Chapter 4 – Big Balls Don’t Bounce

The screamin’ turned out to be only one of his weekend bitches stayin' over until Tuesday. She probably had da skills enough for Big Balls to actually friggin’ wanna pay fer once. Who gives a flyin’ bastard?

Anyways, I took hold of both of da fancy-ass doors leadin’ into da Inner Sanctum (God rest your soul, Francis Dytrio, brother and beloved mental-vacuum) and yanked ‘em so hard dat dey flew across the hall behind me and fuckin’ lodged into da friggin’ steel-reinforced wall. And ta think, I used to not even be able to throw a fuckin’ baseball faster than thoity fuckin miles an hour. Now I can throw a pair of heavy-ass doors across a room at probably fiddy.

Anyways, I marched my orange-suited ass across the fancy-ass penthouse with my eyes seeing red and shit. I passed by a huge-ass mirror with which Big Balls probably put on his comb-over, and I noticed dat my eyes actually were red. Like, dey were glowin’ red like a bed of hot-ass fuckin’ coals. I actually got a little scared of myself den, but I suddenly remembered dat I was such a hard-ass now that I could prolly even kick my own ass. Dat’s one touch sonufa bitch dat can even kick his own ass, lemme tell ya.

One of Big-Balls’ guard dogs came at me when I was bein’ all scared and shit at my own ass in da mirror, and dat damn pooch got me right in da fuckin’ leg. Didn’t hurt, but it pissed me off like a bastard. I took dat damn dog’s head in my right hand and I squeezed as hard as I could, which was fuckin’ hard, lemme tell ya.

Dat poor pooch. I can still feel its doggie brains oozin’ through my fingers.

Anyways, now dat da damn dogs were on my ass, I had to take ‘em all out. After all, what good is bein’ a scary-ass motherfucker what could make you eat your own ass wit’ a smile on yer face if you’re too busy shakin’ a damn dog off yer leg, eh?

I grabbed one by its ass-legs, and I swung its poochie head into da other dogs’ heads. I don’t know if I killed ‘em, (and don’t give a flyin’ bastard, since they were dead soon enough anyways) but they sure as shit were dead when they hit dat hard-ass sidewalk. They might have even been dead when they went through dat hard-ass wall on their way to dat hard-ass sidewalk. Like I said before, I didn’t give a flyin’ bastard about anything but Big Balls.

Anyways, once I sent those overgrown Chihuahuas to Puppy Heaven, I made my way into da huge-ass, glass-walled office of Mr. Vincenzo.

Da doors weren’t even locked, so I guess I tossed ‘em through da back of da damn building, yankin’ on ‘em so friggin’ hard and all. I didn’t bother to check, because Big Balls had his fuckin’ automatic gun spittin’ fire at my ass at da time. It was kinda funny; da fire from the barrel was more painful to my friggin sensitive eyes than da damn bullets were in my chest. What was more weirder dan dat (my brother would have slapped me for sayin’ a sentence like dat) is that da bullets weren’t bouncing off me like Superman, but they were actually goin’ through me. I could feel ‘em tearin’ their way through my ass, even ricochetin’ off my fuckin’ spine. Like always, though, it was kinda like a ticklin’ feelin,’ and even made me giggle a little, like some sort of cute-ass schoolgirl.

Anyways, I calmly walked towards Big Balls’ desk, wit’ what felt like a hundred million fuckin’ bullets tearin’ through me, and I just stood there for a second. Soon enough, Big Balls’ clip ran out, and he fumbled da new one in his hands like some sort of half-assed running back tryin’ to catch a greasy ball. I laughed at him, but it didn’t sound like my laugh used to sound like when my younger brother (an idiot, as Frank would call him) used to crack jokes that were only funny ‘cause they were dumber than shit. No, this time, my laugh sounded like some sorta demon let loose outta hell. Couple this with my red-glowin’ eyes and my orange suit, and Big Balls Vincenzo mighta thought I was da fuckin’ devil come to take his rotten-ass soul back to Hell where it come from. I cleared my throat, and it seemed to make my normal voice come back. Weird.

Anyways, I took my sweet-ass time wit’ dis speech, seein’ as how I’d been rehearsin’ it for da past few years since Francis Dytrio was retarderized, and I kinda wanted it to be special, in a sick-ass, revenge-obsessed, morbid-as-Hell way. It went somethin’ like this.

“How’s it goin’ here, Vincenzo? You havin’ yourself a good-ass time shootin’ folks in da head and makin’ shit-loads of money from doin’ nuttin’? Or maybe your day would be even more ass-kickin’ if you was knockin’ da fuckin’ brains outta my brother again? You do remember Francis Dytrio, don’t you? He was da guy what busted his ass gettin’ through law school only to bust his ass even harder for your shit-ass gangs? No? Oh, dat’s right, last you saw his ass, he was getting’ eighty fuckin’ stitches in his head, courtesy of your gaddam goons thinkin’ they was playin’ a game of fuckin’ teeball! Do you remember him? Answer me, you AIDS-diarrhea-suckin’ bastard-ass motherfucker!”

He stood there frozen and holdin’ his gun, almost like a Statue of Liberty dat was packin’ friggin’ heat. I let him take his time. I could see in his eyes that da wheels were grindin’ in his head. He got dis look on his face like he was finally rememberin’ but tryin’ to forget it just as fast. It was golden: his eyes were all wide and shit, and he was more scared right at that moment than I’d ever seen him. Of course, he never got scared, seeins’ how he owned da fuckin’ Vincenzo Gang, but lemme tall ya, he was one scared sumbitch.

“Wait a minute…” he says, his fancy-ass talkin’ school doin’ him justice even in his last few moments of life. “Are you… Louis Dytrio?”

“Give da guy his fuckin’ grand prize.”

“But… didn’t we…”

“Yeah. Your guys went to fuckin’ work on my head wit’ da same fuckin’ bat you used to retarderize my brother, except your guys finished da job wit’ me. You even made sure my stinkin’ ass would sink to da bottom of da damn river by usin’ a whole bathtub fulla fuckin’ concrete, somethin’ I woulda never expected from a cheap-ass bastard like you, but I guess when ya gotta get rid of someone, ya gotta splurge, eh? But guess what? I’m fuckin’ back. Back for some fuckin’ blood.”

“Vengeance, is it? For what, exactly?” he said. He seemed to be much more calm dis time, and I was gettin’ a little worried. No more than a second ago, he was ready to shit his pants, but now he’s givin’ me da Sly Eye? What da fuck? I had to ask him.

“What da fuck do you think?”

“For getting rid of an embezzling rat? Why would you even bother?” he asked.

I was so fuckin’ pissed at that moment I probably could have turned into fire. I guess I didn’t have that power yet, but I did see dat da room was now lit up only by my eyes, seein’ as how they were glowin’ like da fuckin’ sun right then. It took everything I had just to keep from rippin’ his fuckin’ guts out right then. And that was a lot, lemme tell ya.

“Why do I bother? He was my fucking brother! I grew up wit’ dat guy! He knocked sense into me when even my ma couldn’t! He even made enough money to get ma outta dat damn neighborhood, and now he lives wit’ her again because of what your damn goons did to him! I’d even say dat he stole from you because he knew what a bunch of flyin’ bastards you all were because he worked for ya! My brother was a great guy until you knocked him outta his own head, and even though he’s like a stoner dat likes Honey Nut Cheerios too fuckin’ much, he’s still a great guy in my book. That’s why I bother.”

“So this isn’t about me ordering you dead?”

“Does it look like I’m fuckin’ dead? Besides, you’ve probably already noticed, but all those damn bullets didn’t do dick to me, so I’m doin’ even better than before. I even got myself a new friggin’ suit…” I said, looking down at my unscratched chest. When I did, however, I noticed that my new friggin’ suit was torn to friggin’ shreds by that lead friggin’ shower. Shit. Guess I gotta make another stop at Sak’s after killin’ Big Balls.

“Then try on these full metal jackets, bitch!” Vincenzo said, ramming his new clip into his M-16 and lettin’ loose right into my friggin’ face.

Even though it still didn’t hurt (except for that damn flash) they felt different than when it was my chest that da flyin’ lead was tearin’ through. It was like when you got a stiff neck or got a really big mosquito bite or somethin’ like dat: uncomfortable but not exactly painful. Still, I was caught by surprise again, and I stumbled backwards into da sunken couch-pit thing Vincenzo had goin’ on in da middle of da room. Stylish, but it didn’t help me out very much right then. He also had a glass coffee table sittin’ there, and my ass probably vaporized da damn thing. I felt more than a few shit-ass-sharp pieces of glass ram themselves into my asscheeks, my back, my arms, my legs, and my feet.

Unlike the bullets, though, (full metal jackets, har har har) da glass shards stayed inside me. They didn’t even start slidin’ out of my ass when I stood up. I looked at my arms (which were completely visible, now dat my friggin’ suit was destroyed) and I saw the smaller pieces of glass actually becomin’ part of my friggin’ skin. My back and my ass started absorbin’ da bigger shards, and soon every square inch of my skin (dat I could see, anyways: my peach torpedo was still safe in da launch tube) was half glass. It still had da same color as my old skin, but now, at certain angles and shit, it shined like a chrome bumper on a ’64 Impala. Vinceno was still blastin’ my ass (he’d loaded a friggin’ drum clip into his M-16, so he probably had another fiddy rounds in there) but now, instead of penetratin’ in and out of me, they were stayin’ inside, just like da glass shards. I could feel ‘em jumblin’ around inside my chest, all loose and shit like a pissload of snot when ya got a cold.

I tried to cough ‘em up into my mouth and shoot ‘em at Vincenzo like dat green-face dude in dat awesome-ass Jim Carrey movie, but it didn’t work. Damn. I relaxed my grip on ‘em for a second, and lo and behold, they started to work their way down into my hands. They came outta my skin and pooled in my hands, and then started to mold into da foist thing I could think of at da time. A nice, large, juicy pair of boobies.

Now, ya gotta take da time to really look at dis scene for a second.

First, ya got a mob boss in his striped pajamas shootin’ off a gazillion rounds of ammo in his own penthouse.

Second, ya got several holes in da walls, most of which were da exits of da aforementioned (Love my brother’s words) mob boss’ guard dogs.

Thoid, ya got a busted-ass coffee table wit’ half da pieces missin’.

And finally, ya got an ex accountant for dat very same mob boss standin’ in da middle of a sunken couch-pit thing, laughin’ his ass off while wearin’ a shredded orange suit, glass friggin’ skin, and holdin’ a pair of lead breasts in both his hands.

I friggin’ love it.

Anyways, I was laughin’ even harder when da boobies started jigglin’ in my hands. It was weird: I never knew lead (even in da shape of Bangin’-Ass Double-D’s) could jiggle.

After a minute or two of me laughin’, jigglin’, and lead-absorbin’, I tried to make somethin’ useful outta da heavy-ass metal tits. I tried makin’ da lead into a gun, but I remembered what dat bodybuildin’ California governor said in dat badass movie of his, and I knew I couldn’t get da damn thing to fire without gunpowder. So, halfway through da transformation, I tried makin’ a sword outta da lead. Of course, then I realied dat lead was a fuckin’ weak-ass metal dat bent itself outta shape da foist minute it hit somethin’, so I decided to just make a fuckin’ bat outta damn thing. As soon as da shape of a Lousiville Slugger came to life in my hands, Vincenzo’s bottomless clip finally ran out. I smiled a really fuckin’ evil smile at da guy, and slowly marched my way towards him. I didn’t give any speeches dis time, and he didn’t ask me any dumbass questions, either.

He actually got another clip jammed into his gun, and he would have started unloadin’ it into me again, but I used my brand-new lead bat to knock da fuckin’ thing through da wall and outta da building. It flew outta there in two fuckin’ pieces.

I looked directly into Big Balls Vincenzo’s eyes, and he looked directly back at me. My lead bat shattered his knees like dat glass coffee table. He fell backwards onto his fancy-ass rug, screamin’ like da fuckin’ pansy-ass bastard he was, and he held both knees in his hands. My bat turned his shins into little bone toothpicks inside his skin. He screamed even louder, but then I heard a small pop and I somehow knew it was Vincenzo’s fuckin’ vocal chords gettin’ overstressed and then snappin’ in half. Must hurt like one hell of a flyin’ bastard to scream so hard dat you blow out your own friggin’ voice, lemme tell ya.

It didn’t take long to do da same to his feet and his toes, and his thighs were real easy, seein’ as how they were just one bone each, as opposed to da previous parts of his legs, which had a fuckload of bones. Lemme tell ya, it takes some friggin’ time to break every damn one of those tiny-ass foot-bones. I only broke his pelvis in two or tree places, because he was startin’ to black out, and I was startin’ to get bored. Weird, da one thing I always wanted to do to da guy who fucked up my brother’s brains, and I was gettin’ tired of it before I got to da really hard shit.

I grabbed his pajama shirt and tossed him onto his desk. When I did, though, I noticed dat his lumpy-ass broken legs actually started to get a little smoother. To confirm my observation (dis is for you, Francis Dytrio) I placed my open palm on his chest and concentrated real friggin’ hard. After only five or six seconds, I started hearin’ Big Balls’ screamin’ voice again. He started scramblin’ off da desk, stumblin’ around his office like he was lost or somethin’. His legs were completely healed. I guess I could heal people's assesas easily as I could beat their asses.

Oh shit! I can heal Francis! I can make his brain start workin’ right again! Lookin’ at Big Balls stumble around his office, though, I knew dat healin’ old wounds was a project for another day. Right now, Big Balls Vincenzo was gonna friggin’ pay wit’ his blood.

“W-what’s going on here?” he said, his repaired voice shaky and scared as shit.

“I just wanted ya to be as healthy as possible before ya met God face-to-face.”

I gave him a second to get dis sentence through his thick skull, and then I rushed at him as fast as I could, which was… well, you know.

I grabbed his chest, looked him in the eyes again, and smiled in my widest, weirdest, craziest, most insane-lookin’ smile I could do. One second later, I was lookin’ at his face as we both fell seventy-five friggin’ stories. I don’t think he was screamin’ anymore, at least, not in the sense that a man screams wit’ his mouth and his voice, but I was sure there was a whole lotta screamin’ goin’ on in his head.

Anyways, just before we hit da ground, I grabbed his shoulders and did a handstand on ‘em. I wanted dis guy to be as close to Hell as possible before actually getting’ there.

His legs shattered again, and I think his hips were jammed up into his shoulders from da force of da impact, because I could feel somethin’ pushin’ against my hands dat was real lumpy and sharp in some places. It was a very sickenin’ feeling, and I wanted to hork my lunch onto da sidewalk, until of course, I realized dat dis guy did a lot of worse things to a lot of better people. Eh, what’re ya gonna do?

Anyways, da impact of two bodies hittin’ da ground after a seventy-five story fall made one hell of a friggin’ crater. A crater with one hell of a fuckin’ disgusting mess at da bottom of it, lemme tell ya.

Vincenzo’s head was almost completely intact, though, and I looked into his murderin’ eyes one last time. He seemed to look back at me, but I knew dat bastard’s chest was now jelly-fied and inches below his chin, so I knew he was dead for good. I set da head back on da bottom of da crater, and just for good measure, I ripped his jaw off and jammed his bottom teeth into da top of his head. I heard some sick sonsa bitches did dat over in Jersey, so dat should be a nice mess for da cops to clean up.

Of course, I could really care less about pigs nowadays, seein’ as how I could rip every damn one of their throats out and not even get a drop of blood on my suit, but I never really had a problem wit’ cops before now. I mean, just da usual speedin’ tickets and money-lauderin’ charges and shit, but nuttin’ really bad. I guess I knew I had a lot of other enemies in da mob scene to deal wit’, and dat makin’ myself an enemy of da cops would just give me a fuckin’ headache dat would never go away. Also, I was kind of friends wit’ one or two cops, and I had a detective cousin somewhere in da Bronx.

Anyways, I climbed outta dat crater, wearin’ a friggin’ rag of a suit, and came face-to-face wit’ dat trannie hooker. “She” gave me a wide-eyed look, then slowly turned around and walked away, slow and steady. I think I might have seen her drop a flask of da sauce onto da sidewalk, but dat was probably only my friggin’ imagination.

In less dan a few seconds, I was a block away from da Armani store, but I saw dat da cops were still surroundin’ da place. All da lights were on, and about half da cops were inside, so I decided to spend da rest of da night in Big Balls’ penthouse. It was probably four thoity in da mornin’, but I could afford to sleep ‘till one PM now dat I was a friggin’ X-Man. I jumped onto da roof of da nearest buildin’, and hopped from rooftop to rooftop until I got back to da Sake Buildin’.

When I got back inside, I suddenly remembered dat Vincenzo was pretty damn close to my size of suit, so I made a mental note to raid his huge-ass friggin’ closet foist thing in da mornin’. After dat, I’d head over to ma’s place and get Frankie back to his old self. Hell, I could even get rid of ma’s arthritis and knock a few pounds off her while I was at it! I might even think about gettin’ dad’s blood pressure down, but they probably didn’t let super-fuckin’-powerful dudes see their dads in jail. Oh well, he’s kind of a bastard and probably deserves what he got anyways.

Da bottom line was dat Manhattan was mine for da takin’, and I was gonna take my sweet-ass time takin’ everything I could get my glass-skinned hands on. Includin’ every stinkin’ mob bastard I could find. Any and every son of a bitch dat thought he was da shit is gonna wish he was somewhere else once I get my ass in gear.

It was gonna be Boondock Saints from here on in, lemme tell ya.

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Whoa! He lives! An update from Todd B. James is like getting a true-blue sign of the Apocalypse!

Well, now. It seems that Louie got his revenge, and is poised to erase every wound and eliminate every killer in the city. But will he be unimpeded in his quest? If he does, will he find satisfaction in his quest? Also, is he really a good guy with bad guy means to good guy ends, or is he just a bad guy with good guy powers he uses for bad guy ends? Who gives a flyin' bastard? Anyway, keep looking here for updates. They're bound to show up in the next decade or so...

This chapter is for Gaki Toki, for being my Number One Fan and for always being there for me. Luv ya Gaki! Hugs and kisses!