By Ariel Leal
An excerpt from our issue Nonsense Goes To Space!
“Those are MY franks GODDAMN IT!” I awoke in a cold sweat. I reached over to my nightstand, knocking over several empty cans of Bud Light and my Gameboy Advanced SP to grab my pill bottle. Now I’m not a huge fan of these here farmer suit ankles but who am I to doubt the great American Healthcare system? After all, I’m not a doctor. I’m a veteran. I’m a hero.
I tried jerkin the bottle some to pour some of those plastic slugs into my hand but none came out. By Fidel Castro’s unkempt and fascist beard! I had to refill this yesterday.
All of a sudden I realized that maybe my dream twern’t no dream so I walked through the wall of my bedroom and booted the shit out of the handle to my back door, effectively smashing the wooden obstacle open. At once I was greeted by the harsh rays of the sun, my sun. My beautiful baby boy. I looked up at my kin and forced my retinas to endure the searing pain of his brilliance.
“My sun! I just want you to know I’m proud of you!” I shouted to that big ol’gas beast. I smiled and dusted some of the drywall off my shoulders.
It’s time for coffee, I thought so I sprinted eighteen miles over to my neighbor’s farm. I found one of my neighbor’s cows and punched it to death for some good ol’ strawberry milk. Thick. Viscous. The slimy bastard, otherwise known as my neighbor, came out and ran towards me screaming like some kind of fuckin’ coward.
“Boy I seen good men get their winguses blown off and cry less than this. I bet you don’t even pay your taxes.” I pointed my phallic finger in that fucker’s face.
I punched that commie’s nose in until his skin matched his ideologies.
DICC (Dead ISIS/Commie Count): 1
“Better dead than red,” I said, for the seventy-fifth time this week while also lighting an American cigar and taking a good, deep, crispy, puff. I decided to enjoy the moment by playing some video games on my Gameboy. Helps relieve the stress. After a little while, his wife, or daughter, or heck, maybe even both, came out running with a frying pan but I thwarted her attempts to catch me off guard by pissing myself. She was just too quick and ended up dislocating my jaw anyway.
Now the whole thing was blurry but I remember waking up in one of those er, uh, field things covered in blood, and lemme tell ya, it wasn’t just bovine. There was a finger in my mouth with the nail burned black and I couldn’t help but wonder how a thing like that could find its way into my mouth hole but this wasn’t the time for solving mysteries. It was already nighttime and I thanked my lucky stars that my boy was tucked away, sleeping soundly. He takes after his mom. Stretching out, I found myself a red Solo cup tied to a string that seemed to go on for miles and miles. Naturally, I answered the call of duty.
“Uh…hello?” I asked, wondering who could be calling at this hour.
“Jones! C.O. Jones? We need your help! I’ve heard of your experience with Space Nazis and between you and me, what you did to Mecha Pol Pot’s head was a GOT damn masterpiece.”
“I’m listening, Cap. What do you need?”
“There’s some trouble on the ISS and you-
“ISIS? You stop right there, Cap; I knew this day would come.”
“Can you do it, Jones? Can you climb aboard the space station and-
“That’s enough, Captain. I already said yes and you won’t see me backing out like some commie dump truck.”
I tried crumpling the plastic beverage receptacle only to find that it had already disappeared. Now that is American engineering. Standing up, I found that I was fully erect.
It’s time to go save DEMOCRACY.
K-Mart, a peaceful land. I drove my truck into the sliding doors, killing two pedestrians in the process. I have a zero-tolerance policy for jaywalkers.
DICC (Dead ISIS/Commie Count): 3
I coulda waited but democracy wouldn’t so I had to act fast. I found my way on over to the beer section, the section with all the beer, and punched through the glass door to pick up a silver bullet. As I browsed this store’s fine wares, I poked my head into the video game section briefly but all this new shit was nothing like some 90’s classics. I then mosied on over to the gun section, you know, the section with all the guns, and picked up some more silver bullets. They weren’t actually silver but not callin’ em such makes it less poetic. I digress, citizen. I picked up all the ammunition and guns I needed and dumped ‘em all out on the cash register. My hands were bleeding and full of glass shards. The cashier done pissed himself so I shouted at him, grabbing his face in my bloody and sharp hands.
“Do you see my blood, private? TELL ME WHAT COLOR MY BLOOD IS!”
“I-it’s r-red,” the shrimp cocktail, flamingo-licking pansy mumbled.
“I’ll have you know I’m a retired veteran so you best refer to me with due respect.”
“O-okay, sir,” he said. Pathetic.
“My blood is red. I pay my taxes! I was kicked out of a court room during jury duty once for sporting an erection as hard as the time I did on tour! Above all else, I was a volunteer fireman in grade school so don’t you-
“W-what’s that have to do with-
I rammed my fist through his cranium for interrupting me.
DICC (Dead ISIS/Commie Count): 4
I might’ve thought this prick was a pansy but I had no idea he’d stand in the way of liberty as a terrorist.
Damn, I thought, they’ve even infiltrated our K-Marts. It makes sense considering they didn’t even have locks on these guns. To make matters worse, the guns themselves are bright yellow and blue and the bullets have orange tips, as if to make it easier for them to spot us. Then again, maybe I want that, maybe I want them to see me coming.
I figured I was close, considering I already done killed four menaces. It was time to consult the egg-heads. My combat boots thudded against the ground repeatedly until I found myself in the science section, you know, the section with all the nerds. Some college kid was messing around with some science stuff, I guess.
“You there! How do I get to space?”
“Excuse me?” the little shit asked.
“It’s either I forcefully ram eighty-three kettle cooked barbecue chips in your urethra or you TALK!”
“Um…the latter, I guess…” he said, selling out immediately. You wouldn’t see American soldiers behaving so despicably.
“So you knew all along!” I pinned the ungrateful millennial up against the wall.
“What the hell are you going on about? Knew about what?” he squealed desperately. Commie desperation.
It was difficult to look at his face when the sun was shining in my eyes from the nearest window. Wait a minute…my son, my beautiful baby boy, is up there! This asshole playing dumb couldn’t fool me. I took the previous Coors beer can and shoved it down the boy’s esophagus, effectively suffocating him to death. As he collapsed, I thought about the sweet vengeance I just enacted on the filthy terrorist.
“You know what they say, partner; when it’s blue, you know it’s as cold as the Rockies.”
DICC (Dead ISIS/Commie Count): 5
“Pack your things, folks, we’re going to space!” I exclaimed to the native people of the K-Mart. Everyone knows how to get to space. I began ramming my fists into the nearest concrete wall, pushing the glass shards deeper into my hands. After awhile I managed to find a ladder. The ladder. The space ladder. I climbed and climbed until I stopped being able to breathe, but that’s okay. I was on the varsity swim team in high school so I knew how to hold what little breath I had left. Red and blue lights started flashing everywhere, which I assume is common to space or whatever. This was it. This was space. Things were kind of a blur but I vaguely remember crashing the base onto the moon, I think. I could swear I lost my arms heroically, fighting the good fight against the real enemies because right now I can’t feel my arms. For a brief moment, I remember having another family, but that can’t be right. Have I been brainwashed? It doesn’t matter. Here I am, on the moon. Everything is so bright and white and…soft. My head hurts so fucking badly too. I must have been brainwashed because I suddenly had the strongest urge to play video games more than any other moment in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I adore consumerism but this was just strange. I just feel so compelled to…see pictures of Crash Bandicoot, really badly. What’s happening to me?
Out of nowhere, an alien sporting a white lab coat and a clipboard approached me. That sick asshole. Not only was he real and deceiving the American people about his existence, but he killed our own and took their clothing.
“Are we calm now? Do you promise not to blind another one of our nurses? Are you free to talk in a rational manner?” the alien barraged me with questions, most likely planning to use the answers to end all wonderfully capitalistic behaviors of our gorgeous American society.
“That’s the thing, you freak; in this country, I’m always free.”
My urethra was sewn shut in some form of poetic horror, but I wouldn’t complain like some whiney liberal. After all, this is the land of the free and the home of the brave. God bless America.