Uncle Spuggy's Punch 'n Munch
Story by Dave Neal. Compilation and introductory information by Solace
The Characters:
Solace: A heavily-augmented former UCAS special ops soldier with a price out on his head. He's strong willed, but easily angered by stupidity.
Bingo The Cyberclown: Also a heavily-augmented former soldier. His skin is bleached and he has green hair. His appearance and manner can best be described as "freakish."
Rhino: A physically *huge*, formerly-intelligent troll. He's part of "The Family," and he has a true troll's disposition on a number of matters.
BINGO: (drunk as a skunk) So I'm sittin' there, and this sumbitch draws on me, right? *ffffffp* (puffs on his stogie) And I'm thinkin' 'sheeeit, here I am with my gawddamm Beretta with like two loads left in her and this punk's gettin' in my face...
RHINO: (munching on beer nuts) Yeah? What happened?
BINGO: *burrrp* Well, I figger he's got a Predator, right? Big ole hogleg, and y'know dipshit doesn't cock it since he figgers 'hey, this is my muchofuckin' grande double-action hand cannon, I don't need to cock nuthin' to waste this old man' (bolts down a shot, sighing contentedly and washing it down with a long puff on his cigar)
SOLACE: Uhh, Zeke, you wanna get us another bottle? And how about some pretzels?
BINGO: Yeah, whuzzup Zeke, no fucchin' pretzels? God DAMMIT I hate when they ain't got no pretzels in a joint!! I mean sheeeit, there's Sol, and you know how the damned beer nuts don't agree with him, right, and we're drivin' with him all the way back to Queen Anne Hill and you KNOW his battlewagon don't have windows you can roll down, and then Zeke's finking on the pretzels... sheesh, Zeke... you tryin' to cack us r' what? You sunnovabitch (reaches for his Berretta sloppily)
ZEKE: (plopping bowl of pretzels in front of Solace, as well as bottle of whiskey) S-sorry, Mr. Solace. M-Mr. Bingo... Mr. R-Rhino.
SOLACE: No problem... this time. (pours whiskeys for himself, RHINO, and BINGO)
RHINO: (twirling a drink umbrella in his oversized hand) Yeah, so, da punk's got the drop on youse...
BINGO: Yeah, y'know dipshit's got his damned wired 'flexes, right? Figger mommy and daddy got'em for him for X-mas or something, so he's movin' real flash, and he's got this gun on me, but I ain't no slouch neither, so I jab my fuckin' hand right against his fuckin' gun, and grab tight, so there's a lock on the action... fucker won't shoot, right? Dipshit pulls the trigger four or five times, and NOTHIN' HAPPENS! You shoulda seen that twerp's face... HOOOBOY... his eyes go all big and then he just crumbles and sez 'Please, Mr. Bingo, don't kill me...please...I didn't mean nuthin' by it... I was just foolin' about'
RHINO: heh heh heh... 'jus' foolin' about' dat's a good one. Hey, you seen dis scar I on my pinky finger? Did I tell you how I got that?
SOLACE: Yes. About seventeen times.
BINGO: ... So I'm like 'well, cockface, yer in a helluva rut now, ain'tcha, cuz nobody draws on me and lives... you savvy?' And by now his face's gettin' real ashy, you know like when that guy got a wiff of that canister of PX12559-W back in the Detroit DMZ, 'member that, Sol? What was his name? Lucky Striker? That fuckin decker?
SOLACE: (wincing) ah, yeah, Bingo, I remember. (sets down pretzel he was about to eat) It was Chunks Velasquez, not Lucky Striker. *Thanks* for bringing that up, by the way.
RHINO: Wha? What happened?
BINGO: Well, you mean you haven't heard of PX12559-W? Man, they called that one the "Quicker-Picker Upper" my friend... one of those acetylcholine accelerators, baby... mondo booster that makes a person get all squidgy-
SOLACE: (grimacing) Uhh, I think I'm gonna hit the can... err, back in a sec...
RHINO: No shit?
BINGO: Yeah, I ain't never seen anything like that before... Chunks goes all ashy and then the fucker's face just puffs up and he starts flying all over the place screamin' and doin' the maximum splash... I mean he literally exploded... yeah, old Chunks really lived up to his name... I tell ya. Lemme tell ya you ain't never seen Sol run faster than he did that day... sparks were flying from the damned hobnails on his boots as we hightailed it outtathere... the boy was a goddamned human turbocharger... *ffffffpppp*
RHINO: It's one fucked up world (crushes umbrella in his hand).
BINGO: No shit. Now, where did I leave off?
RHINO: Yeah, well dat's somethin', but me, I don't need no fancy tricks, when I got dese (brandishes fists). Y'know my mitts hit harder than shotgun slugs... did I ever tell you dat?
BINGO: (bolts down another whiskey sour) no shiiiit? Like are we talkin' 20-gauge or 10? Me, I prefer 00 buckshot in a 12-gauge... man, it's like modern art when you plug somebody-- splish splash now I'm takin' a bath...
SOLACE: *sigh* Rhino, if I hear that one more time about your goddamned magnum mitts, I swear I'm gonna belt ya...
RHINO: heh heh heh dat'll be the day, Soulless... I'm a motherfuckin' pugilist---
SOLACE: (slams down shot glass) You can't even spell 'pugilist' you buttmunch, but if you wanna go, I'm primed (takes off coat)
BINGO: hey hey hey wha th'fuck'r you guyz doin? I thought we were havin' ourselves s'me fucchin' drinks and rehashing the old times--
RHINO: (grinning) Hey, Zeke, tell them in the kitchen dat I'm whippin' upsome fuckin' humble pie for Mr. Soulless here...
[SOLACE and RHINO circle one another, eyeing each other, both in fighting stances; Bar patrons scatter frantically, and bets are made]
SOLACE: Bingo, you ref for us, k? What's it gonna be, Whino? First punch? First knockout?
RHINO: Same ting if I hit ya, sport. Two for da price a' one, breederboy... Two hits... me hittin' you, you hittin' the floor.
BINGO: Okay... I wanna clean fight, boys... one yer marksh, get shet--
[a half dozen FASCIST PIGS burst into the room]
PIG1: (points at Bingo) There he is! Blast him!
*BRAKAKAKAKAKAKA*
[BINGO gets winged by some rounds as he drunkenly vaults behind the bar]
BINGO: wooulfff---
PIG2: Lookit that jumbo fuckin' troll, Heinrich!
PIG3: Kill it! Kill ze monstah!!
SOLACE: Aw, jeezus--
*BRAKAKAKAKAKAKAKKAKAKAAKAKAKAAKA*
[SOLACE tumbles to the side, drawing his sidearm; RHINO takes a number of shots in the chest, which fragment on his dermal armor, bloodying him but not doing too much damage]
PIG3: hahahahaha... die inhuman scum! Ve shall exterminate all monstahs--
*BRAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKKAKAKAK--- click click*
RHINO: YOU SONSABITCHES FLAMED MY TUX! YEAAAAAAAGGGHHH
[RHINO charges into a trio of the PIGS]
>>WHAM<<
*KRESH* [Sending them hurtling through the glass block and into the street; RHINO follows through the hole in the wall]
RHINO: The tree little pigs, huh?! [grabs one of the stunned PIGS' arms] Dis little piggie went to market *CCRACK* [grabs another one] Dis little piggie (shoulda) stayed home *CCRACK* and Dis little piggie went *squeal squeal squeal* but it didn't make no fuckin' difference cuz' dis little piggie fucked with Rhino's tux what he blew a lotta money on and now Rhino's gonna make dis little piggy eat dirt! [gets into his boxing stance] *WHAP**WHAP**WHAP* Oh, I ain't done with you by a longshot, porkchop. We're gonna be makin' bacon tonight, sweet thing... *WHACK**WHAM* [The PIG, already stunned, is wobbling on his feet, his rubber pig mask akimbo]
PIG: sensa--mmfgplf--hnaaaa-- *swish swish* (punches ineffectually)
RHINO: T'night's yer lucky night, Soulless... I'm gonna work over laughing boy over here instead o' you. But don't hatch yer chickens before you count'em, y'know?
SOLACE: Uhhh, yeah... whatever...
RHINO: (in fresh tux) Here we are, boys... Uncle Spuggy's Punch 'n Munch... the slamminest place in the Ork Underground... you shiv?
SOLACE: Spuggy's, eh? Can't say as I've ahhh, had the *pleasure* of being here before... (sniffs the air disapprovingly)
BINGO: Heyyyy, I remember Spuggy... Dominic Spuglioni, right?
RHINO: Sheesh, you must be a fuckin' fossil, Bing. Yeah, dat's the old man, awright. His son Vic's runnin' tings now. Uncle Spug's is kickin' it in Sicily right now. He don't get out much anymore, on account of his hemorrhoids...
HOST: (exaggerated servility) Ahhh, Mr. Rhino himself and... friends?
RHINO: (smoothly pulls out a greenback from his jacket, stuffing it in HOST's breast pocket) How you doin' tonight, Jimmy?
JIMMY: Just fine, Mr. Rhino... what shall it be tonight? We've your ringside seats all ready...
RHINO: Nahh, gimme one o' dem skyboxes. Put it on my tab.
JIMMY: Fine, fine... if you gentlemen would just kindly disarm, we'll get you on your way.
RHINO: It's no problem, Jimmy, they're friends of the Family.
JIMMY: Ahhh, well, I see... *ahem*... well, we'll get you set up right away then. Follow me.
[They walk through the restaurant, to one of the skyboxes, RHINO talking all the while]
RHINO: Yeah, you see dat guy over there? Dat's Sammy the Nose. He ain't too bad. And over there? Guido Bevilaqua. Ain't dat a name and a half? See the guy with the foxy breeder babe on his lap? That's Noodles. If there's anyting I can say about dat guy is you NEVER fuck wit' Noodles. I mean that's sometin' you just never do.
BINGO: Rhino, you sayin' YOU wouldn't fuck with Noodles?
RHINO: I'm sayin' NOBODY fucks with Noodles.
SOLACE: (grinning) I wanna fuck with Noodles.
JIMMY: Skybox, gentlemen. Champagne is on its way up, Mr. Rhino, as well as complimentary appetizers. There is a liquor cabinet behind you, Mr. Rhino.
RHINO: (stuffs another greenback in JIMMY's pocket) You're a sweet kid, Jimbo. Tell the missus to lose some fuckin' weight, huh? Now get outta here.
[They seat themselves, overlooking the boxing ring lit below them; they pour themselves some drinks]
BINGO: Gotta hand it to ya, Rhine, this place ain't half bad. Surf and turf is lookin' just about right to me...
SOLACE: (going over the menu) Hmmm, I'm in the mood for a tossed salad, maybe with a light vinaigrette dressing...
ANNOUNCER: Ladeeez and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for--
RHINO: You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, Soulless... a goddam chef's salad? Pussy. Dis is a chop house... a steak house. It's Family dining... you shiv?
SOLACE: Hey, you want a piece of me? Just cuz those Pigs saved your ass doesn't mean you're getting off--
RHINO: If I wanted a piece a' youse, Sol, I'd just have to hit you once... it'd be like dose cookie cutters... you'd have a fist-shaped hole trew ya--
ANNOUNCER: In this corner, weighing in at 375 pounds, wearing the red and blue trunks, the King of Swing, Hurricane Hernandez...
[Crowd cheers wildly, Hurricane playing to them]
SOLACE: (rolling eyes) sheesh, metric too hard for you wiseguys or what?? You want me to write a conversion chart on a cocktail napkin for ya, Whino?
RHINO: Only pussies use metric, Soulless.
BINGO: Hey, you two pipe down. Rhine, can we make bets from up here? Damn, Hurricane Hernandez... I haven't seen him since his fight down in Reno versus Knuckles Velasquez... back in '52.
RHINO: It ain't a skybox for nuthin-- (gestures) that links you up with Mickey the Finn, who'll set you up realll nice.
[Waiter brings appetizers and champagne, pours to the trio]
ANNOUNCER: And in this corner, weighing in at 398 pounds, coming to us straight from the Ryker's Island Prison, the Emperor of the Emerald Isle, Brian "Spuds" Delany.
[Crowd also hoots and howls]
BINGO: This is slammin', Rhine... and to think we almost hit Black & Decker's tonight. (punches in some bets)
SOLACE: Maybe a pasta salad with pine nuts. Yes, that'd be nice. And an iced tea.
RHINO: Jeezus, I invite you to dis fine establishment and you wanna eat like a fuckin' creampuff??? Sup, Soul?
*ding ding*
BINGO: Yeah, Sol, whassup?
SOLACE: Get off my case, boys; it's just the derms... I get sick if I eat too much while under the influence. I don't want to have to barf all over Rhino's shoes (eyes RHINO's shiny black shoes).
RHINO: heyyyy... you cut dat shit out--
BINGO: Oh, yeahhhh... (to RHINO) while you were out beatin' the tar outta the three little Pigs, Sol and I were workin' on the other three. Sol caught a couple of rounds back there.
SOLACE: (wincing) Yeah, it's fine. They passed right through the meat. Nothing a few more derms won't fix (reaches for some purples in his pocket). Damn, I think these are expired or something--- do you get tolerance to derms?
RHINO: Dunno. What about you, Bing? You tagged, too?
BINGO: Natch. No big deal, though. I got these (brandishes some yellow smiley face derms)
SOLACE: Smilies??! You've got fuckin' Smilies and you didn't say anything? Jeezus palamino, Bingo--
BINGO: What? You mean you don't? Sheeeit (moves to hand a couple to SOLACE, then pauses). Uhhh, Sol, you remember the last time you had some Smilies?
SOLACE: Should I?
BINGO: Ah, what the hell (hands some to him)
SOLACE: (slaps them onto his forearm) Ahhhhhhhh---
RHINO: Dat good, huh? Is he supposed to put that many on?
SOLACE: *gurgle*
BINGO: Ahhh, Sol, you wanna put ONE on every TWO hours, buddy. One derm... NOT... one... roll.......... sheeeit.
SOLACE: hnaahhh?? *tink* (falls head first onto his plate, breaking the plate)
RHINO: Great, I invite him in, and he wrecks da place--
BINGO: I hope he can metabolize that. Hoo boy...
RHINO: Hey, you mind if I have one a' dem? I wanna see if if goes down with some hooch.
BINGO: Sure, give it a shot. Hope you got DocWagon, pal.
RHINO: Seeya in the emergency room, gramps (pops the Smiley on his tongue, then downs some liquor) *aaaaah* So whazzis about Solace 'n Smilies?
BINGO: Nothin' grand. He just shot the fuck out of my car once while on 'em. Was a damned mess... him in the back seat with his goddamned Predator going BLAM BLAM BLAM through the roof.
RHINO: (peels derm off his tongue) Well, I ain't too impressed, t' be honest. I mean I'm buzzin' right, but it ain't like I'm overwhelmed r' nuthin'.
BINGO: Yeah, well you're also a big sonovabitch, Rhine.
RHINO: And you're an OLD sonovabitch, Bing, and yer still standin... just between you 'n me, you think Solace is a creampuff? I mean metric systems and tossed salads? What next?
SOLACE: *hurrrrmmm* I heard that... you pissssant... (reaches sloppily for his Predator) *skrrrk* Charlie Victor Bravo one zero-niner over *skrrrk*
BINGO: Ohhhhhhh, shit--- get the gun from him, GET THE GUNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!