Categories > Original > Humor > The Book of Hondo
THE LABORS OF THE DUDES
(The Labors of the Dudes was brought to thee by McDisney’s, a division of Coca-Cola, Inc. We dare thee to eat it! (Testimonial) sayeth Bill Hilly: ‘Ma couser Jeb ate it an’ he’s still alive! Ma couser Daryl an’ ma other couser Daryl ate it too, an’ they got purty sick, but they’s also still alive!’ Mickey D’s! Now supplied by more humane slaughter houses!)
And it came to pass that at Scootly Ko’An Manor the phone didst ring. And didst ring. But Scoot didst sleep like the dead and wouldst not answer.
‘Wake up, dumbass!’ Nori the Cursing Faerie said unto the shapeless mass of blankets. ‘Get thy lazy ass out of bed and answer the damn phone!’
And so Scoot didst finally get his lazy ass out of bed, throw on a robe and slippers, and didst walk across the alley to the pay phone next to his shack. For the pay phone had been ringing for the last three hours, and people were daring each other to answer it.
‘Lousy Smarch weather…’ muttered he as he didst answer the damn phone. ‘Ahoy-hoy?’
‘Zooty, zoot, zoot! ’Tis I, Brian Fritz Skanky-Bitch,’ quoth Brian Fritz Skanky-Bitch.
‘Dammit!’ quoth Scoot. ‘Thou art determined to keep me from putting on my pants!’
‘Thanks for that wonderful mental image, Scoot.’ quoth Brian Fritz. ‘But I call thee bearing terrible tidings. The Gods have done something stupid!’
‘Is that what passeth for news these days?’ quoth Scoot. ‘When art the Gods not doing something stupid?’
‘What didst those dumbasses do this time?’ demanded Nori.
‘I know not the details,’ quoth Brian Fritz, ‘but the Gods of Hondo hath done something really stupid this time. More so than usual, that is.’
‘I shall call them at once,’ quoth Scoot. ‘In the meantime, I wouldst advise thee to hide under a table or a bed until I get back to thee.’
And he didst hang up on Brian Fritz and didst call the Hondo Hotline.
And the God of Everything Else didst answer the Red Phone, saying, ‘Ahoy-hoy?’
‘Zooty, zoot, zoot!’ quoth Scoot. ‘ ’Tis I, Scoot the Ko’An.’
‘I told thee not to call me here,’ spake Matt (flush).
‘Sorry,’ quoth Scoot, ‘but is it true what McBean hath said unto me? What hast thou done this time?’
‘ ’Tis quite simple,’ spake Matt. ‘We have made a bet with a total stranger. We didst bet that the Dudes couldst perform any thirteen labors of his choice without fail.’
‘Why thirteen, Lord Matt?’ quoth Scoot.
‘Because that whiny wimp Hercules only had to do twelve,’ spake the God of the Art of Drowning.
‘And where cometh we to the part about Brian Fritz saying thou didst something stupid?’ quoth Scoot.
‘That wouldst be the part where we didst bet the Thing with the Stuff,’ spake Matt.
‘But thou hast not the Thing with the Stuff,’ quoth Scoot. ‘What if ye lose?’
‘But he didst bet the Question,’ spake the God of Tap-Dancing.
‘What question?’ quoth Scoot.
‘The Question whose answer is 42,’ spake Matt. ‘We have ransacked Jehovah’s private records, and ’twould appear to be the one thing he doth not know. Aside from that age-old question of whether or not he couldst create a closet even he couldst not get out of.’
‘And I think we now know the answer to that,’ quoth Scoot. ‘I guess there was nothing he couldst not do. So what hath he challenged us to do first?’
‘Thy mission, shouldst thou decide to accept it,’ spake the God of Existential Quandaries, ‘is to come unto Asgard and to slay the Multi-Tentacled Home Theatre Beast.’
‘I am on my way, Lord Matt,’ quoth Scoot as he hung up. And he didst turn to Nori, and said unto her: ‘Nori, art my pants on?’
‘Hell no!’ quoth Nori.
‘Excellent,’ quoth Scoot. ‘To the Scoot Mobile!’
‘Thou meaneth the 1884 Chevy Shit-Mobile?’
‘Aye…’ quoth Scoot, for he had added Scootly symbols to it.
‘Why the fuck dost thou still haveth that piece of shit?’
‘Nori, money doth not grow on trees,’ quoth Scoot. ‘ ’Twas all I couldst afford.’
‘But thou’rt the First Apostle of Hondo,’ quoth Nori.
‘Tell me, hast thou ever seen a fat apostle?’
‘Dost Buddha count?’
‘Go fuck thyself,’ quoth Scoot. ‘Now let us go forth and findeth the Dudes.’
‘But how the fuck art we supposed to get to Asgard?’ quoth Nori. ‘It isn’t even on this plane of existence! Do the Gods ever thinketh anything out?’
‘I doubt it,’ quoth Scoot, ‘but we shall first gather the Dudes. Then shall we worry about finding Asgard.’
And so Scoot the Ko’An and Nori the Cursing Faerie didst set out in the Scoot Mobile (a-k-a the 1884 Chevy Shit-Mobile) to find the Dudes.
(The Labors of the Dudes was brought to thee by McDisney’s, a division of Coca-Cola, Inc. We dare thee to eat it! (Testimonial) sayeth Bill Hilly: ‘Ma couser Jeb ate it an’ he’s still alive! Ma couser Daryl an’ ma other couser Daryl ate it too, an’ they got purty sick, but they’s also still alive!’ Mickey D’s! Now supplied by more humane slaughter houses!)
And it came to pass that at Scootly Ko’An Manor the phone didst ring. And didst ring. But Scoot didst sleep like the dead and wouldst not answer.
‘Wake up, dumbass!’ Nori the Cursing Faerie said unto the shapeless mass of blankets. ‘Get thy lazy ass out of bed and answer the damn phone!’
And so Scoot didst finally get his lazy ass out of bed, throw on a robe and slippers, and didst walk across the alley to the pay phone next to his shack. For the pay phone had been ringing for the last three hours, and people were daring each other to answer it.
‘Lousy Smarch weather…’ muttered he as he didst answer the damn phone. ‘Ahoy-hoy?’
‘Zooty, zoot, zoot! ’Tis I, Brian Fritz Skanky-Bitch,’ quoth Brian Fritz Skanky-Bitch.
‘Dammit!’ quoth Scoot. ‘Thou art determined to keep me from putting on my pants!’
‘Thanks for that wonderful mental image, Scoot.’ quoth Brian Fritz. ‘But I call thee bearing terrible tidings. The Gods have done something stupid!’
‘Is that what passeth for news these days?’ quoth Scoot. ‘When art the Gods not doing something stupid?’
‘What didst those dumbasses do this time?’ demanded Nori.
‘I know not the details,’ quoth Brian Fritz, ‘but the Gods of Hondo hath done something really stupid this time. More so than usual, that is.’
‘I shall call them at once,’ quoth Scoot. ‘In the meantime, I wouldst advise thee to hide under a table or a bed until I get back to thee.’
And he didst hang up on Brian Fritz and didst call the Hondo Hotline.
And the God of Everything Else didst answer the Red Phone, saying, ‘Ahoy-hoy?’
‘Zooty, zoot, zoot!’ quoth Scoot. ‘ ’Tis I, Scoot the Ko’An.’
‘I told thee not to call me here,’ spake Matt (flush).
‘Sorry,’ quoth Scoot, ‘but is it true what McBean hath said unto me? What hast thou done this time?’
‘ ’Tis quite simple,’ spake Matt. ‘We have made a bet with a total stranger. We didst bet that the Dudes couldst perform any thirteen labors of his choice without fail.’
‘Why thirteen, Lord Matt?’ quoth Scoot.
‘Because that whiny wimp Hercules only had to do twelve,’ spake the God of the Art of Drowning.
‘And where cometh we to the part about Brian Fritz saying thou didst something stupid?’ quoth Scoot.
‘That wouldst be the part where we didst bet the Thing with the Stuff,’ spake Matt.
‘But thou hast not the Thing with the Stuff,’ quoth Scoot. ‘What if ye lose?’
‘But he didst bet the Question,’ spake the God of Tap-Dancing.
‘What question?’ quoth Scoot.
‘The Question whose answer is 42,’ spake Matt. ‘We have ransacked Jehovah’s private records, and ’twould appear to be the one thing he doth not know. Aside from that age-old question of whether or not he couldst create a closet even he couldst not get out of.’
‘And I think we now know the answer to that,’ quoth Scoot. ‘I guess there was nothing he couldst not do. So what hath he challenged us to do first?’
‘Thy mission, shouldst thou decide to accept it,’ spake the God of Existential Quandaries, ‘is to come unto Asgard and to slay the Multi-Tentacled Home Theatre Beast.’
‘I am on my way, Lord Matt,’ quoth Scoot as he hung up. And he didst turn to Nori, and said unto her: ‘Nori, art my pants on?’
‘Hell no!’ quoth Nori.
‘Excellent,’ quoth Scoot. ‘To the Scoot Mobile!’
‘Thou meaneth the 1884 Chevy Shit-Mobile?’
‘Aye…’ quoth Scoot, for he had added Scootly symbols to it.
‘Why the fuck dost thou still haveth that piece of shit?’
‘Nori, money doth not grow on trees,’ quoth Scoot. ‘ ’Twas all I couldst afford.’
‘But thou’rt the First Apostle of Hondo,’ quoth Nori.
‘Tell me, hast thou ever seen a fat apostle?’
‘Dost Buddha count?’
‘Go fuck thyself,’ quoth Scoot. ‘Now let us go forth and findeth the Dudes.’
‘But how the fuck art we supposed to get to Asgard?’ quoth Nori. ‘It isn’t even on this plane of existence! Do the Gods ever thinketh anything out?’
‘I doubt it,’ quoth Scoot, ‘but we shall first gather the Dudes. Then shall we worry about finding Asgard.’
And so Scoot the Ko’An and Nori the Cursing Faerie didst set out in the Scoot Mobile (a-k-a the 1884 Chevy Shit-Mobile) to find the Dudes.
Sign up to rate and review this story