My Weekend
The challenge: Describe my weekend. Stipulations: Must contain a golden retriever, damsel in distress, and a pitcher of margarita.
It all started on Friday night, when I was jetpack racing against the Greys of Alpha Centauri, as I do every Friday night. Suddenly my commbud implant started beeping. It was the President and Grand High Wizard of Atlantis.
"What is it Mr President? I am a very busy chicken," said I, executing a hundred perfect barrel rolls.
"Oh I am so sorry to bother you Captain Awesome, but we are in dire straits indeed! Undead Harper Lee is back for Round Two and this time she has kidnapped my darling daughter, Wilsmith! She is quite the damsel if I do say so myself! My daughter, I mean."
"Undead Harper Lee! Arg, not that scallywag again! Ok, I'll do the job and rescue your moderately attractive daughter into the bargain. I'm on my way!"
So saying, I did a loop around the Grey's flying saucer, shot down a few Russian TIE fighters with my eye lasers, and flew off to Atlantis at top speed.
Some minutes later I arrived at the secret sunken city of Atlantis. It is so secret even I don't know where it is. The only way to get there is to get hopelessly lost, and then pretend you're not looking for it.
I strode down the hallways of the Presidential Palace, brushing my hair and putting down a bandit uprising as I went.
"Hello Mr President!" I said as I kicked open the doors to his private spa, did a cartwheel and impaled three bandits with my hairbrush. "What's new?"
"Oh hello, Captain Awesome. Tea? No? Well, Undead Harper Lee is on the rampage in downtown Atlantis. She is messing up the place. Also she's a hundred feet tall."
"Yes I remember from last time. How will I find her?"
"Take my golden retriever, Goldie. He will lead you right to her!"
We went to look around Wilsmith's room. "I can't imagine how she got in," said Mr President.
"Probably through that smashed wall," I said, employing detective skills I had learned from cyborg detective and sometime-sidekick Titanium Holmes. "Ok Goldie, get the scent!"
Off raced the dog, with me in hot pursuit. I am faster than a cheetah in a Ferrari though so sometimes I had to stop and wait for him to catch up.
Suddenly Goldie stopped and started barking at the ground.
"What is it, boy?" I shouted from behind a dumpster where I had just spotted the final missing ingredient for World Peace. Also there were several supermodels there having a party and they made me stay for a while and watch them kiss each other. Goldie kept barking so I gave Tatiana a few quick pointers and went to see what the fuss was.
It turned out to be Undead Harper Lee, one hundred feet tall, stomping around among the rubble of several buildings, beating her hairy chest with one fist and waving Wilsmith around in the other. She looked quite distressed, but I couldn't be sure. The daughter, I mean.
"Excuse me Miss Wilsmith! Are you distressed?" I yelled from next to Undead Harper Lee's enormous undead big toe.
I couldn't hear what she said. It didn't sound even moderately attractive.
"Well, Goldie. Now what?" I asked, rhetorically, because dogs can't talk. "Bite her ankle," I suggested.
Goldie did so.
Undead Harper Lee kicked him clean through a brick wall. "Goldie! Nooooooooooo!" I shouted, quite distressed myself at this turn of events. "I'll avenge you, boy!"
There was only one way to defeat Undead Harper Lee. I mean, there were two ways, but we'd used one of them the first time. So there was only one OTHER way to defeat her. And I intended to use it.
Once, a long time ago, I had saved the life of a Mexican mobster. Atlantic-Mexican. Whatever. Anyway, he owed me. Quickly strapping some splintered boards to my feet, I lassoed a passing tiger and debriskied the waves of rubble to his mobster hideout.
"Hello Heyzeus," I said, by way of hello.
"Captain Awesome!" he replied, from around navel-height. "What are you doing here?"
"No time to explain!" I explained. "I need all your tequila. Quickly!"
Heyzeus wobbled a bit on his skateboard. "ALL of it?!" he exclaimed, gawking. "But that's all I've got!" He flailed his arms comic-reliefishly and pulled his giant, slightly racistly-stereotypical sombrero down over his ears.
"That was a terrible case of Tinea I saved you from that time."
He looked down at the stumps of his legs, unsure.
"I had to drink a lot of orange juice."
Heyzeus sighed. "Yes. Yes, it was. Come this way."
Some time later, after traversing much of the subterranean levels of the city, opening several coloured doors with a bunch of similarly-coloured keys, retrieving the skull of Brutus (+2 WIS) so Julius Caesar's spirit could rest in peace, and a lot of other fluffing about, everything was in place.
We stood (I stood, Heyzeus sat on his skateboard) perched on the flat roof of a watertower some twenty metres high, which we had filled two-thirds full with Heyzeus' tequila. Undead Harper Lee was swanning around just down the street, knocking over buildings and signs and kicking orphans and a puppy. I frowned when I saw the puppy. I frowned a LOT.
I added a bottle of triple sec and squeezed half a lime into the vodka. Putting on my goggles, I turned to my Atmexilan friend. "One more favour and we're even," I said. "Take this megaphone, and call Undead Harper Lee over here. Tell her there's a giant pitcher of Margarita here, all for her."
Heyzeus took the megaphone. "My wife's name was Margarita," he said, sadly. "She left when the Tinea took my legs."
"Ah, right. Sorry, buddy." I tried to think of something consoling. "She... she was terrible in bed. Remember what I told you to say."
Heyzeus nodded, still lost in his memories. I check the air pressure of my floaties, wrapped my gorgeous rosebud lips around my snorkel and dived headfirst into the second-biggest margarita I'd ever dived headfirst into. I thought I heard Heyzeus say something as I went under, but couldn't be sure.
Heyzeus did his job well. Within minutes Undead Harper Lee was attracted by his angry sobbing and came over to see what in the gosh dorn heck was going on. Smelling the margarita, she shambled undeadedly over, flicked Heyzeus off the top of the watertower, straight through a brick wall, ("I'll avenge you, Heyzeus," I wanted to say, but given the circumstances had to settle for thinking it loudly) ripped it from its moorings and downed it in one gulp.
Like any writer, I knew she would be powerless to resist the lure of free booze.
So there I was, in Undead Harper Lee's stomach. This was the moment I had planned for. Summoning all my strength and kicked-puppy anger, I punched a giant hole straight through Undead Harper Lee's chest!
Out of the hole gushed the tide of margarita, flooding downtown Atlantis twelve feet deep in alcohol. Newly Un-Undead Harper Lee groaned and fell over with a splash, dropping Wilsmith conveniently next to me in the process. Luckily I had a spare codpiece on me, which we used as a boat, and paddled back to the President's Palace and safety.
Back at the Palace, I related the day's events to the President, whilst juggling six sledgehammers and a Fabergé egg.
"That's a fascinating and exciting story," he laughed. "And it sounds like Re-dead Harper Lee won't be bothering us any more!"
"I'm sorry about Goldie," I said, feeling sad, but happy I had avenged his death, but sad.
"Oh don't worry about that!" said the President. "Here in Atlantis we take DNA and memory snapshots of all citizens, human and animal, every day, so if they die we can just clone them unethically. Goldie was lucky enough to get snapped right before he he hit that brick wall. Why, here's the scamp now!"
And in ran Goldie the golden retriever, as happy and alive as before he died!
"Wow, this is great news!" I shouted, unable to control the volume of my voice. "Does this mean Heyzeus is alive again as well?"
"No, unfortunately. Someone had his soul-disk in their pocket and it went through the wash."
"Oh." I thought. Shame. Technically, his clone would have still owed me a favour.
"Well Mr President, and Wilsmith, my work here is done. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Grand Prix to win. On my bicycle."
"Wait! Mr Captain Awesome Sir." It was Wilsmith, smiling shyly and looking moderately attractive. "Just tell me one thing before you go."
"Almost anything within reason for you, my dear."
"How did you know Undead Harper Lee would drink the margarita?"
"Ah," I said, looking very serious. "Because there was a secret ingredient in it that no one can resist."
"Oh!" she said, going wide-eyed. "What's the secret ingredient?"
"Me." I winked in a way that conveyed my intention to close one eye while the other remained open. Also I had stopped juggling by this time.
She giggled in a moderately attractive way, which is the way that seems really cute for about six months, until it suddenly gets really annoying.
"So," she continued, despite my overt signals that I was trying to leave. "What do you call this new drink? This margarita... plus you?"
I thought for a moment, then grinned. I knew this was the moment the entire bizarre, convoluted and highly unlikely weekend had been leading up to, ever since the President's first phone call.
"Well. Isn't it obvious? It's a...
...Tequila Mockingbird."
It all started on Friday night, when I was jetpack racing against the Greys of Alpha Centauri, as I do every Friday night. Suddenly my commbud implant started beeping. It was the President and Grand High Wizard of Atlantis.
"What is it Mr President? I am a very busy chicken," said I, executing a hundred perfect barrel rolls.
"Oh I am so sorry to bother you Captain Awesome, but we are in dire straits indeed! Undead Harper Lee is back for Round Two and this time she has kidnapped my darling daughter, Wilsmith! She is quite the damsel if I do say so myself! My daughter, I mean."
"Undead Harper Lee! Arg, not that scallywag again! Ok, I'll do the job and rescue your moderately attractive daughter into the bargain. I'm on my way!"
So saying, I did a loop around the Grey's flying saucer, shot down a few Russian TIE fighters with my eye lasers, and flew off to Atlantis at top speed.
Some minutes later I arrived at the secret sunken city of Atlantis. It is so secret even I don't know where it is. The only way to get there is to get hopelessly lost, and then pretend you're not looking for it.
I strode down the hallways of the Presidential Palace, brushing my hair and putting down a bandit uprising as I went.
"Hello Mr President!" I said as I kicked open the doors to his private spa, did a cartwheel and impaled three bandits with my hairbrush. "What's new?"
"Oh hello, Captain Awesome. Tea? No? Well, Undead Harper Lee is on the rampage in downtown Atlantis. She is messing up the place. Also she's a hundred feet tall."
"Yes I remember from last time. How will I find her?"
"Take my golden retriever, Goldie. He will lead you right to her!"
We went to look around Wilsmith's room. "I can't imagine how she got in," said Mr President.
"Probably through that smashed wall," I said, employing detective skills I had learned from cyborg detective and sometime-sidekick Titanium Holmes. "Ok Goldie, get the scent!"
Off raced the dog, with me in hot pursuit. I am faster than a cheetah in a Ferrari though so sometimes I had to stop and wait for him to catch up.
Suddenly Goldie stopped and started barking at the ground.
"What is it, boy?" I shouted from behind a dumpster where I had just spotted the final missing ingredient for World Peace. Also there were several supermodels there having a party and they made me stay for a while and watch them kiss each other. Goldie kept barking so I gave Tatiana a few quick pointers and went to see what the fuss was.
It turned out to be Undead Harper Lee, one hundred feet tall, stomping around among the rubble of several buildings, beating her hairy chest with one fist and waving Wilsmith around in the other. She looked quite distressed, but I couldn't be sure. The daughter, I mean.
"Excuse me Miss Wilsmith! Are you distressed?" I yelled from next to Undead Harper Lee's enormous undead big toe.
I couldn't hear what she said. It didn't sound even moderately attractive.
"Well, Goldie. Now what?" I asked, rhetorically, because dogs can't talk. "Bite her ankle," I suggested.
Goldie did so.
Undead Harper Lee kicked him clean through a brick wall. "Goldie! Nooooooooooo!" I shouted, quite distressed myself at this turn of events. "I'll avenge you, boy!"
There was only one way to defeat Undead Harper Lee. I mean, there were two ways, but we'd used one of them the first time. So there was only one OTHER way to defeat her. And I intended to use it.
Once, a long time ago, I had saved the life of a Mexican mobster. Atlantic-Mexican. Whatever. Anyway, he owed me. Quickly strapping some splintered boards to my feet, I lassoed a passing tiger and debriskied the waves of rubble to his mobster hideout.
"Hello Heyzeus," I said, by way of hello.
"Captain Awesome!" he replied, from around navel-height. "What are you doing here?"
"No time to explain!" I explained. "I need all your tequila. Quickly!"
Heyzeus wobbled a bit on his skateboard. "ALL of it?!" he exclaimed, gawking. "But that's all I've got!" He flailed his arms comic-reliefishly and pulled his giant, slightly racistly-stereotypical sombrero down over his ears.
"That was a terrible case of Tinea I saved you from that time."
He looked down at the stumps of his legs, unsure.
"I had to drink a lot of orange juice."
Heyzeus sighed. "Yes. Yes, it was. Come this way."
Some time later, after traversing much of the subterranean levels of the city, opening several coloured doors with a bunch of similarly-coloured keys, retrieving the skull of Brutus (+2 WIS) so Julius Caesar's spirit could rest in peace, and a lot of other fluffing about, everything was in place.
We stood (I stood, Heyzeus sat on his skateboard) perched on the flat roof of a watertower some twenty metres high, which we had filled two-thirds full with Heyzeus' tequila. Undead Harper Lee was swanning around just down the street, knocking over buildings and signs and kicking orphans and a puppy. I frowned when I saw the puppy. I frowned a LOT.
I added a bottle of triple sec and squeezed half a lime into the vodka. Putting on my goggles, I turned to my Atmexilan friend. "One more favour and we're even," I said. "Take this megaphone, and call Undead Harper Lee over here. Tell her there's a giant pitcher of Margarita here, all for her."
Heyzeus took the megaphone. "My wife's name was Margarita," he said, sadly. "She left when the Tinea took my legs."
"Ah, right. Sorry, buddy." I tried to think of something consoling. "She... she was terrible in bed. Remember what I told you to say."
Heyzeus nodded, still lost in his memories. I check the air pressure of my floaties, wrapped my gorgeous rosebud lips around my snorkel and dived headfirst into the second-biggest margarita I'd ever dived headfirst into. I thought I heard Heyzeus say something as I went under, but couldn't be sure.
Heyzeus did his job well. Within minutes Undead Harper Lee was attracted by his angry sobbing and came over to see what in the gosh dorn heck was going on. Smelling the margarita, she shambled undeadedly over, flicked Heyzeus off the top of the watertower, straight through a brick wall, ("I'll avenge you, Heyzeus," I wanted to say, but given the circumstances had to settle for thinking it loudly) ripped it from its moorings and downed it in one gulp.
Like any writer, I knew she would be powerless to resist the lure of free booze.
So there I was, in Undead Harper Lee's stomach. This was the moment I had planned for. Summoning all my strength and kicked-puppy anger, I punched a giant hole straight through Undead Harper Lee's chest!
Out of the hole gushed the tide of margarita, flooding downtown Atlantis twelve feet deep in alcohol. Newly Un-Undead Harper Lee groaned and fell over with a splash, dropping Wilsmith conveniently next to me in the process. Luckily I had a spare codpiece on me, which we used as a boat, and paddled back to the President's Palace and safety.
Back at the Palace, I related the day's events to the President, whilst juggling six sledgehammers and a Fabergé egg.
"That's a fascinating and exciting story," he laughed. "And it sounds like Re-dead Harper Lee won't be bothering us any more!"
"I'm sorry about Goldie," I said, feeling sad, but happy I had avenged his death, but sad.
"Oh don't worry about that!" said the President. "Here in Atlantis we take DNA and memory snapshots of all citizens, human and animal, every day, so if they die we can just clone them unethically. Goldie was lucky enough to get snapped right before he he hit that brick wall. Why, here's the scamp now!"
And in ran Goldie the golden retriever, as happy and alive as before he died!
"Wow, this is great news!" I shouted, unable to control the volume of my voice. "Does this mean Heyzeus is alive again as well?"
"No, unfortunately. Someone had his soul-disk in their pocket and it went through the wash."
"Oh." I thought. Shame. Technically, his clone would have still owed me a favour.
"Well Mr President, and Wilsmith, my work here is done. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Grand Prix to win. On my bicycle."
"Wait! Mr Captain Awesome Sir." It was Wilsmith, smiling shyly and looking moderately attractive. "Just tell me one thing before you go."
"Almost anything within reason for you, my dear."
"How did you know Undead Harper Lee would drink the margarita?"
"Ah," I said, looking very serious. "Because there was a secret ingredient in it that no one can resist."
"Oh!" she said, going wide-eyed. "What's the secret ingredient?"
"Me." I winked in a way that conveyed my intention to close one eye while the other remained open. Also I had stopped juggling by this time.
She giggled in a moderately attractive way, which is the way that seems really cute for about six months, until it suddenly gets really annoying.
"So," she continued, despite my overt signals that I was trying to leave. "What do you call this new drink? This margarita... plus you?"
I thought for a moment, then grinned. I knew this was the moment the entire bizarre, convoluted and highly unlikely weekend had been leading up to, ever since the President's first phone call.
"Well. Isn't it obvious? It's a...
...Tequila Mockingbird."