The Roommate Situation or the “I Hate You” Saga Continues With:

Chapter 10: It’s Crossover Time! OR “And God said, ‘Let there be a confusing plotline!’”

Author’s note: First off, all props to Vince for literally giving me permission to abuse his creations in this baby. Vince, we love ya! Second, this is actually the first in a two-part series of stories based on comic characters. Vince is first, to satisfy the ravenous hordes of fans, but next comes Raymond Hubbard in repayment for his ongoing efforts at illustrating for our soon-to-go-up improved website. Be sure to check out Vince at www.theclassm.com and Ray’s “Ray Zone” when it goes up.

Two Days Prior to Current Events, DeMontfort University, California

“Hey, Kevin, look at this!” Tony said, turning up the sound on the lounge TV.

Kevin Nekohasi was bent over his computer with an ear cocked towards the open door of his dorm room. It was a rare day when Brad was off in the woods and Tony wasn’t busy pining over their British floormate, and Kevin had decided to make the most of it and get a little work done on his computer. Unfortunately, Kevin couldn’t keep his eyes from lingering to the computer for too long, and was currently engaged in a Quake battle with a clan on the internet while downloading several hundred megs of pornography and cracked software with his ultra-fast connection. With no mother around to dig through his hard-drive and under his bed, college was Kevin’s translation of heaven, without the angels.

“Can’t! Busy! Two more levels!” he yelled back at his bovine friend.

“Just thought you’d be interested in this convention,” Tony yelled back again, though this time muffled. He was halfway through a box of chocolates that were in a heart-shaped container. Somehow, it was all a scene that I personally know Draco would have loved to witness. Draco would have labeled him as gay right off the bat.

Then again, Draco thinks everyone is gay.

(Hick: Wait, we went from third person to first?)

(Author: It’s called narration. We’re going to try it today. That okay with you?)

(Hick: And if it’s not?)

(Author: Then in the next chapter you discover you’re gay.)

(Hick: Please continue.)

Kevin rolled his eyes, leaving the game and moving a paw up to scratch his headfur in a resigned manner that only tabbies who spend way too much time playing computer games can. Of course, that doesn’t leave out the option that he could have carpal tunnel syndrome. He does spend an awful lot of time alone in that dorm room with the door locked, and nobody can ever get him to answer the door…but that’s not really a picture I want to think of right now. Or ever. Again.

“I told you Tony, Star Trek is NOT my thing! I’m a geek, but I’m not a GEEK,” the feline wonder explained as he ambled towards the lounge whilst preparing a set of barbs to lay upon his bovine friend.

“It’s not Star Trek…it’s called CompuCon,” Tony explained lazily.

Kevin would have surprised the hell out of Mikey as he ran down the hall. A blur of orange fur was distinctly sighted flying into the air and over the couch, and the leather jacket was discarded along the way to land directly on Tony’s face. Kevin himself did that great cat trick of landing on two face and planting his eyes two inches away from the screen as pictures of computers, software, and promises of advancements floated across the screen. A small pool of drool was beginning to form on the floor underneath him as he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, and then the commercial flicked off.

“W…W…Where?” Kevin managed to stammer like he was being mildly electrocuted. As a matter of fact, his drool had landed on a power strip and he was standing in the middle of a miniature shock pool.

Tony stared in amazement at his long-time friend as the orange fur proceeded to puff out like a drag queen’s wig.

“Watkins University…someplace up in Idaho,” he responded, backing away as small sparks of electricity shot from the tabby’s fur.

Kevin began to smell the singed fur and stepped out of his puddle of bodily secretions. He had to think hard now. Idaho was a long way off, and it would take a while to get up there if they had to take an SUV. There were other options, of course, such as flying on a cheap airline, but they wouldn’t have the money to make it there, much less get into a hotel overnight for the convention…and how could he convince Tony or anyone else to go with them? Well…this was going to be an issue.

“Watkins...Where have I heard that name before?” Tony mused as Kevin desperately tried to find a plan.

“That’s where CompuCon is,” Kevin replied, proving that he had a one track mind.

“No…no…somewhere else.”

“That guy we met on Spring Break, the wolf that writes cheap porn and was trying to offload a hundred beer-holder caps on us is from there,” Kevin tried again, digging deeper into the mind that knew so much about everything except when he had to know it.

“Tucker, yeah. But that’s not what I’m thinking off,” Tony reiterated, and then he reached down to open a Choco-Rush Bar.

And blinked.

In a second, he was up from the couch. His hands landed on Kevin’s shoulders and the large cow shook the small cat like an English Nanny making a martini in the freezing cold. Kevin, disgusted at the my horrible reference, merely stood there shocked as his friend proceeded to lean in and yell in his face.

“THAT’S WHERE THE CHOCO-RUSH FACTORY IS!” Tony exclaimed like the world’s ugliest girl scout trying to sell cookies, “WE HAVE TO GO!”

And…enter the Hick.

One Day Prior to Current Events, Watkins, Idaho

“Hey, Tony! My hefty bovine friend! How can I helpya today?” I said into the phone, balancing it between my shoulder and my ear as I tried to fit a third pencil up the nose of a sleeping Agnar.

“Well, my roommate and I are thinking about coming up there with a friend,” the walking T-Bone on the other end of the line said through the static.

“Wait wait…the scary redneck one, or the annoying smartass one,” I asked getting the eraser up there far enough to poke Agnar in the brain…if Agnar had a brain. I always imagined the inside of my vulpine friend’s head hosting a sign that said “These Space for Rent”.

“The annoying smartass one,” he replied. In the background I could hear screams and the sound of duct tape tearing. It was nice to know the lessons Onyx and I had taught them last spring had not gone unheeded.

“Kevin, alright…cool. Lemme guess…yer gonna be low on cash and you need a place to crash, right?”

“Right.”

Agnar sneezed as the eraser poked into his head, and the three pencils shot out of his nose and embedded themselves in the wall across from him. The hell with high powered boosters, all we need to do to send furs into space is shove a rocket up Agnar’s nose and let the man sneeze his head off. I turned back to the phone, digging a cigarette out of my jeans pocket. I was relaxed today, mainly because I had just sent my draft off to the editor to be revised and printed for thousands of lonely males to fantasize they were the main male character. Unfortunately, I was one of those males.

“Yeah, that’s fine Tony…as long as you don’t bring any evil plants, gay monsters, or spoiled alcoholic beverages into our place,” I said. We learn from the past around here.

“Um…”

“I’ll explain whenya get here. When’s your flight coming in?”

“Tomorrow…”

“Alright, seeya then.”

D Day…Beginning of Current Events

The strange thing about today was that it started like any other. We had originally considered cleaning so that our guests wouldn’t think we were complete and total slobs, but after the consideration from Onyx that these guys had seen us at Spring Break, and we couldn’t get any more slovenly then we had then. Of course, you have to add in the fact that Kevin and Onyx had spent most of the break locked in a hotel room going over their system specifications on their computers while Tony, Brad, and I had wandered the streets like men possessed with a great desire to drink and harass a stripper somewhere. I’ll never forget having to get a stripper named Big Bertha to stop pummeling Biff Kingston with her massive…

Alright, enough of that. The fact was, their flight was due in a little while, and because Tony had mentioned there would be three of the coming I decided it would be better if I went alone to pick them up. The only airport in Watkins was an old airfield that was used to launch the rich corn farmers into meetings in other cities and private jets and small flight services landed daily. I watched as the jets landed and took off again, the passengers climbing off and none of them coming over to the battered red Pontiac with the chainsmoking wolf leaning against the door.

I was getting ready to leave when I heard the sputtering engine of a cropduster as it came in on the field. I turned as it landed to see if the pilot was that little ferret that kept trying to drink me under the table before going off to draw pictures and insults in the sky in smoke. I was going to see if I could get him to write something about Onyx’s mother today, but was amazed when I saw two vaguely familiar forms running towards the car waving their arms, and a third being pushed by the larger of the two on a dolly.

“Tucker!” said Tony as he reached my car, smiling.

“Tony! Kevin!” I said trading hugs and handshakes in a manly manner, “Thought you guys weren’t gonna make it today!”

“Sorry, our pilot was drunk…oh, this is Mikey,” Kevin said, hefting his bag over his shoulder.

I turned to face the figure on the dolly with a blink of amazement. Kevin and Tony had mastered the figure-8 duct tape wrap that I had shown them last time we saw each other, as was evidenced by the fact the naked kangaroo on the dolly had his hands protectively cupped over his genitals. I chuckled at the sight, flicking my cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. Mikey put on a glare of disapproval at that, and chose to speak up.

“You know, smoking isn’t healthy for you,” he said in a tone that reminded me of this nun I used to scare.

“Haven’t mastered the gag yet, huh guys?” I asked as I opened the driver’s side door.

“Nope.”

Tony and Kevin were carefully loading Mikey into the back seat as I started the battered Pontiac up. Jimmy Buffett began to blare over the speakers as I settled my ass into the appropriate groove on the vinyl upholstery, and the car sagged a little more as the other two climbed in after me. Only Mikey spoke as I pulled out of the parking lot.

“Kevin, why isn’t the wolf wearing pants?” he asked.

“Because he’s Hick,” Kevin replied in his nicest possible voice, which still sounded a little condescending and even threatening.

My driving skills had been honed since the last time I took Onyx’s car out for a spin. After jumping the curb, swerving to miss an SUV that was hogging three lanes of traffic, and wiping out a load of nuns crossing the road we were off. Swerving in and out of traffic like a truck driver having a seizure, we headed through the very small main street at warp factor five. As the car screeched to a halt, I could hear the dashboard cracking under Tony’s massive grip, Mikey wheezing in fright, and Kevin sleeping like a baby in the back seat.

Watkins wasn’t the type of town where excitement happened very often unless you made it happen, or unless you lived with us. Therefore when I saw the badger in the electric wheelchair, drool dragging down his shirt, I decided it was time to test the engine of the car. I revved the engine and glared evilly at the little handicapped man, if for no other reason than to insult damn near every minority in the world. The badger gave me a look, and the theme from a bad western began to play through the air because background music is a way of life around here. The light turned green, and I slammed on the gas, pulling out with a screech of tires, then jumping the curb to knock the wheelchair bound badger into the wall.

With my reckless driving out of the way, we were soon in the apartment, Tony and Kevin wheeling a nude and bound Mikey into the living room. Of course, who should appear at that most fortunate moment but everybody’s favorite gay dragon, Draco. You know, you think that guy could be a little more creative with his name…every dragon out there with uncreative parents must name their kid Draco. I mean, God…anyhow, I’m starting to digress, and if you refer back a couple chapters I fully explain the definition of digression. Take notes, there will be a test…and your life will depend on it.

“You remembered my birthday!” Draco exclaimed, eyeing the naked kangaroo with the same look that we so often give to women…or a really nice car.

Mikey let out a small yelp as Draco headed over, working to move duct-taped hands away from the genitals. Then he looked deep in the dragon’s eyes and saw what that look meant. His reaction was something we had seen a lot of around here lately.

“AHHHHHHHH!” he exclaimed, trying to scoot away from the dragon at maximum speed, but to no avail.

“Oooo, I like it when they play hard to get!” Draco said with his trademark lisp, chasing the kangaroo like Liberace going after a Jelly Donut.

(Hick: Really stretching for metaphors, are we?)

(Author: Listen, I’m trying to figure out how to keep Vince’s specifications.)

(Hick: But you’re letting Draco go after Mikey?)

(Author: Vince…actually requested that.)

(Hick: <long pause> He’s a twisted bastard, isn’t he?)

(Author: Yes, Hick, he is.)

“Lessee…the guy chasing Mikey is Draco, my gay friend…the fox over there glued to the video game is Agnar, and Onyx is probably in the back lusting over a box of crayons,” I said, hooking my thumb in my jeans.

“Why…” Tony began.

“Shhhh...” I responded, “3…2…1…”

“SHE’S MY ONE AND ONLY!” Onyx responded, stumbling into the living room and buttoning his jeans up with one paw.

“Hey Onyx,” Kevin said, barely containing laughter. Tony, however, was watching in abject horror/amusement as Draco chased Mikey in circles around our small reunion.

Onyx blinked twice and waved to Kevin, coming up beside me and standing there for a moment. He leaned in, settling a hand on my shoulder and leaning closer as he spoke.

“Um,” he whispered, “Where are they staying?”

“Well, Tony’s got the couch, Kevin can take my bed, and Draco’ll let Mikey sleep in bed with him,” I explained.

“Oh, that’s just plain mean,” Tony said, glancing over at me and my friend.

“I think it’s a great idea!” Kevin added.

“GET IT AWAY!” Mikey added as Draco dragged the chair into his room.

The Next Morning

I slept well the night before if you don’t count the constant screaming coming from Draco and Agnar’s room. As I stumbled into the hallway that morning, I heard the sounds of Kevin and Agnar playing a video game in which, best I could figure, you ran around and punched things. I headed for the bathroom and pushed the door open to be greeted by the sight of Mikey, clad in boxers, dumping a pack of my cigarettes into the toilet and flushing while ripping my finished draft of “Two guys, a girl, and a gangbang” to pieces and depositing it in the trash. Remembering my manners concerning guests, I restrained myself from slamming his head into the toilet and flushing.

“Oh! Tucker! I found these cigarettes and this draft you left laying around by mistake…you must have forgotten that you can’t parody a Television show without the permission of the programmer, and that it’s illegal to smoke indoors, not to mention unhealthy,” Mikey explained in a very matter-of-fact voice.

It was then that I slammed his head into the toilet and began flushing. It took Tony, Kevin, Agnar, Onyx, and, to a lesser extent, Draco to get me off of the insolent bastard that called himself a kangaroo. It took the fire department nearly two hours to dislodge the head of the unfortunate victim from the sewer pipe.

They left soon after that. Mikey is Michael now, and he travels the gay club circuit with Draco. Kevin is the annoying head of a multi-billion dollar organization, the result of a deal he made with the devil at CompuCon in exchange for an early version of Windows MEx2. Tony is in jail, the result of breaking into and devouring nearly 23 tons of Choco-Rush bars. He’s still a legend on the club circuit here in Watkins, and late at night you can still hear the satisfied noise of the bovine slurping chocolate.

Hick’s Daily Household Tip:

When carving the Christmas midget, you serve right to left!