“Oh, indeed it is!” the man replied enthusiastically. “The unique blend of herbs and spices and the meticulous attention and care given to the way it is cooked all combine together into a delicious medley of fried chicken and sauce that can only be described as a gastronomic roller coaster experience that your taste buds will sure to be thankful for.”
“Oh, my!”
“Why,” he added, “the Corporal himself came personally and personally endorsed the dish to restaurant patrons this very morning. The restaurant will be holding an event this evening to officially introduce the dish and all are invited to attend.”
The woman laughed. “I'll be sure to tell my husband then. If there's one thing that man really knows how to appreciate, it's a good chicken dish.”
And with that, the woman left. The man was set to hand out flyers again when Mallet Girl called out to him.
“Yo, Fried Chicken Wing Guy! There a place around here where a girl can get a good cup of joe?”
Thus he was dubbed and known henceforth and forever more as Fried Chicken Wing Guy.
But unbeknownst to the good citizens of downtown Axion Plus, he was in reality none other than Henchman#626! The ninth strongest member of Alpha Phi Omegatron Delta Force, the elite ninja army created by the super villainess mastermind Delicious Victoria Delight, Tofu Mistress of Mystery, to infiltrate fastfood restaurants throughout the world and replace all their meaty ingredients with tofu-based substitutes. Mu-ha-ha-ha!
Fried Chicken Wing Guy froze. He recognized the voice instantly. He could never forget that terrible voice. How could he? It sent an arctic chill of absolute horror up and down his spine. M-M-Mallet Girl? It couldn't be!
The Alpha Phi Omegatron Delta Force had tangled with Mallet Girl once before. With disastrous consequences. Half the army decimated and years of careful planning and preparation ruined and flushed down the crapper. What's worse, their beloved skull-shaped tofu factory was destroyed, lost to a giant sinkhole that Mallet Girl had inadvertently caused. That's what she claimed at least.
It was all an accident she said. It wasn't her fault. Who knew striking that massive pillar at the particular spot would cause it to fall through the floor and send it crashing down three levels into the basement, setting off a chain reaction of events that resulted in the formation of that massive sinkhole? Talk about shoddy workmanship.
None of them believed her, of course. This monster girl. This demon in girl's clothing.
Slowly, Fried Chicken Wing Guy turned, praying as he did to all the tofu gods, both real and imagined, that his ears had deceived him.
But they hadn't. It really was Mallet Girl!
Years of rigorous martial arts training and eleven and half weeks of danger assessment and workplace sensitivity seminars kicked in. Dropping the flyers, he leapt back and took a defensive combat stance, much to bewilderment of Mallet Girl.
“Whaaa...!?” she ejaculated.
“Mallet Girl!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy confronted her. “I don't know how you've found us out this time but I won't allow you to ruin our plans again!”
Mallet Girl was quite dumbfounded and she could do naught but stare back at him.
Understandably, the man's mind was racing. He had to do something. Fast. “Aaahhh, do something!” he implored himself. “Do we fight? Or flee? Think, man! Fight or flight? Fight or flight, Fried Chicken Wing Guy, I mean Henchman#626? Fight or flight?”
He considered the blank look Mallet Girl was giving him. It really didn't take him all that long to decide.
“Aw, crap!” he cried out loud. “Flight!”
And with that, poor Fried Chicken Wing Guy bolted. He fled as fast as his sinewy legs could take him, screaming at the top of his lungs.
“What the...?” Mallet Girl exclaimed. “Hey! Come back here! I don't know what's going on here but that sure looked mighty suspicious. Come back here and answer my question!”
She drew a mallet from the holster at her back and ran after the costumed man.
Alias Uno had been talking to a convenience store worker and, thus delayed, was just now arriving. He had missed everything that had just transpired and was completely surprised to see Mallet Girl chasing after a screaming Fried Chicken Wing Guy, her weapon drawn and poised to strike.
“Huh!? Mallet Girl!” he shouted. “Where the heck are you going? I thought we were getting lunch!”
But Mallet Girl paid him no heed and just kept on running.
He watched her disappear in the distance. “What the heck just happened?” he wondered out lout, scratching his head in consternation.
The bystanders around him could only shrug in apology. They may have witness what had happened but they were, all of them, pretty much in the same boat. They were just as confused as he was.
Meanwhile just a few blocks away, Gazpacho of the Andes was in his run-down apartment, watching the clouds lazily drift by in the bright, blue sky through the only window in the room. He was on the phone.
“You have twenty-four hours,” he was saying. I'll contact you again and tell you when and where to drop the money.”
“This is outrageous!” the man on the other end of line protested. “I can't possibly put together that much money in such a short time!”
“Give us back our baby!” a woman's voice could be heard weeping.
Monday, August 31, 2020
Tuesday, August 11, 2020
PAGE 28 TO PAGE 30
Alias Uno threw up his arms in exasperation. It's made of fiberglass!”
“Oooh, perfect!” replied Mallet Girl. “I have just the mallet for smashing fiberglass. Thank you, Steven! You're the best!”
“Mally, no.”
“What?”
“No. Just no.”
“Oh, alright,” Mallet Girl reluctantly agreed. “Hey! You called me Mally! I thought I told you to never call me by my real name in public!”
“What?” Aliast Uno stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to react. “Wait, Mally's not your--”
“Ssshhhhhh!” Mallet Girl went. “Not so loud. You know that and I know that but people around here don't.”
Alias Uno continued staring at her. She looked so serious. If she had been fooling around at his expense, she gave no hint of it whatsoever, which was quite unlike her. Indeed, Malled Girl was possessed of many skills, chiefest of which was, of course, wielding her beloved mallets, but poker face was definitely not among them. She couldn't bluff her wait out of a gullible people convention for the life of her. “What?”
“What?” Mallet Girl stared back at him, equally confused.
“Ungh,” Alias Uno muttered then, holding the side of his head with his right hand. His head was throbbing again; pretty soon he'll be suffering through a full-blown migraine attack if this continued any longer. Time and time again, he had reminded himself never to get into an argument or confrontation with Mallet Girl but she just seemed to have a knack for getting his goat, for provoking him.
Slowly, he shook his head. Again. “Just let me do the talking from now on. At the rate you're going, we'll be here all day. We've already wasted most of the morning as it is.”
“Hey,” Mallet Girl protested, “I'm a pretty good bounty hunter, I'll have you know!”
“Yeah? Well, I'm not the one who just spent a couple of hours arguing with the ordering console of the Mac-In-A-Cup drive-thru. I'm not the one who insisted on following those footprints, clearly just newly painted on the sidewalk and an obvious advertising gimmick, all the way to the old shoe flea market. And I'm certainly not the one who threatened that poor, blind fellow with grievous bodily harm.”
“Oh, come on,” Mallet Girl retorted. “You can't blame that one on me. He looked mighty suspicious to me and I'm still pretty sure he knew where that Pistachio guy was holed up.”
“Gazpacho of the Andes,” Alias Uno corrected her.
“Whatever. That guy kept on insisting he hadn't seen anything. I got angry. So sue me.”
“He was blind! He couldn't have possibly seen Gazpacho of the Andes. Or anything else for that matter.”
“Well, how was I suppose to know that?” cried Mallet Girl. “It's not as if he was wearing a sign or something.”
“He did have a sign on him!” Alias Uno exclaimed. “There was cardboard sign hanging from his neck. It said 'Pity the Blind Foundation'. He had on dark, blind man glasses. And he had a cane, not to mention the guide dog.”
“Oh, fine!” Mallet Girl pouted, folding her arms and turning her back on her sidekick. “We'll do it your way. But don't blame me if get nowhere. I was on the verge of a breakthrough, too. I could feel it in my gut.”
Alias Uno let out a relieved sigh. He should put this on his blog. It wasn't often he won an argument with Mallet Girl. Not without getting a mallet to the face anyways.
“But first, let's take a short break,” Mallet Girl said then. “Bounty-hunting's thirsty work. I'm parched! Hungry, too. Must be getting close to lunchtime already.”
“Mallet Girl...” Alias Uno muttered.
But Mallet Girl wasn't listening. She was already walking away. “I'm in the mood for some extra-extra-caffeinated mocha latte chino with coffee bean sugar bombs and nata. Yeah,” she declared. “And a family-sized bacon, ham, and cheese sandwich with extra wasabi mayo.”
Alias Uno let out another sigh. An exasperated one this time. “I give up,” he said to himself. “I suppose it is time for a little break.” Besides, Mallet Girl appeared to be in one of her moods again. Huh. Must be that time of the month again.
He groaned. Mallet Girl was nigh insufferable whenever she got impatient for her monthly copy of the Malleteers Digest to arrive in the post. He prayed that the magazine will arrive early this month.
Mallet Girl suddenly shrieked with delight and excitement. She pointed at something across the street. “Oh, oh!” she exclaimed. “Look! A new hardware store is opening!”
“Don't even think about it, Mallet Girl,” Alias Uno cried. “You heard Jenna. No more shopping sprees until all the bills are paid.”
“Sigh... I know, I know. Until all the bills are paid. Whoopeee...”
In the meantime, a couple of buildings down the stree, just around the corner, a man in a full-body fried chicken wing suit was handing out flyers to passers-by. He was standing in front of the Kansas Fricasseed Chicken restaurant, the new one, not the old one, for things would have turned out differently indeed had it been the latter. For right beside the old Kansas Fricasseed Chicken restaurant were located the offices of the White Queen Courier and Laundry Services, the base of operation of the buxom, bonny lass Rivet Jane, self-proclaimed rival of Mallet Girl and doom of everything mallet-related.
A woman in a plain, blue dress and white apron stood in front of him. She carried a canvass shopping bag filled with groceries in one hand a flyer in the other. She was reading the flyer, a dubious look on her face. “Fried chicken wing caramel fricassee?” she asked. “Oh, my. Sounds...delightful?”
“Oooh, perfect!” replied Mallet Girl. “I have just the mallet for smashing fiberglass. Thank you, Steven! You're the best!”
“Mally, no.”
“What?”
“No. Just no.”
“Oh, alright,” Mallet Girl reluctantly agreed. “Hey! You called me Mally! I thought I told you to never call me by my real name in public!”
“What?” Aliast Uno stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to react. “Wait, Mally's not your--”
“Ssshhhhhh!” Mallet Girl went. “Not so loud. You know that and I know that but people around here don't.”
Alias Uno continued staring at her. She looked so serious. If she had been fooling around at his expense, she gave no hint of it whatsoever, which was quite unlike her. Indeed, Malled Girl was possessed of many skills, chiefest of which was, of course, wielding her beloved mallets, but poker face was definitely not among them. She couldn't bluff her wait out of a gullible people convention for the life of her. “What?”
“What?” Mallet Girl stared back at him, equally confused.
“Ungh,” Alias Uno muttered then, holding the side of his head with his right hand. His head was throbbing again; pretty soon he'll be suffering through a full-blown migraine attack if this continued any longer. Time and time again, he had reminded himself never to get into an argument or confrontation with Mallet Girl but she just seemed to have a knack for getting his goat, for provoking him.
Slowly, he shook his head. Again. “Just let me do the talking from now on. At the rate you're going, we'll be here all day. We've already wasted most of the morning as it is.”
“Hey,” Mallet Girl protested, “I'm a pretty good bounty hunter, I'll have you know!”
“Yeah? Well, I'm not the one who just spent a couple of hours arguing with the ordering console of the Mac-In-A-Cup drive-thru. I'm not the one who insisted on following those footprints, clearly just newly painted on the sidewalk and an obvious advertising gimmick, all the way to the old shoe flea market. And I'm certainly not the one who threatened that poor, blind fellow with grievous bodily harm.”
“Oh, come on,” Mallet Girl retorted. “You can't blame that one on me. He looked mighty suspicious to me and I'm still pretty sure he knew where that Pistachio guy was holed up.”
“Gazpacho of the Andes,” Alias Uno corrected her.
“Whatever. That guy kept on insisting he hadn't seen anything. I got angry. So sue me.”
“He was blind! He couldn't have possibly seen Gazpacho of the Andes. Or anything else for that matter.”
“Well, how was I suppose to know that?” cried Mallet Girl. “It's not as if he was wearing a sign or something.”
“He did have a sign on him!” Alias Uno exclaimed. “There was cardboard sign hanging from his neck. It said 'Pity the Blind Foundation'. He had on dark, blind man glasses. And he had a cane, not to mention the guide dog.”
“Oh, fine!” Mallet Girl pouted, folding her arms and turning her back on her sidekick. “We'll do it your way. But don't blame me if get nowhere. I was on the verge of a breakthrough, too. I could feel it in my gut.”
Alias Uno let out a relieved sigh. He should put this on his blog. It wasn't often he won an argument with Mallet Girl. Not without getting a mallet to the face anyways.
“But first, let's take a short break,” Mallet Girl said then. “Bounty-hunting's thirsty work. I'm parched! Hungry, too. Must be getting close to lunchtime already.”
“Mallet Girl...” Alias Uno muttered.
But Mallet Girl wasn't listening. She was already walking away. “I'm in the mood for some extra-extra-caffeinated mocha latte chino with coffee bean sugar bombs and nata. Yeah,” she declared. “And a family-sized bacon, ham, and cheese sandwich with extra wasabi mayo.”
Alias Uno let out another sigh. An exasperated one this time. “I give up,” he said to himself. “I suppose it is time for a little break.” Besides, Mallet Girl appeared to be in one of her moods again. Huh. Must be that time of the month again.
He groaned. Mallet Girl was nigh insufferable whenever she got impatient for her monthly copy of the Malleteers Digest to arrive in the post. He prayed that the magazine will arrive early this month.
Mallet Girl suddenly shrieked with delight and excitement. She pointed at something across the street. “Oh, oh!” she exclaimed. “Look! A new hardware store is opening!”
“Don't even think about it, Mallet Girl,” Alias Uno cried. “You heard Jenna. No more shopping sprees until all the bills are paid.”
“Sigh... I know, I know. Until all the bills are paid. Whoopeee...”
In the meantime, a couple of buildings down the stree, just around the corner, a man in a full-body fried chicken wing suit was handing out flyers to passers-by. He was standing in front of the Kansas Fricasseed Chicken restaurant, the new one, not the old one, for things would have turned out differently indeed had it been the latter. For right beside the old Kansas Fricasseed Chicken restaurant were located the offices of the White Queen Courier and Laundry Services, the base of operation of the buxom, bonny lass Rivet Jane, self-proclaimed rival of Mallet Girl and doom of everything mallet-related.
A woman in a plain, blue dress and white apron stood in front of him. She carried a canvass shopping bag filled with groceries in one hand a flyer in the other. She was reading the flyer, a dubious look on her face. “Fried chicken wing caramel fricassee?” she asked. “Oh, my. Sounds...delightful?”
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