Tag Archives: avian

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.”


Protect Yourself: You vs. the Swine Flu, Part I

29 Apr

You ever read Animal Farm?  If you did, continue reading the sentence below. If you did not, skip it and laugh as if it was the most hilarious yet tragically-poignant literary joke you’ve ever read.

If you’re reading this, you’re still alive, which means you’re a survivor of the Swine Flu epidemic, Napoleon the pig’s fiercest biological weapon.

The Swine Flu is scary. It rhymes well with the Fine Flu, but don’t be fooled. This shit will kill you… or give you symptoms identical to a regular flu.

That’s right–the Swine Flu is pretty much a flu that our body has no defenses against. What does this mean for all of the American populace that isn’t Wolverine? It means that if you come into contact with it, you’re pretty much screwed.

The horror.

The horror.

Thankfully for the six of you reading this, as well as you Mr. President (winks), I hold the keys to survival.

Shouldn't you be leading our country?

Yea, I see you...you rascal.

I don’t think I can make myself any more clear than this: the enemy is here, the real enemy, and it is the pig population. They stand in their mud pens, eating corn, mushrooms, oats and grass, wallowing and getting fat, just like Michael Moore does in his palatial Beverly Hills mud pen. Pigs, and Michael Moore for that matter, are completely evil and constantly plotting. Plotting for what? Their great escape. Their escape from what? Sounds like paradise to me.

I will save you.

Yesterday, as an experiment, Lanny and I took a trip to Mexico City with a completely healthy –and completely unconscious– Derek Brozowski. Our plan was to infect a healthy, Polish body, and then cure it. Cure it with our science and our love –but mainly just with the science.

Your last, color-coordinated, hope.

Your last, color-coordinated, hope.

We arrive at Mexico City around 3 pm. We make it easily through security, the appearance of a bound and gagged Caucasian hardly a cause for alarm at the U.S./Mexico border. I speak Spanish to the guard.

“Hola, ameego!” I say, I’m very happy to see brown people.

“Hola, señor. ¿Tienes cualquier cosa declarar?”

“Um…Hola, ameego! May yamo Kyle! Goostas el Texas Rangers?”

Here the border officer stood silently and motioned for two other officers sitting in a small both a few yards away. Me and Lanny are removed from the car and strip searched while our car is ran over by a drug dog and a couple of local children. Derek is tied up and beaten, much like a piñata. The guards, Lanny and I all enjoy a couple cervezas while watching the children play with Derek’s limp, pallid body. I love this moment. Freeze. Saving moment in mind.

We drive for 15 minutes and stop by a local convenience store to buy Derek some new clothes. We buy him a Tommy Hillfigger windbreaker and some black windbreaker shorts. They don’t match. Derek’s going to be pissed.

When we reached Mexico City, it was dark. We thought it’d be safe to camp in a vacant lot, because bad guys wouldn’t dare waste their time in an unpopulated, poorly lit, secluded area.

Lanny was shot.

We woke up the next morning and got ready for our day of science. Lanny passed out a couple of times and Derek kept trying to wake up from his drug/blunt-force-trauma induced slumber. What a card. What a god damn fucking shit damn card.

We walk up to the Iglesia del Ser Supremo, a small church within Mexico City. It is here that we inject Derek with a dangerously high level of PCP and convince him that all of Mexico is made of candy. This sets off a feeding frenzy the likes of which no man has ever seen, most likely because it was a feeding frenzy that involved eating an unopened bag of Mexican Doritos and a feral alley cat. Derek licked hand-rail after hand-rail, ate urinal cake after urinal cake until he passed out from overstimulation and an almost lethal blood toxicity level.

Pictured: Hero.

Pictured: Hero.

When Derek came to hours later, we told him what we did. We told him we had done it for the good of science –for the good of humanity. Derek took several swings at us before throwing up blood and falling asleep on the ground.

Lanny was starting to feel guilty so I told him that real scientists never feel guilty and that sometimes they have to make sacrifices for science and that if he really loved science he’d give me 20 bucks becaues I really want it and I really want that marianette over there because it reminds me of Wesley and I miss Wesley he is so sweet last weekend Wesley and me played Zombies but not the videogame we both dressed up in makeup and tried to scare each other but we decided we’d rather hug so we did that all day.

Derek eventually came to. Derek eventually came to realize that if he wanted to live, he needed to shut up and listen to what me and Lanny and marianette Wesley had to say. But unfortunately, our thrilling conclusion is forthcoming. Stay tuned for scenes from the next BLOG *boom*

Next week on: BLOG

“Kyle, what do you mean?! I have to put that where?” Derek screams

*Kyle turns, camera zooms into beautiful profile.*

“If you want to live, you’ll put that damn thing in your–”

*truck explodes*

“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 gets into helicopter*

*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!”


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