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Today's World is stressful. (ASR for Mild Language) |
It was a great day in the neighborhood of Suburbia. The snotty brats are watching beloved children's characters have intercourse on their devices, Amber Heard is still the only one who gave a crap across all her relationships thus far, and the Republicans are whining about a carrot being president since fire was still hot and gravity still pulled on everything. A singular man walking home after work and a daily beating of the local school bullies who don't learn anything, named Ryan Michaels, was not well up there. The anger of constantly sitting in that 1x1 Lego all day at that joke of a Children's TV Network, the lack of sane people anywhere, how he had to beat sense into high schoolers after a day of drama, and yet another kid smoking on USB sticks afterward. He pulls up his Spotify playlist of mainly Grunge/Rock to distract himself from life in general. Beep Beep, the car goes as it hits everything on Michael's side of the road, excluding him. But then a street lamp fell on top of him. Soon, Ryan woke up. It wasn't an ambulance, a hospital, or even where the lamp got him. It was a small cottage, not a Krankenhaus, Ospedale, or Bolnica, just a small, simple two-floor cottage. And not a clean one at that, with singular orange and white hairs seen all over the floor. The walls had medieval paintings with mostly anthropomorphic animals in place of humans. Michaels decided to look around, maybe grab a snack, maybe arm himself with a spoon, maybe he'll go explore the exterior world of this possible hellscape. Maybe he'll do all the above. He went into the kitchen and the first sign of something being absolutely wrong in these parts was a big wolf, easily rivaling the Suburbia Eagles Quarterback in sheer size alone, tending to some crops. He grabbed the spoon. He went up to the attic. Well... There was an upright fox right there, the funbags and cakes hanging out. She was slim, up to neck level with Ryan, and horrified that a 24-year-old man in a strange suit was in her bathroom. Several bags of coins shaped like footballs were thrown, several of them landing. Soon, Michaels woke up again. Finally, a hospital bed. He'd been out for almost an hour, but it felt like 5-10 minutes in his 'dream.' His family didn't come to see him, but his idolee, Billy Brown, did. That one kid who always occasionally wore the same Eagles hat as he did, always wanted a gray suit like Michaels, always had a broken glass bottle as Ryan did in high school, listened to the same songs he did like Shine, Zero, and Walla Walla, it was like he was a small clone of him just waltzed in from Oregon and got his fair share of bruises from the Bully families of his current residence. Everyone in the room, including the doctors themselves, was extremely relieved that Michaels survived, even if there were scars up to a foot long all over his torso and up to 4 inches all over his face. He was fired from his job at the office filled with 'female dogs' and stoners-for-sure. He couldn't fight the bullies as those scars made him vulnerable, so he gave Billy another broken bottle. So what did Ryan Michaels, the man who was nearly crushed to death by a street lamp, do? He started writing. But what, exactly? A book about what he saw in his 'dream.' The 'kinda sexy in a weird way' fox, the wolf picking flowers. It was 10 pm. Ryan Michaels just had yet another bag of air fryer pizza rolls for dinner, Holiday in Cambodia was on the radio, and the bed was looking mighty comfortable. Yep, it was bedtime. Michaels dozed off, as he always did, but instead of dull dreaming and pure black, it was that shed again. Same old garden, same old strands of fur, now with that big female wolf from earlier, slumped on the medieval couch with her stomach out on the town, and three jugs of mead on the floor. Must've been a large meal she had. It was nighttime out with all the bright stars a man's eye could see within an opening into a mountain valley. There were so many that if someone were to try to count them all, they'd grow a beard three or four times over. Ryan Michaels, somehow clear of the glass wounds that took over his torso and face, decided to go explore a little bit and get to know the world surrounding him right now before he continues on with his writing. It was his mission now, despite not passing a single Writing class in high school. This was the boost he needed, not yoga balls with the title of teacher feeding him just simple ideas that didn't appeal to him or extended lessons about plays without the play part of the play. It was not a too-long walk but was still worth it. A vibrant, lively village of more upright animals begging for back pain didn't bat an eye even for a second as a lone human in a modern gray suit walked down and up their streets, writing things down with a funny-looking stick. Why, Ryan didn't know. He was so out of place we're sure someone would've gotten him right after. It just wasn't one kind of animal in the village either, it had all the foxes, wolves, deer, cows, and bears, and some human here and there. But then came alongone of those men. Bowl cut, colored half blonde, half black, almost pale white skin, gold shutter shades and chain, purple baggy pants, pure pristine perfect white hi-tops, and a dark iron staff, as well as a bulky metal glove, glowing purple and white like crazy. He was cackling like a hyena about his name being Maxwell Mathers how he was going to burn down the village and take all the money and use it to build a yacht for his friends across the island and how he was the best-looking man here, even though his face was built like an improper fraction and you can solve a high-level calculus problem on the blonde side of his hair from how big his cranium was. Somebody's getting humbled tonight. Michaels quickly charged at him, ready for retaliation, and got the first hit in. This fight between the honorable and the stupid has begun! Maxwell swung his staff, Michaels dodged. Ryan swung his fist, Mathers dodged. Back and forth, with some small hits, scrapes from the stone walkways, and horrified civilians in between. A low blow hit Ryan right on target, not a millimeter off. Michaels quickly retaliated with vicious fists and a low blow of his own to top off the WhoopIt! Sundae. At that moment, which felt like 30 seconds, that fox and wolf from the cabin were just turning the corner. Ryan, combined with seeing them both indecent before and the melee that came and went out of nowhere, was sweating 50 Cal. Bullets, maybe a mortar round or two. Then, they met. "Well, this is odd..." the fox said. "Usually, no one stands up to that guy." the wolf replied, still a little sluggish from the mead. Ryan waited nervously for a queep about him. "Did you do this?" the same wolf asked the eager Michaels. "So he's a recurring threat to you two? And are you the only two defending this village?" asked Michaels. "Yeah, the kingdom of Atlas won't lend us protection." the fox said. "It's... because you're lovers, right?" Michaels shot out. "Yes. Very much, unfortunately." the wolf responded with a little melancholy. "General Wall." the fox let out, "That's who's denying us of defense against threats like that outhouse seat over free love." "Let me open a can on him." Michaels confidently boasted. After an hour or so of bickering on how he was going to get the village its well-deserved guards by force or friendship, Michaels saw a flower at the cabin. It was an odd one, for sure. The stem was smooth, but not the leaves. It also had muted colors, like it belonged in the background of a psychedelic autumn-themed picture. When he went to touch it, he collapsed. He was back in Suburbia, Colorado, wounds and all. He immediately got himself breakfast, pumped as much iron as a man crushed by a light post just yesterday could, and wrote up to the point he got to in his dream as lucid as much as school was good for the mind. This was the million-dollar idea his company was missing out on. If they came calling, he'll just kick'em to the ground unless they promised to use it with dignity. Sure, it was going to sell out, but not go rotten. His time was now, and he needed to use it wisely. But that company would be a good first stepping stone. He called in to pitch the idea, floored it to the building, and just like that, he got the Okie-Dokie. A week went by, and more encounters with Maxwell Mathers, Foxy and Aurora, the fox and wolf, came and went, he threw in some aliens for variety since no one wants a snotty brat like Maxwell to get beat for 780 total minutes on television. He wrote scripts and it was a classic waiting to happen. Then, it was bedtime again. For him and this 'General Wall' guy. He got to the cabin, this time daylight, and both fluffy girls on the couch passed out, without as much mead and gut as when he first got there. His sudden arrival woke the two. "Hey Michaels, are you going to finally go after Wall and his policies?" asked Foxy. "Yep, I got some weightlifting in and now I can probably take him." said Ryan. "Aurora had two steaks last night, so that'll take a while." "Yeah, I can tell. That night I met you, she had about three gallons of mead." It was after noon when they reached Atlas City. Great architecture, colorful stores of meat, furs(!?), and weapons, and the guards had spring-loaded hammers. Why were they spring-loaded? Who knows, maybe one of them had 'issues.' They finally reached the HQ of the Atlas Kingdom Guard. They ascended the tower that it was that nearly touched the sky. Then, the teller in front of the door refused their presence and needed the king's permission. Otherwise, Wall won't even peep. "Surprising. Doesn't approve protection of a village over a lesbian couple, and won't see anyone at all. I wonder why?" Michaels sarcastically said, sucking on one of those lollipops a street vendor was selling. A little too much cinnamon, but it's alright. "Well, can we get some tea from one of those restaurants we passed? It sounds excellent to me." asked Aurora. "Yeah, why not?" replied Foxy. Down they went from a partially pointless climb and into an establishment of edibility. Guess what? There just happens to be a king in there. The legendary King Bogo himself, in fact. He had a very light meal for a king, let alone Aurora. A bucket of chicken, a salad, and root beer. Even he was light, being about four feet tall. “Oh me, oh my,” he said. “How am I gonna deal with Wall? If I don’t get him out of his position soon, the villages will have my head.” He ordered himself another root beer, internally panicking with a ‘bit’ of a containment breach. “King Bogo,” Foxy addressed. “We need to talk with General Wall.” “And I need him eating dirt for once.” Bogo replied. “Weird, we need him doing that too.” said Ryan, enjoying the amazing tea they have. “Are you insane? His Two-Shield style will squash whatever you have like a bug!” exclaimed Bogo. “And he’s strong, right? Why does he need those shields?” asked Michaels. “Exactly! The previous general was squished to where you can fit him in a jar!” “How big?” “One the size of a shot glass!” “Yeah, I’d say start looking in an hour or so.” “I know this one lady…” An hour or so went by. Wall was still making decisions that’ll backfire like there’ll be no tomorrow, and Bogo found his replacement; Jessica Arlong. She’s well familiar with justice, being on both sides of the law at least once in her life, and she’s a bounty hunter in the Northern parts of the nation, so she can take those as big as Wall’s 6’7” 300 lb. frame, since some of the bears and wolves up there rival his size indefinitely. She’ll be vital to the operation. Back up they went, the doors at the top easily opening this time with Bogo’s presence. Immediately, Arlong charged at the desk of the madman stuck in the past, but to no avail. Wall wasn’t there, he went to the village he refused to protect. He was burning it down and releasing some imps to make the small island only connected to the mainland via bridge it resided in uninhabitable. Through several off road trails and five-star cart-driving, all of them made it back about an hour ahead of Wall, and with guns in which they knew weren’t going to damage him too much, but like doors, pillows, briefcases, and blankets propped against the wall in a nuclear event, it was meant as a way to calm down the people. King Bogo charged his electric magic, Jessica sharpened her dual bowie knives just a little more, and the trio of Michaels, Foxy, and Aurora waited valiantly for the General’s arrival. Today was it; the day their village would win its rights to have a defense. After about an hour waiting, there was General Wall, with his barrel of sky-demon-monkeys, ready to commit atrocities. But Ryan Michaels, eyes basically drowning in concentration, was dead-set on doing what’s right. Wall stepped closer and closer to the mob of citizens and their stubby king, shields firmly gripped. Then, he released the fury of a brick wall. Several peasants fired at him, to no avail. They were all knocked back a good 20 feet or so. Aurora and Foxy tried their best when they were up to bat, but had slightly better luck than the civilians. Jessica lasted with Wall, only she had bladed weapons instead of blunt weapons, which would’ve fared against his armor a little better. Once again, Wall was still standing. It was just Bogo and Michaels left, but Bogo just got new shoes and didn’t want to get them dirty just hours after getting them. Michaels threw what he could at the General; logs, buckets, fruits, vegetables, tools, anything that wasn’t in a building or tied down was fair game. Ryan hit Wall in the eyes with tomatoes, finally, and now could be the end. Nope, Wall smacked Michaels with a wayward panicked arm and shield. Ryan needed to think of something fast. Maybe he can grab a big hammer a break the wooden shields. Maybe he could hit a low blow like last time. Maybe he could grab one of those guns and pull some good ol’ guerrilla warfare, but where could he hit Wall? There was barely any gaps in the armor around his torso and head, and shots to the arms and legs don’t hit anything vital, but Michaels needed him at least unable to be in a military position, not dead. He went with the gun idea. He got one and some ammuntions from the unconsious bodies of the injured civilians. Then, he looked for places to hit from. But Wall, tomato out of his eyes, found Michaels first and struck him harder than that street lamp did. Then, Michaels got a chair. He hit Wall as many times in the head as possible until either one of them collapsed. After the chair broke, he started hitting Wall in the gut. The punches got faster and faster, Ryan’s hands glowed more and more pink! One final hit, and Wall was down. “Well, that was an interesting sight to behold.” said King Bogo, unable to decide between shock of the giant general falling or disgust at all those hits to the head, thinking back to his days in the various Pigskin Leagues he played in. “So, how’d I do?” asked Michaels. Everyone else who were conscious were also shocked. “I know we didn’t want him holding back our world, but WOW, you didn’t have to do that to him.” After an hour of celebration, our hero Ryan Michaels awoke from his real-world slumber. It was half an hour before his alarm went off and he was going to make the most of that. By that we mean watching Little Nicky and drinking some coffee before going to make sure they had the designs for Foxy and Aurora and that bunch of colorful characters right. What a week, what a week. |
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