“Cute-looking sphinx though,” she thought.
“Hah! I'm too smart for the likes of you,” Fried Chicken Wing Guy taunted her. “You're gonna have to get up very early in the morning indeed to get one over me. No, siree, you can't fool me into revealing that the oh-so-obvious evil master plan my mistress concocted to corner the garlic salt market and thus bring the city to its knees was actually one big ruse and the her real target was the Kansas Fricasseed Chicken chain of restaurants all along. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“I understood nothing of what you just said,” Mallet Girl replied. “But it sure sounded might incriminating. I'm bringing you in!”
Fried Chicken Wing Guy blinked. He was confused but only for a moment. It quickly dawned upon him and he realized what he had just done. “Gaaahhh!” he cried, pulling at his hair in dismay. “You tricked me! I can't believe you tricked me! You're gonna pay for that!”
He thrusted both arms forward and held them straight, hands wide open, palms aimed at Mallet Girl. “Tofu Chain of Death!” he shouted. “Haaiiieeee!”
Mallet Girl instinctively braced herself. She had sensed the sudden rise in his fighting spirit and her body reacted before she could even think about it. She threw up her hands, her mallet still held tightly in one, and crossed her forearms defensively in front of her. “Waaaahhhhh!” she went, her eyes tightly shut.
But nothing happened.
“Huh?” she said, opening one eye to take a peek.
Fried Chicken Wing Guy was equally baffled, maybe even more so for he had practiced that very move countless of times until he had gotten it down pat. He could perform that move even in his sleep. There should have been very little chance that it would have failed him as miserably and as embarassingly as it had just now. “What?” he asked himself thus, even as he stared in disbelief at his hands.
It was only when his eyes strayed down to his body that his fatal error became evident.
“Gaaahhh!” he cried out loud, a horrified expression on his face. “I totally forgot! I'm not wearing my ninja henchman uniform!”
Mallet Girl couldn't help herself. For some reason, the situation just struck her as extremely hilarious that she began to giggle uncontrollably. “What an idiot! What an imbecile!” she chortled, pointing at Fried Chicken Wing Guy with her thumb whilst clutching at her stomach. “What a morooon!”
“Nooooo!” he went. “You shut up! You've made a fool of me for the last time, Mallet Girl. I was gonna take it easy on you and finish you off quickly with that move but seeing as how I can't do any more special attacks without my official ninja henchman gear -- patent pending -- I'm gonna have to settle this fight with basic henchman moves and you'll be oh-so-sorry cuz now you're going down hard.”
“Oh, bring it on!” Mallet Girl excitedly replied. She raised a clenched fist, challenging him to do just that. “I've tangled with tougher blokes than you. And that's way back in grade school. I'm not afraid of a little rough foreplay!”
“Grrrrr...wait.” Fried Chicken Wing Guy paused. He blinked. “What?”
“What?”
“Um...”
“Oh, never mind!” Mallet Girl exclaimed. With her trusty mallet clenched with both hands, she charged. “It's Mallet Time!”
Fists at the ready and poised to attack or defend, Fried Chicken Wing Guy responded in kind.
“Graaaaahhhhh!!!” he shouted.
“Yaaaaaahhhhhh!!!” yelled Mallet Girl.
And as the distance between the combatants shortened, a deep, thunderous voice suddenly boomed. “MALLET GIRL versus FRIED CHICKEN WING GUY – FIGHT!!!”
But it was all lost upon the two for so focused were they upon each other they heard not one word of it. They pounced upon each other as soon as they got within striking distance and proceeded to unleash one attack after another.
“Crescent Mallet Strike!” Mallet Girl hollered as she leapt up and struck Fried Chicken Wing Guy with a down mallet swing on her way down.
“Elite Henchman Salute!” cried Fried Chicken Wing Guy. He stepped back, saluted with his right hand, and then swiftly lunged forward for a karate chop to the side of Mallet Girl's neck.
“Tornado Smash!” Mallet Girl responded, spinning like a top for multiple hits with her mallet.
“Henchman Uppercut!” went Fried Chicken Wing Guy, the move basically a jab-jab-uppercut boxing combo.
“Babe Ruth Home Run Special!” Mallet Girl swung her mallet like a baseball bat.
“FPJ Fists of Flurry! Fried Chicken Wing Guy viciously clapped Mallet Girl on the ears then delivered a flurry of punches to her stomach, finishing the combination with another clap attack to her ears.
“Nutcracker--” Mallet Girl stopped in her tracks. Something had caught her attention. “Wait. What the heck is that?” she asked as she pointed at the space just above Fried Chicken Wing Guy.
“Huh?” He looked up. There, floating in mid-air, was long, red-outlined rectangle. “What the...!? What is that? Wait. Is that...? Hey, it is!” He looked at Mallet Girl. “It's a lifebar.”
Mallet Girl was perplexed. “A what?”
“A lifebar. You know, those things in arcade video games that tell you how much more damage your character can take before going down.”
Saturday, October 24, 2020
Friday, September 25, 2020
PAGE 34 TO PAGE 36
Gazpacho guffawed in maniacal amusement and mirth. “You'll give me the money and like it! I expect you to smile and thank me you hand it over. Be grateful! I could have easily asked for twice or even thrice that amount. You'll give me the money or you'll never see your precious darling Camille again. Unspoiled at least! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”
“You fiend!” the man cried. “You're nothing but a heartless, depraved monster!”
And Gazpacho laughed some more. “My, such flattery pleases me but it will not get me to lower my price. Oh, and do not bother contacting the police or having them trace this number. They will only trace it to the 7-Ate-9 convenience store on Aphid Street and I am nowhere remotely near that location. So says I, Gazpacho of the Andes! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”
And so he laughed and laughed and laughed until he could laugh no more and then he slammed the phone back on the rotary dialer on the table beside him. Slowly, he turned around to regard his two captives with slate-like beady eyes. There in the far corner of the sparsely-furnished room, both gagged and bound, were a little blond girl in a horseback riding outfit and her pretty pink pony.
Gazpacho of the Andes was a Latino man of average height and built, in his late twenties and with hair that was an impressive voluminous coif supported by copious amounths of extra-strength glossy wax; it was nearly as third as tall as he was. His chin and jaw were quite large and prominent and his straight mustache, very long and pointy. He was wearing a plain, white, V-necked T-shirt, torn and faded jeans, and a dirty pair of tennis shoes, which he donned without socks. He had on a cape and what a cape it was! Luxurious red velvet it was, with gold trim, a tall collar the height of his head, and long, pointy, crooked shoulders that reached more than a foot above his ears.
Rubbing his hands together, he grinned wickedly at the hapless, little girl and her pony, both of whom could only stare back at him with wide-eyed terror. They were both thinking pretty much the same thing, “Oh, please! Oh, please! Don't molest me! I'm too cute to be molested!”
Gazpacho continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Minutes passed. Still he continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Many more minutes passd. He glanced at the black cat clock hanging above the door. A quarter past eleven, it said. He went back to his gloating, grinning wickedly and rubbing his hands together.
Finally, he declared, “Ah, noon at last! Excellent! I always do my molesting on an empty stomach. Food always taste sweeter after a good molestation.”
“Noooooooo!!!” the little girl and her pony thought in unison.
Suddenly, the ceiling collapsed, dust and debris flying everywhere, and into the room tumbled Mallet Girl and Fried Chicken Wing guy, the two locked in deadly combat, exchanging fists, elbows, and knees as they fell.
They were instantly on their feet, standing at opposite ends of the room with the astonished Gazpacho staring at them, unable to move an inch. He was so shocked at this sudden interruption of his lunchtime plans that he simply stood there, rooted in place, and watched in silence as the two combatants sized each other up and considered their next move.
Mallet Girl stared at her opponent. It was clear that he was already exhausted and injured to boot. His fried chicken wing suit was all torn and ripped in several places. Still both the man and his costume had fared quite well all things considered. This man, this Fried Chicken Wing guy was better than she had anticipated. He was definitely trained in the finer arts of hand-to-hand combat.
Not that she cared much for the martial arts disciplines, being self-taught herself. Still she couldn't help but be impressed by the man's prowess. He had a critical eye and decent reflexes. And a strong arm, too. And his face wasn't all that bad looking. No wonder he had his own super villain name and costume. No doubt he'd also had his own them music and even a sidekick or a henchman or two. Yeah. He was just the kind of guy she could fall for.
Mallet Girl sighed. If only he wasn't wearing such a silly get-up.
“Feh, what am I thinking!” she thought to herself then. “Focus, girl. Focus! Now's not the time for such silly fantasies. A good cup of coffee is at stake. He's good. Yeah, but I'm definitely better.” She wiped sweat and grime from her left cheek and a little blood from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. “Heh. Heck yeah, I could take him. Just underestimated him a little, is all.”
Mallet Girl reckoned she could bring him down in five seconds flat. Less if she really put her hip into it. Yeah, she was just that good. She was enjoying the fight far too much to end it all too quickly though.
Still it had been quite the long morning and she badly needed a caffeine jolt, and sugar rush as well, to bring her back to her old perky self. Thus she decided to end the fight in thirty seconds instead of five, all in the name of fun and generosity.
She had lost her mallet on the rooftop so she drew another one from her back. “Alright, buster,” she said, “listen up. This is your last chance. I know you know something so you better fez up.”
“Hah!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy spat out vehemently. “I ain't telling you nothing! I'm taking all my secrets to the grave!”
“Oh, yeah?” Mallet Girl retorted. “We'll see about that! Better fez up already if you know what's good for you. I'm getting the location of that cafe out of you even if I have to beat it out of your brain. So make it easy on yourself and get with the talking! A girl's got a right to her coffee, you know.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he responded in turn. “Stop talking nonsense!”
“Whaa? Nonsense? You're the one who's making no sense whatsoever. I was just asking for directions. You're the one who suddenly started acting and screaming all crazy-like.”
“Hah! I'm on to you!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy smiled triumphantly, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You're just trying to confuse me, aren't you? You're messing with my mind! Well, I'm not falling for it, you hear? You, you, you sphinx you!”
Mallet Girl paused. “Sphinx?” An image of the Egyptian Sphinx but with her head instead and holding crossed mallets in its pause sprung to her mind amidst the sounds of a cricket chirping. A large bead of sweat formed on the side of her head. She was not amused. Not one bit.
“You fiend!” the man cried. “You're nothing but a heartless, depraved monster!”
And Gazpacho laughed some more. “My, such flattery pleases me but it will not get me to lower my price. Oh, and do not bother contacting the police or having them trace this number. They will only trace it to the 7-Ate-9 convenience store on Aphid Street and I am nowhere remotely near that location. So says I, Gazpacho of the Andes! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”
And so he laughed and laughed and laughed until he could laugh no more and then he slammed the phone back on the rotary dialer on the table beside him. Slowly, he turned around to regard his two captives with slate-like beady eyes. There in the far corner of the sparsely-furnished room, both gagged and bound, were a little blond girl in a horseback riding outfit and her pretty pink pony.
Gazpacho of the Andes was a Latino man of average height and built, in his late twenties and with hair that was an impressive voluminous coif supported by copious amounths of extra-strength glossy wax; it was nearly as third as tall as he was. His chin and jaw were quite large and prominent and his straight mustache, very long and pointy. He was wearing a plain, white, V-necked T-shirt, torn and faded jeans, and a dirty pair of tennis shoes, which he donned without socks. He had on a cape and what a cape it was! Luxurious red velvet it was, with gold trim, a tall collar the height of his head, and long, pointy, crooked shoulders that reached more than a foot above his ears.
Rubbing his hands together, he grinned wickedly at the hapless, little girl and her pony, both of whom could only stare back at him with wide-eyed terror. They were both thinking pretty much the same thing, “Oh, please! Oh, please! Don't molest me! I'm too cute to be molested!”
Gazpacho continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Minutes passed. Still he continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Many more minutes passd. He glanced at the black cat clock hanging above the door. A quarter past eleven, it said. He went back to his gloating, grinning wickedly and rubbing his hands together.
Finally, he declared, “Ah, noon at last! Excellent! I always do my molesting on an empty stomach. Food always taste sweeter after a good molestation.”
“Noooooooo!!!” the little girl and her pony thought in unison.
Suddenly, the ceiling collapsed, dust and debris flying everywhere, and into the room tumbled Mallet Girl and Fried Chicken Wing guy, the two locked in deadly combat, exchanging fists, elbows, and knees as they fell.
They were instantly on their feet, standing at opposite ends of the room with the astonished Gazpacho staring at them, unable to move an inch. He was so shocked at this sudden interruption of his lunchtime plans that he simply stood there, rooted in place, and watched in silence as the two combatants sized each other up and considered their next move.
Mallet Girl stared at her opponent. It was clear that he was already exhausted and injured to boot. His fried chicken wing suit was all torn and ripped in several places. Still both the man and his costume had fared quite well all things considered. This man, this Fried Chicken Wing guy was better than she had anticipated. He was definitely trained in the finer arts of hand-to-hand combat.
Not that she cared much for the martial arts disciplines, being self-taught herself. Still she couldn't help but be impressed by the man's prowess. He had a critical eye and decent reflexes. And a strong arm, too. And his face wasn't all that bad looking. No wonder he had his own super villain name and costume. No doubt he'd also had his own them music and even a sidekick or a henchman or two. Yeah. He was just the kind of guy she could fall for.
Mallet Girl sighed. If only he wasn't wearing such a silly get-up.
“Feh, what am I thinking!” she thought to herself then. “Focus, girl. Focus! Now's not the time for such silly fantasies. A good cup of coffee is at stake. He's good. Yeah, but I'm definitely better.” She wiped sweat and grime from her left cheek and a little blood from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. “Heh. Heck yeah, I could take him. Just underestimated him a little, is all.”
Mallet Girl reckoned she could bring him down in five seconds flat. Less if she really put her hip into it. Yeah, she was just that good. She was enjoying the fight far too much to end it all too quickly though.
Still it had been quite the long morning and she badly needed a caffeine jolt, and sugar rush as well, to bring her back to her old perky self. Thus she decided to end the fight in thirty seconds instead of five, all in the name of fun and generosity.
She had lost her mallet on the rooftop so she drew another one from her back. “Alright, buster,” she said, “listen up. This is your last chance. I know you know something so you better fez up.”
“Hah!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy spat out vehemently. “I ain't telling you nothing! I'm taking all my secrets to the grave!”
“Oh, yeah?” Mallet Girl retorted. “We'll see about that! Better fez up already if you know what's good for you. I'm getting the location of that cafe out of you even if I have to beat it out of your brain. So make it easy on yourself and get with the talking! A girl's got a right to her coffee, you know.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he responded in turn. “Stop talking nonsense!”
“Whaa? Nonsense? You're the one who's making no sense whatsoever. I was just asking for directions. You're the one who suddenly started acting and screaming all crazy-like.”
“Hah! I'm on to you!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy smiled triumphantly, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You're just trying to confuse me, aren't you? You're messing with my mind! Well, I'm not falling for it, you hear? You, you, you sphinx you!”
Mallet Girl paused. “Sphinx?” An image of the Egyptian Sphinx but with her head instead and holding crossed mallets in its pause sprung to her mind amidst the sounds of a cricket chirping. A large bead of sweat formed on the side of her head. She was not amused. Not one bit.
Monday, August 31, 2020
PAGE 31 TO PAGE 33
“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.
“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.
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?”
Tuesday, July 28, 2020
PAGE 25 TO PAGE 27
“Thank you, Jenna,” Chibi Mallet Girl said then. “I'm sure our viewers appreciate your sparing us some time from your busy schedule.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Jenna replied. “I'm getting overtime for this, right?”
Without batting an eye, Chibi Mallet Girl continued speaking. “And here we have Steven, Mallet Girl's go-to-guy for all her mallet needs. He's in charge of Mallet Girl's mallet warehouse and always seems to know what mallets Mallet Girl will be needing each day. He's a genius, they say, on of those idiotic servants, or something like that.”
The scene in the television screen then switched to the fruits and vegetable section of a supermarket. A short, pudgy man was standing in front of the vegetable bins, wearing a white apron and a rectangular bull cap with a scarf hanging from the back. He was holding a wooden mallet horizontally with both hands and was grinning from ear to ear as though something good was about to happen.
“Hey, Steven! What up?”
Suddenly, an old-fashioned alarm clock went off, filling the air with it's loud, obnoxious ringing.
“Whoops!” Chibi Mallet Girl cried. “Looks like that's all the time we have, folks!” She waved her hand goodbye. “Tune in again next time! Same mallet channel! Same mallet time!”
“Dashiiiiii!” Uber Chibi Mallet Girl screeched.
As everything in the screen began to fade away, a red, circular window appeared in the lower right corner. Alias Uno popped out of the window.
“Hey!” he protested. “I thought we were gonna talk about me next!”
“Sweetie-kins!!!” Chibi Mallet Girl screamed as she leaped and lunged towards the love of her life.
The old television set turned off and that was that.
Hello! It is I, the narrator! Yes! There is a narrator now and that is I. Things have become quite profitable around here lately and the higher ups have decided to jazz up the show with more pizzazz, more action, more special effects, and—ahem-ahem!--yours truly. Hee-hee! I am beside myself with glee. At long last, I am gainfully employed and in Mallet Girl's show at that! I am financially viable!
Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha! Never again will I have to face my colleagues in shame. Never again can those stuck-up snobs look down on me and snicker behind my back. They said I would never amount to anything. Well, look who's laughing now! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ack! Cough! Cough! Cough! Uhurm...I mean, on with the show!
Mallet Girl, bounty hunter extraordinaire and one cute chick, is on the trail of Gazpacho of the Andes, the notorious molester of little girls and kidnapper of horses. Or is it the other way around? Mallet Girl could never remember.
Huh? Hey? What are you doing here? We're on the air for cryin' out loud! What's this? Aaahhh, no! My walking papers!? I'm fired? But, but, but I was just hired this morning! How can I be fired already? Nooooo! My plans! I had plans! I'll never be able to move out of my mom's basement at this rate!
Wait, who are you guys? Security? Who the heck called security? Aaahhh, no! Don't come any closer! I have a mike! Don't make me use this! Aaahhh, let go! Let go! Noooooooooo!!!
“So there's this guy, see,” Mallet girl was saying. “Pistachio or something. He's from the Andes, I think. Have you seen him around here? He's like a really bad dude. Wicked and perverted and all icky and stuff. He particularly likes to molest little girls and kidnap horses. Wait. Or was it the other way around? He likes to kidnap little girls and molest horses? Aaahhh, I keep forgetting! Wait, what am I doing? I have a picture! Duh!”
She lifted up her hand to show the photograph she had been holding. “Yeah, this guy! So have you seen this guy around here?”
She waited for an answer but there was none coming.
“Well?”
Still the she was answered with silence.
Mallet Girl frowned. “Oh, giving me the silent treatment, are you? Why, you! Ooh, I bet you're in cahoots with that guy! He's paid you off to keep your mouth shut. That's it, isn't it? Hah! You don't know who you're dealing with, buster. I have ways of making you talk.”
Slowly, she reached for one of the mallets hanging at her back.
Alias Uno sighed, resigned to spending yet another of those trying afternoons with Mallet Girl. He was really regretting coming in for work this morning. Call in sick, his gut had told him, but did he listen? No, of course not. He shook his head slowly and sighed again. “Mallet Girl,” he said.
Just like Mallet Girl, Alias Uno was garbed in his usual work clothes. He was dressed all in dark, charcoal grey from his turtleneck sweater with the extra-long collar to his cargo pants and his heavy, metal-clad, steel-toed leather boots. The black canvas belt with the velcro purses was still strapped across his chest and two similar belts were loosely hanging around his waist.
“Mallet Girl,” he said again.
“What?” Mallet Girl cried, frowning at him. “I'm trying to work here.”
“You're talking to a statue. That's the Jolly the Bug Honey Burger mascot. You were here when they unveiled it last month, remember?”
Mallet Girl paused. “Well...well, that's no excuse! I mean, talk about rude, man. I'm Mallet Girl. The Mallet Girl! When I ask a question, I expect to be answered!” She smacked the back of her right hand against her left palm to stress the point.
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Jenna replied. “I'm getting overtime for this, right?”
Without batting an eye, Chibi Mallet Girl continued speaking. “And here we have Steven, Mallet Girl's go-to-guy for all her mallet needs. He's in charge of Mallet Girl's mallet warehouse and always seems to know what mallets Mallet Girl will be needing each day. He's a genius, they say, on of those idiotic servants, or something like that.”
The scene in the television screen then switched to the fruits and vegetable section of a supermarket. A short, pudgy man was standing in front of the vegetable bins, wearing a white apron and a rectangular bull cap with a scarf hanging from the back. He was holding a wooden mallet horizontally with both hands and was grinning from ear to ear as though something good was about to happen.
“Hey, Steven! What up?”
Suddenly, an old-fashioned alarm clock went off, filling the air with it's loud, obnoxious ringing.
“Whoops!” Chibi Mallet Girl cried. “Looks like that's all the time we have, folks!” She waved her hand goodbye. “Tune in again next time! Same mallet channel! Same mallet time!”
“Dashiiiiii!” Uber Chibi Mallet Girl screeched.
As everything in the screen began to fade away, a red, circular window appeared in the lower right corner. Alias Uno popped out of the window.
“Hey!” he protested. “I thought we were gonna talk about me next!”
“Sweetie-kins!!!” Chibi Mallet Girl screamed as she leaped and lunged towards the love of her life.
The old television set turned off and that was that.
CHAPTER TWO
Hello! It is I, the narrator! Yes! There is a narrator now and that is I. Things have become quite profitable around here lately and the higher ups have decided to jazz up the show with more pizzazz, more action, more special effects, and—ahem-ahem!--yours truly. Hee-hee! I am beside myself with glee. At long last, I am gainfully employed and in Mallet Girl's show at that! I am financially viable!
Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha! Never again will I have to face my colleagues in shame. Never again can those stuck-up snobs look down on me and snicker behind my back. They said I would never amount to anything. Well, look who's laughing now! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ack! Cough! Cough! Cough! Uhurm...I mean, on with the show!
Mallet Girl, bounty hunter extraordinaire and one cute chick, is on the trail of Gazpacho of the Andes, the notorious molester of little girls and kidnapper of horses. Or is it the other way around? Mallet Girl could never remember.
Huh? Hey? What are you doing here? We're on the air for cryin' out loud! What's this? Aaahhh, no! My walking papers!? I'm fired? But, but, but I was just hired this morning! How can I be fired already? Nooooo! My plans! I had plans! I'll never be able to move out of my mom's basement at this rate!
Wait, who are you guys? Security? Who the heck called security? Aaahhh, no! Don't come any closer! I have a mike! Don't make me use this! Aaahhh, let go! Let go! Noooooooooo!!!
“So there's this guy, see,” Mallet girl was saying. “Pistachio or something. He's from the Andes, I think. Have you seen him around here? He's like a really bad dude. Wicked and perverted and all icky and stuff. He particularly likes to molest little girls and kidnap horses. Wait. Or was it the other way around? He likes to kidnap little girls and molest horses? Aaahhh, I keep forgetting! Wait, what am I doing? I have a picture! Duh!”
She lifted up her hand to show the photograph she had been holding. “Yeah, this guy! So have you seen this guy around here?”
She waited for an answer but there was none coming.
“Well?”
Still the she was answered with silence.
Mallet Girl frowned. “Oh, giving me the silent treatment, are you? Why, you! Ooh, I bet you're in cahoots with that guy! He's paid you off to keep your mouth shut. That's it, isn't it? Hah! You don't know who you're dealing with, buster. I have ways of making you talk.”
Slowly, she reached for one of the mallets hanging at her back.
Alias Uno sighed, resigned to spending yet another of those trying afternoons with Mallet Girl. He was really regretting coming in for work this morning. Call in sick, his gut had told him, but did he listen? No, of course not. He shook his head slowly and sighed again. “Mallet Girl,” he said.
Just like Mallet Girl, Alias Uno was garbed in his usual work clothes. He was dressed all in dark, charcoal grey from his turtleneck sweater with the extra-long collar to his cargo pants and his heavy, metal-clad, steel-toed leather boots. The black canvas belt with the velcro purses was still strapped across his chest and two similar belts were loosely hanging around his waist.
“Mallet Girl,” he said again.
“What?” Mallet Girl cried, frowning at him. “I'm trying to work here.”
“You're talking to a statue. That's the Jolly the Bug Honey Burger mascot. You were here when they unveiled it last month, remember?”
Mallet Girl paused. “Well...well, that's no excuse! I mean, talk about rude, man. I'm Mallet Girl. The Mallet Girl! When I ask a question, I expect to be answered!” She smacked the back of her right hand against her left palm to stress the point.
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