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July 19, 2004
By Zach "Rubber_Chicken" Shephard
Chapter 1
I rolled over in my bed as the morning’s light came creeping in between my curtains. There was a strong scent entering my room that had managed to rouse me from my deep slumber, piquing my curiosity as I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Inhaling several short breaths through my nose, I tried to determine just what the fragrance was.
Coffee? I thought to myself. No, that wasn’t it. Bacon? Closer, but still not right.
“What is Djibouti?” I asked aloud, thinking that one of the answers from Jeopardy the previous night may have been correct in my situation as well.
Quickly dismissing the idea that a country from eastern Africa was the source of the olfactory sensation I was experiencing, I realized the only way to find the truth was to get out of bed and investigate the matter.
The aroma’s trail led me out of my room, down the hall, and to my front door. Opting not to waste any time, I flung the door open and leapt out onto the porch, quickly turning my head from side to side in an attempt to find the source of the scent I had become so entranced by.
In my haste to exit the house, however, I didn’t take sufficient time to look where I was stepping. My bare foot came forcefully down on what my nose had found earlier – a warm, soft substance that squished between my toes.
“Oh great,” I said aloud as I looked down to see just what I had stepped in.
It was exactly what I had both expected and feared – it was spam.
Leaning down to clean my foot off, I found that there was a small piece of paper protruding from the mushy pile.
Spam comes with fortunes now? I thought. My curiosity had the best of me, and I extracted the thin white sheet. It read as follows:
32+ Player Online Open Constructed tournament starting in the tournament lobby in fifteen minutes. Only 32 more players needed!
“Lovely,” I said as I crumpled the paper and cast it aside. “System message spam – the bane of my existence.”
Being that I was far too lazy to go around back and get a hose to wash my foot off with, I instead chose to take a seat on the porch and whistle, hoping a stray dog would come and clean up for me. As I sat there whistling, eagerly awaiting the chance to have a short-lived symbiotic relationship with a beast I’d probably never see again, a hunk of spam fell from the sky, landing not six inches from me. In it was another note
32+ Player Online Open Constructed tournament starting in the tournament lobby in twenty minutes. Only 31 more players needed! Come join KennethM for Triumph and Menace fun!
Two System Spams in less than three minutes. I quickly realized the implications of this pair of events, and knew I had to act before it led to an epidemic. It was time to don the chicken suit one last time.
Standing and running back to the door from whence I came, I barely halted before entering the house, remembering that my foot was still covered in a meat-like product. It appeared I had only two options, neither of which seemed like a very good idea. I could go get the hose, which would only take a matter of minutes, but would certainly compromise my laziness that I was so proud of; or, failing that, I could just track spam all over my shag carpet.
Luckily, my decision was made for me when a third option introduced itself to the picture. As I had hoped for earlier, a stray dog came trotting up to me, its mouth dripping with slobber as it eagerly anticipated feasting on the meal that covered my foot.
“What’s your name?” I asked as the animal approached. It didn’t seem to care much for introductions, and instead went straight to licking the spam from my toes. While the hound did its job, I took a glance at the metal tag on its collar, which shifted from silver to gold and back again as it moved in the light.
Northern Wolf, it read.
The beast finished his meal in no time at all, leaving my foot squeaky-clean.
“Good boy!” I yelled as he ran off into the distance, wagging his tail all the way.
It wasn’t long before I noticed my wallet was missing.
“Hey!” I yelled, but it was to no avail – he was long gone. It didn’t really matter, my wallet wasn’t important at that point. Saving the world from the evil System Spam was a much higher priority.
I reentered the house and made straight for the hall closet, swinging the door open and flicking the light switch up as I gazed upon my greatest prize. It was a yellow suit, nine feet tall, shaped like a rubber chicken. It had wings long enough to hold my arms when they were bent upward at the elbows, and a hole at the base of the neck for my face to show through. This was a costume I only used for emergencies and birthday parties.
…And weekdays.
It wasn’t long before I had climbed into the suit in the conventional manner – through the chicken’s mouth at the top. Eager to find the source of the System Spam before it was too late, I went running out my front door.
Of course, being that I was three feet taller than I was used to, the chicken head stopped when it hit the door frame, while my feet kept going forward. I landed squarely on my bum.
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” the bum asked, following his rude awakening.
“Oh, sorry Pipster, I didn’t see you there,” I replied. “Thanks for breaking my fall though!”
Pipster responded with a groan.
“Hey, before I forget, I really liked that deck you built the other day,” I said.
“Oh yeah?” Pipster asked.
“Yeah, it really adds something to the house that just wasn’t there before, and it’s got a great view!”
“Well, I’m glad you liked it. Can you get off of me now?”
“Oh, right!” I tried to do as Pipster suggested, and rolled back and forth. However, agility was not my primary attribute when wearing the chicken suit – I had become large and unwieldy. “I, uh… I can’t move.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Pipster replied as he rolled his eyes. “We’re stuck. How are we going to get out of this mess?”
“I tried wiggling around – that didn’t work. I’m fresh out of ideas.”
Suddenly, just when all hope was lost, I began to move – but not under my own power. I began levitating off of Pipster, who was just as shocked as I was. He ran off into the distance, looking as though he had just seen a ghost.
“Hey!” I said as I felt my pockets inside the chicken suit. “Where are my car keys?”
I heard Pipster chuckling in the distance
It wasn’t even noon yet, and I’d already been robbed twice. Great.
My body rotated through the air as I was gently lowered to my feet by some invisible force.
“That was weird,” I said aloud.
“Weird it was not,” a voice replied. “Use of the Force it was.”
I turned in the direction of the voice, only to find a pointy-eared, ten-foot-tall green creature standing before me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Big Yoda I am,” came the answer.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sending you on your quest I am! Direction you need!”
“So you’re going to help me fight the evil System Spam?”
“Help you I cannot, but guide you I can. Journey you must to the docks, where an ally you will find. Black Barney his name is, help you he will!”
“Uh, do you really have to talk like that?”
“Well no,” Big Yoda said as he scratched his chin and looked up, “but I don’t sound nearly as cool if… hey, were you even listening to what I said?”
“Yeah, yeah – Barney, docks, got it,” I answered.
“Good. Begin now your travels!” Big Yoda turned and began hobbling off.
“Wait!” I insisted. “I can’t get to the docks without my car! I’d have to walk in this ridiculous suit!”
“True this is,” Big Yoda answered as he stroked his chin once more. “Transportation I will provide.” Big Yoda snapped his fingers, and a large cartoon dragon appeared before me.
“Wow, a dragon!” I yelled, always being sure to point out the obvious.
“Trogdor his name is,” Big Yoda said. “Burninator he is. Ride him you must! Ride!”
And so I did as Big Yoda said, climbed aboard Trogdor, and made great haste towards the docks.
Chapter 2
Trogdor and I made our way to the docks in search of this ‘Black Barney’ that Big Yoda had told me about. I noticed immediately that my dragon was traveling at an incredible rate, so I checked the speedometer on the back of his neck to see if we were breaking any records. We were apparently going at ninety-seven CPW.
“What’s CPW?” I asked.
“Clowns per Wombat,” Trogdor replied.
Strange, I thought to myself. Must be the metric system.
As our journey continued in silence, my eye caught a pillar of smoke rising from the distance to our right.
“Trogdor!” I yelled. “Turn right here, I want to see where that smoke is coming from.”
“You’re the boss,” Trogdor answered as he veered to the dexter.
It wasn’t long before we came upon the ruins of a small, decimated town. Stone towers were cracked into rubble, the city’s beauty was fading, Trogdor was frozen by fear, and Sharku’s Warg inexplicably went running by, never to be seen again.
There were no inhabitants in sight until a man in tattered clothes emerged from behind a broken building.
“What do you want?” he asked, running back behind the building and peeking his head around the corner. “Haven’t we suffered enough?”
“I assure you sir, I mean you no harm.”
He looked me up and down. “You’re wearing a giant rubber chicken suit and riding a cartoon dragon. I don’t believe you.”
I bent my neck as best I could in my inflexible suit to look at myself. “Ok, so I know it looks bad, but you’ll have to trust me on this one.”
“Well,” he began, slowly emerging from his hiding spot, “I suppose you don’t look like one of them.”
“One of whom?”
The man glanced from side to side as if he was making sure we were alone. “The pink blobs,” he whispered.
“The pink blobs?” I asked. “Who are they? What happened here?”
“Come,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him. “I will show you.”
Trogdor and I did as the man suggested, navigating through the shattered city until coming to a halt by a single building that was left standing.
“This is our last tower,” the man said. “It was the only structure to survive the onslaught.”
I dismounted from Trogdor and waddled over to investigate the tower. It was covered in a pink goo, which a large group of peasants were cleaning off with rags.
“System Spam,” I said softly.
“System Spam?” The man asked. “You know what the pink blobs are called?”
“Yes,” I answered, “for it is my quest to find their source and destroy it!”
“Thank the gods, we’ve found a hero!” He yelled. “My name is John,” the man said, extending his hand for a shake. I nodded towards my stubby wings, pointing out that I was incapable of executing the aforementioned shake. Instead, John just grabbed my wing and wiggled it around.
“And these are the survivors of the spam attack?” I asked, pointing to the peasants with my left wing.
“Yes, those of us that were fortunate enough to live through the onslaught put aside our differences and joined forces to clean the city’s last remaining tower. We call ourselves the Scrubs, and I am the king of our newfound community.”
“You’re the King of Scrubs?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “That’s right.”
“Well noble king, I’d love to stay and assist you in scrubbing, but I must destroy this problem at its source. If you ever need help, just whistle.”
“And you’ll come save the day?” the King of Scrubs asked.
“No, but Northern Wolf will come steal your wallet. Farewell, King of Scrubs!”
And with that, I climbed aboard Trogdor once again, and we continued our journey to the docks.
It didn’t take us long to get to the docks, even though Trogdor had to take several bathroom breaks along the way. Who knew dragons had such small bladders?
“I did,” a raspy voice said from my left. A weathered sailor with an eye patch and a hook for a hand emerged from behind a barrel.
“You did what?” I asked.
“I knew dragons had small bladders.”
“How did you hear that? I didn’t even say it out loud, it was purely narration.” Needless to say, I was quite confused.
“That’s not important,” the pirate replied. “What’s important is that you’re trespassing on me docks.”
I dismounted from Trogdor, narrowly avoiding an embarrassing fall in my giant chicken suit.
“I won’t be here long,” I said. “My name is Rubber Chicken, and I come in search of Black Barney. Do you know him?”
“Arr, I know him all right. He’s me.”
“Oh, excellent! You’re supposed to help me!”
“Why should I help you?” Barney asked, raising his peg-eyebrow.
“Because we need to vanquish evil and become heroes!”
“Ha!” Barney spat at my feet. His eye patch made his aim so terrible, however, that he somehow managed to spit on his own back instead. “I don’t care about vanquishing evil or becoming a hero.”
“Well then what is it you want to do?”
“I just want… to dance!” Barney spun around on one foot briefly before falling on his backside.
“Well, you’re obviously not very good at dancing, so come help me vanquish evil! Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“No thanks, matey,” Barney replied as he stood up and dusted himself off.
“Well who am I going to find to fight the evil System Spam?”
Barney’s eye grew wide. “Did you say… spam?”
“Yes…”
“Spam killed me parents and burned down me village!” Barney yelled as he kicked over a barrel in a fit of anger. “And they neutered me dog, Mr. Snuggles!”
“So will you join me?” I asked.
“Arr, I’ll join you, Rubber Chicken! And I’ll bring me crew with me!”
“Excellent!” I exclaimed, jumping up and down while flapping my stubby wings.
“Yako, Pharaoh, Serpent!” Barney yelled towards the ship behind him. “Get out here, we’re goin’ on a crusade with a rubber chicken riding a cartoon dragon!”
“Sounds good,” Yako said.
“I’m game!” Pharaoh added.
“W00t,” Serpent replied.
“Rubber Chicken, this here be Yako,” Barney said as he patted Yako on the shoulder. “He can transform himself into a yak from up to 200 yards away!”
“Two-hundred yards away from what?” I asked.
Barney and Yako looked at each other for a long moment.
“Come to think of it, I’m not sure,” Barney finally said. “Anyway, this here be Pharaoh. He has the ability to sleep in a tomb without food, air, or water, and somehow stay alive.”
“Uh, that’ll come in handy,” I lied.
“And finally, Serpent. This here be my first mate – but after I was done with him, I went ahead and mated with the rest of the crew! Yar har har!” Barney laughed long and hard at his crappy joke. Nobody else budged.
“So what’s he do?” I asked.
“He’s a snake – he eats chickens.”
“Bawk bawk bagawk!” I yelled as I knocked Serpent off of the dock with a flying kick to the chest, instinctively defending myself from a potential predator. He was immediately devoured by a nearby manatee.
“Arr, I was just pullin’ your leg, matey,” Barney said. “He wasn’t a chicken-eater; he was an engineer that was this close to making a weapon that would rid the world of Spam forever. Oh well, no point in weighing down my ship with his journals now. Toss ‘em overboard, boys!”
Pharaoh and Yako did as they were instructed, running back to Barney’s ship and throwing all of Serpent’s work overboard. The scientific notes were quickly devoured by the manatee, which then sunk to the bottom of the ocean, where he lived happily ever after.
“Well, do you have a plan for vanquishing the System Spam?” Barney asked
“Er… not really, no,” I sheepishly answered.
“Good, because I have a plan and I figured yours would be stupid.”
I nodded.
“We’ll meet up with an old mate of mine from business school,” Barney said.
“Wait,” I interrupted. “You went to business school?”
“Arr,” Barney replied as he bowed his head. “I dropped out in favor of looting and plundering.”
“Fair enough.”
“Anyway, Ellington be his name – he’ll surely lend us his aid.”
“Sounds excellent!” I enthusiastically replied.
“It’s settled then!” Barney said. “To Ellington Island!”
Realizing I had no further use for Trogdor, I kicked him into the water, where he was promptly devoured by a sea otter. Everyone boarded the ship, and we set sail for Ellington Island.
Chapter 3
As it turned out, Ellington Island was thirty yards away from the dock, so we arrived in no time. Palm trees littered the area, while the sounds of chimps fornicating in the distance filled the air. The group disembarked from Barney’s ship, only to be greeted by a native man with an exceptionally long mane.
“Gerven! Gerven!” The man yelled before running off into the distance.
“I love that guy,” Barney said. “Everybody does.”
Yako and Pharaoh both nodded.
We pressed on into the jungle, only to be confronted once again, this time by a man in a suit.
“Greetings,” he said. “It has been long since you’ve graced the island with your presence, Mr. Barney.” The man bowed low.
“Arr, ‘tis good to see you again, Serverman,” Barney replied. “I need to speak with Ellington.”
“Very well, follow me.”
We did as Serverman suggested, and eventually came to a clearing in the jungle. A small city stood before our eyes, with one massive building in the middle.
“Behold, Ellingtonia,” Serverman said as he came to a halt.
“The biggest building be Ellington’s lab,” Barney whispered to me.
“I figured that,” I responded. “There’s a big neon sign that says ‘Ellington’s Lab’ on it.”
“Arr… that be true.”
Continuing on through the city, we came upon a lively pub. Just before passing it, a man came crashing through the window and rolled to a stop before us.
“You suck!” the stranger yelled back towards the pub as he stood up and brushed himself off. His attention quickly focused on us. “I’m so good at this game,” he said.
“What game?” I asked.
“Your mom,” he answered. We were all visibly confused.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Josh Cornwell-Mott. Anyone who thinks I’m too good at this game should raise their hand.”
Nobody raised their hands, save for Josh.
“Anyone with their hand down is a nincompoop,” Josh continued. “Bam!”
Pharaoh began crying, knowing deep down inside that what Josh said was true.
“Do you have any super-powers?” I asked the crazy man. “Like turning into a yak or living in a tomb?”
“I have the super-power to be awesome,” Josh responded.
“Well, I suppose that’s good.”
“I suppose your mom’s good! Bam!”
“Uh… right. Do you want to help destroy some System Spam?”
“No, I want to destroy your mom,” Josh replied.
“Did I mention the System Spam is from Arizona?” I lied.
“Arizona?” Josh’s eyes grew wide. “I’m in!” He yelled enthusiastically. And so, another warrior was added to our troupe (though his true awesomeness was questionable.)
After the brief delay, we continued the short trip to Ellington’s Lab. Serverman let us in, and Ellington was standing in the lobby, waiting.
“Good to see you again, Barney,” he said. “I see you got a hook to replace that hand you lost in our finance class.”
“Arr,” Barney replied. “I tell girls that I lost it in a fight with a prairie dog. Chicks dig the adventurous type.”
“Uh… yes. Anyway, how can I help you?”
I stepped forward to say my piece.
“Greetings Sir Ellington, I am Rubber Chicken.” I tried bowing, but only succeeded in falling forward. Pharaoh and Yako helped me to my feet. “I’ve organized this group of elite superheroes to destroy the source of an evil System Spam that plagues the land.”
“I see,” Ellington replied, rubbing his chin. “I too hate spam, for it gives me terrible gas.”
“Then you will help us?” I asked.
“Indeed. Follow me to the main lab!” Ellington turned and began walking. “Serverman!” he yelled.
“Yes sir?” Serverman asked, quickly doubling his pace to catch up to Ellington.
“Run ahead and make sure the main lab is clean – I was playing with my Legos in there earlier, and they’re still on the floor.”
“Yes sir!” Serverman did as he was told and ran off.
Barney and Ellington caught up as we traversed down the long hall. We passed a stone gargoyle on the way, which Josh was kind enough to point out looked like my mom.
As we came upon the doors to the lab, Serverman emerged from inside.
“All clean!” he said.
“Good,” Ellington replied. “Follow me, everyone!”
Inside the lab were scientists, gadgets, beakers and cages of all sorts. Everyone seemed to be hard at work, except for one man, who stood in the middle of the room, motionless.
“Who’s that?” I whispered to Barney.
“That’s the unmoved mover,” he replied. “Ellington signed him on for a forty-year contract as a moving man to help out around the lab. What he didn’t realize was that the fine print stated that the unmoved mover would work only within a one-square-foot area. As such, he’s not very good for moving, but Ellington can’t get rid of him because of the contract.”
“Fascinating,” I said, even though it wasn’t really fascinating at all.
Ellington turned to face the group, addressing us as a whole.
“Gentlemen and Josh, I’ve brought you to this lab to provide you with the tools you will need to destroy the evil System Spam source that you hunt.”
Everyone applauded lightly, save for Josh, who yelled, “Your mom!”
“My first creation,” Ellington continued, “is a genetic engineering experiment that my scientists have been working on for the past twelve years. Serverman, if you will…” Ellington gestured towards a dark cage in the corner of the room. Serverman cranked a handle on the wall, slowly raising the holding cell and revealing its contents.
Out came a giant creature with skin like magma – a deep black with glowing yellow cracks throughout. It had massive, chipped fangs that pointed in seemingly random directions.
“Whoa,” Barney whispered to me, “look at those teeth – he must be British.”
“I give you Doombreed,” Ellington said. “Doombreed!” he yelled, addressing the monster. “I have a task for you. You are to aid these heroes in destroying the source of the evil System Spam!”
Doombreed nodded and growled.
“Next,” Ellington continued, “we have two of my top secret agents. Behold, MetaMan and Michael Friedman.” The two men stepped forward. “MetaMan is a master of the metagame – he can always find the perfect weakness to take down his enemies. Michael Friedman is my stamina man… he never sleeps.”
“Never?” I asked.
“Never,” Ellington answered. “My last warrior for your group is the greatest fighter I’ve ever known. We call him CoS for short.”
“What’s ‘CoS’ stand for?” I asked.
“Captain of Spam,” Josh sarcastically answered.
“Spaaaammmm!” Doombreed yelled as he charged towards CoS. Before anyone could stop him, the massive monster had scooped up CoS and swallowed him whole.
“Well that’s too bad,” Ellington pointed out. “But no matter, I have a piece of equipment for you that will surely make up for the loss of CoS.” Ellington approached Barney and gave him a small metal box, about a foot in length and half as wide.
“What’s this?” Barney asked.
“This is my secret weapon,” Ellington answered. “Only use it for an extreme emergency. I have here two keys,” Ellington pulled two small shards of metal from his pocket. “I will give one to you, and one to whoever you trust most. Both keys will be required to open the box.”
“Well,” Barney said, “I’ve only known him for a few minutes, but I think the chicken is much more trustworthy than Yako and Pharaoh. Give him the key.”
“Very well,” Ellington said, handing me the key. “I can provide you with no further assistance. Good luck on your journey to Mt. Spam.”
“You’re not coming with us?” I asked.
“No, I’m afraid I must tend to matters here,” Ellington explained.
“But wait!” I insisted. “We’ve got Black Barney, Yako, Pharaoh, Josh Cornwell-Mott, Doombreed, MetaMan, Michael Friedman, and myself – that’s eight. Don’t you think it would be a lot better if we took this secret device of yours to Mt. Spam with a fellowship of nine?”
“Oooh,” Ellington said as he rubbed his chin. “That’s a good point. It’s a shame Doombreed had to eat CoS.”
Doombreed burped.
“Well,” Ellington began, “there is a plains farmer that lives nearby. He hates his job, and he hates his cart – I’m sure he’d be willing to join your cause, if not just because he has nothing to live for.”
“Sounds great,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“Guma,” Ellington replied. “Guma da Puma.”
“Is he really a puma?”
“No.”
“Can he change into a puma?”
“No.”
“Can he control pumas with his mind?”
“No.”
“Can he turn apricots into pumas?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then why do you call him ‘Guma da Puma’?”
“It rhymes.”
“I see… tricky!”
“Anyway, off with you!” Ellington insisted. “We have to keep this story moving!”/p>
“Oh, right!” I replied. “Let’s go, everyone!”
And so, we exited Ellington’s lab and located Guma da Puma. He had only one thing to say in response to our adventuring invitation.
“Ehhhnnnn,” the plains farmer stated – it was more of an incomprehensible groan than anything. He then went on to tell us that he hated his job, and he hated his cart.
Strangely enough, he opted to bring the cart with him when we left.
The fellowship of nine boarded Black Barney’s ship, and we set sail for Spam Island, where our journey would come to an end.
Chapter 4
Spam Island was only sixty feet away from Ellington Island, so the journey was short, as I had become accustomed to. However, during those sixty feet of water, we rode dangerously close to a group of sirens.
“Everyone be quiet,” MetaMan whispered. “If they don’t notice us, they won’t put us under their spell.”
“What kind of spell?” I asked.
“They sing with the most beautiful voices you’ll ever hear, putting sailors to sleep so their ships go off-course. When a ship crashes, the sirens feast on the ankles of the crew.”
Everyone feared for their ankles, and made sure to be as silent as possible.
It wasn’t long before Josh chimed in.
“Your voices suck!” he yelled. “Bam!”
Everybody took their turn at whacking Josh upside the head, and it wasn’t long before the sirens began singing. The entire crew fell asleep in no time at all.
Except for Friedman, however, who was incapable of sleep. He managed to navigate the ship through its not-so-difficult course. He woke us up when we arrived.
“Good morning sleepy heads!” Friedman yelled after our collective three-minute nap. Doombreed let out a huge yawn, inadvertently spewing flames all over the ship. Everyone hopped off and watched Barney’s vessel go down like a war galley nailed by Derufin.
“Well Chicken,” Barney said, “lead the way.”
I did as my pirate friend suggested, and waddled up the beach. The fellowship followed me without question, everyone on their guard as we passed through the thick jungle. The slopes of Mt. Spam were not far, so our journey would be short if we went on without any confrontations.
Of course it wasn’t long before we had just the type of encounter we were trying to avoid. An anvil fell from a tree high above, narrowly missing my crotch. We all looked up to find the source of the falling metal. I tilted and fell backwards, as my suit didn’t allow for much flexibility and balance. Laying there on my back, I gazed up at an unnaturally large man carrying three anvils with one arm.
“RagerRacer drop anvils on you!” he yelled. “Drop anvils on your crotch!”
“Uh, MetaMan?” I asked.
“Yes Chicken?” he came to my side, helping me to my feet.
“What beats a giant guy in a tree dropping anvils?” My question was almost cut short as another anvil came crashing down from above, landing in Guma’s empty cart. Miraculously, the sturdy cart was unscathed.
“I think in this instance, we fight anvil with anvil,” MetaMan concluded.
“Right. Doombreed, do your thing!”
Doombreed, being larger and more powerful than the arboreal man we’d run into, picked up a fallen anvil and heaved it into the tree. The branch that RageRacer was perched on split as the giant hunk of metal struck it, and he came crashing to the ground before us. Doombreed wasted no time in swallowing him whole.
“Ok, let’s keep moving,” I said. Everyone continued on, except for one – Guma tried with all of his might to push his cart, but there was an anvil in it.
“Ehhhnnnn,” he groaned.
“Just leave the cart,” I said.
Guma shook his head as tears began to form in his eyes. He had secretly grown to love his cart, and couldn’t bear to part with it.
“Well Guma, you’ve served us well,” I said, even though he hadn’t done anything. “Good luck with the cart.” We all turned and left, while Guma stood by his cart, sobbing.
Traveling on, we could see Mt. Spam becoming active as we approached it. Spam spewed forth from the crater at the top, slowly crawling down the slopes.
“We’re getting closer,” MetaMan pointed out. “We’ll be running into Spam Guardians soon.”
“Right,” I replied. “Everyone should be on their guard.”
“Your mom should be on her guard,” Josh added. Yako was kind enough to slap him upside the head for me.
Everyone listened closely as the sound grew ever closer. Eventually a spirit could be seen riding the winds in our direction, while his message suddenly became clear.
“BansheeSingles.com, new stock just added!” he yelled over and over again.
“A servant of Spam!” I yelled. “Quick MetaMan, what beats a Banshee?”
MetaMan thought to himself for a moment. “Doombreed’s muscle won’t help us here. A banshee has only one weakness – banshees are allergic to yaks. I’m afraid we’re doomed.”
“Not so!” I responded. “Yako, come here!”
Yako did as I asked.
“Yako here can turn into a yak from up to 200 yards away,” I explained.
“Perfect!” MetaMan yelled./p>
“Ok Yako,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. “It’s up to you.”
Yako nodded, and marched forth to confront the diving banshee.
The banshee continued spamming us with his advertising wail as he grew ever closer. Yako waited, and waited, and waited. The banshee would soon be upon him
I thought Yako had delayed too long, and would quickly be destroyed by the winged assailant.
Just at the last moment, however, Yako transformed into a yak as planned. The banshee began sneezing violently and exploded. Candy fell out of his body like a piñata.
“Great work, Yako!” I said. The yak replied with a nod. “You can turn back into a human now.”
“Actually, he can’t,” Barney said. “Yako has the ability to turn into a yak – not the ability to turn back into a human.”
“So then how has he returned to his human form in the past?”
“He’s never had to – this be the first time he actually turned into a yak.”
“Uh… how did you know he was even capable of doing so, without him ever trying it before?”
“Arr, I was beginning to doubt him myself.”
“Well, I don’t see much use for a yak in our party, assuming this was the only banshee we’ll run into. Doombreed, eat Yako please.”
Doombreed did as he was instructed, and Yako was no more.
“Ok, so we’re down to seven,” I declared after making a brief head-count of our remaining party. “We should easily be able to get up this stupid mountain and destroy the source of the evil System Spam.”
Everyone agreed, and we continued forth as planned.
It wasn’t long before we came upon the slopes of the dreaded Mt. Spam and met the first guardian.
“Hold!” he yelled, “I am Nakano, guardian of the base of Mt. Spam, and I w–“
Nakano was cut off when Doombreed devoured him at the first mentioning of Spam.
“Wow, I hope they’re all this easy,” Pharaoh observed.
“I hope they’re all as easy as your mom,” Josh fired back. Just before he had the chance to deliver his trademark “bam,” a giant hunk of Spam spewed forth from the mountain’s crater, landing on Josh and killing him instantly.
“I’m really going to miss that guy,” Friedman said. Everyone took their turn slapping Friedman upside the head. Barney seemingly forgot he had a hook for a hand, and inadvertently killed Friedman with his ‘slap.’
“Arrr, whoops,” Barney said. “We’re down to five now, Cap’n Chicken.”
“Well, from now on, nobody is allowed to die,” I stated, laying down the law. “Under penalty of death.”
And so, up the mountain we traversed once again, until we came upon a field.
“What’s a field doing on the side of a mountain?” Barney asked.
“That’s a good question,” I answered.
“Intruders!” a voice yelled from inside the sea of corn stalks. “You shall perish for defiling Mt. Spam with your footsteps!” A scythe was thrust up through the corn field and began moving in our direction.
“Remember the rule,” I reminded the group. “No dying – that includes perishing.”
The group nodded, and we prepared for action. It wouldn’t be long before whoever was wielding the scythe would emerge from the field and engage us in combat.
We were quite surprised to find just who was controlling the farming tool when we caught our first full glimpse of our adversary.
Nobody. There was no-one carrying the scythe. It was floating through the air by itself, and had a pair of googly-eyes attached to its handle.
“I am Farmer Maggot!” it somehow yelled without any visible mouth. “Prepare to get hurt lots!”
“Quick, MetaMan!” I yelled. “What beats a talking scythe with googly-eyes?”
“Shoot, I know this one!” MetaMan replied.
“Well hurry!”
“Uh… Pharaoh! Scythes are incapable of striking pharaohs!”
“Great!” I yelled. “Well what are you waiting for, Pharaoh? You heard the man, take this googly-eyed freak down!”
Pharaoh did as he was told and charged the scythe.
“Prepare to die, mortal!” the farming tool yelled.
“Ha!” Pharaoh responded, sticking his chest out proudly. “You can’t hurt me, I’m a pharaoh!”
Farmer Maggot swung vertically, killing Pharaoh instantly. MetaMan, who had snuck up behind the scythe, bashed it with a rock he was holding. Farmer Maggot convulsed and turned into a lifeless candy cane, sans googly-eyes.
“Ok,” I began. “You’re going to have to explain that to me, MetaMan.”
“Well you see,” he started, “I knew a rock to the back was the only thing that could stop a scythe with googly-eyes. However, the only way to get behind Farmer Maggot was to have somebody distract him. I figured Pharaoh was the most expendable, because Doombreed is freakin’ huge, Barney is an awesome pirate, and you’re narrating this stupid story.”
“Well done, MetaMan! I hope you’re one of the last of our group to die!”
“Uh… thanks, I think.”
“So anyway, why did Maggot turn into a candy cane?”
“I don’t know,” MetaMan answered. “That was just plain weird.”
“Arr, let’s not delay,” Barney said. “We’re almost there!”
Barney led the charge as we went running up the mountain. We were coming very close to the cavern towards the top that surely housed the source of the System Spam. Once again, however, we were stopped along the way.
“Halt!” the man standing before us yelled. “You shall go no further! You may have defeated Nakano and Farmer Maggot, but I am the almighty Bruce!”
“Wasn’t that a movie?” Barney asked.
“No,” I answered, “you’re thinking of ‘Bruce Almighty.’ It was that flick from 2003 with Jim Carrey playing Bruce Norman.”
“I think it was Nolan,” Barney stated.
“No, I’m pretty sure his name was Bruce.”
“I meant his last name – his last name was Nolan.”
“Oh right, Bruce Nolan. Yeah, that movie wasn’t bad.”
“Arr, I enjoyed it. Saw it with Yako.”
“It’s a shame Yako had to die back there,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, I know. That was still a good movie though.”
“Totally.”
Bruce had an annoyed look on his face. “Are you two finished?” he asked.
“Oh, my apologies,” I answered. “Once you get me talkin’ about something, it’s hard to get me to stop! I totally forgot we were about to engage in mortal combat of some sort.”
“That was a sweet game,” Barney noted.
“What was?” I asked.
“Mortal Kombat.”
“I thought it was called Mortal Norman.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it was Kombat.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re ri–”
Bruce cut me off before I could finish.
“Shut up, you morons!” he yelled. “I had this awesome, evil speech planned out, and you guys ruined the whole thing! Time for you to die!”
And with that, Bruce underwent a drastic physical change – he transformed into a werewolf. Strangely enough, his metamorphosis made the same sound the Transformers did in that classic 80’s cartoon.
“Holy crap, a werewolf!” Barney yelled as he whipped out a revolver that had been previously concealed from sight. He unloaded a full six shots into Bruce, but they did nothing. The pirate quickly dropped the empty, bronze shells out of his gun and began reloading.
“Wait!” MetaMan yelled. “You need a silver bullet to kill a werewolf!”
“Oh, right!” Barney said. “Good thinking!” Barney dropped the unused bronze shells out of the revolver and began searching his pockets.
“Hurry!” I yelled.
“I’m trying!” he said, as Bruce slowly advanced on us. “I lost my silver bullet again!”
I shook my head in disgust. We didn’t have much time, so I had to act fast.
“Doombreed!” I yelled. “Throw MetaMan at the werewolf!”
“What?!” MetaMan asked. He didn’t have a chance to contest my command before Doombreed had done as he was instructed. MetaMan went flying through the air like a javelin, impaling Bruce and killing them both.
“How’d you know that would work?” Barney asked.
“Easy,” I said. “MetaMan has always been silver.”
“Brilliant!”
“Thanks. Anyway, the entrance to the cavern of Mt. Spam is just ahead – let’s stop wasting time!”
So the remaining three warriors, Doombreed, Barney and myself, continued climbing until we entered the mountain. Bubbling Spam filled the pool that surrounded us, and our final obstacle stood on the other side of the cavern.
“Greetings,” the man said.
“Hi!” I enthusiastically replied.
“I am Scott, creator of the System Spam.”
“Hi Scott, I’m Rubber Chicken. This is Black Barney. And this beast, who will probably devour you shortly, is Doombreed.”
“Fools!” Scott yelled. “You can not stop System Spam!”
“Well I’d be willing to die trying!” I yelled. “Doombreed – you go first.”
Doombreed did as I said, and charged across the small bridge to the other side of the cavern. Scott simply stood and waited, making no effort to defend himself.
Just before Doombreed brought his massive fists down upon Scott, our adversary pulled out a weapon of unimaginable destructive power – a giant, club-like whisk.
Scott only took a single swing at Doombreed, knocking him off of the bridge and into the pit of bubbling Spam. A fart-like noise was produced.
“Who’s next?” Scott asked, as he slowly walked towards us.
“I think we’re in trouble,” I whispered to Barney.
“No, wait – remember the weapon Ellington gave us?” Barney asked. “Let’s find out just what it does! Give me your key, landlubber!”
I did as Barney instructed, and he bravely ran onto the bridge to confront Scott. Barney set the small metal box by his feet, and clicked both keys into place, popping the lid open. Scott was almost upon him.
“Good God,” Barney said as he gazed at the mysterious weapon.
“What is it?” I yelled.
Barney stood up and stared hard into Scott’s eyes.
“You shall not pass, jerk!” he yelled just before running back towards me.
Scott, being a curious villain, scooped up the box and took a look at it. I saw his eyes grow wide just before Barney tackled me behind a rock, in an attempt to protect us both from what would come.
“No!” Scott yelled as he reared his arm back to try and throw the weapon away. But it was too late, the device’s timer had expired, and all of its power was released.
Sharp, echoing sounds filled the cavern. Ten at first. Then twenty. One hundred. The aural onslaught would bring most men to their knees.
It was a pingbomb.
The mountain grew angry at the repeated pings, while Scott screamed in pain. The spam bubbled and rose, the cavern shook. I saw my crappy life flash before my eyes, followed by a darkness that overtook me.
Epilogue
I woke up to feel a hook poking me in the face. Barney was standing over me.
“What… what’s going on?” I asked. Looking around, I noticed we were no longer in the cavern I had last remembered seeing – we had somehow ended up at the foot of Mt. Spam. “How did I get here? And why does my back hurt so badly?” I sat up and looked down to find that I had been sleeping on an anvil.
“We won,” Barney said. “The pingbomb sealed Mt. Spam up for good.”
“How did we get out then? Did you carry me?”
“No. I was unconscious too.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“Take a closer look at the anvil you’re sitting on.”
I did as Barney suggested, and found that the anvil was resting not on the ground, but in a cart. Turning around, I saw the goofiest smile I’d ever seen.
“Ehhhnnnn!” Guma said.
“Guma!” I yelled. “You saved us?”
Guma nodded.
“Arrr, apparently he pushed the cart and the anvil all the way up the mountain in an attempt to catch up with the group,” Barney said. “He arrived just in time to save us.”
“Wow,” I responded. “Thanks Guma! This calls for a celebration!”
“Well, we can celebrate all we want,” Barney pointed out. “This is our island, now!”
“You’re right!” I exclaimed. “And in honor of the bravery that happened here today,” I began as I slapped Guma on the back with my wing, “I declare this island to be named… Patzachia!”
Guma frowned, but nobody cared.
“Now I can finally relax,” I said.
“And I,” Barney chimed in, “can finally dance!”
And so, Barney went prancing off into the distance, I hung up my chicken suit for the last time, and Guma sat by his cart and anvil, crying. We had won the war, and System Spam would never plague the lives of the innocent again.
We all lived on the island paradise of Patzachia, happily ever after.
The End.
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