Protect Yourself: You vs. The Swine Flu, Part II

2 May

We barrel down the highway going upwards of 85 miles an hour. I can feel the blood pulsating through the veins at my temples. I look to my right and see Lanny, face still bandaged from the gunshot wound the night before. I don’t know why he hasn’t healed yet–I mean I prayed about it last night. What gives, God?

We have to break through the now closed US/Mexico border.

I have to get my specimen, er, speci-MAN, Derek to America for testing. This has to be done. We’re driving Lanny’s black Chevrolet Tahoe. I’ve painted the words “Sit on it, SWINE FLU” on the driver side in white house paint. Lanny doesn’t know yet. Don’t tell Lanny.

Behind us are the federales. We’re all afraid, all full of second guessing and bad tequila–except Derek, there’s a cat in him somewhere. They begin to pepper our vehicle with their automatic weapons. I’m a little pissed–they hit my “SWINE FLU” decal. I reach out from under my seat, holding a .38 caliber, six-shot pistol.

I look at Derek via the rear view mirror. “Derek, I need you to put this in your ass. In case we get captured, somebody needs to be armed so they can save us. If we get caught, once we’re in prison, Derek, you’ll poop this into Lanny’s free hand. I’ll keep mine in my pocket.” Lanny looks at Derek, then to the gun, and dry heaves.

“Kyle, what do you mean?! I have to put that where?” Derek asks in a shaky, drug-hazed voice.

*Kyle turns, camera zooms into beautiful profile.*

“If you want to live, you’ll put that damn thing in your–” Before I can finish my sentence, Lanny hurls a molotov cocktail at the truck behind us.

*truck explodes*

“Burn in hell, federales!” Lanny screams. I adjust the mirror so I can see the havoc behind me. I see a burning ice cream truck being promptly passed by a truck full of machine gun toting Mexican fedrales.

“Damn it, Lanny. That was an ice cream truck!”

“Ice cream truck…?” Lanny pauses, “That was a trap.” Derek and I are both equally disconcerted and terrified by Lanny’s blind, ignorant, killing power.

The truck catches up to us and pulls up to my side. I reach up and grab the AK-47 from the dashboard. To lighten the mood, I try to act like I’m pulling it from behind Lanny’s ear. Amidst the chaos I accidentally execute Lanny.

“Derek, Derek, stay down! WE NEED YOU ALIVE!”

The window behind me is blown out by gunfire. I hear Derek yelp, he seems ok. Marianette Wesley is sitting just as I had left him after loading up this morning. He looked at me reassuringly, his face sure and unmoving, his sombrero colorful and wooden. I smile at him and turn to our adversaries on my left.

“Hola, ameegos!” I yell, trying to get my voice over the screaming engines and howling winds. “Como estahs?”

A sweaty man with a mustache and a somewhat less than welcoming demeanor shoots out my front tire.

“GEE golly jillickers!” I yell. I have two rules, don’t cuss in front of Derek, don’t cuss in front of dead room mates. Don’t forget, Lanny died.

My/dead Lanny’s Tahoe careens to the left, slamming into the feds’ truck.

“HOLA!” I say, being only 4 or 5 inches from the man who shot my tire out. He tries to draw his weapon but I grab his wrist and pull his arm off. I then grip the shoulder with my teeth and pull the meat off, exposing the bone. With this I slash the man’s throat. There’s about 15 or so seconds of awkward silence in the car as Derek picks fed-arm out of his hair. To lighten the mood, I do a mock guitar-solo on the meatless-appendage. Derek just covers his mouth and shakes “No” with his head. I toss the arm back as if it were a microphone.

“Free style!” I say. Derek just looks at me, makes a wierd noise (didn’t even rhyme) and faints.

“This ain’t over yet,” I say to Marianette-Wesley. I reach out and grab the window of the truck next to us, I am now using the truck to our left to keep us level. Impossible? Absolutely–for about the other 99.9% of the population–but not for me. I lift weights.

I hear the men in the truck next to me screaming “Brujo! brujo!” and pointing at me in fear. Cowards. One man reaches out and tries to cut my arm.

“Marianette Wesley, take the wheel!”

I leap to the opposing vehicle. From the roof, I reach into the cab and pull out the man with the knife. He’s screaming and slashing wildly. I step to one side, grab the hand with the knife and twist it until it breaks. I bring my right leg in a sweeping motion, putting him on his back. I then turn his arm around and drive the knife into his eye socket. A great spray of blood. I jump back across and into the car. Derek is driving.

“Damn it Derek, I told Marianette Wesley to drive. Get in the back seat and stay out of our way.” Derek kind of starts to laugh, then just looks confused and returns to his seat.

While berating Derek and instructing him on the importance of teamwork, the driver from the truck lifts a 9mm from the passenger seat and points it directly at my beautiful, sweaty head. I turn and notice this. I’m slightly alarmed. I yawn and try to scratch my nose on my shoulder.

Suddenly the sharp crack of gunshots rings out from behind me. I turn my head to see Derek firing shot after shot out of his anus. I throw up a little in my mouth and thank him for his help. I allow the Tahoe to slow to a stop and get out.

As I’m looking at the damage, I hear footsteps to my left. It’s a mortally wounded Lanny.

“Oh, hey Lanny. I thought you were executed.”

“No…just…in a lot of pain…been shot twice.”

“Did you get Wesley out of the Tahoe? It’s hot in there.” I ask. I look over Lanny’s shoulder to the metallic carcass of the vehicle. Derek sits inside, sticking his head out the window, coughing and drenched in sweat. “Did you get him out? He has a hero complex, might want to stay with Derek.”


“Marianette-Wesley. He really saved our asses back there.”

“You’re kidding me. It’s a 20 dollar marianette of Barak Obama.”

“Lanny, I’m telling you it’s real!”

“Kyle, it’s a damned puppet!”

*Kyle slaps Lanny, tears in his eyes. Lanny looks back at Kyle, grips an amulet around his neck and rips it off. He places the amulet in Kyle’s hand*

“I guess this means I can forget about Morocco. Lift the damn curse on your own.” Lanny was referencing an adventure we had gone on the weekend before, where we rescued an entire Moroccon village from the grips of an ancient and terrible blasphemy. They also had a terrible fire ant problem. As I look into his unbandaged eye, I hear the whirring of a helicopter. Lanny looks up. He is completely unsurprised. I sure the fuck am. Derek looks at the “Thompson Tire” helicopter and thinks he’s hallucinating.

*Lanny gets into helicopter*

“Goodbye you crazy bastard.” I say, tears filling my eyes.

“Goodbye, Rev. Jackson. Kyle, why is my skin whispering?” Derek says. Ok, now he’s hallucinating.

*cuts to Wesley, clothed in nothing but a loin cloth, standing in the middle of a parking lot*

“Why am I covered in honey?! WHERE IS EVERYBODY? DEREEEEEEK!”

Stay tuned for scenes from the next BLOG

Next week on BLOG

“Don’t you give up on me Derek! DON’T YOU GIVE UP ON ME!”

“Kyle, I never told you this but…I love… I love…”

“Ok, that’s quite enough.” *Kyle puts pillow over Derek’s face.

*Wesley stands in a lab with Lanny*

Lanny steps forward, concerned.

“Wesley! You can’t do that! You’ll kill him. That’s too unstable to–”

“Back off man, I’m a scientist.”


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