The iPhone of Doom
Ch. 1: A PERILOUS EXPLANATION OF RECENT ABSENCES!My alarm went off at precisely 6:04 a.m., as it had done every day since my 30th birthday -- the day I became a man by staring into the face of a dying god, and also later that day having my first sex. But the phone itself had roused me three minutes earlier, shrieking like a banshee on prom night. Its shrill tone might have sown fear in lesser men, but I was no rational human being -- I was Doctor Cluck Brutal: Adventure Satirist. While America slept, I was drunkenly fighting strange, secret wars. It was I who had solved The Case of The Screaming Common 'Taters, drowned The Master Cleanser in his own device, and beaten back the Robo-Ke$has of Kemosabe. I made fun of monsters wherever I found them, thanks to the fantabulous all-in-one "iPhone" communications device I carried always on my person. On its receiver was J. Sherbody Peaman, my liaison with the Department of Government. "It's not good news, Doc," he sighed with a resigned gloom I'd heretofore seen only in the eyes of the prostitutes I strangle because no one would miss them. "The Red Fang -- he's back."The Red Fang! That inscrutable devil had returned to plague America's greatest hero (me) yet again. Quivering rage shook the sleepy-crusties from my eyes. "What havoc does that sinisterly different fiend harbor this time, Sher?" I grimaced through clenched teeth, possibly my own. "White slavery schemes? Fool's gold trafficking? Getting Octomom her own reality show?""It's worse than all that, Agent Doctor Brutal. He's coming for you directly." He sighed again, this time with an even deeper gloom reserved only for the prostitutes I paid to strangle me. I made a quick mental note to ask God why He wouldn't kill me, but before I could pray, Sherbody continued."He's purchased your apartment."
Doc Brutal is fueled by whiskey and outrage
Why, you--! Come back with my legs!
A whooping siren behind me shook me out of my pleasant ruminations on genitalia. A constable was following the vehicle. I soon found myself the recipient of a ticket for seatbeltless riding, with fines extremely dear. Such a censure stung, though I could easily afford it, being several times over a self-made millionaire who never fails to please a woman no matter what you hear. The officer was unswayed by my explanation that the vehicle was constructed to safely withstand even the Hate-Lasers used by the mysterious Falcon-Men of Pokolopopo, the aerial city cursed to circle the Pacific until it found its keys. Dammit, the stop had cost us precious time! I resolved to deduct the ticket's cost from my donations to the city's Orphan Reliquary.
I won't lie--each man is completely useless
"Dog," I murmured fondly with a hint of paprika, "You had better to engage the car's diamond-plated tire shells and speed up to 89--no, 88 miles per hour.""Master, why?" he hooted with submissive foreign excitement, "Is your loyal servant going back to the future again?" Ordinarily I wouldn't have permitted such questions of my motives, but I was amused by Dog's superstitious fear of hurling oneself bodily into the time stream. "No, Dog," I murmured reassuringly, "Eighty-eight miles is precisely the speed necessary..."I paused for dramatic effect and to let the author finish his sandwich."...to escape the agents of M.A.D. following us."
Why are you harassing me when there's an article on police myths that needs you?
Just once I'd like to return from a fugue state without a corpse at my feet
I ignored Porkchops and focused on the plot. "Since we won't have the intercomputing tubes installed in this office for another week, everyone synchronize your wireless telephonic hexahedra. We're going to have to turn in articles the same way we won our freedom from The Orgy Mistresses of Lesbos...one finger at a time."Long John gasped like a person inhaling a sudden breath. "The iOS isn't working. I can't get to any of my unsynced notes!" At that moment, the lights went dark. A deep, mad laughter was heard! "Gentlemen! I have disabled your devices. No hard feat for one such as I! Good luck writing yourselves a column! MUAH HA HA HA!" It was The Red Fang himself -- Steve Jobs!
The only thing more poisonous than communism is POISON! Also, that spider is big.
What's great is the internet saved us some Photoshop on this one
"Take...take off my glasses," croaked Fang, whom I should have told you was wearing glasses. "I want to look at you with my own eyes."The men shared a laugh. "Nice try," I chuckled. "But no man here will be slain by the searing gaze of your iBeams today."
Life is a special class of zero-sum game
Three-way pun! TRIPLE BONUS SCORE
"To the horizon! There, let us forge dirty jokes anew. It is not technology that makes laughter possible, but deep-dwelling need for approval. Friends -- so long as we have each other, we have all we need."Dog nodded, punched the gas like a child that had spoken out of turn, and we lit out for the uncertain future, chasing immortality with our phones in the road behind us.
If one bites you, you become an Apple snob.
Brendan McGinley's book should be pulped.