Categories > Original > Humor > The Book of Hondo

Labors 6

by shadesmaclean 0 Reviews

Round II

Category: Humor - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Fantasy,Humor - Characters:  - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2010/11/29 - Updated: 2010/11/29 - 1117 words - Complete

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And it came to pass one day that as the Dudes were mastering their asses, they were overtaken by Ayatollah Asshollah LXXXVI and his forty Élite Beardos of Death.

‘Destroy the Infidels!’ cried the Ayatollah as he brandished his scimitar at them.

And the Dudes didst power up and prepare for battle.

After training with Kungfucius the Dudes fought the Élite Beardos of Death to a standstill.

‘Well I’ll be damned!’ quoth Nori. ‘ ’Tis a stalemate!’

‘Maybe thou shouldst summon the devil,’ quoth Yoco. ‘After all, it worked for thee last time.’

‘After what we did to him last time,’ quoth Scoot, ‘I wouldst bet that the Great Satan wouldst team up with them.’

‘Thou hast humiliated me for the last time!’ cried Ayatollah Asshollah. ‘I shall destroy the Great Satan no matter what it taketh. Thou American Imperialist Yankee-Doodle dork of a pig, I challenge thee to a duel!’

And he didst smack Scoot with his glove.

‘I accept,’ quoth Scoot, ‘…thou fanatical theo-fascist pig-fucker of a pig.’

And Casey, the Beige Knight of Hondo, didst toss Scoot his gauntlet. And Scoot didst bitch-slap Ayatollah Asshollah with it.

‘The stranger wouldst liketh to make a wager on that,’ spake the God of Bitch-Slapping as he didst appear before them as a psychedelic mailbox.

‘Now who is it?’ quoth Ayatollah Asshollah. ‘Another friend of thine?’

‘This is Matt, God of Bitch-Slapping,’ quoth Scoot. ‘I knoweth thou dost not believeth in the Gods of Hondo, but trust me, it doth not stoppeth them from appearing to Myles the Unbeliever.’

‘Aye, ’tis true,’ confessed he.

‘Then it’s agreed,’ spake the God of Explosions. ‘Scoot the Ko’An VS Ayatollah Asshollah LXXXIV—’

‘Thou meaneth LXXXVI,’ quoth the Ayatollah, who couldst not believe that he was even addressing a pagan god.

‘Not according to what we have found in Jehovah’s database,’ spake the God of Self-Torture and Strenuous Exercise. ‘The stranger doth bet on Ayatollah Asshollah. Now we shall see who is the world’s strongest religious nut.’

‘Or the strangest,’ quoth Nori.

And the God of Getting Up to Get Down didst vanish from their midst.

And so it came to pass that the people of Outer Suburbia didst build an arena for the great combat to be held.

And when it was completed, all the people didst tune in to vieweth the Fight of the Century, that they might knoweth who was the world’s strongest religious nut.

Quoth the announcer: ‘And in the far corner, wearing the black trunks, the Man from Jerkistan… the Sultan of Censorship… the Sheik of Shit-Kicking… the Czar of Zero Tolerance… the Baron of Book-Burning… the Prince of Persecution… the Babylonian Bruiser… the Great Destroyer of Ancient Relics, Ayatollah Asshollah LXXXVI!’

And a mighty cheer went up from the crowd.

Quoth Nori the Cursing Faerie, for she had taken the announcer’s mic: ‘And in the… uh… wrong corner, wearing the… um… Bermuda trunks, the Inventor and Master of the Good-Natured Brawl… the Iron Pacifist… the Champion of Anarchy… the Rascal King… the Prince of Punk… the Sultan of Slacking… the Heavyweight of Hardcore… the Ass-Kickin’ Apostle of Hondo, Scoot the muthahfuckin’ Ko’An! Let us get ready to RUMBLE!!!’

‘And the crowd goeth wild!’ cried the announcer, for he had grabbed the mic back from Nori. ‘Gimme that! Stupid Faerie…’

At the sound of the bell, Scoot and Ayatollah Asshollah didst go at it with their full power.

‘I shall blast thee like an Afghan Buddha statue!’ cried the Ayatollah, and he didst pile-drive Scoot.

‘I shall kick thy sorry ass from one end of the this ring to the other!’ quoth Scoot, and he didst trip Ayatollah was once Sally Struthers, but after being bitten by a radioactive Communist, it didst come to possesseth ten times the strength of an ordinary Ayatollah.

It couldst also clingeth to Republicans and Ayatollah Asshollah was really whoopin’ up on Scoot, and it was pathetic.

‘How canst this be?’ cried Pud, for Scoot’s power level was much greater than the Ayatollah’s.

‘I thinketh that this fight is fixed,’ quoth Dirty Uncle Orty.

And it came to pass that in the Hour of Scurrying, the Gods of Hondo didst lock Don King in the restroom and didst giveth him repeated swirlies.

‘Stomp! And shake that ghetto booty!’ chanted Nori as Scoot didst maketh a comeback against his foe. And the Dudes didst chant with her.

‘Thou art really pissing me off!’ quoth the Ayatollah.

‘Up thine, Ayatollah Asshollah!’ quoth Scoot, and he didst finally use his full power to bust out some kung fu action on the Ayatollah, and he didst give him the Stone Cold Treatment.

‘FINISH HIM!’ cried a mighty disembodied voice.

‘Holy fucking ape shit!’ cried Nori as she and the Dudes looked on in horror. ‘Scoot hath given him the Mega Kung Fu Ultra-Wedgie!’

‘Scoot winneth…’ quoth the announcer. ‘Trunkality…’

‘Ouch! That’s gotta hurt!’ quoth Yoco. ‘With those chainmail undies, it fuckin’ hurteth mine ass just watching! Talk about adding insult to injury…’

‘Scoot, how the fuck didst thou pull off that combo?’ demanded Nori.

‘ ’Twas easy,’ quoth Scoot: ‘Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start. Oh, and thou must remembereth to throw a linker in there for it to work right.’

And God of Southern Illin’ Oi appeared before the Dudes as a flying toilet, and said unto Scoot, ‘We didst take care of Don King, for we knew thou couldst not have a fair fight whilst he was on the loose.’

‘Aye,’ quoth Scoot, ‘for he was trying to blackmail me into throwing the fight.’

‘What the bloody hell didst he blackmail thee with?’ quoth Nori, for Scoot had really let Ayatollah Asshollah openeth a can of whoop-ass on him. ‘Ye were totally craptacular out there!’

‘Dost thou really want to know?’ quoth Scoot.

‘Probably not,’ quoth Nori.

For the Dudes knew of a great many things, save for the fact that Scoot was proud of them.

‘Let me tell thee,’ spake the God of Scampering, ‘thou hast really pissed off the stranger this time! In fact, he was so enraged by thy victory, that he didst think up a really nasty labor for thee.

‘For the thy sixth labor, Scoot, thou shalt go unto thy mother’s house in Shitsplat, which is Havre, and shall do anything she doth ask of thee for one day. Oh, and forget not to say hi to thy mom for me!’

And the God of Short Shorts didst vanish from their midst, and the Dudes didst set forth unto Shitsplat, which is Havre, to do whatever Scoot’s mother wouldst ask of them.
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