Thursday, July 17, 2008

Ch. 9: West vs. Summer Cinema

I soared through the stratosphere of Hacknor, surveying the chaos below. My task was to don the metallic, almost robotic suit of Iron Man. As Nietzsche warned, I would become like the monsters I fought.

To seek the suit of Iron Man, I returned to Earth through the legendary Fire Island portal I used a few challenges ago. Hancock waited for me outside his favorite liquor store in LA.

“I heard you were running a hit on Iron Man,” he said. “Da~mn! Old Tony Stark’s drunker than I am and he still gets all the chicks. Every time I mack on some honey it turns out to be the end of the world or something. It’s just not right. Let’s take that suit of his, boy!”

Hancock led me to Stark’s domain, nestled alongside the California coast. Inside, we saw the Joker holding a gun to the head of Stark’s assistant, Pepper Potts.

“No!” Hancock said as he charged at the Joker, who shot at him as he pushed Ms. Potts aside. She was just a cardboard cut-out, used to lure Hancock into this lair (apparently, women are Hancock’s kryptonite). The Joker beat Hancock with a rubber chicken until he fell unconscious.

The Joker slung the unconscious Hancock over his shoulder and cried out, “He’ll be the perfect minion once the Scarecrow brainwashes him! Take care, Westy boy, and don’t take any wooden nickels!”

That was bad news, but I couldn’t be concerned. Others could handle that; my focus remained on Hacknor and the game. In the basement laboratory, I found Tony Stark lying dead in a pool of his own vomit, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels by his side. His gleaming iron suit hung in a glass case behind him.

I put on the suit and tried out its weapons. Pew! Pew! Pew! I shot holes in the laboratory walls. I heard something whimper. I accidentally shot some monster. I took pity on the poor alien-like thing, and mercifully ended its life with another blast, this time to the head.

Taking Iron Man’s suit, I returned to Hacknor and flew between the two armies. “Telmarines,” I said, “Hacknor has no quarrel with you. Return to Narnia and destroy the Pevensie bastards.” Seriously, I hate those kids. I hate them and their robotic devotion to that stupid talking lion. Anyway, I continued. “Golden Army, cease your battle. The Telmarines will leave.”

A Telmarine warrior spoke. “We cannot return to Narnia until we destroy this army. Their gold will help us pay the costs of war with Narnia, and they are but clockwork men.”

“Clockwork men? Like robots? Hell, I’ll be glad to help you fight them.”

With Iron Man’s suit, I blew away the Golden Army, and helped load the Telmarines’ horses with the precious debris.

“Good luck! Destroy Narnia and turn it into an alien paradise!”

In the now empty field, slick with the blood of a few fallen Telmarines, I stripped myself of that awesome, loathsome iron suit and dropped from the highest height I could fly to.

A small robot came to clear away the pieces of the broken suit. By this time I had enough of robots and the robotic, so I scooped up that pathetic little unit and destroyed it as well.

Destroying robots is my destiny.

3 comments:

captain koma said...

Short sweet too the point.

But you didn't make me laugh.

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator said...

Tony Stark died in a pool of his own vomit?

How many times did he have to throw up to fill the pool?

Mr. Bennet said...

I think Jon should win immunity for his comment to this post.