🚀 go-pugleaf

CONTINUED FROM PART 1 IMMEDIATELY PRECEDING

*****

*bark* *bark* *squish* *squish* *slide* *slide*

Al heard the strange sounds getting closer too him up ahead.  However
he couldn't see up ahead all that well.  Everything was covered in a
light fluffy white cream.

"Devil Dogs!" he yelled as he began to take a hard left toward
Tartarus a.k.a. the downbelow a.k.a. Hell(tm)'s warehouse.  The dogs
followed.

*bark* *bark* *squish* *squish* *slide* *slide*

"Shit!"  Al cried out as an 18-wheeler began to cross his path.
Fortunately, at that time one of the dogs spit a stream of the light
fluffy white cream in front of Al.

*splorge*

This cause his bike to swerve parallel to the truck and lean over,
almost on its side.  Allowing Al and the Harley-Davidson Sportster
from Hell(tm) to safely slide underneath the truck and out the other
side.  Why?  Because the Author thought it would look neat.

He righted the bike, and continued off toward the direction of the
warehouse.  The Devil Dogs were still on his tail.

*bark* *bark* *squish* *squish* *slide* *slide*

He drove up the entrance ramp, and in through the shipping and
receiving door.  Inside he saw Sisyphus nearing the top of an easy
access ramp with a huge can of leftover bean dip.  If he could just
time this right.  He sped up slightly.

*va-vrooom*

*bark* *bark* *squish* *squish* *slide* *slide*

"Woah, woah, woah, ah!" cried Sisyphus as the can slipped from his
grasp.  "Ooops, there goes another one.  Almost had it that time too.
Look out below!!!"

The can rolled down the ramp.  "Just a little further." Al muttered
concentrating on the timing of this maneuver.

*va-vrooom*

Al raced past the end of the ramp, just before the can came rolling
by.  Unfortunately, the dogs weren't able to stop in time.

*thwoo* *thwoo* *thwoo* *thwoo* *thwoo*

The can rolled through the Devil Dogs scattering dark brown, vaguely
cake-like substance, and light fluffy white cream all over the
warehouse.

"Damn kids!"  Sisyphus yelled after Al, "Hey, whose gonna clean this
stuff up!"

Al rode out the other side of the warehouse, a huge smile on his face.

*****

A door off to the side of Satan's office opened up, and a Space Marine
from Hell(tm) stepped through carrying a glowing sphere the size of a
basketball.  "Sir, I have that Phased Induction Hellfire Bomb you
asked for."

"Excellent.  You there.  Elite trooper."  Satan said pointing at one
of the troopers milling about his command center waiting for orders.
"I want you, and your men to take this bomb to my son's restaurant.
Set it, and wait outside for him.  If he makes it out of Hell(tm), I
want you to blow that place up, and him with it."

"But sir..."  the Space Marine from Hell(tm) began to say as he was
handing the bomb to the trooper.

"No buts!  Now shoo, gowan, get back to the fleet."  Satan said making
shooing motions.

The Marine wandered off back through the door, wondering if he should
have told Satan about the timer.

*****

Charcoal.  That was about all Al could smell as he approached the
Happy Cooking Grounds, land of the eternal Labor Day picnic.  It
wasn't the best route to take, but since his little detour through the
warehouse, it was the fastest route, and this was taking far to long
already as it was.

He stopped not far from the edge of the Happy Cooking Grounds.  It
wasn't a very pretty sight--Hell(tm) wasn't very nice to short order
cooks.  When one entered this area, it would be forced upon the hot
charcoal by the Barbecue Pit Demons.  Then they'd begin lathering it
up with Barbecue sauce using their big brush-like hands.

They would continue to baste the soul for almost an hour as that's
about how long it takes for a soul to cook.  The souls would then be
served by the rich (who were now forced to serve) to the bulimic.
They would then...do their bulimic thing, thus...reprocessing the soul
to begin the whole process over again.  Like I said, it wasn't very
pretty.

It was about this time that a huge chunk of charcoal landed about 5
feet from Al and exploded in a big cloud of black dust.

*thunk* *fwoom*

And another.

*thunk* *fwoom*

And another.

*thunk*  *fwoom*

It was the Barbecue Pit Demons.  Al revved his bike and headed in.  He
had to cut his speed slightly in order to be able to safely allow him
to avoid the projectiles.

However, this allowed the bulimics to move in.  They began projectile
vomiting in his general direction.  Like I said above, it wasn't a
pretty sight, so we'll just skip right over it.  Suffice it to say,
after making it through the Happy Cooking Grounds, Al looked akin to
having been tarred and feathered, only with charcoal dust and vomit
instead.

*****

*bzzzt* *bzzzt* *bzzzt*

Ah, it was the infernal woman again.  He smiled, it wasn't long now
until he'd get to fire her.

*bzzzt* *bzzzt* *bzzzt*

Satan quickly reconfigured his command console for intercom mode, "Yes
woman, what is it now?"

"Sir, the troopers you sent to your son's restaurant called in to say
that they're in position, and the bomb is set."

"Excellent, thank you Brenda."  He let go of the intercom button and
breathed a sigh of relief.  Soon this would all be over, and no one
but him would know his little secret.

*bzzzt* *bzzzt* *bzzzt*

Bashing in the console, he bellowed into the intercom, "What?!?!?"

"Sir, I forgot to let you know that Charon released the soma demons
you asked for."

"I'm sure you did."  Satan said, swearing to himself (once again) that
this woman was indeed doing it to him on purpose.

*****

Al wheeled the Harley-Davidson Sportster from Hell(tm) into the
kitchen of Kernel Fong Junior's Down Home Southern Delights, through
the back entrance.  He and the bike were covered in what appeared to
be a black sooty goo.  He grabbed the spray nozzle on the sink and
began hose down himself and the bike.

A trooper peeked into the kitchen from the main dining room.  He
smiled, sneaked to the front entrance, and went outside.

*****

A trooper came running from the front door up to the squad of other
troopers.  "huff...huff...he's in there huff...huff...set off the
bomb."

"Cool." replied the trooper with the remote detonator.  He pressed the
button, and nothing happened.

They looked at each other and chorused, "What?  No ka-boom.  There was
supposed to be a loud, earth shattering ka-boom."

*****

Al wheeled his bike out of the kitchen, and into the main dining room.
He and it were soaking wet, and staining the floor.  That was when he
heard, "T minus 30 seconds to detonation..."

The first thought through his mind was "Shit!!!"

"T minus 25 seconds..."

The second thought through his mind was get the papers, and whatever
else he could.  He ran into his office, and grabbed the photo-copies
of the pages from his father's book out of his desk drawer.

"T minus 15 seconds..."

He then grabbed the only three souvenirs he could think of, an ash
tray, a book of matches, and a menu.

"T minus 10 seconds..."

He took a quick glance at the dessert portion of the menu, smiling at
item #49 Radian & Shadebeam.  Whipped cream extra.

"T minus 5 seconds..."

He hopped on his bike, and it started.

"4..."

He revved the engine.

"3..."

He began moving forward toward the door.

"2..."

He crashed through the plate glass.

"1..."

And skidded to a halt on the sidewalk across the street.

"0..."

Then suddenly, and with an awful lot of warning, there was a loud and
not quite so earth shattering ka-boom.

             K   K   A       BBBB   OOO   OOO  M   M  !!
             K  K   A A      B   B O   O O   O MM MM  !!
             KKK    AAA  *** BBBB  O   O O   O M M M  !!
             K  K  A   A     B   B O   O O   O M   M
             K   K A   A     BBBB   OOO   OOO  M   M  !!

*****

The troopers looked at each other and one said, "Cool beans, it isn't
every day you get to see really cool explosions like that up close."

He then promptly got smacked in the head with a randomly flying
kitchen utensil.

In fact they all did.

Sidestepping a butcher knife, one of them tapped the shoulder of the
trooper with the detonator, and pointing at Al said, "Ummm...we didn't
get him, sir"

"Damn!  We'd better radio this in."

*****
*bzzzt* *bzzzt* *bzzzt*

Further smashing the intercom panel, Satan bellowed, "Yes?!?!?"

"Sir, the troopers stationed at the restaurant just reported in."

"And?"

"Well sir, they managed to blow up the restaurant."

"And?"

"They missed your son, sir."

"Let me get this straight, they had a 50-60ft blast radius to work
with and they missed him?"

"It would appear so, sir."

"Fine, tell them to engage him." he said releasing the intercom
button.

*****

"He says we should engage him, sir" the comm trooper said.

"Anyone know what happened to the last group that engaged him?" said
the trooper who until recently held the detonator.

"They're all dead again, sir."

"Well this sucks."

*****

A huge, toothy, and thoroughly evil grin began to form across his
face.  Satan T. Lucifer Jones called into the darkness of his office,
"Mr. O'Lator...Efrian...how'd you like to help me out."

"Any way I can, sir." Efrian said stepping out of the darkness.

"Excellent."  He said calming slightly.  If this didn't work, then
nothing probably would.  He pressed what was left of the intercom once
more, which was remarkably still working, "Brenda?"

"Yes sir."

"Can you have a team of medical specialists rounded up and brought to
my office immediately?"

"Of course, sir."

With eyes all but popping out of his head, Efrian spat out,
"M...M...Medical s...s...specialists?"

"Yes, you'll be needing a few modifications.  Don't worry, it won't
hurt a bit."

"Whew!  I was worried there for a moment."

Smiling Satan said, "It will hurt a lot."

WILL IT HURT A LOT?

WHAT'S SATAN GOING TO DO TO EFRIAN?

WHY ISN'T IT EVERY DAY YOU GET TO SEE REALLY COOL EXPLOSIONS LIKE THAT
UP CLOSE?

DEVIL DOGS?

BARBECUE PIT FIENDS?

PHASED INDUCTION HELLFIRE BOMB?

WHY DID THOSE COPS KNOW SO MUCH?

ERNEST ZANE RITER--WHO THINKS THIS STUFF UP?

I do, and you can only find it here in the next episode of...

                             SUPERGUY!!!

Watch what you're thinking, the soma demons are on the prowl.


                                        ---> Todd <---

Todd D. Perlmutter                      "I'm a firm believer, that no matter
Media Child                              what, the worst possible best thing
Paragon Imaging Inc.                     will always occur.  I guess that
Woburn Massachusetts                     makes me a pessimistic optimist."
toddp@paragon.com                                             --- Me

Note: If you think my views represent those of my company then you're mistaken.