Legion of Booze- End Game

Legion of Booze - End Game

Date: 4/19/2000
From: SpaceTime

So many people die in this one it ain't even funny.

-ST

=========

Sober couldn't believe his eyes.

The shit had hit the fan all right. It was sprayed all over the floor, walls, and, most bizarrely, BritSlider, who was wearing a copper-plated Manhandler and scooping the "chocolate goodness" from it so he could watch white become brown.

Earlier, BritSlider had been captured by Deli-Buns and her Group X, a group financed entirely by Douglas Copeland, who irritated billions by coiing the phrase "Gen X." By financed, the author means that Group was stocked with Nutter Butters and Lincoln Logs. And, inexplicably, the faction had a state-of-the-art broadcasting facility. Interesting considering the only thing Group X had done prior was peddle low-grade acid at Phish concerts.

Group X sequestered its members in an underground bunker deep beneath the Chula Nutz Trailer Haven and strapped BritSlider down. PoliteSlidersFan smeared 9 Lives on his face. Then the torture began.

Sometimes, people just need to use their imagination. Use it now, since the unimaginable, indescribable torture that Group X brought down on BritSlider left him in a comatose, fecal-throwing state. How Group X acquired a Belvederean poo smock is unknown, although Deli-Buns was seen earlier that afternoon in the Blue Light District of the BBoard, which as we know is a haven for Urkelphiliacs.

Sober called for reinforcements and soon the rest of the LoB, save Lolita and Vance454 were on the scene. No one could make sense of the vacuous look in his eyes.

"What do we do about this guy?" Dark said as he replenished his alcohol reserves.

"He's in charge of the ABL, right?" Space questioned. "I've got an idea. Let's hose him off. Kipper, Sober, that's your job."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Space rolled his eyes. "Anyone remember what we did to the first Sabre-Edge clone?" Memories flooded back...

***
flashback - http://www.scifi.com/bboard/browse.cgi/1/5/545/19612
***

"Come get some," Space said.

"Whoa, easy there!" Sabre managed to eek out before thousands of rounds of ammunition tore through his body. The roar of the guns, the odor of gunpowder and the clink of ammo dropping to the floor overwhelmed even Space. For good measure, Space took an atomizer (last seen in "Strangers and Comrades") and hurled it at Sabre's limp and mangled corpse. It went off, turning his battered flesh into component molecules and sending them in a thousand different directions.

"How's it like being unstuck?" Dark quipped.
***
end flashback
***

"I'll get on it," Sober said grudgingly as he tossed Kipper the sponge and went for the hoses.

=======
meanwhile
=======

Vance drove the Sassmobile at a respectable 85 mph, with Lolita sitting in the passenger seat trying to figure out how to escape the Chinese finger trap Dark had given her before she left.

"Tell me again where we're going?" Lolita asked.

"To get you a book on how to read."

"Isn't that paradoxical in nature?" she asked. "The very nature of a book demands that the person participating in the dialogue on the pages be literate, even in the most modest of circumstances."

Vance hit the brakes and pulled over. He was confused. Hell, he was 15. "I don't get it," he said, "sometimes you've got the intellect of a tick and then you have these flashes of insight that are so... PROFOUND... it drives me nuts!"

Lolita smiled. She was wearing her favorite skirt. It was the one that Space liked the most, slit all the way up on both sides to her waist, yet form-fitting enough that it showed up her shapely body. "I'm a smart girl," she insisted. "I get these burning sensations in the back of my head and then I know things."

*Probably a synapse firing,* thought Vance.

========
At the Dominion
========

Dark looked at the tally board. It had been a good day, kill-wise. More importantly, they'd been killed by the Creativity Disruptor™ - a device designed by the LoB specifically to inhibit those shot from reinserting themselves creatively into any story. Therefore, anyone dead by it's hand was DEAD. And the Disruptor had been installed on the Yeontoo Be Good Stick™, so 6 billion years from now, she couldn't possibly think of any way of getting back to the present as she was DEAD.

BritSlider sat at the table, fed a mixture of beer and gruel. He was watching a tape of N'Sync in the hopes that his instinctual rage at their existence would overpower his desire to remain a drooling mess.

"Wait a second," Space thought suddenly while pounding some Colonel Kwik-E-Mart Fine Kentucky Bourbon. "This guy is BritSlider, right? So who was that guy that I killed shooting the Tic-Tac out of his mouth?"

"That was Vigeant," Dark said. "And you didn't shoot it out of his mouth."

"Look, dude, all British teeth look like Tic Tacs, so I was probably overwhelmed... confused. At any rate, it doesn't explain why Vigeant was there. He wasn't a hostage."

"Yes, he was. The guy *I* killed wasn't a hostage," Dark said. "That was EustiSlider."

"Oh, yeah. What was he doing there?" They gazed down into the empty eyes of EustiSlider's body, eyes that seemed to tell a tale... a tale of how he came to be in the Breedin' Bunker...

... backstory ...

EustiSlider heard the news. There were hostages, and where there were hostages, there were people bound and gagged. And that meant an audience.

EustiSlider knew that his pro-feminism poetry wasn't popular, and that his songs about the natural love between man and goat weren't exactly the cat's meow. But dammit, sometimes things just need to be heard and this was the opportunity. ES made his way to the Breedin' Bunker by walking, oddly enough. Inside the trailer, he noticed a picture of Executive making sweet, ill-informed and "First Wave"-biased love to a sheep and he knew he was home.

The elevator ride was short and the hallways narrow. ES made his way through the mazes of inbreeding and sheep-lovin', stopping wistfully every time he heard a "bah-ahahahah." There, in the central room, was BritSlider, his transformation complete. Off to the side was Mychand and the rest, strapped down in a style only Ludivico would approve.

This is where EustiSlider sat down.

He sang and spoke, played and emoted... about goats. About Womyn. About everything that makes a red-blooded American male cringe with disgust. And the hostages took every second of it in ear-splitting agony.

And then Mychand was gone. Disappeared. Vamoose, the product of Group X's teleportation of their prize to another location.

Five minutes later ES was dead, the contents of his head a nice reminder never to EAT TIC TACS expressed beautifully on the wall behind his torso.

...

"Who's left to kill?" Dark said. "I want LoB dominance over the other factions ASAP."

"The Glory Boys should be our next target," Space said.

"Let's roll."

====
Charmin Factory
====

Jorge and Sabre-Edge were having a grand time, wrapping each other in triple-ply, spring-scented Charmin toilet paper. Sabre pretended he was The Mummy and went around swatting at his nuts. They itched.

Jorge was making sure every inch of his body was covered in fluffy white goodness when he was overpowered. Not by sheer force, mind you, but by the gallons of tequila flowing through his veins and arteries. Now that's what I call a trooper. The alcohol took weeks before it finally hit Jorge, but when it did, it hit with a vengeance.

And at the worst possible time. No sooner did Jorge keel over from alcohol poisoning than the LoB striking, and striking hard. Sabre, panicked without the leadership of Yawn-too, stood perfectly still and hoped no one would notice a man-boy decked in nothing but toilet tissue standing next to an assembly line.

"Sabre, stand down any weapon you might have armed and for God's sake, put some clothes on," Dark said. Space picked up Jorge and threw him over his shoulder.

Sabre moved behind a pole and put his clothes back on. When he walked out he saw that entire Legion of Booze stood there (sans Lolita and Vance), weapons loaded and cocked. He thought back to his first clone and sighed. He knew he was screwed.

Fortunately, Sabre sometimes has the balls of a lion, and he quickly pulled out a Colt 45 and shot once, penetrating Sober's head and pulling part of his gray matter with the bullet. Sober's body fell to the ground limply.

Space looked at Sabre. Dark looked at Sabre.

"You joining the Legion now?" they both asked simultaneously.

"Oh yeah."

"Let's go pay the Irrelevant Poster a visit."

====
TIP's domocile
====

TIP sat around, masturbating wildly and praying to God that his faction, the one-man weak organization best known for assassinating Archduke Ferdinand I during the first World War, wouldn't become a victim of the Legion of Booze.

His prayers were in vain.

TIP didn't even have a chance to pull up his drawls before searing hot lead ripped through every atom in his body. A grenade destroyed the top floor of TIP's house, bringing corrugated cardboard down on him. Bullet after bullet made its way in and out of TIP's body. Body, you ask? You see, TIP was dead from the very first bullet. Everything else was just a topping.

====
The Dominion
====

Everyone was piss drunk.

"Are all the factions eliminated?" Space asked. No one had the chance to answer because Vance and Lolita strolled in. Lolita was on Vance's arm.

This troubled Space.

"What are you doing hanging on him?" Space questioned angrily.

"He respects my intelligence!" Lolita barked. "He doesn't make me act like a dumb chick like you do!"

Vance smiled.

Space rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? No one's ever said you couldn't act exactly how you wanted to act! Hell, you're a skilled ninja AND lover, and you're only 17! If you've got a brain, don't waste it by acting dumb, be smart and participate in the Legion!"

"You don't want me to be a dumb bimbo?"

"NO!"

"Oh." Lolita strolled over to her man and sat in his lap. "Sorry, Space. It's just been a while since I've had some lovin'."

"Let me rectify that," Space said with a wink. "Hey, Vance?"

"Yeah, Space?"

Space whipped out an elephant shotgun and scattered Vance to the four ends of the earth.

"Don't mess with my woman." Space was sure he heard Vance agree. He turned back to Dark. "So, we got all the factions, right?"

"All of them except the Doo Rag Crew," chimed in Brand_S.

"The DRC is with us, S," Dark said. "They've been allied with the Lob since the beginning."

"Chaser9 is LoB?"

"Oh yeah."

Space raised the ABL on his VidCom screen. The images of Chaser9 and QBall79 appeared on the screen. "Legion of Booze, to what do we owe the honor?" QBall79 said sharply.

Space was as succint as always. "We found one of your strays," he said, motioning to BritSlider in the background. "Want him back?"

"What do you want in return?" QBall said with a sigh.

"Nothing at all, QBall," said Space. "We just had a little spring cleaning and took care of all of the other factions. BritSlider was left to fend for himself."

"You don't want anything for him?" QBall was suspicious.

"Nope."

"You're a fool," QBall79 said with a smile. "I'm glad I'm still holding a massive grudge against you for almost getting close to scratching my BBoard reputation."

Space looked to Chaser and nodded. Chaser nodded.

"Me too, QBall," Space said. "Me too."

Chaser pulled out a revolver and shot QBall79 in the back of the head. His body crumpled to the ground.

"Chaser, be a dear and send someone to fetch their illustrious leader."

"You got it, Space. Chaser out," The VidCom said as it turned off.

====

Dellyone stood scratching her head. Apparently the Rid™ hadn't worked.

It didn't matter. Seconds later her head was 13 feet from her hand. And no, it wasn't attached to her body.

You see, earlier that day the Legion of Booze had been sitting around the Dominion, drinking like champions and cavorting with members of the opposite sex in such a way that would make even Larry Flynt blush.

Space finished off a hard-core pitcher of something known only as The Drink. It was concocted by Kipper2222 and it was HELLUVA GOOD. It would knock even Norm from Cheers on his ass after a sip, but Space chugged and chugged until it was all gone. Then he reached for his woman.

Brand_S came into the room with a snifter of Manhattans in his left hand. "Did you hear? There's ANOTHER faction."

All festivities ceased.

"Another one?" Dark bellowed as he spanked Tembi's perfect ass to get her off his lap. "For the love of Pete... how many does that bring us up to, now?"

"Too many," Space said. "What is the name of this faction, S?"

"Group X."

Lolita chimed in. "Does the 'X' mean that it's a subsect of the Nation of Islam?" The LoB all looked at each other. How did Lolita know what 'subsect' meant? She was a hot, 17-year-old piece of ass, but damn if she knew her head from a hole in the ground. Space silenced any further intellectual crossfire from the underage vixen by making out with her like the King he was.

"In any case, they seem to have kidnapped some key players from the warring parties," S continued. "It's unknown how a small group like this was able to obtain intel on the BFA, but if I don't get a keg of Shiner Bock into my belly STAT I'm about to become sober."

S barely got the dreaded "s" word out of his mouth before Tembi stuck an IV of pure Smirnoff vodka into Brand's HEART.

"That's the ticket," he said, not slurring his words like a wuss, but saying them strong and forcefully like the champion of insobriety that he was.

Five minutes later, the assembled Legion of Booze sat around the Table of Excess like so:

- Space
- Lolita
- Dark
- Tembi
- Brand S
- Sassy
- JorgeCis
- Sophie
- Kipper2222
- Slider8_
- Sabre-Edge

It was agreed upon that Group X would die, die soon, and die painfully.

Cruisin' the BBoard at a respectable 85 mph, the Sassmobile searched out the undeniable tracks of lameness that Group X had left behind. It stood to reason that more mercenary group than warring factions was a dumb idea, and the Legion of Booze was gonna thin the herd out a little.

---

Dellyone stood scratching her head. Apparently the Rid™ hadn't worked.

It didn't matter. Seconds later her head was 13 feet from her hand. And no, it wasn't attached to her body.

The LoB made a quick, surgical strike into the heart of Group X, slaughtering everyone mercilessly, ignoring their pleas for mercy and prayers for salvation. Space and Dark took point with their 007-esque Moonraker lasers, making pretty burn holes all over the place, until the others filed in and entered into a battle of such unimaginable carnage that it beggars description.

Mychand sat in a sound-proof vault, oblivious to the goings-on around her. Suddenly the door blew; Space and Dark made their way in as blood-curdling screams wafted in along with the stench of Death.

Mychand was speechless.

Space grinned. "You're being held hostage here?" He laughed. "This is too much. Me rescuing you. And after your delicious comments about where someone can stick 'it' in me."

"Get me out of here," begged Mychand. "I'll make it worth your while."

"First things first," Dark said. "These genetic burps have a Clonatizer?"

"No, it's just them."

"So you're saying that there is *ABSOLUTELY NO WAY THAT DELLYONE AND HER GROUP CAN BE REVIVED IN SOME BIZARRE, PLOT-TWISTING ACTION*."

"If you killed them, then they are dead, in perpetuity. Forever. No chance they can come back to life. Ever."

"EVER?"

"Ever."

Space sighed and released the clamps on Mychand. He handed her a shot of tequila and had her drink it. Then he pounded 14 beers in succession.

It had been a long day.