NAME THAT STONER

The relaxed feeling Mike thought he would be feeling was not there. Instead, he felt a little uneasy. It was hard for him to cope with the new way of life his fellow Sheekians have become accustomed to. The changes weren't really that drastic, but nevertheless they were changes. Mike expected to come back to a planet that was carefree and high, and I don't mean naturally high either. People everywhere would constantly get stoned, get drunk, eat acid and consume other assorted drugs on a regular, several-times-a-day basis. The discovery that drugs and alcohol strengthened the Sheekian body filled the planet with pot-smoking, drug-abusing people, a sight (and feeling) Mike was proud of. So proud, in fact, that he wanted no other way of life. But as the days passed, the hunter would discover more and more disheartening facts. For instance: the drug called "reform" claimed new followers every day, supplying Sheekians with sober insight and clear thinking. With the help of this drug, people made new discoveries and advances. Among these was the light bulb. It was kept glowing due to electricity. However, Mike did not think it would go so far. Other gadgets accumulated here and there, further frustrating Mike's mind. Televisions, toasters, refrigerators, electric this, electric that, even electric toothbrushes. The first time Mike saw one of those, he burst into a fit of laughter.

"How absurd!" he exclaimed, "A toothbrush that brushes by itself? You have artificial lights to shine superior to the sun, TV sets to deprive you of physical achievements...what next?" He got his answer later when he learned that at the headquarters of the so-called government, an object called a "car" was under construction. It was device that would take the place of a horse.

But why?

Mike felt like he was in unfamiliar surroundings sometimes, but other times Sheek was the same old planet he remembered. The first couple of days he was home, he spent his time mainly hunting and camping. It felt good to space around in forests he had not seen in years. It was all mostly the same, but at the same time there were details that would emerge from the back of Mike's mind that had been hidden. Old memories and ways of Sheekian life once again were introduced to him. He and his brother Homer constantly drank and tried very hard to keep from being sober. Mike felt his body being revitalized as his basic necessary Sheekian needs would be brought before him and consumed in eager instinct. Old friends were looked up and new friends were being made.

Then came his birthday, the actual reason for him returning to his home planet. Mike awoke on that day very anxious. Homer kept talking about "a surprise" and today was the day Mike would discover what that surprise was.

The morning on the seventh day of harvest found Mike cracking the seal on a new fifth of old scotch

("Happy birthday Mike you old son of a gun!"

"Thanks Mr. Hirt. Nice to see you again.")

that was passed from mouth to mouth until it was gone. Nevertheless, more presents came and were unwrapped. Ten hits of LSD, a half gallon of Vodka, a new sleath, a fur-lined jacket and a hand-carved bong from Mike's good friend Tom were just a few of the presents. Most of the other gifts consisted mainly of drugs. Mike consumed plenty, glad to fuel up on good old Sheekian narcotics, the very things that kept a Sheekian alive.

The hunter was pretty wired when Homer told Mike of "the surprise" which was his gift to his older brother. One of the first TV shows to be aired since the invention of the television was a program called "NAME THAT STONER" which is now in danger of being canceled because of the sober society that was slowly growing. Anyway, Homer purchased a ticket for Mike to be a contestant on the show on the day of his birthday.

Mike was surprised. Television program? Contestant? What kind of bullshit is this?

His friends assured him he would enjoy himself. They explained to Mike that the show involved being able to tell what kind and how many drugs a certain person had consumed (alcohol included). The one to correctly identify the exact drugs a certain person was on wins the grand prize which is not revealed until the end of the show.

Mike was still a little confused when it was time to head for the television station. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do, but he would've had no problem if he didn't get so wasted. Therefore he attempted to slow down on the partying before playing NAME THAT STONER. Nevertheless, he lit up a joint when they entered the TV station.

Mike was astonished when he saw all the electronic and mechanical gadgets necessary to run a TV station. Cameras, microphones, monitors, advanced computers and other assorted shit crowded the dense area of TV broadcasting. Mike observed in semi-horror at the equipment as though they were some kind of metallic monsters. Being fried did help him deal with it all however, so Mike made the best of it.

Another discomfort to Mike was the fact that he had promised Thelma (an old girlfriend) he would take off his grubby clothes and spruce up a little. As much nagging as Thelma did, she could only get Mike to put on some clean casual clothes. Trying to get him to cut his hair was a different story. Mike wouldn't even comb it, much less cut it. He did trim his beard a little, though.

It was when he was actually sitting in his designated contestant's chair and staring into a camera that he really got a grip on what he was doing.

"Holy shit," he said, "What the hell am I doing here?" He burped a small burp then looked around, shifting uncomfortably in the thick-padded vinyl chair. Sitting next to him on his right was a man of perhaps forty-five or fifty and in good shape. He was clean shaven and had sleek black hair and a small amount of gray hair. He dressed sharply, a three piece leisure suit expressing his subtle nature.

"Hi." The man smiled a big smile, revealing very white teeth. Mike's mind was so fried that it took him a while to realize this guy had said something to him, although he was staring straight into his eyes.

"Oh...hi there man, how are you?" and Mike belched again, "Are you a contestant too?"

"Yes I am. You and I are to compete against each other."

"No shit?"

"No shit. You look pretty wasted. you should be, for you have consumed a fifth of rum, eaten two quaaludes, snorted three lines of coke, and have drunk fourteen beers and four shots of vodka and have smoked nineteen joints."

Mike's expression suddenly sobered up. "How the hell did you know that?"

"I've been practicing."

"Practicing for what?"

"For this show. That's what we're supposed to do. Can you tell what I'm on?"

Mike looked into the man's eyes for a while before he said anything. A lot of different things went through his stoned mind at once, but he concentrated on the matter at hand.

Tell what he's on? Now I understand!

"Of course I can, you dillrod," Mike said very seriously, "You're just stoned. Three bongs of home grown, eh?"

Mike's opponent smiled then opened his mouth to say something. Nevertheless, Mike interrupted.

"And a whiskey sour with a twist of lime." Mike's smile grew as his opponent's faded.

"Not bad," the man said, "Not bad at all." He turned to stare at the floor, convinced Mike was a worthy rival. Mike however, was getting a little nervous. He knew when it came to partying he was an expert...but to tell what somebody's on? He wasn't too worried, but didn't know just how good he was at it. He laughed for no reason at all then looked around him. People were scurrying this way and that, getting ready for the start of the show.

"We're ready to roll!" a voice boomed from hidden speakers overhead, "Ten seconds to air time. Ten...nine...eight...seven..."

Within the last few seconds before Mike appeared on worldwide TV, he spotted Homer, sitting off in the shadows next to a cameraman. His little brother stared back, a look of desperation on his face. His expression seemed to be saying: "Come on Mike, come on! I know you can win!"

For some reason this caused Mike to snap into a sudden state of seriousness and sobriety. Him being on this game show meant a lot to Homer. He now knew he had to give it all he's got and win this one not for himself, but for his little brother and all his loyal Sheekian friends.

"...one!" the voice from overhead concluded. An invisible studio audience cheered loudly from somewhere and it nearly gave Mike a heart-attack.

Where the fuck is that noise coming from? he thought but was interrupted by the sound of a voice, a fast-talking happy voice that was heard above the noise of the applauding. Mike just sat there and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Welcome to the game show that's the favorite of all: Name That Stoner!" the voice boomed, "And now here's your host...Blob Parker!"

The applause increased slightly as a very neatly dressed man appeared from behind the edge of the game show set and walked to a podium that was to the left of Mike and his opponent. The man called Blob Parker smiled a humongous smile while he raised one arm to quiet down the imaginary crowd.

"Thank you, thank you, and welcome to Name that Stoner," Blob began, adjusting his tie. Mike was a little surprised. This was the first time he had seen anyone dress so classy on Sheek. The audience faded completely as Blob Parker continued: "Today we have with us Mr. Mike Cheney who, as I understand, is twenty-five Sheekian years old today. Is that correct Mike?"

Mike hesitated. "Uh...yeah man...that's right."

"Well congratulations Mr. Cheney on accomplishing the feat of manhood. Good luck to you."

"Thanks Blob."

"And next to Mike we have a man by the name of Andy Thrift. He is fifty which is twice as old as Mike. Well hey! Does that mean you have accomplished being a man twice? Heh-heh-heh."

The phony audience laughed at Blob's very corny joke as did Andy thrift. Mike on the other hand, sat still and desperately tried to understand what the punch line was. He failed.

"Yeah...maybe," Andy said.

"Well good luck to both of you. Now before we start the game, let me quickly explain the rules. We start by introducing a person that is wasted ( a little or a lot is up to you). I have confidential cards before me that list all the drugs and alcohol that has made this person in the state that he or she is in. Then the bidding starts. What is bidding? Well hey! I'll tell you. If you think the person has consumed approximately three types of mind altering substances, then you bid three drugs. However, if your opponent feels it's less, he bids less. If you bid or guess wrong, your opponent gets the points but still has to identify the drugs and/or alcohol that the person in question is on. Understand?"

Mike was going to say no but decided against it. Maybe he did get it, but he wasn't sure.

"If you emerge victorious over your rival," Blob continued, "You get to come over here to the 'Symptom Board'," and Blob pointed to a square, framed-in board directly behind him. On it were several small square plaques covered with paper. "Behind each plaque is a symptom of a drug or alcohol. For example, one plaque has written on it 'staggering, double vision, vomiting'. Well man, everyone knows that that's due to too much drinking. If you can correctly identify the drug the plaque explains then that means more prizes for you! Now Andy and Mike, do you understand?"

"Sure," said Andy anxiously, obviously wanting to get on with it. Mike did not reply.

"Great!" Blob exclaimed, "Then let's get on with it! It is now time to introduce our first wasto. From the town of Acid comes Mr. M. Stoned. Please welcome him everybody!"

The fake audience started up again as Mike and Andy looked around, waiting for M. Stoned to appear from somewhere. He did and from the same place Blob came from. M. Stoned looked about the same age as Mike and even looked a little like him. M. Stoned walked to a chair that was beside Blob and his podium then sat in it. He possessed a smile that seemed to be permanently stamped on his face. It was a little odd, for M. Stoned looked pretty rugged, not the type you could easily picture smiling. Mike took an instant liking to the guy. M. Stoned looked like your average Sheekian stoner - no fancy clothes...just a casual carefree appearance.

The clapping stopped and Blob spoke up.

"Why hello there Mr. M. Stoned. How are you?"

"I'm fucking fried!" M. Stoned said, then laughed, "Oooee! I've been partying for three days straight."

"Yes that's what I understand," Blob continued, "So you ought to be a tough person for our two contestants to figure out."

M. Stoned looked at Mike and Andy. "Yeah you two, I've consumed a record amount of narcotics so think hard! Ha-heh-ha-heh!" As M. Stoned sat there laughing, Mike and Andy studied his behavior. Mike was beginning to get the feeling he would win, thus increasing his eagerness. He shot a quick glance towards Andy then looked back at M. Stoned. So who goes first?

"Tell me," Blob said, "What does that 'M' in your name stand for?"

"Metraphormangleplink," M. Stoned replied, laughing at the sound of his own name.

"Whoa! No wonder you abbreviated it. Well now that we have met you, it's time for the bidding to start. Gentlemen?"

Andy and Mike looked briefly at each other, then Andy said, "I can name that stoner in twenty drugs."

"Twenty?!" Mike exclaimed, then thought about it. That's possible, yes. Hmm. Twenty drugs, huh? Mike bid eighteen. This M. Stoned is one hell of a partier. Andy thought hard. This really was one hell of a job.

"Seventeen," Andy said, "I can name that stoner in seventeen drugs."

Mike looked over. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

Mike thought some more then looked over again. "No shit?"

"No shit."

"Then name that stoner."

Andy cleared his throat then began listing a healthy amount of quality drugs with a few drinks now and then. Mike listened carefully and agreed with every one Andy Thrift listed except for the last one. Andy ended by saying, "...and three hits of speed."

Mike gave a good stare at M. Stoned's eyes and felt the guy in question had eaten five hits of speed.

"Almost got it!" Blob said, "But not quite exactly right. How about you Mike? Think you can do it? If you get it right then it's over to the Symptom Board for you."

Mike, like Andy, first cleared his throat then began listing the same items Andy had declared just a minute before. While he talked, he glanced occasionally at Homer and several other friends that stood off in the shadows.

"...and five hits of speed," Mike concluded, then looked at Blob. He was certain he had correctly stated all that M. Stoned was on.

"Close, but no joint Mike," said Blob and the canned audience went "Ahhhhh" sympathetically. "It was four hits of speed actually. Everything else was correct."

"Shit!" Mike yelled, being immensely pissed-off.

"Sonofabitch!" Andy said, putting his two cents worth in.

"Oh well," Blob continued, "This often happens but not to worry! We have plenty more stoners from where M. Stoned came from. So let's see the next one. But first, let's say good-by to M. Stoned!"

M. Stoned stood up, smiling bigger than anyone else in the studio, then exited off the set.

"Our next wasto comes from the city of Quaalude Rapids. Please let's give a warm welcome to Irgnoid Bertwoski!"

The audience started up again as a young man of perhaps twenty staggered out onto the set then fell flat on his face in front of his designated chair. Mike, Andy and Blob burst into a fit of laughter as did the fake audience. Irgnoid lifted himself halfway up then fell to the floor again. Mike laughed harder and he wiggled and giggled in his vinyl upholstered chair. Mr. Bertwoski remained down for the count and before long, several men came out with a stretcher and removed the unconscious Irgnoid.

"Ha-ha oh yes!" Blob Parker exclaimed, "We get all kinds on this show."

Blob was absolutely right. Mike began to get the hang of the show and became more relaxed as the partiers came and went. There were young people, old people, men and women and even an occasional off-worlder. As the show progressed, Mike began to wonder if he would win or not. First Andy would correctly name a stoner then Mike would or they would both lose. It was a very close game.

"This is a very close game!" Blob said.

No shit Blob...I just told you that.

"As a matter of fact," Blob continued in his usual continuing voice, "This is the closest game this show has ever experienced. We usually go through at least four or five contestants in one show, but Mike and Andy have set the record. These two are the best players this show has ever seen!"

The audience started cheering, but Mike concentrated on Blob's smile. Wonder how the hell he keeps his teeth so white? he thought, What kind of toothpaste does he use?

There was a moment that Mike actually thought the damned game would last forever, but it didn't last long. The final showdown was happening. A stocky young man named Sid from some far away city appeared on the set. Mike sat, clutching the arms on his chair as though they were trying to get up and leave, and listened as Andy screwed-up on Sid's drug consumption.

"Four beers, two quaaludes, twelve shots of tequila, two point three hits of blue dragon acid, three small tokes of angel dust and he has eaten three hits of speed."

The last part sounded suspicious. The rest of it Mike agreed to, but when Andy said "...eaten three hits of speed", Mike stopped to wonder. It sounded so right and he would've even agreed to it, but Blob announced it was incorrect...but close.

Shit, thought Mike, What was incorrect?

Mike couldn't figure it out, but he felt it had something to do with those three hits of speed that Andy said Sid ate.

"Close Andy," said Blob, "But not right. I have to admit this is a hard one. So Mike do you think you can do it?"

Mike hesitated but covered for it. "Of course I can man!" He sounded positive but really wasn't.

"If you do this right," said Blob, "Then you are the grand champion. I might add, the best contestant ever. You two have accomplished some unbelievable guesses today. Never in all my time as the M.C on this show have I seen such talented and devoted stoners as you two."

Mike and Andy smiled. "Hey," they said, "What can we say? We try."

"But enough praise! Try it Mike and see if you really are the best. If you fail, then Andy has another chance!"

Mike nodded but did not smile in the least. Andy, on the other hand, felt confident Mike would screw up. Mr. Cheney was surely a worthy opponent. Neither Andy or Mike had been defeated so that means neither one of them have been to the Symptom Board yet. Yes, a tough match indeed.

Mike gave Sid a good looking over.

"Well," he began, "Here' goes. Uh...I say you have consumed four beers, two quaaludes, twelve shots of tequila, two point three hits of blue dragon acid, three small tokes of angel dust...and...and..."

Mike hesitated. He was getting nervous. He knew there was more. Andy stared nervously. Blob watched intently. Homer and his friends witnessed with hope. Everyone was staring at Mike. The hunter knew Sid had consumed three hits of speed...but did he eat them? Mike looked at Sid's nose then it came to him.

"...and you have snorted three hits of speed."

As soon as Mike finished, he knew he got it right. So did Andy.

"Oh shit," said Andy, "Oh shit oh shit. That's it Mike."

"Well I'll be damned," said Blob as he pulled out a pint of whiskey from inside his coat pocket, "I've got to drink to that one."

The audience started up again as Mike sighed a long sigh. He won. He really won. Congratulations Mikey baby...I'll betcha Andy's pissed.

"Boy am I pissed," said Andy.

See, I told ya.

A short time later, the clapping stopped but every now and then Homer and his friends would let out a whooping yell or two.

"Well Mr. Cheney," Blob said, "It looks like you're the one who finally gets to go to the Symptom Board and after that: the presenting of your grand prize. But first let's say good-by to Mr. Andy Thrift who put on one hell of a show!"

More clapping. Andy stood up and so did Mike.

"Congratulations Mike," Andy said as he extended his hand. Mike shook it. "You deserve to win."

"Thanks Andy. It was nice to meet you."

Andy smiled, showing good sportsmanship, waved good-by to the imaginary audience, then exited, stage left.

"This way Mike," Blob motioned towards the symptom board and Mike walked over to him. Blob took a healthy sip out of his pint then offered a drink to Mike. The hunter smiled, drank, then gave it back to the M.C. Blob put the pint back inside his jacket then began explaining the Symptom Board to Mike, who was still a little stunned from the victory. The Symptom Board was pretty simple Mike soon discovered. Symptoms after symptoms appeared to Mike and he had no problem identifying the corresponding drugs. In fact, he named them all correctly. The only one he had trouble with was the cocaine description, but he figured it out. He won prize after prize (which were all some kind of drug or booze) until the Symptom Board was cleared. Everyone that was present stared in awe at the hunter. Nobody had ever correctly labeled all the Symptom Board had to offer. Mike smiled when it was all done but not because he got them all right. He was more concerned with all the drugs he had won. Shit! And he hasn't even gotten to the grand prize yet.

"Mike I must once again tell you how good you are! You are truly a natural born partier and very devoted to being fucked-up. I know now you are the envy of everyone who has ever played on this show. But wait till you see your grand prize! Then you'll really have something to talk about!"

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

"This!" and the Symptom Board slid up into a slot, revealing a hole in the wall behind it. In that hole was ten pounds of pure cocaine.

"HOLY SHIT!" Mike yelled, "Holy fucking shit! That's all mine? Goddam man! My mouth waters just looking at that shit!"

Everyone around "oooed" and "ahhed" at the sight of the white powder, neatly sitting inside several large plastic baggies. Homer stared in disbelief. It was the biggest grand prize he has ever seen on the show. In fact, it was the most grand of all prizes ever to be presented on Name that stoner. Blob explained why.

"Sad, sad news," Blob began, eyeing over a small piece of paper in his right hand. A hush fell over everyone as he continued, displaying a serious attitude. "I have known of this news before the show started today but I didn't want to say anything about it. I didn't want to ruin the mood."

He paused before he continued, looking straight into the main camera.

"This is the last episode of Name that Stoner ever to be aired. The government has canceled it."

There was silence, but not for long.

"What did you say?" Mike smiled defensively as he leaned closer, hoping he didn't hear what he thought he heard. Homer shouted and also demanded another run of those words.

"This is the last episode of Name That Stoner ever to be aired. The government has canceled it."

By the look on Blob's face, Mike could tell he was serious. Various people around the studio started asking "What?" and "Why?" It looked like Blob was the only one who knew.

Mike was still pretty high but kept calm.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" he shouted. He caught everyone's attention. "What do you mean the government canceled it? What government?"

"The reformed government."

"THE REFORMED GOVERNMENT?!" Mike’s anger was on the rise. He walked towards Blob, looking like he was going to suddenly go insane. "The reformed government? What authority do they have over anyone? Who put them in command? What...they go straight so they're in control or what? Oh man I don't believe this shit. What happened to this planet? Before you know it, nobody left will get high." He pointed an accusing finger at Blob. "How did you know? Who told you?"

"A man named Brent. He's from the government. He told me in my dressing room before the show but told me to wait until the program was over."

"Shit!" Mike threw his hands up in the air and began pacing around the set completely forgetting he was on worldwide television, "This show is pretty cool! I really liked it. Man this is just step one. I bet they don't stop here..."

"They haven't."

Mike stared at Blob, wondering if he would be able to keep his cool. Blob held the paper as though it was some official document, then continued.

"As of this moment on, the sale or use of narcotics of any kind is illegal."

"ILLEGAL?" Mike screeched. Homer saw his brother was upset and worsening, then approached him to try to calm him down.

"Illegal?" Mike said again, "Who the hell has the right to say what's what? I don't understand it! Everybody's going fuckin' crazy!" He emphasized the last syllable by smacking a chair with his fist, causing the seat to fly off the set.

"Now...now Mike," Homer said, grabbing his brother's arm, "Just take it easy..."

"TAKE IT EASY? Homer, shit...do you know what this means? It means no more growing pot!"

Homer's eyes widened. "Oh no!"

"And also no more selling it!"

"OH NO!" Homer's eyes widened even more.

"And worst of all Homer buddy, but no more smoking it!"

"Ahhh!" Homer Cheney yelled, pulling at his hair, "They can't do that!"

"Also no more parties will be conducted..." Blob began, but he did not finish the last sentence. When Homer and Mike heard the words coming out of Blob's mouth, they each picked up a chair and threw it across the set, one crashing into the wall, the other knocking a cameraman off a ladder and onto the floor. He landed hard on his ass, seeming to vibrate the area around. The other cameraman though, kept the cameras rolling.

"You think that's something," Blob said, "Listen to this!"

"I don't want to hear anymore!" Mike yelled, forgetting all about the drugs he had won. What good would they do him now? "No more parties? Is that what you said Mr. Blob? Well you know what you can do with that idea?"

Mike answered by shoving Blob Parker pretty hard, sending him stumbling into his podium. The cheap thing cracked down the middle leaving Blob Parker in between pieces on the floor.

"Eeaahhhh!!" Mike heard from behind him. He turned to see Homer grabbing a stage hand by the collar and the crotch then toss him neatly off to the side. "He was creeping up on you." Homer explained then he smiled. The smile faded when he saw more stage hands and such advancing on him and Mike.

"Okay look," Mike said quickly to Homer, "Let's try to get out of here any way we can all right?"

Homer was going to answer but switched his concentration on a guy of perhaps forty years old, bounding towards him. Homer pushed a fluff of hair away from his vision then sidestepped the oncoming man, missing his grasp by about one inch. The man grunted disapproval then turned around quickly to pursue Homer. Homer however, was headed towards the door. He sidestepped and dodged and ducked and twirled about, avoiding angry stagehands. As for Mike, he was headed for the door too.

"Get them! Get them!" someone yelled, but Mike and his brother were too occupied to know who. All in all there were about six men attempting to capture the two, but they were having one hell of a time.

"Eeaahhh!" Mike grunted as he pushed over a tall odd-looking machine, sending it sprawling on the floor. Gadgets galore (consisting mainly of electric tubes, fuses, wire and some round plastic things) scattered about, tripping a couple of guys that were after Mike. He laughed then stopped when a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. A man that needed a shave pretty bad pulled back his fist and let it fly. Fortunately, Mike took some quick reaction pills before the show so the punch missed his dodging head. His move finished when he cracked his own fist hard into the guy's face. Mike turned quickly and ran, not really wanting to see what his punch had done.

"Homer!" he yelled as he kicked a guy with red hair right in the stomach, "Homer where are you?!"

"Up here!" a voice yelled and Mike looked up. Homer was standing atop two cameras, balancing his body with wobbly legs.

"What the hell are you doing up there?"

"Staying out of the way man," Homer replied then looked towards the door. Tom, Thelma and the rest of the people that had come to the studio with him were running out the door, escaping the path of the fight.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" said Mike.

Homer nodded then jumped off the two big studio cameras and grabbed a rope that suddenly appeared out of nowhere and attached itself to the ceiling. Homer let out a Tarzan-like yell as he swung above the heads of all the cameramen and stagehands. Once he swung nearly right over Mike, he let go of the rope and just in time, too. Four men had gotten a hold of Mike and were attempting to pulverize him.

Crack! Snap! Homer landed several kicks where the sun don't shine, putting two of the men temporarily out of commission. Mike concentrated hard and put all his strength outward. He let out a yell of total madness, ripping his right arm free from the grasp of a heavyset guy that reeked of beer and fritos.

Smack! Thwap! Mike put in a couple good punches to a couple good noses, turning them into broken noses.

"Let's go man," Homer said, kneeing some guy in the face. Mike looked around the room, spotted the front door, then nodded. But first he took another good look around. He laughed.

"What's so funny?" Homer asked.

"Just look, man," Mike smiled. Homer did look around then laughed also. The TV studio was a mess. Electronic gadgets and such were scattered about, littering the place with mechanical debris. Blob Parker was lying on the set, still in between the broken podium. He looked around, dazed and confused. Mike laughed again as he saw all the bodies scattered about not wanting to get up, or unable to.

"Showed them bastards didn't we?" Homer said. Mike smiled as he looked at his brother. Memories of growing up with him and playing together flooded his mind.

"We sure did little brother...we sure did."

The two laughed again then turned around and walked out the front door of the television station.

The studio was quite a mess. Shit was everywhere and it looked like whoever the janitor was, he's gonna be pissed. Moans and groans could be heard from several certain people as they rubbed their bruises and shook their banged-up heads. In addition, another sound could be heard - the whir of a TV camera.

Then it stopped.

A man propped behind a camera poked his head out from behind the huge piece of equipment then looked around. He smiled just a little bit as he pondered on what had just happened. Since it was over, he turned the camera off, having nothing worthwhile to film. He leaned back in his chair as his smile broadened.

"That's a take," he said.

THE END

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