Categories > Original > Humor > The Book of Hondo

Labors 8

by shadesmaclean 0 Reviews

Staring at the Sun

Category: Humor - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Fantasy,Humor - Characters:  - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2010/12/01 - Updated: 2010/12/01 - 1642 words - Complete

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And the Dudes were in the doomed city of Nicky Town, watching out for those low-flying special fx, and the Voice of the Turtle was heard in the land.

And it came to pass that the God of Stupidity appeared before them as a thilly purple ninja, and the Dudes didst power up and beat the crap out of him.

‘Ow! Fuck! ’Tis I, Derrick, God of Humor!’ cried he. ‘Canst thou not taketh a joke?’

‘Sorry, Lord Derrick,’ quoth RJ as the Dudes didst put away their weapons and properly greet the God of M&Ms.

‘Much better,’ spake the God of All Things Found Under Couch Cushions. ‘The stranger hath decreed that thy next labor shalt be to chop down the Money Tree, which groweth atop the steel mountain of Wall $treet. Liveth long and prosper!’

And the God of Hawai’ian Shirts gaveth the Dudes the Vulcan hand sign as he didst vanish from their midst.

‘May the Force by with thee!’ quoth RJ as he didst bow prostrate at the vanishing deity’s feet.

And the Dudes didst glare at RJ.

‘Hast thou thy Gothic Ax, Dirty Uncle Orty?’ quoth Scoot.

‘Aye!’ quoth he.

And so the Dudes didst set forth to choppeth down the Money Tree.

After taking a wrong turn at Albuquerque, the Dudes didst finally discover the misplaced island of Manhattan and didst enter the city thereof.

‘Let us taketh the subway,’ quoth Scoot, ‘for the people there soundeth harmless enough.’

‘Who art those people down there?’ quoth Oreamnos Americanus.

‘The New York City Rats,’ quoth Nori, ‘and trust me, thou doth not want to meet them. Rats! Big, fuckin’ rats, with sharp, pointy teeth! Surely thou hast encountered the New York City Rats in thy many travels, Scoot.’

‘I am afraid not,’ quoth he.

And so the Dudes didst begin their long, laborious climb up the steel mountains of Wall $treet. For it was a long way up, as the small people of the Cubicle had built the mountains as a monument to self-importance.

‘Dudes… I canst go no farther,’ quoth Oreamnos Americanus, for he was out of breath. ‘My feet art killing me.’

‘O ye of little brain-power,’ quoth Nori, ‘didst it ever occur to thee to taketh the elevator, thou fucking knuckle-dragging, boner-biting Neanderthals?’

‘Oh,’ quoth Scoot. ‘Hey, Dudes, ’twould seem we have been doing this the hard way.’

‘Aye,’ laughed Dirty Uncle Orty, ‘but look at her go!’

For Jennifer, the High Priestess of Hondo, was climbing the outside of the building, and she was proclaiming herself the first female Human Fly.

And she didst fall down, but then a flying saucer came down and didst pick her up, and after she didst take them to her dealer, they didst beam her up to the same floor as the Dudes.

And so the Dudes didst continue their long journey, passing through an endless maze of elevators and tourist attractions.

And it came to pass that one by one, the Dudes didst fall by the wayside to examine certain forms of merchandise.

‘These Wall $treet Suits must have learned from a master of temptation,’ quoth Scoot.

And Lucifer didst appear before Scoot in a cloud of fire and brimstone wearing a suit and tie.

‘Well speak o’ the devil!’ quoth Scoot. ‘Where the hell didst thou come from?’

For Scoot had broken his brain with that last remark.

‘How art thou doing?’ quoth Scoot. ‘Thou’rt still not upset about that whole Bathrobe Incident, art thou?’

‘I must be brief, for I have other pressing matters here on Wall $treet,’ spake the Dark Prince. ‘I wouldst be willing to forget about that little stunt if thou wouldst doeth me one teeny little favor.’

‘I’m not joining thee, and that’s final,’ quoth Scoot. ‘I ain’t down with the Dark Side.’

‘Thou art also not a gangsta,’ quoth Adria.

‘No, no, nothing so big as that,’ quoth Lucifer. ‘I have here in my hand a briefcase full of unmarked bills. They canst be of any currency, any amount ye wish. And they never runneth out. I wouldst be willing to part with it if thou wouldst do one thing. All I ask of thee is that thou wouldst only taketh the Money Tree for me, and not choppeth it down.’

‘No dice,’ quoth Scoot. ‘For the Gods of Hondo have commanded me to choppeth it down no matter what. I will not let my gods lose a stupid bet to a total stranger.’

‘What the Gods of Hondo don’t know shalt not hurt them,’ quoth Lucifer. ‘I have also a magic axe which wouldst create the illusion of the Money Tree being chopped down. Thou couldst help the Gods of Hondo, and liveth like a king without having to move to Mexico.’

‘I can’t get with that.’

‘Come on,’ quoth Lucifer. ‘Let us play Who Wanteth to Be Filthy Fucking Rich? What dost thou want?’

‘It doth involve principles— thou wouldst not understand,’ quoth Scoot as he didst step on the Great Satan’s tail and walked away. ‘Oops, sorry about that.’

‘So be it,’ quoth Lucifer. ‘If that is how thou wanteth to play. I have missed my appointment here, so I must away to an appointment in Georgia. By the way, knowest thou know anything about fiddles?’

And so Scoot didst shrug his shoulders as Lucifer vanished in a puff of smoke.

And it came to pass that Scoot didst notice that he had been turned into a farting chicken.

‘At last!’ cried Adria, ‘no longer is little Skidmarks the last of her kind! The farting chickens shall rise again!’

And Scoot didst flee in terror.

‘Hey! Get thee back here!’ cried Adria as she didst chase Scoot. ‘Thou must mateth with Skidmarks! Scoot!…’

But the Dudes didst agree that Adria’s idea was really fucked-up, and so they didst defend Scoot.

And those who were still with Scoot didst search long and hard, for the way to the Money Tree was well-hidden.

But finally, Scoot, Nori, Adria, Oreamnos Americanus, and Dirty Uncle Orty didst reach the top of the steel mountains of Wall $treet, and there they didst find that the great Money Tree was on the opposite side of the street.

‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ cried Nori.

And the Dudes didst look down at the concrete canyon below.

‘How art we supposed to get across?’ quoth Oreamnos Americanus. ‘I don’t want to goeth all the way back down and then up another metal mountain.’

And it came to pass that Scoot didst fart, and it didst smell bad.

‘Whoa! That doth stink!’ cried Adria. ‘Scoot is a true farting chicken. He and Skidmarks must bear offspring.’

‘With a power level like Scoot’s, we had better be careful what we feedeth him,’ quoth Nori.

‘Nothin’ floats a brotha like the K-F-C!’ laughed Oreamnos Americanus.

‘Cannibal!’ cried Dirty Uncle Orty.

And at the very mention of the idea of eating chicken, Scoot didst blast off.

‘Let us break wind!’ cried Adria, and she didst grab Skidmarks as she took off.

‘When in Rome…’ quoth Dirty Uncle Orty, and he didst jump and grabbeth Scoot.

‘Hey! Wait for me!’ cried Oreamnos Americanus, for he was left behind.

‘Look not at me!’ quoth Nori as she didst fly across. ‘Thou’rt too heavy!’

And so Adria and Dirty Uncle Orty didst parachicken across the canyon of Wall $treet to reach the Money Tree.

But as they stood before the Money Tree, they saw that the fruit of the tree was pleasing to the eye, and a tree to be desired by anyone who didst seek riches, and Dirty Uncle Orty took the fruit thereof.

‘No!’ quoth Adria. ‘Thou must not giveth in!’

‘But remember what Lucifer said unto us,’ quoth he. ‘So much money…’

‘No… I shall not be moved!’ cried Adria. ‘Take up thy Gothic Ax and put thy money where thy mouth is!’

And Dirty Uncle Orty didst resist the temptation to sell out, and didst chop down the Money Tree.

And when they saw that their precious Money Tree was no more, the investors didst panic, and like a legion of corporate lemmings didst fall off of the steel mountains one by one, for so long they had been staring at the sun.

And it came to pass that the God of Stupidity appeared before them as a talking fire hydrant, and said unto them: ‘Hail, Dudes! Thou hast completed yet another labor. Keepeth this up and me may yet winneth that bet.’

‘Yo, Derrick!’ quoth Oreamnos Americanus. ‘Couldst thou possibly teleporteth me over there?’

And the God of Magic didst teleport Oreamnos Americanus over to the other side of the canyon of Wall $treet.

‘And wouldst thou turneth Scoot back to normal?’ quoth Dirty Uncle Orty.

‘Perhaps…’ spake the God of Humor. ‘I rather like him just the way he is…’

‘Damn straight,’ quoth Adria, ‘for the farting chicken doth not deserve extinction.’

And the God of Transsexual Nazi Eskimos didst appear before them as Otis the horned bulldog, and he didst piss on Derrick.

‘Hey! (glub, glub) That-(glub) not funny!’ cried the God of Orange Juice Drinking as he didst vanish.

‘Aahhh… much better…’ spake the God of Flowin’ Prose. ‘Now, prepare thyself to learn of thy next labor.’

‘We shall do whatever thou commandeth of us,’ quoth Adria. ‘for ’tis always a pleasure to serve thee, thy Hornèd Highness.’

‘Thou shalt go unto Albuquerque and assassinate the Whistling Assassin who doth reside therein,’ spake the God of Ritalin. ‘Now go forth, and complete thy next labor, Dudes.’

And Matt didst vanish from their midst, and the Dudes didst return to Albuquerque to seek out the Whistling Assassin.

*Fear not, for no money was harmed in the making of this chapter.
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