RaoulsDukes

   General Logan and I sat down, popcorn and drinks in hand, and eagerly awaited the start of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. We got there especially early to snatch up the good seats right in the middle of the theatre. We wait and watch those “trivia slides” while local AM radio drifts softly in the background.

     “This songs sucks,” I remark to Logan as some trivial slide about Samuel L. Jackson appears on screen. It reads “This actor starred in Pulp Fiction and the remake of Shaft.” A picture of Samuel L. Jackson really gives it away. It remains on the screen for an unbearably long time, just so those stupid enough not to know the answer can discuss it amongst their friends. Some Christina Augielera (editor's note: I don't know how to spell it, either) atrocity blares on the radio.

     “THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A LESBIAN! ONLY GIRLS WHO HAVEN’T MET GENERAL LOGAN!” cries my fellow theatergoer. It seems that something has gone wrong with the projector and we’ll be stuck watching Samuel L. Jackson’s glinting head for a while longer. Some people behind us are still discussing the issue.

     “Is it Harrison Ford, oh no, he’s white,” one of them says.

     “How about Morgan Freeman, he’s black,” another suggests.

     “FOR SHIT’S SAKE! It’s Samuel L. Jackson! You ignorant fatty fat cracker bitches!” I scream at them. “How the hell did you manage to find your way into this movie?”

     “The ticket person recommended it…” a fat woman replied, evidently the leader of their posse. Their group begins bickering about how rude we are.

     Logan begins to make strange noises.

     “What are you doing?” I ask. The Jackson slide is still on the screen and some whiny teenage voices arise from the projection room.

     “Quit touching me there, Randy. It’s your fault this thing broke in the first place,” says a high pitched squeal from the back of the theatre. I don’t really want to know why the movie hasn’t started anymore.

     “Can you dig it?” asks Logan, still making the strange noises. “Chicka Chicka Chicka, du UN un! Du Un un SHAFT!” Finally getting the idea I begin to play air guitar and make guitar like noises, while Logan does the vocals. I notice that his voice sounds a little too perfect for the female vocals. I turn to find the appearance of five or six go-go girl/backup singers. As Logan nears the “Who’s the cat that won’t cop out, when there’s danger all about” line, somebody says it for him. Dead silence except for one little dancing weasel all by himself in the upper rows of the massive theatre.

     “I’m sorry, what’d you say?” inquires Logan.

     “I was just doing the guitar, man,” I say.

     “No, not you. Though what you said in the bathroom made me rather uncomfortable. The guy up in the corner!”

     “What, oh, well I just, uh, see…” chirped a fat, pasty, sweaty tub of lard sitting by himself. Logan started walking up the stairs.

     “I’ll handle security,” I said made for the door, making sure to keep Logan in view.

     “Right on, I gots me a mofo who needs some attention,” Logan said as a squad of acne faced dweebs kicked open the door, flashlights in hand. Ready for battle.

     “YO! She-bitch, let’s go!” I shout to them and I put on my chainsaw hand and pull out my shotgun.

     The first one charged toward me, waving a mini-maglite around my head in a pitiful attempt to blind me. I start the chainsaw motor and shove the beast into his rib cage and push upwards, cutting his head in two and spraying blood all over the immediate area. The other three prepare for battle, pulling out broomsticks and garbage can top shields. I pull out the 12-gauge and drop one of them by blowing him clean out the doors into the hallway with a blast from both barrels. The chainsaw flies off my hand hitting one of the geeks in the mid-section and pinning him to a wall with guts a’ flying. The final one circles eagerly, hoping for a kill. He jumps up and smashes me in the face with a pair of Nikes, leaving an imprint that will last for weeks. Now I really get mad. I spin-kick the bastard sending him hurtling through the air to land at Logan’s feet.

     “P-p-p-lease, don’t hurt me!” pleads the youngin’, but Logan isn’t the sympathetic type. The usher wipes the blood and pus from his zits on Logan’s pants.

     “Vincent, what don’t we do to Jules’ pants?” says Logan very Samuel L. Jackson-y in tone.

     “Kill them,” I respond coldly.

     “What?” said the usher as Logan pulled out his gun.

     “Maybe we shouldn’t kill h—“ said Logan as the theatre hit a bump (editor's note: so, this theater was a moving theater? like a moving house?) and his gun went off sending brains and skull splattering all over the group who weren’t exactly trivia fanatics. The Shaft sing a longer giggling like a little school girl with his folds of fat bouncing up and down with every moment of girlish glee.

     “What’s so funny, you fat piece of shit!” Logan screams as he explodes into a fury of rage and bounds up stair after stair then starts to do flips and gravity defying kung fu moves as he moves closer to that fat fatty fat cracker bitch.

     “Please don’t hurt me! SECURITY!” shout the man, realizing he’d angered the General beyond reconciliation. Logan flew through the air and hit the man full force with both feet in the stomach. His feet sunk in up to his knees and the fat man screeched and spewed blood, popcorn and parts of major organs in a twenty five foot long stream across the theatre. The man wheezed and collapsed to the floor while Logan gently drifted next to him. Logan proceeded to beat the man with every ounce of strength in him. The audience filed by him nodding in approval. Apparently they didn’t much care for bad vocals on Isaac Hayes covers. By now, the screen had lit on fire, so nobody really felt any obligation to stick around. They walked down a short corridor of blood and usher guts.

    The chainsaw mysterious disappeared into a long narrow corridor. I later learned it burrowed it’s way into a theatre showing a Disney movie next to us. Serves the little fatty fat cracker bitches right for watching Disney. So, after leaving a theatre of mayhem, Logan and I went over to Jimmie’s house to have some coffee.