CHAPTER 8

"Hey kid, you lookin' for a good time?" asked some scantily clad woman.

"No." said Ironclad Cletus. "Why? Is there a reward?"

"Yep. 20 thousand dollars." said the woman, lighting a cigarette. "Apparently it's owners are desperate to have it back."

"Wow! Thanks for the tip!" said Ironclad Cletus, running off to begin the search. He ducked into a phone booth, and resisting the urge to change into a superhero outfit, called Mary and told her the plan. They met at Louie's House Of Pepper to strategize.

"The way I see it- Thanks, Jenny." said Ironclad Cletus, as she set down two glasses of juiced pepper. "The way I see it, once we find it, we can split the reward 50/50."

"But then we only get 10 thousand each!" lamented Mary. "How about we just split it 100/100!"

"Good thinking!" said Ironclad Cletus, high fiving her.

"Are you guys talking about the reward?" asked Jenny Trombone.

"Yeah! How'd you know?" asked Mary.

"It's all over the news!" said Jenny excitedly. "Everyone in TOWN is out looking for a good time today!"

"You wouldn't happen to have any leads, would you?" asked Mary hopefully.

"If I did, would I still be working here?" she asked glumly.

"Probably." said Ironclad Cletus. "You get free pepper, right?"

"Yeah." said Jenny.

"Definitely then." nodded Ironclad Cletus.

"So Mary, you're after that reward too, huh?" said a familiar voice. "Shame. Your talent could be used in such a better way."

"I... KNOW that voice!" said Mary, turning around.

"Hi." said Scripps.

"Wutup, bitche$." said Florence, flashing a gang sign. They were accompanied by the rest of their high school pals.

"Oh. Long time no see." said Mary. She chuckled. "Shouldn't you kids be in class?"

"Wuteva! We be high schoolin', ho!" said Florence insultingly, grabbing his crotch with one hand and putting more bling on the other. "Ballaz like us ain't in class 'less we WANNA be, dig?"

"Parent teacher conference." explained Scripps.

"Oh." said Mary.

"Why don't you jerks just step off?" said Ironclad Cletus toughly. "A bridge, that is!"

"Hey kid, shouldn't you be on your way back to the loser factory?" mocked Scripps. "I heard they declared a recall." All of his high school buddies gave him low fives and uttered various words of praise ('good' is an example, as well as 'disbogus').

"But if I was being recalled by a loser factory, wouldn't that mean I wasn't a loser?" asked Ironclad Cletus.

Scripps laughed. "You just don't know when to keep your mouth shut, do ya?" He turned to Florence. "Rough him up!"

"Maybe later." said Ironclad Cletus.

"What are ya, CHICKEN?!" laughed Scripps. He began flapping his arms like a baby chicken. "CHICK CHICK CHICK CHICK-AWN!"

"Let's put dis fool in a pail!" shouted Florence. A roar of cheers emerged from the group of high schoolers as they put Ironclad Cletus in a pail.

"Hey. Hey. Hey." said Scripps, settling everyone down. "Check this out. Now he's a chicken... IN A PAIL!"

The high schoolers began laughing wildly, slapping Scripps on the back and having unprotected sex with each other as I'm told high schoolers always do.

"So anyways Mary, how about it?" asked Scripps. "Join ussss."

"No." she said. "I'm with Cletus and that's all there is to it."

"What if I told you we'd split it... 200/200?" said Scripps tantalizingly.

"Ooooh..." said Mary. "I like the cut of your jib!"

"What's wrong with MY jib?!" called Ironclad Cletus, helplessly beating on the walls of the pail.

"Eh, it's okay..." said Mary doubtfully.

"Face it, kid. She's through with your jib. She's had it up to HERE with your jib." said Scripps. "She's ready to be treated the way she deserves."

"Actually, I'm not ready yet." she said. "It hurts, but I'm willing to endure Ironclad Cletus' jib for as long as I can." She helped him out of the pail.

"But... but why?!" demanded Scripps, on the verge of tears. "What's he got that we don't?!"

"A heart." said Mary coldly.

"I have a heart." said Scripps, taking her hand and resting it on his chest. "See? You can feel it beating."

"Hmmm." she scrutinized. "That could be anything."

"While you're there, feel free to take the hint and grope my masculine chest muscles." suggested Scripps.

Mary groped them. "Eh." she said with an indifferent shrug. She walked over to Ironclad Cletus and rapped her knuckles loudly on his breastplate. "Hear that clang? Now THAT is a REAL man's chest!"

"So you're saying if I get some armor, you'll join our posse?" asked Scripps.

"It wouldn't be enough if it was just you." said Mary. "I think you'd ALL need to wear some armor."

"Like, what kind of armor?" asked a girl.

"Well, Ironclad Cletus seems to be going for a 19th century look, but I'd recommend going medieval if you really hope to beat him." said Mary with a knowledgeable nod.

"Like, as if!" said the girl. "That's SOOOO seven hundred years ago!"

"Frankly, I agree." said Scripps. "Could we go for something more modern?"

"1979 is the latest I can accept." said Mary, showing him a picture of some vintage 1979 armor, complete with afro guard.

"What about 1981?" asked Scripps. "I have some armor with a HUMAN LEAGUE ROX pattern. Please say 1981."

"I'll say it, but I won't put 'you can wear armor from' before it." said Mary. "1981."

"Bitch be ice, boi." said Florence. "Let's split, yo, fo' she makes even bigga fools of us!"

"I won't forget this, Mary! You will be ours!" shouted Scripps as they retreated.

"You sure taught them a lesson, Mary!" praised Ironclad Cletus, patting her on the back.

"A lesson huh? Well, it's lucky for them they're quick learners!" she said badassly. She gnashed her teeth loudly. "I was hoping to demonstrate my wrist ripper technique!"

"Yup. Too bad there's no chance of us seeing such a demonstration now." said Jenny sadly.

"Too bad indeed." agreed Ironclad Cletus.

"It might not be too late!" said Mary happily, ripping out some guy's brain through his wrist, using only her teeth.

"Well, we should have seen that one coming." sighed Ironclad Cletus.

"To be honest, I actually did see it coming." admitted Jenny. "It just sounded cool for some reason."

"SOUNDED cool? It WAS cool!" said Ironclad Cletus. "Do it again!"

"You got it! RARR!" rarred Mary, pouncing on some guy who just entered the restaurant.

"Can I help you, young lady?" asked Maxwell Carter, confused.

"Oh my god, it's the world famous Maxwell Carter!" shouted Jenny. "Mary, STOP!"

"How embarrassing!" said Mary, jumping off him, wiping some blood off her teeth. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Carter!"

"There's nothing to be sorry about!" smiled Maxwell Carter. "Even the best of us feel like a wrist ripper technique now and then!"

"Even you, Maxwell Carter?" asked Mary, in awe.

"Yes. And I must say, yours is particularly savage and powerful." said Maxwell Carter. "Such power will surely earn you victories, but knowing when to resist the urge is the mark of a true warrior. Remember that, young Mary, and it is clear that your future will be one of legends."

"Thank you, sir!" she said, a spark of determination electrifying her disposition. "I will!"

"Whatta be alla dis hubbub?" asked Louie, emerging from the kitchen. "Bless-um de stars! It's-a Maxwell Carter!"

"Hi." said Maxwell Carter. "And you are?"

"I'm-a Louie! Louie Hausenpepper!" said Louie, shaking Maxwell Carter's hand. "But you can call-a me... MEESTAH PEPPAH MAAAAN!"

"Louie will be fine." said Maxwell Carter, barely succeeding at containing his disgust. Ironclad Cletus wasn't so lucky, emitting a guttural moan of pain.

"Whassamatta, Cleety?" asked Louie, slapping him on the back! "Bats inna de belfry? Got-um da sneeze wizard blues?"

"Nope." said Ironclad Cletus.

"Well, you do now!" laughed Louie, tearing off a costume to reveal himself to be...

"THE SNEEZE WIZARD!" shouted Maxwell Carter. "Stay back, kids! His power level is far greater than yours!"

"Achoobrakadabra!" sneezed The Sneeze Wizard, aiming a deadly hex at Maxwell Carter. The world famous dude barely dodged it, whipping a couple throwing stars at the Sneeze Wizard.

"Alakachoo!" sneezed The Sneeze Wizard, casting a barrier charm. The throwing stars hit it and fell harmlessly to the ground.

"I can't believe it!" yelled Jenny, as she, Ironclad Cletus, and Mary, ducked behind an overturned table. "All this time my boss was secretly The Sneeze Wizard! Brr! Gives me the chills just thinking about it."

"Me too." said Ironclad Cletus. "The only difference is that instead of thinking about that, I'm thinking about life in the north pole."

"Yeah, that's also a very chilly thought." agreed Jenny. "But which is chillier? Mary, if you would please moderate this discussion."

"Gladly." she said, putting on her moderator cap.

"The north pole can reach temperatures as low as negative a million degrees Celsius." said Ironclad Cletus. "How low does The Sneeze Wizard go?"

"This isn't about lowness." said Jenny. "It's about integrity."

"Achoocus pookus!" shouted The Sneeze Wizard, casting a powerful spell which hit Maxwell Carter straight in the chest.

"Ow!" said Maxwell Carter, falling to the ground and coughing up some blood. "He's... even stronger than I thought!"

"And now... the killing sneeze." sneered The Sneeze Wizard.

"Maxwell Carter needs our help!" shouted Ironclad Cletus, LEAPING INTO ACTION. "This discussion will just have to wait!"

"My fists are ready!" shouted Mary.

"Count me in, too!" yelled Jenny Trombone, holding a tuber with a headband.

"Yuck! What the flesh is that thing?" asked Mary, pointing at it.

"IT'S BATTLE YAM!" yelled Jenny triumphantly, raising it up over her head for all the world to see.

"Good thing we're indoors, I'd hate for someone to see you holding that embarrassing thing." criticized Ironclad Cletus.

"Aw." said Jenny sadly, bringing Battle Yam down to eye level. "Don't listen to them, Battle Yam. In my eyes, you're the greatest hero of all."

"MODERATOR MANGLER!" shouted Mary, performing a deadly move on the Sneeze Wizard. "DIPLOMAT DEATH-GRAB!"

"SNEEZE WIZARD VOLLEY!" yelled The Sneeze Wizard, easily putting her out of commission.

"NO! MARY!" yelled Ironclad Cletus, preparing to ram The Sneeze Wizard with all the force he could muster. But his force was lame-o, and soon he was out cold as well.

"Pathetic! Is there no one stronger I can defeat?!" laughed The Sneeze Wizard cruelly. "The world is mine!"

"Not so fast!" shouted Jenny Trombone. She threw Battle Yam at The Sneeze Wizard. It hit him in the face.

"Like I said, the world is mine!" continued The Sneeze Wizard.

"NO! BATTLE YAM! HOW COULD YOU FAIL?!" sobbed Jenny, weeping into it's soft husk.

And it was on that day that a very magical event took place. Jenny's tears, filled with love for the yam she raised as warrior, transformed that same warrior... into A MAN.

"I'm a real boy!" said Battle Yam, now a human bein'.

"Wow! Battle Yam!" said Jenny, quite amazed. "Not only are you a real boy but you're totally hot!"

"Aw shucks." said Battle Yam bashfully. "You're killin' me."

"No seriously!" said Jenny, splashing some cold water on Mary's face. "Mary, is REAL BOY BATTLE YAM hot or what?"

"Eh, he's okay." said Mary dismissively. "A little lacking in the iron breastplate department, dontcha think?"

"I guess, if that's your thing." shrugged Jenny. "I'm all about the combat sash, myself. And believe me, Real Boy Battle Yam's got THAT in spades!"

"I can see that." said Mary, eyeing it hungrily.

"Sneeze Wizard, you've met your match in me!" shouted Real Boy Battle Yam, drawing his sword.

"Hah! If you lost as a yam, how do you expect to WIN as a human?!" laughed The Sneeze Wizard. "That don't make a lick o' sense!"

Real Boy Battle Yam was taken aback by realization. Of course. All the pieces fit. A lick... OF CENTS! He hastily glued some pennies to his tongue.

"No! This is... This is impossible!" shouted The Sneeze Wizard, taking a few steps backwards as Real Boy Battle Yam approached. "That was an unsolvable riddle!"

"Unsolvable for a yam, perhaps." said Real Boy Battle Yam, flashing a grin as he drew ever closer to his lickable quarry.. "But not for a human."

"Achoobrakadabra! Achookus Pookus!" sneezed The Sneeze Wizard desperately. However, Real Boy Battle Yam was equipped with a very durable sneeze guard, rendering The Sneeze Wizard powerless.

"Help me! Somebody help!" called The Sneeze Wizard, as Real Boy Battle Yam prepared to lick him.

"There is nobody who can hear you now." hissed Real Boy Battle Yam, licking his neck with the pennies and stepping back as the wizard vanished amidst howls of pain.

"Very impressive, all of you!" said Maxwell Carter, gazing at the four warriors gathered before him. "It's like looking in a mirror that shows four me's."

"We have defeated The Sneeze Wizard." said Real Boy Battle Yam morosely, tongue covered in pennies. "But... at what cost?"

Ironclad Cletus inspected his tongue thoroughly. "I'd say about... $1.45!" Everyone laughed Justice League style.

MEANWHILE

Grey Grenade stood on the balcony, gazing out into the night. He looked as though something was troubling him. Something big.

"How's it going, boss? Not a care in the world?" asked Red Grenade cheerfully, walking over.

"Not quite." said Grey Grenade with a sigh. He stood slumped over the balcony's rail, depressing as FUCK.

"What's the matter? Sneeze wizard blues again?" asked Red Grenade.

"If only." sighed Grey Grenade. "It's news from higher up. They think Maxwell Carter's planning an invasion."

Red Grenade looked shocked, though his mirrored visor revealed none of this trepidation. "Are... Are our defenses ready for such an attack?"

"It's impossible to be ready for Maxwell Carter." said Grey Grenade simply. "All we can do is wait. Wait to die."

"Have you told the others?" asked Red Grenade.

"Nope. I'm not really planning to." said Grey Grenade. "I want their last few days on Earth to be happy ones."

"Then why did you tell ME?" asked Red Grenade grumpily.

"Frankly, I couldn't care less about your last few days on Earth." said Grey Grenade coldly. "Go swallow a sock."

"M-maybe I will!" weeped Red Grenade, running away. Later, in the privacy of his quarters, he tried to master this feat but gave up like the pansy he was.

"If I had some ankle socks, It wouldn't be a problem." he was later quoted as saying. "But all of mine are knee-high, so it's quite a bit more difficult." A pitiful excuse, in this reporter's opinion.

LATER

"So is this the way to The Grenade Squad's secret base?" asked Mary.

"Yup!" said a local. "Just keep going straight on I-90 until you hit Secret Base Boulevard. Go down there a few blocks and you can't miss it."

"Thanks for the... TIP!" laughed Mary, tipping him over.

"Great tip, but save some of those for the enemy!" laughed Maxwell Carter, patting her on the back.

"Not to worry, I've got plenty of handy tips to go around." said Mary. She turned to Jenny Trombone. "Lose the shades."

"But they're retro-"

"I SAID DO IT!" snapped Mary. Jenny grumpily removed them.

"Those Grenade Squad jerks and that Colonel Crawdaddy character don't stand a chance against us!" said Ironclad Cletus bravely, as they set off towards Secret Base Boulevard. "We'll rip 'em a new rip!"

"Now now, let's not get cocky." said Real Boy Battle Yam. "It will be incredibly difficult to apportion a new rip to someone as tough as Colonel Crawdaddy. Perhaps you should settle for merely expanding an old one?"

"There'll be no expansion here. When it comes to rips, I compromise nothing." said Ironclad Cletus intensely. "That's the name of the game, Battle Yam. Try not to get left behind."

"Yow! Scorcher!" said the local, giving Ironclad Cletus a much-deserved high five. Then, feeling he deserved more, the local offered him a homemade chicken pot pie, which Ironclad Cletus greedily accepted.

"Can I have some?" asked Mary.

"You can have the whole thing. I hate chicken pot pie." said Ironclad Cletus, filled with disgust.

"Aww, then why did you greedily accept it?" asked the local sadly.

"Cause I didn't want to hurt your feelings." he replied. "Asshole."

They searched for the secret base for hours and hours (the local had actually given them incorrect directions, it wasn't on Secret Base Boulevard at all) before finally stumbling upon it.

"Real graceful, Mary." said Jenny sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, even the best of us stumble now and then." she replied, sounding hurt.

"No they don't." said Jenny. "I'm not even in the top 100 of the best, and I've never stumbled in my life!"

"What do you want, a medal?" asked Mary grumpily.

"Nah, I've already got plenty of those." said Jenny, pulling out her suitcase full of medals. "See, here's my award for Least Stumbly Person: 1996, and here's my Honorary Achievement In The Field Of Not Stumbling prize, and right there are my 1st Place ribbons from the Anti-Stumblin' County Fair."

"What are all these other awards for?" asked Mary.

"Long jump." Jenny replied.

"Who goes there?" asked the doorknocker.

"HOLY FUCK IT'S A TALKING DOORKNOCKER!" shouted Ironclad Cletus.

"THERE IS NO NEED FOR THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE!" bellowed the doorknocker, biting him on the wrist. However, even Ironclad Cletus' wrists were clad in iron, and the doorknocker broke his little teeth from the effort.

"You may paff." said the doorknocker feebly, now nicknamed Johnny-Gums-Only.

They entered the building, weapons drawn.

"Alright." said Maxwell Carter. "Cletus and Mary, you take the south wing. Jenny and Real Boy Battle Yam, scour the north."

"What are you going to do?" asked Real Boy Battle Yam.

"I'm heading to the upper chamber to take out the leader." said Maxwell Carter. "Colonel Crawdaddy, it's time I finished what I've begun."

"Colonel Crawdaddy? Who the heck's that?" asked Jenny Trombone.

"He's bad." said Maxwell Carter darkly.

"How do you know all this?" asked Mary.

"Let's just say we go back... a long ways." said Maxwell Carter softly, getting a glazed look of reminiscence in his eyes.

"So we're talking a week? Two weeks?" wondered Mary. "Three? Throw us a bone, here!"

"I'll tell you everything I know when we're through with this mission." said Maxwell Carter. "But for now, the time has come to act." He dashed off.

"Time to act, eh?" asked Ironclad Cletus. "I guess that means we should start practicing our lines for the big play!"

"Ivanhoe, thou hast sat in a cabin for far too long! Face me!" read Mary passionately, holding a script.

"Can it, Janet!" chuckled Real Boy Battle Yam.

"Wow! That was just like the real Ivanhoe!" said Jenny Trombone, impressed.

"I know! I can't tell them apart!" said Ironclad Cletus urgently.

"I'm the real Ivanhoe!" said Real Boy Battle Yam.

"No, no! I am!" said Ivanhoe.

"I... I don't know which one to shoot!" sputtered Jenny nervously, her gun hand trembling.

"Quick! What's something only Ivanhoe would know?" suggested Mary.

"How many moons on Saturn?" asked Jenny.

"60." said Real Boy Battle Yam confidently.

"Zero." said Ivanhoe. "Moons aren't ON Saturn, they're floating AROUND it!"

Jenny considered these answers for a moment, then shot Real Boy Battle Yam. "Welcome to the team, Ivanhoe."

"Eh. Actually I think I'm just gonna take it easy today." shrugged Ivanhoe. "Maybe sit in a cabin or something. You understand."

"I wish I could understand." said Jenny tearfully to Ivanhoe's back, as he walked out the door and out of her life forever. "If only such a thing were possible."

DRAMATIC CROSSFADE

"Your serve." said Yellow Grenade. "Bring it."

Green Grenade's hands trembled as he held the ping pong paddle within one heavily armored glove. He served it up and immediately smacked it way off the table.

"My point. That's another win foooorrr... THE YELLOW BELLOW! THE FLAXEN AXIN'! THE LEMON DEMON! BOOYAH!" roared Yellow Grenade.

"Not fair! Your armor was built for increased mobility, whereas mine is more offense-minded!" whined Green Grenade. "I demand a rematch, except this time, we're switching!"

Yellow Grenade gasped. "You know it's against regulations to remove our armor, for any circumstances!"

"Are you sure there isn't a ping pong clause?" asked Green Grenade.

"I'm almost positive." nodded Yellow Grenade.

"Oh well, I was just talking about switching sides anyway." shrugged Green Grenade. He coughed and started mumbling. "I think the... uh... the floor's tilted over here... Yeah..."

"A likely story!" said Yellow Grenade. "Likely true, that is! I guess it's only fair for us to switch!" But as soon as they did, Mary and Ironclad Cletus kicked the door down, filling Yellow Grenade with lead. Now standing on the far side of the ping pong table, Green Grenade was mistaken for a pile of lily pads. They hurried on to the next room, tossing in a bomb with a timed detonator before they went.

"Oh no! Yellow Grenade!" shouted Green Grenade, kneeling at his side. "Are you okay?!"

"I'm... dying..." he coughed.

"Hold on, I'm gonna get help!" said Green Grenade, moving to get up.

Yellow Grenade grabbed his arm. "No... Stay with me..."

"Is there anything I can do to help?!" panicked Green Grenade.

"My helmet." he coughed. "Take it off."

"But, but... The regulations..."

"Just do it." said Yellow Grenade. "Regulations be damned."

Green Grenade gulped and unfastened the bolts on Yellow Grenade's helmet. Slowly and carefully, he slid it off.

"Yo." said Yellow Grenade.

"What in the world?! You're a woman!" remarked Green Grenade.

"Yup." she said.

"Not only that, but you're a total hottie!" said Green Grenade. "My mind is a-reelin'!"

"Quick, we don't have much time." wheezed Yellow Grenade, glancing at the bomb. "Before we die... Let's make out."

"Ewww, but your mouth has blood coming out of it." said Green Grenade squeamishly. "I think I'd rather get out of here before that bomb kills me."

"Please?" she begged. "My blood is very bland-flavored, you won't even know it's there.

"Oh okay, fine." sighed Green Grenade. He took off his own helmet and they started making out. In the movie this scene will be completely silent except for the harrowing, touching melody of an old music box. They were still tongue wrestling when the timer hit zero. :(

DRAMATIC PAINTING OF A WEEPING WILLOW GOES HERE

Red Grenade was in his private quarters, passing time. He sat on his bed, disheveled and saliva-stained knee socks strewn around him, weeping as he looked at a framed photo of himself from before he learned his fate.

"Boo hoo hoo... Oh, for the simpler days." he pined. He gently touched the surface of the photograph with one armored hand. He was kicking a soccer ball. Such a gentle, innocent act. A skill, a pleasure, long forgotten amidst years of murder and mayhem.

Or was it? Was it really forgotten?

He hastily constructed a soccer ball out of knee socks and his own shattered dreams. He had to kick it. He just had to. There was no option.

"Hold it." said a female voice from behind him. "Drop the deplorably slapdash soccer ball." Red Grenade did so. "Good. Hands where I can see them." He raised them high above his head.

"I still can't see them very well." said Jenny Trombone. "Turn around and remove my retro sunglasses for me. SLOWLY. Easy does it. No sudden movements. I'm not afraid to blow you away."

He took off her sunglasses and immediately fell in love with her cool blue eyes. She shot him.

"But... but my armor... it can't be penetrated by normal bullets!" Red Grenade gasped, slumping to the floor.

"They aren't normal." said Jenny. "I melted down an ancient cross or whatever to make these."

Red Grenade shook his head and coughed up some blood. "You could have... at least... stolen something... from an anime... that wasn't... so stupid..." These ended up being his last words. A chill went down my spine. For a split second, it felt as though he were talking... directly to me. But that wasn't possible... was it?

UNSETTLING PORTRAIT OF A WITHERED CRANBERRY GOES HERE

"Ironclad Cletus, the time has come to pay you back for your crimes." said Blue Grenade, brandishing a loaf of french bread.

"What crimes?" asked Ironclad Cletus.

"The murder of the Sword Of Beirut." said Blue Grenade intensely. "I don't know what you're doing here, but as of now you're on trial. And in this trial, I'm the judge, the jury, and the stenographer."

"Who's the executioner?" asked Ironclad Cletus.

"You're looking at it." said Blue Grenade badassly, patting his loaf of bread.

"A loaf of bread as an executioner? You've gone batty!" guffawed Ironclad Cletus. "It doesn't even have a black sack on it's head!"

"It may not have a black sack on it's head, but it has something you will never be able to comprehend." said Blue Grenade darkly. "A bandana! Look, there it is! Quite rebellious, eh?"

"Psh. I'm not impressed." said Ironclad Cletus. But secretly he was thinking 'Oh man, I gotta watch out for that bread with a bandana'.

Ironclad Cletus struck first, charging at Blue Grenade with all his heavily armored might. But then, holy crap, Blue Grenade withdrew a CONCEALED SWORD from the loaf of bread! So that's his game!

"Not today, chump." machoed Ironclad Cletus, as Blue Grenade tried to stab him but got his sword broken.

"NOOOOOO!" cried Blue Grenade. He tried to withdraw another sword, this time from the bread's bandana, but it was too late. His broken corpse made a fine meal for the rats.

"What a shitty meal!" complained a rat. "It's broken!"

"They're good broken." shrugged his friend. "You just have immature taste."

"Oh, taking a cheap shot at my taste. That's SO much more mature!" said the rat, rolling his eyes.

"It's mature if you're a FAG." replied his friend insultingly. The conversation only got worse from there.

BABY, I PUT THE "PIE" IN "OVEN"

"Hey Plaid Grenade! Are you done gnawing that popsicle into the shape of a working boomerang yet?" asked Grey Grenade, walking into Plaid Grenade's secret control room. "I got kangaroos to hunt and your slow-ass gnawing ain't helping!"

He turned Plaid Grenade's chair around and found him sitting in it, throat slashed open, popsicle still dangling from his lip.

"It has begun." said Grey Grenade dramatically, out of his pants with terror. He felt a cold blade pressed against his neck.

"Nothing personal, old man." said Mary savagely.

"Or is it?" stalled Grey Grenade.

"Is what?" asked Mary, confused.

"Or is it?" pondered Grey Grenade.

"What are you talking about?"

"Or is it?" That's right, thought Grey Grenade. Just keep stalling long enough to...

"YAH!" he yelled, pulling out his switchblade and stabbing her in the chest. The girl's eyes went blank and she fell to the floor.

"NOOOOO!" shouted Jenny Trombone, rushing into the room and clubbing Grey Grenade on the fucking face. He fell over, dead as a doornail.

"Haven't felt this good in years!" said a doornail, dancing a jig. Jenny clubbed it as well, then kneeled down next to Mary, shaking her.

"Mary! MARY! SPEAK TO ME!" she cried, cradling Mary's small frame in her arms. "You can't die! You just can't!"

"Can... too..." coughed Mary defiantly.

"CAN NOT!" shouted Jenny.

"CAN TOO CAN TOO CAN TOO!" shouted Mary.

"PROVE IT!" demanded Jenny.

"Fine!" said Mary. She died. "Bleh."

"Dead people don't say bleh! That's a harsh generalization! You're faking!" argued Jenny.

"Gurgle." said Mary.

"Dead people do gurgle sometimes, but that didn't sound real at all." said Jenny.

"Ugh?" tried Mary. "Blugh? Grah? Necrophiliacs, come hither?"

"Entirely unconvincing." said Jenny. "You have to sound like you really want it." She laid down on the floor to demonstrate, completely immobile. "Come hither, necrophiliacs." she said in her best bedroom voice.

"Wow! It's just like you're a real dead person!" praised Mary. She coughed nonchalantly. "Like I'm, uh, looking in the mirror. Gurgle."

MEANWHILE, IN THE NORTH TOWER

"Ah, the world famous Maxwell Carter." said Colonel Crawdaddy, holding a wineglass. "It's been a while."

"Likewise." said Maxwell Carter.

"How's Edward doing? And Joyce? Othello?" asked Colonel Crawdaddy casually. "I'm afraid you're not the only member I've lost touch with."

"I'm not here to talk, Colonel." said Maxwell. "I'm here to take what's rightfully mine."

"What's that?" asked the Colonel.

"YOUR LIFE!" shouted Maxwell Carter, leaping at him. They battled like three trees in a circle, hand to hand. Their mastery of martial arts of all varieties was apparent as they duked it out, neither seeming to tire even hours into the battle.

"It's raining and pouring, old man." sneered Colonel Crawdaddy, dealing a deadly Crawdaddy Crunch. "Just be careful not to bump your head."

"This guy's invincible!" expositioned Maxwell Carter. "What could his secret be?"

Then he remembered the last words his mother said to him.

"Beware, young Maxwell. Beware the Waxy Heart... Of Colonel Crawdaddy." she gasped, closing her eyes. That was before Maxwell was sent to the orphanage. Before he met the young Crawdaddy Morrison, not yet a colonel. Before... the incident.

His eyes scanned the room. There! On Colonel Crawdaddy's desk! A heart-shaped candle! He karate chopped it in half with a mighty yell.

"AIIIEEEEEEE!" screamed Colonel Crawdaddy, melting smokily. "HOW?! HOW DID YOU KNOW?!"

"That your heart was a candle?" asked Maxwell Carter. "There's more clues than you think. Your subscription to Candleheart Monthly being the least of them."

"That was... just a... trial issue..." gasped Colonel Crawdaddy, smoke billowing off his body. "No matter! If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me! Yah!" He leapt at Maxwell and tried to smother him in melting wax.

"You... fool!" gasped Maxwell Carter. "You'll kill us both!"

"Not true, Carter." spat Colonel Crawdaddy. "I died... a long time ago."

"Wow, that's really deep..." praised Maxwell Carter, struggling to wriggle free of his assailant.

"Thanks..." grunted Colonel Crawdaddy. "And now... The KILLING BLOW!" He raised his fist threateningly.

"NO!" shouted Maxwell Carter, kicking him out the window. He stood up wearily, clutching a wound in his side, and gazed outside. A thick fog covered the street far below, swallowing Crawdaddy's fading scream and protecting Maxwell's eyes from the new red stain on the city floor.

Saying nothing, the colonel's final cry still ringing in his ears, he lit a cigarette. He blew a light puff of smoke out into the cool night air. Turning his back on the window, shards of glass still clinging to the empty pane, the world famous Maxwell Carter walked away from the scene.

"If I see the guys, I'll mention you asked about 'em." he said gruffly, before closing the door with a resonating click.

GRISLY YET REMORSEFUL FILE PHOTO OF A DECAPITATED PORN STAR

"Well guys, looks like a job well done!" said Maxwell Carter cheerfully, nudging a particularly large meat chunk with his foot. They were on the street at the base of the base, all feeling very good about themselves.

"Are you the folks who ended Colonel Crawdaddy's reign of terror?!" asked a reporter excitedly. "Is it true that dancing has been legalized?!"

"Yes!" said Jenny happily. "People 'cross the nation can now dance without fear of the Grenade Squad's grenades of oppression."

"What about marijuana?" asked the reporter.

"I'm sorry to say marijuana still has quite a lot to be afraid of." said Jenny darkly, tightening her grip on a grenade. "Quite a lot indeed."

"Hey, that reminds me! We had a good time!" exclaimed Ironclad Cletus.

"Oh yeah!" said Mary excitedly. "Let's go collect that reward!"

"Kids, it's high time I told you the truth. I was the one who posted that bounty." said Maxwell Carter. He pulled some large bags with dollar signs drawn on them out of his backpack. "Here you are, 20 thousand dollars each."

"Awesome!" said Ironclad Cletus.

"What a treat!" laughed Mary figuratively. "We'll never have to work again!"

"We can go on vacation in the Galapogos!" said Ironclad Cletus happily. "We can commute there every day!"

"Every HOUR!" remarked Mary. "Nothing is impossible! No expense too great!"

"Now now kids, something tells me you need to learn a thing or two about the value of a dollar!" said Maxwell Carter cheerfully.

"Wrong." said Mary.

"Oh. Sorry." he apologized.

"Mr. Carter!" said Jenny, dropping to one knee. "I would be honored if you took me as your apprentice!"

"I wouldn't." replied Maxwell Carter.

"Aww." moped Jenny, standing up.

"But don't worry! I'm sure there's plenty of people out there who'd take you as an apprentice!" he said cheerfully. "Such as President Cleaver!"

"President Cleaver is a SCUMBAG." said Jenny fiercely. "I'll take this all the way to the supreme court if I have to!"

"Right on, sister!" shouted Mary.

LATER, AT THE SUPREME COURT

"And so, it is our decision that not only is pedophilia legal, it's also very fashionable!" proclaimed Chief Justice Clam Standish.

"SO SHALL IT BE WRITTEN, SO SHALL IT BE DONE!" bellowed his eight pals.

"What's next on the docket, wrinkly white guy?" asked Clam Standish.

"I dunno where it is. Wrinkly white guy had it last." said wrinkly white guy.

"Oh, sure! Blame everything on the wrinkly white guy!" retorted wrinkly white guy angrily. "You sicken me!"

"Now now fellas, don't fight!" said wrinkly white guy. "There's the docket! It was on token black's head the entire time!"

"How embarrassing!" laughed token black.

"Enough jibba jabba." said Clam Standish. "What's next on that docket, token black?"

"Aha, here we are." said token black, putting on his spectacles. "The case of Jenny Trombone vs. President Cleaver."

"Cleaver?!" spat wrinkly white guy. "Rumor has it he's a scumbag!"

"That's exactly the view this Jenny Trombone character is defending." said token black. "Apparently she makes quite a case."

"I say she wins just because she's a woman!" shouted token wrinkly white woman. "All in favor?!"

"No! Bad idea!" argued wrinkly white guy. "She shouldn't win because of something so trivial!"

"You're right, she should win just because she's an AMERICAN!" suggested wrinkly white guy. "All in favor?!"

"AYE!" shouted most of them.

"I dissent!" cried token Canadian.

"Dissent overruled!" said Clam Standish. "From this day forth, President Cleaver shall now be regarded as a scumbag in the third degree!"

"SO SHALL IT BE WRITTEN SO SHALL IT BE DONE!" bellowed his eight pals.

"Now what do we do?" asked Clam Standish.

"LUNCHTIME!" They all cheered.

"What kinda sandwich didja bring?" asked wrinkly white guy excitedly.

"Tuna!" replied wrinkly white guy.

"I brought egg salad, m'self!" said wrinkly white guy. "Wanna swap?!"

"YAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY!" they both cheered, doing a sandwich-swapping-memorial dance while shaking hands to seal the deal.

"Oh my, we DO have ourselves a good time here, don't we!" said Clam Standish fondly.

"YOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUU know it!" grinned token fireman, turning on a boombox. Fun-filled circus music began coming out of it!

"Sweet rapture! It's time for musical chairs!" laughed Clam Standish gleefully/girlishly.

"Think again." said token fireman, plugging him full of holes.

THE END