amusement and honor his majesty as only the good poon can.
Odin: Chase Michaels? Cormack MacNeill? Jayden Thunder? I am their daddy. I am all of their daddies, and you can rattle off the rest of the names on the list. It don't matter. I own the WCF Tag Team Division along with this man Cairo.
Cairo stands tall, his face looking firm and fierce- as unflinching as his beliefs.
Odin: I see mid-card level bums being handed an opportunity to compete for these belts.
Rihanna and Jessica Alba strut into the room, that sultry swagger in their step, each wielding a WCF Tag Team Championship belt. The gold of the belts shimmers, complementing the ladies and their mocha and caramel colored skin, respectively. These bitches are not amused. They scowl as if staring into the faces of each competitor in this half-assed tag team contendership battle royal at ONE. These bitches know that the motherfuckers in that battle royal are trying to collect a bounty that lies on the heads of Cairo and Balfore. These bitches know that the competitors in that battle royal, these jobberriffic motherfuckers, are trying to cash in on a tag title shot that they have not rightfully earned and rip those championship belts out of their silky smooth grasp. Riri and Jessie don't like that. They don't like you, Jason Weslow. They don't like you, Dez Angel. They certainly don't like you, David Krink.
Odin: Bitches, who is your daddy?
Bitches: You are, Odin Daddy! And you, God-Daddy Daddy Cairo!
Rihanna, Alba and the hippie bitches concur. Balfore and Cairo are their daddy. They fall in line like fearful competitors in an unjust, unrighteous and altogether capitalistic battle royal.
Odin: You say what you want to, John Stamos. You read me the Riot Act. You talk about paternity suits. You state that Odin owes this money to that bitch and that money to this bitch.
Stamos begins to speak. Odin shuts him the fuck up with a simple thrust of his index finger.
Odin: You do not interrupt Odin Balfore, John Stamos. You shut your mouth and you listen. I am their daddy.
Odin nods toward the bitches.
Odin: I am their daddy.
Odin nods toward the battle royal competitors.
Odin: I am your daddy.
Odin nods at Stamos.
Odin: I got Little Odins runnin all over this dimension and many others. I got Little Odins runnin down my leg right now while J. Alba sucks this All-Father thickness.
Meanwhile, Cairo slams the Rihanna ass poon with authority, her panties around her ankles and her bra cups adorning the lamp shade across the room.
Odin: You think I'm worried about consequences? I live the life of an immortal, a god, a far beyond human wrecking machine who has crushed a thousand or more empires just because I felt like it. Never had to snort the blow, but I did it because I could. Because there was no consequence. I smashed the poon. Why? Because I could. Because there was no consequence. I stepped all over S-PAC and smashed them like ants. Why? Because I could. Because there was no consequence. Wearing the gold is not an invitation to calamity. It is a lifestyle choice. You want the gold that I bear from my loins? Come and take it, Michaels, MacNeill, Thunder and the rest.
Odin flicks the spent joint off the head of a strung out hippie bitch while thrusting his thickness in Alba's mouth, making the bitch deep throat that thickness like only a J. Alba can.
Odin: I smashed the mer-bitch and tendered her spent body to the murky waters of the sea. Why? Because I could. Because there was no consequence. Someone claiming to represent this mer-bitch and her interests wishes to see Odin Balfore in court? The All-Father does not recognize the authority of the Atlantian judicial system.
Odin gestures for Cairo to hand him the letter. Odin takes the letter and studies it carefully, his eyeballs bulging and squinting and looking altogether crazy as he attempts to determine its veracity and origin.
Odin: If you have correctly deciphered the written texts of this letter, Stamos, I am betting with generous odds that my friend Poseidon is punking us. This is his style. The flimsy paper, fruity aqua coloring and limp-wristed writing style. It screams Poseidon.
Cairo nuts in the Riri ass poon and sets the woman aside to allow her rest on the cream colored leather sofa. He adjoins his trousers and belt to his waistline and clears his throat, the business of getting his rocks off having been settled.
Cairo: That is a possibility, my friend, however I think we should take a trip to Atlantis just in case this documentation is authentic. Imagine the controversy if the press should get wind of an Odin Balfore child support scandal in the far away and exotic land of Atlantis? No, this will not do. It is unthick. It reeks of deadbeatishness. I don't like it. It stinks. It stinks like a rat.
Odin: That could be me, actually. I ripped a massive silent but deadly blast in Alba's face when I nutted.
Cairo: Then let me open this window. Stamos, you are our head of security. You must ensure our safest passage to Poonlantis. Arrange the travel accommodations. Nothing less than a five star hotel and resort will be acceptable. I require gourmet cuisine and full body massage with happy ending thrown in for no extra charge. If it's not comped then Bobby Cairo don't play that. I don't pay to lick Sarah Twilight's twat. I'm not the Jonny Fly. Or the S-PAC. I also will not pay to get my rocks off. THAT is unthick. THAT is unbecoming of a World's Tag Champion and Governor of this great Poon Guinean soil.
Stamos: It is understood. Thy wish is my command, my liege.
Odin: I can't believe that we're entertaining this Atlantian legal jive, Cairo. You know they don't have a leg to stand on. We're abandoning our home land and for what? A taxpayer funded trip to a land that time long since forgot? Atlantis hasn't been relevant since the days that Jesus walked this earth, and I am not referring to Jam Willy.
Cairo: My friend, some challenges in this life might be tedious. We look at this child support claim as one example. We look at our tag title defense against unworthy, unthinking and overmatched challengers at ONE as another example. We overcome these challenges not because it is fun. Not because it's even worth our time and the minimal effort required. We do it because we are champions. We do it because we are Bad Motha Fuckas. My ego might be as big as my dick, but you know what? I got brains to boot, Odin, and I'm telling you right now: Whether you can appreciate it or not, this trip to Poonlantis is a good idea.
Odin chugs a hastily prepared Zombie Bomb consisting of diesel, nail polish remover and goat's blood.
Odin: I do not understand your reasoning at all times, Cairo. However if our partnership and these belts--
Odin slaps Alba and Rihanna on their asses, their tits and the championship belts that they wield.
Odin: If they've taught me anything it's that The Godfather intuitively knows that of which he speaks. I will heed to your whims, Cairo. I will engage this request for my appearance in a Poonlantis court of law. I will shake my thunderous loins. I will send the onlooking bitches into pussy twitches and rants. I will throttle their ignorance and make waves that cause a social uprising in Third World America.
Cairo: All of this and so much more.
Alba/Rihanna/Hippie Bitches: All of this and so much more.
Odin: All of this and so much more.
Cairo, Odin, Rihanna, Alba and the Hippie bitches all glare at Stamos.
Stamos: Oh, uh... all of this and so much more?
Cairo: It is settled. Let us ride.
Cairo throws on his Fenrir wolf fur coat and grabs a slice of Odin's chocolate cake before marching out the door into the oncoming storm of paparazzi who have already gotten wind of Odin's pending litigation in Atlantis.
Odin: Damn those hippie bitches. Leakin my shit to the press.
Odin scowls as he walks out the front door of the mansion, shoving reporters to the side and stomping on their necks when they find themselves trampled to the ground in this sea of tabloid inhumanity. Welcome to the fish bowl. Welcome to the pariah tank. Welcome to their clever little game, the hems and haws of a mainstream press turned sour, looking for a scandal and a scoop. Governor Cairo and his Lieutenant Balfore will crack down upon these insolent fools, but not now. Not yet. They have far more important matters to which they must attend.
Cairo: Stamos, handle these fools.
Stamos nods his head in perfect understanding. He reaches into a black case and pulls out a sniper rifle complete with scope. One by one Stamos picks off the media, while Cairo and Odin hop into their solid gold ubersleigh of death.
Cairo: On, Donner! On, Blitzen! On, Rudolph! On, Rihanna! Onward to Poonlantis!
Cairo cracks his tyrant's whip. The reindeer plus Rihanna pull the sleigh into perpetual motion as the entire vessel takes flight, carrying The Thickness and their many bags of very thick luggage to the mystical and once-thought mythical land of Atlantis.
Chapter VIII: "Best Laid Trap"
Deep within the polar ice caves of Greenland, MAVERICK plots his next move while The Odinator smashes that stripper poon. MAVERICK is deep in thought until that process is broken by the satisfying crunch of broken pelvis and exploded hearts. MAVERICK gets up from his state of meditation and looks over to The Odinator with anger and surprise.
MAVERICK: What is the meaning of this? You dare break my concentration with the breaking of this skank's spine? You are The Odinator. The Terminator. The Eliminator of Odin Balfore. Why in blue hell are you smashing the poon?
The Odinator stands up, pants off, a bit of metal skeleton showing from his thighs and midsection.
Odinator: Data indicates that such an act would calm the prisoner. It is also well known that Odin will be able to smell the desecration of his poon from anywhere in the world. The trap has been laid. When Odin Balfore gets here, his life force will be extinguished.
MAVERICK: Oh yeah? If that's such a good idea, then why haven't I thought of it?
Odinator: Probability of success, 91 percent.
MAVERICK: I got it! I'll have sexual relations with this woman and the sheer power of my loins will challenge the mojo of Odin and he'll have to defend his honor! It's brilliant! It's perfect!
“That shit's fuckin dumb.”
MAVERICK: What? Who said that?
MAVERICK looks around. It's only the three of them in the cave. At least he thinks there’s only three of them in the cave. He peers around and looks back towards the entrance. A tall lengthy man stands at the mouth of the cave with a classic goalie's mask on his face. Long black hair partially skews the view as it's complemented by a white muscle shirt and ripped jeans. The man has a wooden baseball in his hands and begins to rap in his palm in annoyance.
Man: Do you mind telling me what you're doing with my sexy little bitch over there? Hmm?
MAVERICK: Who in the hell is that? John Stamos?
Odinator: By appearance it resembles Canadian athlete and ice hockey player Wayne Gretzky on what sensors indicate to be some sort of metabolic enhancer.
MAVERICK's face turns beet red, filling with rage. He looks at The Odinator and screams in anger.
MAVERICK: GGAAHHH!!
Man: Odin?
MAVERICK gets a great idea and runs with it to try and sneak off.
MAVERICK: Yes, YES! That man right there is Odin Balfore. The real Odin Balfore! Not me but that guy right there! And he just fucked your bitch.
Man: Tell me, who are you then?
MAVERICK: I, I- I'm just a simple fisherman out for a pleasure stroll on polar bear infested ice flows. It's quite common this time of year.
Man: Common. Quite.
MAVERICK: But this? What are you gonna do about it? I mean, he fucked her good. Broke her pelvis and what not. I should probably get her to the hospital for ya... heh... yeah. Hospital. She could have internal bleeding.
Man: Look, Balfore, I don't wanna fight you.
MAVERICK: YES! Yes you do! He soiled your woman, you demand satisfaction.
Man: You. Go. Now.
MAVERICK: Right, right. Of course.
MAVERICK gets up and walks over to The Odinator.
MAVERICK: Make this quick. We have a schedule to keep. ONE is only a week away. We don't want someone else cashing in on MY half a million dollars! I don't want him following us!
MAVERICK picks up the stripper and sandbags her over his shoulder and begins to walk out of the cave and out of sight. The masked man approaches The Odinator.
Man: Look, Balfore, I don't wanna fight you. But you broke the code, you fucked my bitch -so- tough rocks.
The man twirls the bat around for a moment before getting into a fighting stance.
Man: The class is Pain 101. Your instructor is Phillip Baines!
Baines takes a powerful swing at The Odinator but the cyborg catches it with ease in his left hand and looks at it in curiosity.
Odinator: A baseball bat signed by American athlete and baseball player Jose Canseco? Inform me that you did not acquire this with currency?
Odinator snaps the bat in half with the squeeze of his fist. Baines backs off, now realizing that this thing in front of him isn't Odin Balfore.
Baines: Odin loves Jose Canseco. Who are you?
Odinator: I am a cybernetic entity constructed of the highest grade titanium alloys, built for the sole purpose of eliminating American wrestling legend and Poon Guinean Lieutenant, Odin Balfore.
Baines: That's nice. I was only being cordial in your last moments of life. I really don't give a fuck. You smashed my poon and now I'm going to smash your head.
Baines takes out a cricket club from the golf bag strapped to his back.
Odinator: Cricket?
Baines: Cricket? What the fuck is cricket?
Odinator: I will bestow upon you the processes of passing down knowledge from one being to another.
Baines and The Odinator square off and begin to circle each other. The Odinator charges but Baines just rears back and takes a massive swing with the club. He takes The Odinator's head off clean at the shoulder and sends it flying out of the cave and into a fjord some sixty yards away.
Baines: I knew I shoulda played for the Yankees last season.
Baines looks down at the prone and immobile Odinator and spits on him.
Baines: So long, freak. I got work to do.
Baines takes off out of the cave to catch up with MAVERICK and his bottom bitch, the curvaceous brunette of questionable morals who finds herself trapped in the clutches of a mad man.
Chapter IX: "Inter-Atlantian Incident"
The Thickness arrives in Atlantis in the solid gold ubersleigh of death, drawing much fanfare from the locals. Atlantian paparazzi surround the WCF Tag Team Champions and their Director of Security, trying to make an absurd spectacle of the proceedings. Odin rapidly grows annoyed by the intrusion of his personal space and readies to squash the paparazzi jobbers, but he is restrained by Cairo.
Cairo: No. This is exactly what I told you not to do. The entire way down here I told you, no international incidents.
Odin straightens out the collar of his denim jacket and steadies himself.
Odin: Shit's already an unthick travesty.
Cairo: Exactly. Don't go making it any worse. You got us into this mess, fuckin around with your dick in the middle of the ocean, fishin around for mer-bitches.
Odin: You smashed her too, you hypocrite!
Cairo: I smashed her ass poon, not the vajayjay. You think I'm trying to catch a paternity case like you, buddy, or them mer-bitch herps?
Stamos: Could be worse, Odie. The mer-bitch could have dragged your giant Nordic ass onto Maury.
Cairo: The results are in... Odin, you are the father!
"HAHAHAHAHA!" Cairo and Stamos laugh uproariously and slap high-fives. Odin snorts a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, the hatred rising up inside of his esophagus and committing horrible crimes against his stomach and intestines. Odin Balfore feels black death inside of his torso. How could an immortal Asgardian All-Father be dragged to the depths of such indignity? Like tag champs being booked to defend their belts against n00bs and jobbers. Odin shakes his head, staring at Cairo and Stamos with eyes filled of disdain.
Cairo stops and stares at his tag partner. He ceases his jocular yammering- straightens his posture and his brow.
Cairo: Odin, we're just trying to loosen the mood, my man. It is all in good fun. Do you remember when I was peeved about losing WAR a few months back, seething with hatred for my rivals and crestfallen by the depressive lows of failure?
Odin: Ay. The memory burns bright from within my cavernous conscience.
Cairo: You were there to support me with bitches, blow and good-natured ribbing. You snapped me out of my funk. From that moment henceforth I stopped giving a shit about WAR. I stopped giving a shit about failure, about shortcoming, about fear and depression. The fog lifted from my eyes and I could see clearly once again. It is not to say that I'll always be high, Odin. It is not to say that I'll always feel like jumping over the moon. I won't feel that good all the time, not even when I'm mainlining dope.
Stamos shakes his head knowingly.
Stamos: I know china white is that shit, but I can't help it- I love black tar. Shit gets me doped to my balls. Hell, I inject that shit straight into my balls. Feels almost as good as smashin the Rebecca Romijn-me poon.
Cairo: Exactly, but even while doped out to one's balls or smashin the Rebecca Romjin-this guy poon, one still feels the pain. One stills feel the moments of humility that keep us leveled. You have to. You can't abandon what makes you human.
Odin: I'm not human, Bobby. That's the point.
Cairo: My man, I don't get that about you. You want to straddle both sides of the fence. You want to rep Asgard. You want to rep Minnesota. You want to rep the immortals. You don't want to rep the humans. But then you do want to rep the humans. You got more personalities than raYne. Who are you? What are you? What makes Odin Balfore tick?
Odin: You prod me, Bobby Cairo? You demand answers? I don't answer to you. I don't answer to this court. I'm here in Atlantis, under the depths of the sea in a land thought to be lost for eternity, to do a little sightseeing and smash that Atlantian poon. You want humility? You want pain? Pain is listening to you talk, Bobby. Humility is me restraining myself from rearranging your facial features.
Stamos intervenes, stepping between the seven-foot Nordic Tank and the six-foot-plus Godfather. Not that Stamos could truly stop the two ring greats from throwing down amongst themselves if they wanted to, but he's trying his damnedest to keep the order. After all, these men- no, no- these gods sign his paychecks and keep him strung out on that good Poon Guinean dope.
Stamos: Guys, this isn't the time. Not here in front of the cameras. The court room's up ahead. The hearing should be starting shortly.
Cairo comports himself, straightens his silky mint julep shaded shirt.
Cairo: How is it that you know all of this, John Stamos?
Stamos: How do you think I get my hair so perfect?
Cairo: Blood of the unborn Atlantian children?
Stamos nods in agreement. Odin casts a skeptical scowl toward Stamos.
Odin: I question the extent of your knowledge, Stamos. In fact, I do more than question- I call bullshit. If you've bamboozled me, wasted my precious time, I will add your skull to my mantel.
Stamos: I don't operate under a cloak of secrecy, Odin. I have no alternate agenda. What you see is what you get when it comes to John Stamos. If I am deceiving the Asgardian War God then I should scalp my own hide and place it upon your mantel.
Odin, satisfied with Stamos's explanation, proceeds toward the courthouse. Odin's frame is so massive that he has trouble negotiating the relatively diminutive entrance of the court building. Flashbulbs pop, bang and crash as the humorous sight of Balfore attempting and failing to limbo through the doorway unfolds, Finally, tiring of the tedious exercise, Odin launches a devastating knock out punch to the arch of the doorway, easily smashing through it like the thickness smashes the poon, and clearing a path for his entrance. Stamos and Cairo follow in Odin's wake as security swells up behind them to block the throng of media from entering the courthouse.
Odin: Finally, some peace from those ticks and leeches. I tell you, lads, the entire ride here all I could think about was facing my accuser in the court room. How dare she sue The All-Father? How dare she expect the great Balfore to financially support his bastard child? You were granted the privilege of taking my load and you have the audacity of trying to encroach upon my wallet? Unthick capitalist greed. She must be smashed and I'm not speaking about the poon.
Cairo listens to his tag team partner's rant. The part about smashing the audacious hag appeals to him. Audacity and disrespect do not jive with Cairo's expectations of how wrestling gods and all-powerful leaders of a fledgling nation should be treated. Cairo thinks about the disrespect that Sarah Twilight has shown Odin and himself. The disrespectful act of throwing any and all WCF newcomers into a battle royal to determine tag team contendership. A battle royal to determine opponents for the most dominant tag team to grace this company since the Man Made Gods three years earlier. It's no wonder why WCF is falling apart at the seams: World title challengers being thrown into jail weeks before a scheduled pay-per-view main event. Nazi doctors challenging steroid junkies for America's Red, White and Blue Championship. Adam Young and Jorge Diaz being booked on the most prestigious pay-per-view card of the year... and against each other, no less.
N00bs, jobbers and mid-card bums scrapping it out for the right to be crucified by The Thickness seems like it's par for the course these days. That doesn't make it right. That doesn't make it just. Cairo is deeply dissatisfied as the door to the court room swings open. He takes his seat next to Stamos on one of the long wooden bench seats. Googly-eyed spectators watch in awe as Odin Balfore approaches the podium to address the court.
Odin: Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the court, my name is Odin Balfore. I have traveled a great distance to be here today, traversing through snow and sleet and tidal waves and tundras to address the most unthick accusations that have been leveled at myself by this court. I am accused of fathering a bastard child and failing to make adequate financial payments of support, yes?
The unthick judge wearing the unthick glasses and the unthick robe nods her unthick head.
Odin: I fail to see how this can be possible when I have never procreated with one of your fine Atlantian bitches. Have I desired to? Of course. My loins burn with passion for the mer-bitches.
The gallery gasps and cries in horror at the irreverent diatribe of The All-Father. The judge bangs her gavel to restore order.
Judge: Balfore, you are facing very serious allegations. Here in Atlantis we view failure to pay child support as an attack on the nuclear family itself. You were summoned to this court for the express purpose of determining whether you are the father of this child and, if so, how much you will pay in support. We have subpoenaed your financial records--
Odin: Your honor, that's impossible. All of my money is tied up in offshore accounts. You can't possibly have access to that information.
Judge: Oh but we are good, Mr. Balfore. We are guuuuud.
The word rolls off the judge's tongue with a buttery almost sexual flourish.
Odin: I don't like the sound of that.
Cairo exits the court room and immediately gets on his cell phone, his finger hitting the speed dial button for his lawyers.
Cairo: Shit, no service here in Atlantis.
Back in the court room...
Judge: We've had a chance to analyze the DNA sample that you provided--
Odin: Your honor, I never provided a DNA sample.
Judge: When you placed your sweaty hamhock of a clobbering paw on that young girl's ass when you walked into the court room?
Odin: How the hell could you lift a DNA sample from her ass?
Judge: Again, we are guuuuuud.
Odin: This is absurd. You're running a kangaroo court, your honor.
The judge is handed a sheet of paper from the bailiff. The text on the paper is written in the same aqua colored squiggles as the letter received at the Governor's Mansion.
Judge: I hold in my hand the results of your DNA test, Mr. Balfore.
Odin: Oh? What say your magical test results that can be lifted from a bitch's ass?
Judge: You are the father of this mermaid's child.
Odin: Of course. Of course I am the father.
Odin twiddles his thumbs, pondering his options. He could whip out his dick and blow the courthouse sky high. He'd just have to flash the signal to Stamos and Cairo, give them time enough to slip out through the back door.
Odin: Your honor, I appreciate the court's findings. With all due respect, I move for the claim for financial support to be dismissed.
Judge: Under what grounds, Balfore?
Odin: As I see it, an immortal Asgardian warlord such as myself has no responsibility for paying support to a mere sea-dwelling mer-bitch.
Further gasps and shrieks of horror and outrage engulf the court room and this time even the banging of the judge's gavel is not enough to silence them. In the midst of this furor, an unnoticed guest has crashed the proceedings. The terminator version of Odin's raccoon friend Gilligan has gunned down the entire team of courthouse marshals and has the judge squarely in his sights. The sound of gunfire ricochets through the court room as the judge catches a bullet dead between the eyes and falls sprawled onto the table in front of her, blood rippling from her wound.
Odin: Well, this is certainly advantageous.
Odin, Cairo and Stamos draw their firearms and take aim at the cyborg raccoon as the spectators from the gallery flee in terror while screaming at the top of their lungs. Grown mer-men and mer-bitches flee the scene, not even caring if they leave their children behind.
Odin: This is where it ends, Gil. Your reign of terror has gone on long enough. I'm bringing you in.
Gilligan: ... ....... .... .......... ... .... ... ...
Odin: My man, that's the craziest shit I've ever heard you say. 98% chance of collecting the half a mill bounty? You know me better than that. You want the half a mill? You better kill me because as long as I got a breath in my body--
The round of gunfire from Gilligan's Bushmaster barely misses Odin, who ducks behind one of the bench seats in the gallery.
Odin: Oh this nig is crazy. You a dead man, Gil! You dead, motha fucka!
Odin jumps up with both barrels blazing from his Desert Eagles, clipping Gil at the knee cap and dropping him while Cairo and Stamos provide cover with their Glocks. Odin approaches the downed cyborg raccoon and puts a boot to his throat.
Odin: Sorry it had to come to this, my friend, but you broke the G-code. Never break the G-code.
Odin puts a final round of bullets into Gilligan's skull, silencing the robotic woodland creature for good. Sparks fly as Gilligan's internal computer system falters and dies.
Odin: What the fuck? A Gilligan terminator? Goddamn you, MAVERICK! I thought I just killed my best friend!
Stamos: Your best friend is a cyborg raccoon assassin from another dimension?
Cairo pats Stamos on the shoulder.
Cairo: My man, why don't we grab a bite to eat? I think Odin needs some time alone. It's been a long day for him.
Stamos nods and escorts Cairo outside where they happen upon a street corner vendor selling Atlantian brews and top grade oyster and caviar. Back inside the court room, Odin slumps to a seated position on the bench, ignoring the death and bloodshed that surrounds him and focusing only on his internal conflict. Maybe... maybe it could have worked out. Odin Balfore, the Asgardian All-Father, a dad to a bastard child of a dead mer-bitch? Maybe... NO. Never.
"Excuse me. Are you Odin Balfore?"
Odin cocks his head to the side, looks the woman over from bottom to top and front to rear. She is an attractive blonde with modest tits and striking dimples.
Odin: You speak to me?
Woman: Yes. I'm Reese Witherspoon. I'm here to protect you.
Odin: Protect me? From what?
Reese: You. I've been sent here from the future by one of your constituents to ensure your survival.
Odin looks down at the destroyed raccoon cyborg.
Odin: Well as you can see, Reese “I'm bout to smash ya poon.” I have things well in hand.
Reese: You do now, but they won't stop until you're dead.
Odin: Look, unless the next words out of your mouth are the gagging torments of my thickness, do not speak to me as the one who is in need of help. I have gunned down not only my attacker but this imposter of my best friend. I stand atop WCF, the most dominant tag team champion in recent memory and for once in this company, such claims are undeniable truths. There is no aid you can offer The Thickness except for being one of our bottom bitches.
Odin looks back down at the dead raccoon and lets out a massive roar that shakes the foundation of the building.
Odin: I am a god! You cannot kill a god! You cannot defeat a god! I stand before the world and WCF a living, breathing instrument of immortality. Along with the rival strengths of Bobby Cairo, we stand amongst mortals like giants to ants. To WCF, all look up and cannot even see our loins hanging down, ready to teabag them at the drop of a card. They look up and cannot see our fists ready to strike down like hammers, shaping the will and souls of men like ever glowing steel. These men in the battle royal, they all know their fate is grim and bleak in the hands of The Thickness. NO combination of team or teams shall defeat us with aims of capturing the unattainable. The Thickness will prevail, Reese Witherspoon. Your services are not required. I do not ask for them. I do not need them. Go tend to Bobby's loins. For there is a moment that I need to myself.
Reese: But I was sent here by yo-
Odin: GO!
Odin barks a thunderous shout that causes the ceiling to partially collapse as Reese runs out of the court room, fearing for her life.
