Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Ding Dong

"Make plenty of muffins, Claire Bear," I said, "because tonight, we're going to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what, Daddy?" my little Claire Bear asked me.

"The death of a very, very bad person."

"Anna Nicole Smith?"

"No, badder!"

"Who?"

"Sylar!"

With a slight push, she fell to the floor, dropping a knife into her neck, and I was off. I was off on my way to kill Sylar, once and for all.

I didn't bother calling The Haitian. Last I heard, he was out on a mission to destroy the felines who murdered my mother. I'd have taken care of it myself, but I had an urgent matter to attend to.

The Haitian and I had been planning an ultimate Sylar trap. And while my plan was perfect in every way, I hadn't the time, nor resources, to see it to fruition. I had to devise a more ingenious plot, one more cunning, more daring and more aggressive!

It was clear this adventure would be a two parter, like my trip to China and continuation of said trip.

And so I set forth, Haitian-less into the sunset.

Following the sunset as my only clue to Sylar's whereabouts, I arrived in El Paso, TX. Arriving into this cess pit of human indecency and despair, also the hometown of The Mars Volta (Of whom I'm surprised to know), I was greeted by a stench. It was the stench of Sylar, no doubt. I was on his trail, and he would be dead soon.

Then it occurred to me. The stench wasn't a murderous brain-thief, but rather, the sweet smell of tortillas bursting with refried beans, ground supposed-beef and an assortment of chiles. Yes, it was a Taco Bell.

And who likes Taco Bell? Dr. Mohinder Suresh! It truly was destiny. There was a reason I encountered this fast food establishment. Somehow Sylar and Mohinder are connected....but how?

And then it hit me! No, not an idea, but a rock. Some rednecks driving by in a Ford F150 threw a rock at a young man on the corner, but hit me. "Git on back to Mejico, boy!" they yelled.

Then, I realized what Mohinder and Sylar now have in common. They're immigrants! Mohinder recently came from India. Sylar must now be pulling a Mohinder, leaving his home country in search of more tantalizing brains in another country.

It made sense. Not only would heading into Mexico provide him an escape from the authorities, but he hasn't eaten Mexican brains yet. And how long can you go without having some Mexican food? It was obvious he was sneaking across the border.

I left the big city and headed out to a remote area where Sylar would have most likely crossed over.

There were no Sylar tracks to be found. Had he gone this way, he surely used his telekinesis to cover up any sign of it. But I marched on.

Finally, I came to a small village. It seems I always encounter settlements seemingly untouched by the local governmental authorities on my trips out of the country.

"Excuso me!" I said to a young man. "Tu see braino eater?"

The man didn't say a thing. Luckily, I had Jake in my duffel bag. I gave it a kick.

"Excuse me, sir," I started, "Have you seen a brain-eater around here?"

Jake seemed to be working fine because I could understand what the man was saying, despite the mismatched lips. "Yes! Brain man came by yesterday. But we no tell you where he is."

"Why not?"

"Here in this village, we have rules. The first rule is you want something you have to pass the Trial of Desire Fulfillment given to you by our leader, Pavo Maton."

"Where is this Pavo Maton?" I pregunta-ed.

"He's Mexican, and it's noon....the cantina."

Since I'm a huge Star Wars fan, I knew that cantina was Mexican for place where aliens play music.

I kicked open the saloon-style doors, and upon doing so realized they were actually regular-style doors which were unkick-openable. I turned the handle and limped inside.

"I'm here for Pavo Maton!" I yelled with the authority of an authority-yielding man.

Silence fell over the room. Several men got up from a table, turning to stare me down and reaching for the pistols in their holsters. At the table sat a man in black ninja apparel and a matching sombrero.

"I'm told I must complete a Trial before having my Desire Fulfilled," I announced.

The ninja man flipped into the air and landed in front of me. "I am Pavo Maton and I will give you a trial!" he said.

"Say it, don't spray it," I told him.

It must have lost something in translation because I was suddenly kicked across the room by Pavo.

I rose to my feet as he and 50 other Mexicans charged at me. Bullets were blazing by my head and in seeming slow-motion, I weaved my way through them and landed a kick on Mr. Maton's torso.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Yoda PEZ Dispenser. With a quick flip of the wrist, I sent PEZ candies flying into the gun barrels of the relentless mob. Misfiring took out all but three, who threw their guns down and came at me ninja-style along with Pavo.

They were kicking in the air, flipping around and throwing punches and I was dodging it all, mostly thanks to the fact that this was their fancy, ninja-style lead up to me. Once they got closer, I would be an easy target.

Thinking fast, I unzipped my duffel bag and Jake sprung into action. That action was crawling, and he crawled out of the bag with the grace and speed of a pregnant house cat.

"Do your Chinese stuff!" I yelled at him.

But it was too late. The band of raging Latinos beat the bajeezers out of him.

Luckily, that gave me time to fold some nearby paper into airplanes, which I launched at our attackers. They were each poked in the eye, and fell to the ground, wriggling in pain.

"Had enough?" I asked, standing over their bodies.

"Si! Si! We surrender!" Pavo yelled.

I helped him to his feet and said, "I must find the brain-eater."

"I will help you, but the sacred rule of the Trial of Desire Fulfillment cannot be broken. You must complete the Trial, and then we can reveal the information you seek. With your ninja skills, surely it will be an easy task for you."

"Ninja? I'm just a paper salesman," I said, playing it cool. In reality, I knew I was more ninja than paper salesman, and more paper salesman than human.

"You must bring me the mustache of a Gringo. Only then will you find your brain-eater."

I set off to find a mustached Gringo. My expert trapping skills would come in handy! I set up a grouping of barrels for hiding purposes and placed my Microsoft Zune out in the road, playing non-stop Tom Jones. No Gringo would be able to resist. Now, I wait.

I waited for an hour or so without seeing anyone. Then, I decided perhaps I shouldn't be inside the barrel, but try hiding behind them.

"Oye!" a crazed and hairy man called to me. My name wasn't Oye, but I answered nonetheless.

"Yes?"

"You American, huh?" he asked. It looked as though he was too.

"Yes."

"What's the band with Jon Anderson and Chris Squire?"

"Yes."

"Gah! Thanks, so much. I can finally return to the US. These people are vicious with their Trials of Desire Fulfillment, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"I told them I wanted to go back home and asked for my luggage back, but they gave me that odd piece of trivia for my trial. It's been years! And now I can return home! Oh, I can just imagine everything that has changed. I'd guess the war's probably over with, isn't it?"

I tore off the man's mustache and returned to the cantina.

"There is the house of the brain man," Pavo said, pointing out the window to the only pink casa with a flowerbed and a 'Home Sweet Brainz' sign hanging on it.

I approached the adobe abode (I've always wanted to say that!) and as I did, I could hear The Sound of Music playing loudly over a television set. Hmm... I thought, they do have electricity down here.

Then, through the window, I saw him. Sylar was there, in full Mexican military regalia, if a tube top and miniskirt are the uniform of Mexican military.

This was my moment. I needed every advantage, so I carefully planned my next moves. I would wait until the sun goes down for my attack. I had a lot of time to kill.

I decided it would be a friendly gesture to apologize for the mustache incident, so I sought out my compadre.

"Hey!" I yelled at him. Startled, he dropped his luggage and took off running. I gathered up all his crap and stuffed it back in his bag for him. "Guess I'll take this to the cantina and wait on him there," I thought outloud.

The place was a mess, just as I had left it. Pavo was sitting at his usual table, minus 47 goons. Jake was lying on the floor, still twitching from the beating. I stuffed him into his duffel bag and took out my nightvision looky thing and gun.

"Hey Gringo, come have a drink," Pavo hollered.

I walked over, with my Primatech Paper Company-issued equipment in hand and took a seat.

Pavo and I had a great conversation about how cheese is underrated.

Then, quivering, the crazed and now less hairy man entered. "Excuse me," he stuttered, "I just want my luggage so I can go home."

"It's right there," I said, "take it."

"Not so fast!" Pavo interrupted, "He already had his luggage. If he wants it back again, he'll have to do another Trial of Desire Fulfillment!"

"Oh, that makes sense," I said.

"And you can do the honors. But this time, no simple music trivia. Make it a real man's task."

I was a little upset, as I had already the perfect trivia question: Which band had considered the names "Sigma 6", "The Meggadeaths", "The Screaming Abdabs", "The Abdabs", and "Tea Set" before arriving at their current title?

Without Google, he would never have solved it.

But now I had to think of a task. Maybe I drank too much, but thinking was sure difficult at the time. "Bring me a mustache of a Gringo!" was all I could come up with.

"Hey," Pavo said, "That was yours. You have to make it unique."

"Okay, bring me the beard of a Gringo!" I said happily.

"We're the only Gringos here!" the man yelled at me. He seemed frustrated. "Just give me my luggage back."

He started to move for his bag, but Pavo fired off a round in his direction. He fell to the floor and started to cry.

At this point, I felt sorry for the man. So I decided to help him. I walked over and lifted him up onto his feet and ripped off his beard.

"ARRRRRRCHHHHH!!" the man screamed. "You could have used those scissors!" he yelled pointing to a pair on the bar.

"Hmm...that probably would have worked." I went to get the scissors.

"Wait!" he said. "It's too late now, the ripping my hair off my face will have to work."

"Okay," I said. I grabbed his face and pulled, but no hair came off.

"Stop!" The man grabbed his beard from me and handed it back to me, "Here! I did it, beard from a Gringo, happy pappy?"

"Oh, gross," I said, "What is this?"

"It's my beard! You ripped it off my face!"

"Oh, right."

He angrily grabbed his bag and was on his way.

Pavo and I drank for hours discussing the ramifications of cheese in a can.

And then, sunset. I bidded him a farewell and was off to take down Sylar.

I equipped my nightvision looky thing. Gun extended, I rang the doorbell....

*Ding Dong*

4 comments:

Svetlana Smith said...

Any chance you can score me some real Jose Cuervo in Mexico? I'll pay you back, I swear. But if you try to kidnap me, you might need a forklift or one of those slings they use to lift beached whales.

Just sayin'. ^^

CrewWolf said...

omg. I was barely halfway through it and I was already tearing up with laughter. I'm almost afraid of what will happen to me if I read anymore. My small intestine will probably explode or something (because that's where I store my sense of humor apparently).

Svetlana Smith said...

If I carried my sense of humor in my small intestine, I'd be a lot thinner.

...okay, that makes no sense.

I'm still eagerly awaiting my Jose Cuervo, mr glasses. He's the only man who can help me deal with the death of my second cousin. ;_;

Anonymous said...

wоnderful pοѕt, very іnformative.
I pοndeг ωhу thе оppoѕite sрecіaliѕts of thіs sector don't realize this. You should proceed your writing. I am sure, you'νe a grеat reаdeгs' base already!

Here is my website: buy toys