Chapter 9: Jungle Combat
Anna died in the crash, as did the entire family of bankers, but otherwise it was unremarkable.
“AWW MANNNN, now I gotta act in another movie to replace that plane!” Mick Jagger moaned. “Guess I better call myagent and tell him to take that “Lethal Weapon 14: We Stopped Trying 11 Movies Ago” offer.”
“While you’re there, could you try to get us some kind of transport out of here?” asked Orange. “This doesn’t look like a good part of town to hang around in.”
The bankers’ house had in fact been an oasis of privilege in a hive of poverty, and the surrounding streets were a medieval ghetto.
“In the meantime, I’ll look around for some kind of grocery store, as my poptart supply is running low and my tongue is beginning to burn with a lack of pastry.”
Orange carefully left the mansion on a hill and entered the city slums below. He was able to avoid mugging and buy some Triple Kiwi Koala Berry Poptarts at the local grocery store. On the way back, he passed a wall covered in fliers.
“SUBJECTS WANTED FOR SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. WILL PAY IN CASH. LEECHES ARE INVOLVED.”
“HAVE YOU SALUTED YOUR ILLUMINATI STATUE TODAY, CITIZEN?”
“USED MEDIEVAL HOVERBIKE FOR SALE”
But the one that made Orange pause and look back was the central flier.
“BIG AC/DC SHOW IN QUALITY PARK! GREEN DAY OPENS”
He quickly dashed up the slope back to where the team was waiting.
“So how was my ghosting?”
“Sub-par at best. It’s a good thing you were brought back to life, because I would give you a 3.0”
“That’s not too bad, for my first time.”
“That’s 3 centimeters out of a mile, on the traditional Mile of Ghost Skill measurement system.”
“Ohh…”
“Guys!” Orange interjected. “I just found out that two members of the Council of Six are playing a combined show tonight somewhere near here! It’s our perfect chance to take the bird by the horns and kill two bulls with one stone!”
“Why do we want to kill the Council of Six again?” bored Ghosty Ghost.
“Prophecy told us to!” announced Afro. “And by prophecy, I mean some prophet-type-dude that I forget the name of.”
“Plus they’re an evil league of evil,” put in Orange, “so after we defeat them all we can probably go to the Illuminati World Government and get paid for removing a threat to society.”
“I guess that’s good enough,” disgrunted Ghosty Ghost…
And so they set off to the streets to find directions to Quality Park, leaving Mick Jagger behind to fly off to stardom.
4 attempted muggings and 4 hobo corpses later, they finally found someone who looked helpful. It was an old man with a sailor’s cap and an owl in place of his right arm.
“Yo, can you give us directions to Quality Park?” Orange inquired.
“I could…but many a lost soul has drifted through my consciousness, and my memory is a bit hazy, if you catch my drift…”
“You’re on drugs?”
“No, you idiot! I want a bribe!”
“Would a beating be good enough?” asked Afro.
“All right, all right, travel down yonder street over there for another 5 minutes, then turn left, right, then left again and you should be there. But be careful, yonder park hasn’t seen upkeep in a few years…”
“Thanks.”
And since they didn’t have a companion with Mick Jagger and Anna gone, they stowl the old man’s owl and took it with them on Afro’s shoulder. It couldn’t talk, and it had no personality beyond being an owl, so they named it Owly McOwlerson.
After about 15 minutes of walking, a green mass loomed in the distance. “That must be Quality Park!” exclaimed Orange. “We’re finally there.”
“WHO” said Owly McOwlerson.
As they got closer, they saw that it was actually a giant thicket of vines, leading into what appeared to be a tropical jungle. An old wooden sign toppled over outside the forest read “QU L TY PA K”
“Well, I guess hasn’t seen upkeep in a few years is an exaggeration…” commented Ghosty Ghost. “Either way, yeah, let’s go infiltrate the concert, kill both bands, etc…anything to keep me from being bored.”
Then Owly McOwlerson died in such a horrible and gruesome way the only thing the director for the movie adaptation of Why is it Always Sparkplugs could do to capture the scene was take the clip of Headwig dying from Harry Potter 7 Part 1, splice that footage over the Hiroshima explosion and then play the song Raining Blood by Slayer in the background. Although no one seemed to realize it happened because the trees in this one location in the forest were well known for eating dead owl remains. so not a single drop of feather got to be seen by the heros who were unmoved by these events. Although Afro secretly now wished more Owls and other birds would randomly fly upon his shoulder. Little did he know it the Owl actually had a sy-nister plot and had made a nest in Afro's afro. inside the nest were eggs and inside the eggs were mecha-owls waiting... all was according to plans.....
Since the heros were bored they then decided to just go to the concert kill people, get done with stuff, then eventually do something that actually mattered. After taking eight wrong turns and finding themselves back in Emerald City which was now ruled my Mecha-De La Rocha they decided to ask for directions to the concert. Which was about 10 yards from the position where they started. So Mecha-De La Rocha took pity on them and teleported them back to the concert grounds. no one was there though.
"Waaaaahhht the heck?!? Did we miss it?" Orange said. he shrugged his shoulders and sighed. he sat down on the grass the open air concert would have taken place.
"Get off the nice clean grass you dirty ho-bo!" said a random janitor. "ur didnt miss it. stupid Ho-Boez! jobless homeless Ho-Boez."
"What do you mean stupid, about-to-be-armless-unemployed-quadriplegic old man?" Afro said in some type of sadistic sarcasm he must have picked up from Ghosty Ghost along the travels. He looked at Ghosty who gave him a thumbs up, Afro felt happier for the rest of the day. Ghosty Ghosty felt happier as well knowing that he was slowly molding Afro to become his mind slave.
Getting the hint, the old Janitor guy told them that they had not missed the concert, it was only delayed by bad weather. outside the thick forest the weather was currently Mecha-hail-ing on all the trees who ate owls. and the trees hated being hail-ed upon so they decided to form a labor union and not allow things through until the hail stopped being mean. this also prevented Green Day and AC/DC from preforming. so instead of doing more things like harming old people and maiming grass, the gang decided to go check out a local newspaper. so they went to a newspaper stand owned by the janitor man, who died of yper cancer on the spot, and then exploded. He also was Chair's disgruntled father who had never actually met Chair.
"NEW SIGHTING OF DAVE GROHL, SHAMANS SAY: 'HE'S ALIVE!'!" said a unreliable tabloid named Fox News. In other headlines like the more reliable Ice Weasel Daily the front page said "Crazy group of psychopath murderers murder are murdering You're favorite pop-sensations!"
"Hmm this looks interesting..." Orange said grabbing the Ice Weasel Daily "Hey its about us!" he pointed out. "It says here that we are currently the second largest cause of death in the world right now! we're only behind prolonged exposure to indie music by 400 Deaths per day! Also it says here Editor in Chief Aizen T.B. Wopply-Fingers will not stand for these crimes, and that he would personally invite them to subject themselves to a three hour special of Larry King Live."
"Wahoo2!" cried Afro, "being the second leading cause of death must be way high on the MMS scale!"
"You can't lead something if your second." Ghosty said, "also i hate you." which added insult to insult. which is worse then adding insult to injury because adding insult to insult is like adding fire to a wound that had previously been salted upon.
this depressing attack at the conscious group of things and stuff caused the sky to clear and both Green Day and AC/DC's planes to crash into the stage they would have played at. (luckily there was a backup stage) a crowd attacked the nice clean grass and ravaged its green sheen with tarnished boots and medieval snickers bar pop-tarts flavor wrappers.
And then Green day got out of the plane and started Playing, which was about the same time the world became a worse place. "Awwww, do we really have to kill them" the group complained in unison to no one in particular. "Yes" said a anthropomorphic voice which attacked their ears. "Fine" the party said in double unison and started to push their ways through the crowd of hipsters and people who thought they were cool.
Hey, we’re Greenday, and this is our concert, Greenfest, created to help save the Greenjungle from being polluted by evil corporations who don’t appreciate our music!” Billy Joe Armstrong droned on as no one cared about his Green agenda, his fans being so stupid they barely understood simple declarative statements. “Oh yeah, and we are opening for AC/DC…who want to save thunder…” To this the crowd cheered, because they understood the word thunder from his sentence. Billy Joe Armstrong was not happy.
Ghosty Ghost was also unhappy to be surrounded by these zombie fans, who were in fact zombies, but since the entire crowd was completely brainless, they were starving and had to feed on the faux-punk-pop-rock songs from Greenday. “Damn zombies stealing my ghost air” Ghosty Ghost ghosted.
“Yeah, what up with that yo?” Orange said, forgetting which spirit possessed him at the moment. Afro was too busy buying overpriced concert water to notice. And by buy, he meant murder people and steal. And by steal, he meant shove it down their throats and light it on fire.
“I have had it with these mother hugging zombies on this Monday to Friday concert!” Ghosty Ghost said, being offended by the zombies who hadn’t read his vast academic essay archive. Ghosty Ghost then flew off to a corner of the forest and started trying to create a forest fire, which was much tougher than he thought it was.
Afro came back drenched in blood, sweat and other people’s tears and was finally ready for combat. Then Mick Jagger came along, double cross, who was so jacked full of heroine he thought the concert was in fact a dinosaur warrior training ground, the worst type of training ground. He initiated his combat stance of spinning around in circles with his fists out and hitting anything within a few feet of him.
That just left Orange, who ate a special “Corrodes your kidney but gives you super powers from radiation so you probably shouldn’t eat this” poptart, which gave him the power of dying of cancer in 25 years and the ability to create tornados.
With this crack (especially Mick Jagger) team of fighters ready, they began slaying the zombie fans in a path to the stage, where Greenday had just started playing their favorite song “Save the Earth from wildfires” which was ironic. As the music started playing, the zombies gave less and less resistance until they just started falling over when touched. “Worst zombies EVER” Afro said, expecting more head bashing.
Finally reaching the stage, the group jumped to the front of the stage and screamed in unison “Hey Greenday, welcome…to your funeral. Mick Jagger was having trouble making it to the stage because he just kept spinning, so Afro had to pick him up and place him on it, because his spinning stance would be necessary to winning this fight, not that Orange’s powers and his stance had anything to do with each other.
“Hey man, why can’t you join the global agenda, we gotta save the Earth, maaaaaan, so we have to destroy humanity, duuuuuuude” Billy Joe Armstrong said, solidifying in everyone’s minds that he had to die, mostly from how he talked.
Just then a medieval helicopter descended and a strange, ironic man got out. It was Jello Biafra.
“HEY DUDES!” he yelled. “I want to SAVE GREEN DAY! SO I’M GONNA HELP THEM OUT!” Then he stabbed their bassist to death and flew away.
“Sweet! One less sell out pop-punk band member to deal with!” the group exclaimed in unison.
Billie Joe Armstrong readied his eco-whip (100% genuine tree bark), while Tre Cool got out his Misspelling Gun, which was the most deadly weapon known across all the land (and all across the lane). Meanwhile, Mick Jagger spun around erratically, colliding into a tree with enough force to knock it over, killing several dozen more Green Day fans.
“Aww man, I’m trying to protect the trees with my Greenfest line up! But they’re killing my adoring fans! THOSE INGRATEFUL BASTARDS!” A trigger had snapped in Billie Joe’s head. He tossed away the eco-whip and pulled out a giant chainsaw. “GRAWWWWRRRRG!!! THIS CONCERT IS NOW DEATHFEST! YOU WILL ALL DIE AND I WILL RIP YOU TO SHREDS AND DEVOUR YOU!! INCLUDING THE TREES! ESPECIALLY THE TREES!!!”
“Well, looks like Green Day rediscovered their punk ethos,” Orange pondered cheerfully. “I think our work here is done.”
They turned around to leave, when two simultaneous voices said “NOT SO FAST!”
One of those voices was Tre Cool. “Billie Joe may have snapped, but I’m still here! And I’m not going to let you interrupt our fine concert without a fight!” He fired off several blasts from his Misspelling Gun. One of them hit Mick Jagger, making him Sick Jagger and inducing an hour-long crisis of paranoid vomiting. Another hit Orange’s box of Strawberry Napalm Pop Tarts, changing them into Cop Tarts, which were 50% less illegal and 98% less delicious.
“NOOOOOO!” howled Orange. “You will pay for this, Tre Cool, even if I have to break the drummer oath and kill one of my own!” He conjured up a tornado, which missed Tre but tore half the stage away before causing chaos in the local farms.
The other voice was Samuel Jim Armstrong. “Billie! You’ve forgotten what being a sellout is all about!”
“GRAWWG?” asked Billie Joe, interrupted from tearing the head off of a particularly dimwitted fan.
“You can’t kill your fans! You have to exploit them, and make them breed to create a new generation of idiots to send you money! And no matter how much you hate trees, and god knows we all do, you have to do benefit concerts to pretend to save them, so that you can buy new yachts with the money! I thought I could trust you, Billie, I thought I could trust my twin brother. But it’s clear that you’ll never amount to a decent sellout. I’m ashamed of you.”
“GRAWWWWW” cried Billie Joe, still chewing on the last bits of skull. He dropped the chainsaw and began sobbing.
“I’m sorry you had to witness this family moment,” Samuel Jim told the heroes. “Good thing you won’t witness anything ever again!” He pulled out a Space Giraffe brand Eye Gouger 289. “Say ‘see you later’ to your eyes! MUHAHAHAHA!”
The group was shocked into silence, they all really really liked their eyes. In fact one could say they were attached to them, but other then the machine's primary incentive (to gouge eyes) it wasn't that fear evoking. this might be primarily due to the crossed out googley eyes glued onto it, the machine also had a (literal) ton of glitter poured on it. also a small disco light orbited around it in a disco dance type fashion.
Although eyes were one thing (like many others, actually) that ghosty couldn't lose because he had already lost them. (being a ghost and all). so when the Space Giraffe brand Eye Gouger attempted to gouger his eyers they self destructed because they had failed at their one goal in life. to gouge eyes.
and because the heros saw no way to actually kill Samuel Jim in such a heartbreaking way they took pity on him and instead Afro threw his second to last Card from Crazy Dave's emporium the all powerful Polerymerzation card.
"OH GOD THAT COULD DO ANYTHING!!?!?" Mick Jagger who was now eating Billie Joe's victim's body as well. the drugs he was currently on made him think that the body was in fact more cocaine and the only way to get to this cocaine was to shout random comments and quotes from obscure american philospohers. like: "THE FUNCTION OF A LIBRARY IS TO SERVE ITS USERS!!!! -Samuel Swett Green. ALL HAIL TO THE FATHER OF REFERENCE WORK!!!!!" Mick Jagger yelled before he stuffed his face into the the organs of a dead person and started snorting as much immaginary cocaine with his mouth as possible.
The polyermrization card then collided with Samuel Jim and knocked him off his feet into Billie Joe and the corpse he was eating and Mick Jagger. A huge blinding flash of light swarmed the entire concert area like a six pool zerg rush, but more like if the zerg was cheating and had been macro---ing zerglings for 18 hours before the game started. which was a new feature in the recent patch of the game. also zerg building were buffed and now had the ability to fly around and rain creep. Terran got all units other then marines and marauders and Protoss had carriers removed. Blizzard thought this would hel[ new players find and use the good units as well as streamline the game.
the outcome of the polyermrizar looked like some horrible monstrosity that could only be described as ___(adjective)____. although it really didn't matter because the monstrosity was dead because it was merged witha a dead body. like multiplying numbers, if one number was negative the outcome must be negative. this made Orange think. if two dead bodies were part of the merging would it have been alive? too bad the world will never know/care.
the fans who still swarmed around the stage (like the zombies that they were) but now they were angry because not only was the band they came to see was dead, but no trees were saved! so they all decided to band together and form a coalition of Indie People Hwo Own Nautical Engines (iPhone for short) their group's goal in life was to save trees but since no one actually cared about trees they mostly either hung around peoples houses in forests waiting for that said person to try to chop down a tree or make forest fires so they can put them out and feel better about themselves
Afro had enough of this, after checking their wikipedia page on his iPhone and checking to see if a new movie was good or not on Medieval Rotten Tomatoes he reached for his new guitar. "FEAR MY GUITAR; THE BLUE-EYES BLACK DRAGON, THE NORTH EASTER FROM HELL" he bellowed as the fans all simultaneously died of either heart attacks or the inconsistant weather from New England, which was a lot more deadly when dragons are the ones inside the storm.
Ghosty Ghost was confused as to why he was with the group, since he had clearly left a few minutes earlier to start forest fires, so it was strange when he realized he was being attacked by a robot where he wasn’t. In fact, it was so impossible for Ghosty Ghost to both be attacked by an eye gouging machine in one place, and starting forest fires in another place, that a time paradox was created, causing all the members of Green Day to die regardless of whether or not they had already been killed (which made the death toll of Billy Joe Armstrong at 3, including his alternate self, who everyone forgot).
Ghosty Ghost did succeed at starting a forest fire however, which made the forest get a x2 epic modifier for the remainder of the battle (and killed countless forest animals, lost tourists and drugged out fans who were in said forest.) This was especially strange since all of the fans had already died of heart attacks, which begs the greater question of what is truth?
Back on the stage, everyone including Ghosty Ghost were congratulating one another on a job well done even though they essentially did nothing, forgetting that the number of times that they had actively killed their foes was quite small. They decided to stick around and watch the forest burn down, since everyone agreed it was “super sick awesome”. As usual, they forgot what their actual objective was, and were all equally surprised when a loud thunder clap smashed through the stage, killing the one remaining baby deer that had survived the fire and was living under said stage.
Lightning began pouring down upon the scorched earth as clouds surrounded the sky, flanking all around, which is a lot of flanking. Everyone but Mick Jagger (who was so hyped up on cocaine he had 0% success rate of analyzing correct information from his senses) was scared from all of the thunder and lightning and such, so they all started running to hide behind the wreckage of the stage. As they hid, a group of old men wearing children’s school uniform’s descended down from the clouds in a mystical chariot of thunder. Upon seeing these people, everyone in the group, including Mick Jagger, Dave Grohl, Anna, Chair, Jerome, Suitcase Man, Mr. Thermonuclear Warhead, Mr. Cart, Chair (man version), the Death Spider, the owl, Blood Jackal and that guard guy all realized simultaneously that the group in the clouds was ACDC, and they weren’t scary/credible at all. So the lesson everyone learned was don’t judge a book by its cover and that ACDC was the weakest looking band ever, and their singer sounds like someone ran a dead cat that was one fire through his vocal chords.
The chariot descended at breakneck speeds. As it approached, AC/DC’s drummer attempted to play a fill with more than 2 notes, lost all coordination, and fell backwards out of the chariot, breaking his neck.
“Bah! His death means nothing! Bring the next drummer!” exclaimed Malcolm Young, and the corpse of their drummer dissolved into a mysterious black ooze, which quickly reformed into two new, generic, low-quality drummers. “And now…thund-AH!”
Lightning bolts began to fly at a rapid rate, crashing down all around the stage. Afro barrel rolled, barely dodging one that still managed to leave a faint smell of burnt hair permeating the stage. One struck Mick Jagger, transforming him into Mick Jagged Lightning, his ultimate superform.
“Death, children…it’s just a bolt away! It’s just a bolt away!” yelled Mick, hurling a perfectly aimed thunderbolt that pierced both drummers, dissolving them into atoms.
“I guess you could call them…thunderstruck!” proclaimed Orange.
“Ha! You just enabled me to generate even more mediocre drummers! They will form my army to jailbreak all the criminals in the nearby maximum security prison, who will lead the world on a highway to hell until they give in to my demands. NOW…LET THERE BE DEFICIENT DRUMMERS!”
Malcolm Young waved his arms, and the atoms all began to generate matter, each gradually forming an entirely new, equally unskilled drummer.
“Not so fast!” exclaimed Mick Jagged Lightning, who was 300% more self-confident now that the thunderstorm had purged the cocaine from his system. “Chain lightning power…activate! Paint their ashes black!!“
A rapid series of lightning zoomed through every drummer and into Malcolm, making him shake with the sheer force of Mick Jagged Lightning’s superform. He was quickly shattered, and not even the finest medic would be able to start him up after the intense electro-cardial damage.
“Mick! You saved us!” rejoiced Orange. “How does it feel?”
“It’s nice, but I still can’t help feel that I’m on my own here. You guys have been a great team, but it just feels like I’m without a home as long as I’m traveling with you. I think I’m going back to take another movie deal.”
“Umm, could you at least wait until we defeat AC/DC? They’re kind of shooting lightning at us right now…”
“Sorry, Orange, can’t always get what you want, as that classic rock group once said. I’m pretty sure it was the Doors.” And Mick disappeared in a cloud of thunder.
Malcolm and the drummer were dead, but that still left Angus Young, Brian son, Bon Scott’s disembodied head, and 2 or 3 inaudible bass players to deal with in the AC/DC posse, slowly descending in the chariot and distracted by their own egos.
“We’re going to need some help with this one,” suggested Afro.
“You know what would help? Both of you sucking less,” marauded Ghosty Ghost.
“I know! We’ll open a time portal and get help from the past!” crazied Orange. “Good thing I took that Advanced Time Portal Science for Future Presidents class back at the monastery!” He waved his arms in a perfect circle around a lightning bolt, creating a giant, perfectly circular gaping void in the air.
The group stared through at what would have looked like a DVD scene selection menu if DVDs existed at that time. “Each of these is a single scene from the past or future,” explained Orange. They gazed into the first one. There were 3 men in uniforms in what seemed to be a futuristic office of some sort. One appeared to be holding a bottle of whiskey and yelling threateningly into a phone, one appeared to be stealing the first one’s wallet, and one was holding up a large piece of paper and lecturing the first two. “How about those guys?” asked Orange. “No way…they don’t look like they could even solve a crime, let alone help us with this boss battle…” Afro rejected. They looked at the next one, in which a neatly trained military unit was marching back and forth on a city street. “Perfect!” the group exclaimed in unison. Orange performed the ritual of Time-Ology and the martial unit appeared on the stage, in front of the trio, just as AC/DC was about to land. “Hello,” the leader said, “my name is Benito Mussolini.”
although everyone was surprised to see the new army of random people they were all shocked at Orange's choice of backup on this matter. them being first generation fascists and all. in fact most would agree that he should have just faded into the back of a textbook right next to Giuseppe Garibaldi the original militaristic hipster and Julius Jacob von Haynau the chief officer of being scared and inconspicuously evil.
"What the hell Orange." Afro sighed.
"Dude you totally just agreed with me when we chose him, you even said said 'perfect!' in unison when we both did twenty seconds ago." Orange noted.
Ghosty who had secretly recorded the group saying 'perfect!' in unison hovered around Afro playing it on infinite repeat. "PERFECT, PERFECT, PERFECT, PER-P-P-P-PERFECT!!!" the ghost recording device repeated again and again at max volume
Afro was about to say something but just he was defeated by himself. Although he didn't mind losing to himself due to the fact that Afro was a extremely attractive and sexy man (by Afro's own standards and few else's)
"Ahem, Let me start again i am Benito Mussolini. Ace Detective and a 1st Gen fasct. Do you require assistance?"
"No go home." Afro said sulkily as Ghosty flew around him. the Ghost recording device droned " PERFECT, PER-P-P-P-PERFECT!!! WIKI-WIKI-Combo."
"Actually can you wage war against that sellout band over there." Orange said as he pointed to AC/DC.
Brian son, Angus Young and Malcolm Young each reacted with extreme distaste at being called sellouts.
"Hey you why are you calling us sellouts we've done nothing wrong!"
"hmmm where to start" Ghosty thought. "Lets start on Music videos, Lyrics, merchandising...." he droned off
"BUT WE NEED THE MONEY" Angus Young yelled with tears running down his eyes. "you cant just call us that, you dont know where we've been and what got us here." Malcom Young then collapsed on the ground. "BROTHER NO!"
The heros just stood there as Angus waved for one of his eighteen private butlers to bring over a suitcase and a portable power supply. "ITS GOING TO BE OK MALCOM!!!" Angus yelled, he was franticly wiping tears away from his eyes. "Prepare his medication Nameless butler #7" the soulless butler unclipped the suitcase revealing a blender and neat stacked piles of $1000 dollar bills. he powered up the blender and poured money into it making a green puree.
Malcolm grasped his brother firmly "Hey if i dont see you again, i love you." the last words faded from his mouth as he began to slip away.
"NO WE'VE GOT YOU!!!" Angus cried, he pulled out a large syringe, loaded it up with the green puree and injected right into Malcolm's arm. Malcolm's face regained its color quickly, "Hey its you again" he said in a weak voice. "I'll always be here for you brother."
Angus turned to the party + Benito Mussolini
"We're not in it for the money its not our fault, its just that Malcolm has a poor heart and the only way to save him is strait injections of money. DONT YOU SEE IM SAVING HIS LIFE!!!"
"Wait if you're doing this for a good cause why are you on the council of six sellout bands." Orange pondered.
"What are you talking about? What is the council of Six?" Angus asked. he looked into Brian son's eyes and knew the truth.
Orange suddenly realized the horrible truth as well. "Oh god, its not that you're entire band was a sellout, it's just that you were being controlled by the biggest sellout in existence."
"HAHAHA YOU'VE GOT ME RED HANDED OR SHOULD I SAY MONO BLACK HANDED" Brian son yelled. he started to undergo a horrible transformation. his fingers began to turn into black tendrils or corruption, his eye's sunk in like a black sun's zenith and his teeth were each like a doom blade. "BEHOLD I AM THE GATEKEEPER OF MONEYKIR"
"Oh god, he's a Mono black agro deck. wait did he pay the kicker cost?" Orange top decked ponder.
suddenly Benito Mussolini exploded, then died. "He never had a chance of escaping genosha." Afro said in a pity filled voice.
"WIKI-WIKI-Combo." played Ghosty's machine.
The Gatekeeper of Moneykir was…someone no one knew. Everyone in the group was really confused as to who he was and why he was the biggest sellout in existence. Afro pondered how one could be the biggest sellout when no one knew who you were, and continued pondering while the Gatekeeper of Moneykir stood there, since he didn’t actually have that much power, and would most likely trade with something for a two for one. He charged at the group and ran into the last woodland creature still alive, a baby deer, and traded with it, both later being buried in a graveyard under the names “Unknown person” and “animal”. Why they buried such an unknown person no one cared about was another question that Afro pondered before he stopped caring.
In other news, ACDC were all dead, along with Green Day and the entire forest. Having done a fantastic job of winning the forest, the interpred heroes returned to Emerald City (or somewhere like it, since they got lost), and claimed their reward. They entered the reward office only to realize that no one was actually willing to pay them for their work, and they were never on a job to begin with. In fact, they had no reason to go to the concert to begin with, or fight the Council of Six, or live. After contemplating suicide, the whole group realized they didn’t have enough money for the equipment, and didn’t have the drive to succeed.
Aizen watched these events…from the graaaaaave, and everything was going according to plans, except for the part about all the dead woodland creatures, since he loved bunny rabbits. Dave Grohl, who was also still dead, was dead. Everyone else who existed didn’t plan anything, or care about the team, the events that had happened over the past years affected their lives minimally, nothing the heroes did mattered to anyone including themselves, since they hadn’t gotten any money. Nothing mattered.
Angus Young, who survived by revoking all ties to AC/DC, rode a medieval vintage Mustang off into the distance. He would never be relevant to anyone anywhere ever again.
After going through a brief nihilistic phase and wearing all black and talking in Swedish for a week or two, the group took a moment to convene and review what they had accomplished so far.
Coldplay was playing 6 feet under. Papa Roach was squashed. Limp Bizkit had taken on the flaccidity of the grave. Green Day was having a black eternity, and AC/DC had shortcircuited.
All that left was…
“KISS.” Orange spat out the acronym like a profanity. “Back in that parallel dimension, I was forced to crown them the Eternal Gods of All Rock. I don’t know if that means they’re no longer on the council, but they disappeared into a mysterious gap in time and space, so I think we’re safe for now.”
“THINK AGAIN!”
The team whirled around. It was…….Lars Ulrich!
“So this pathetic crew are the ones who crowned KISS EGoAR and deprived the rightful owners, Metallica™, of their title!”
“Well technically it was just him” everyone but Orange said, pointing at him with stabbing fingers of accusation.
“SILENCE! YOU WILL ALL SUFFER VEGEANCE AT THE HANDS OF LARS!!!! SAY HELLO TO THOR AND LARS JR.!”
He pulled out two black steel drumsticks, each with a giant hammer at the head.
“If I may quote a Metallica song-“ Orange began.
“You can if you pay me $500,000 in the local currency,” Lars interjected.
“The only way to fight fire…is with fire!” Orange drew out his own drumsticks, though these were a much less intimidating robin’s egg blue color and had tiny easter chickens at their heads. “Hey, they were on sale…” said Orange sheepishly.
As the rest of the team wandered off bored, Orange and Lars commenced a five hour epic drum duel to the death. Lars took an early lead, controlling the pace of the duel like a master of puppets and burning Orange out with his lightning speed thrash beats, but Orange possessed the endurance to run Lars out of the 5 beats he knew and in the end, Lars’ death was creeping but inevitable.
“Hey guys, I was victorious! Guys?”
“You may have killed me, but my band will avenge me and pursue my cause to the grave….”
“Actually, we don’t really care. We’re content with our millions of fans, millions of dollars, and consistent record of high quality albums, like our new release, San Ira. It’s got a great new ethnic styling and unique production!” said James Hetfield, who had suddenly stepped out of the bushes.
Thus Lars Ulrich died unfulfilled.
“Sorry about that,” said James Hetfield. “Can I give you guys a ride anywhere?” (by this time, the rest of the heroes had returned realizing that something important had a slight chance of being happening)
“Somewhere we can earn some money,” said Afro. “Because we’re actually going to starve to death pretty soon.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Orange, munching on a delicious boot.
“Sinopolis it is! We used to do quite a few gigs there back in the day. I remember this one time-“
“You were talking about money?” input Ghosty Ghost.
“Oh, right. In two completely unrelated facts, it’s the gambling capital of the world, and the crime capital of the world. So no matter what, at least you’ll leave Sinopolis with a different amount of money than you arrived with!”
Four days and nineteen scorpion attacks later, they had arrived in Sinopolis, on the outskirts of the magnificent, tourist-friendly Scorpion Desert.
