Post by Mike Musket on Oct 21, 2018 19:18:33 GMT -5
Out there on an old dirt road, three friends go a -walkin: Mike, Sagara Fusanosuke a/k/a Bootsty Mitchell, and Crazy Dog.
A cold wind blows and damn it’s chilly. But Mike got on his ole flannel shirt and his dusty britches. Boots hitting the dried up dirt. What’s left of his home he’s got slung over his shoulder tied up in a sack hanging off a stick. Ole Bootsy’s got on an argyle sweater cause, well, he’s Bootsy fuckin Mitchell. And y’all know Crazy Dog just a shuffling along.
“Yep. Here we are, boys. Man I was disappointed comin up short against them Demon Brigade rascals. But them sumbitches are tough, yep they are. Tough as Grandma in an iron lung.”
Bootsy nods. Crazy Dog barks in agreement.
The three friends continue on and come across a fellow whose jib is a cut unusual. He’s dustier and dirtier than an antique roadshow. Sittin’ on a box with a pair o’ chopsticks in his hand, he’s got the eyes of a crazy man, big as the plate on which ya serve a lumberjack a steak dinner. This strange Japanese hobo is muttering up a storm.
Mike cocks his head to the side. “The Hell’s he sayin, Bootsy?”
Bootsy listens for a bit.
“He says his chopsticks have been dry for weeks, as he has not eaten in quite a long time.”
Mike undoes his sack and whips out a few pans. He hands one to the man.
“Here ya go, partner! Got some bacon, beans, and goober peas right there for ya!”
The Japanese hobo ravages into the pan. After Mike packs up his sack again the three men start to walk away. But it doesn’t take long before they realize they’re being followed by the hobo. Bootsy tries to shoo him off and them two start a-talking.
“Mike-san, this homeless man wants to give you a precious amulet for your kindness. He says it will protect you on your next adventure.”
And true to his word, the old man is holding some kind of strange jewel on a piece of string. Mike holds it in his hand.
“Well, I’ll need all the help I can get for this next challenge. Now y’all boys know me. When there’s a tournament come my way, Big Ole Country puts on his big boy trousers and gets a-hustling. But there’s a lot of skilled folk in this tournament, believe you me. That there FDJ’s a bigger hoss than Hoss Mountain. And that fella Kusumotor? Well, he’s got a motor, I tell you what! But let me tell ya somethin’…”
Mike makes a meaty fist out of his other hand and holds up the amulet to the sky.
“I’m a-prayin’ to this here beauty of a gem that by god you get Tokyo Zombie and me goin’ one-on-one at the end of the night. I’ve had enough of his buddy GRIM spittin’ up all that voodoo mist. I ain’t no damn spittoon. No sir! To get to GRIM, I’m gonna have to take his partner-in-crime down to the woodshed and fill him in on a secret…”
Mike puts the amulet around his neck and beats on his chest with his fist.
“I’m MIGHTY FINE Mike Musket! I got more hooks than a five-armed fisherman and this sweet lariat o’ mine got enough power to give the moon a kiss and beat it back into outer space! And when I lock on my Wolf Trap Sharpshooter… you’re takin’ a trip to the pretzel factory! HELL YEAH!”
He walks over to the hobo and gives him the stick with his sack o’ supplies.
“Thanks for the gemstone, my Japanese friend. You can make a fine home out of the supplies in this here sack. Go on and start livin' the good life!”
He turns back around and gives his pals that Big Ole Country grin.
“Cause after I win that damn tournament, I’m buyin’ us a brand new campin’ trailer with all the trimmings and fixins! C’mon, boys! Yokohama’s just down the road! AROOOOOOOOOO!!!”
And with that, Mike and the boys take off runnin’ down the dusty trail, in bound for Yokohama, under the protection of the amulet from the strange hobo, and carrying with them the will to fight, survive, and build a victorious future.
A cold wind blows and damn it’s chilly. But Mike got on his ole flannel shirt and his dusty britches. Boots hitting the dried up dirt. What’s left of his home he’s got slung over his shoulder tied up in a sack hanging off a stick. Ole Bootsy’s got on an argyle sweater cause, well, he’s Bootsy fuckin Mitchell. And y’all know Crazy Dog just a shuffling along.
“Yep. Here we are, boys. Man I was disappointed comin up short against them Demon Brigade rascals. But them sumbitches are tough, yep they are. Tough as Grandma in an iron lung.”
Bootsy nods. Crazy Dog barks in agreement.
The three friends continue on and come across a fellow whose jib is a cut unusual. He’s dustier and dirtier than an antique roadshow. Sittin’ on a box with a pair o’ chopsticks in his hand, he’s got the eyes of a crazy man, big as the plate on which ya serve a lumberjack a steak dinner. This strange Japanese hobo is muttering up a storm.
Mike cocks his head to the side. “The Hell’s he sayin, Bootsy?”
Bootsy listens for a bit.
“He says his chopsticks have been dry for weeks, as he has not eaten in quite a long time.”
Mike undoes his sack and whips out a few pans. He hands one to the man.
“Here ya go, partner! Got some bacon, beans, and goober peas right there for ya!”
The Japanese hobo ravages into the pan. After Mike packs up his sack again the three men start to walk away. But it doesn’t take long before they realize they’re being followed by the hobo. Bootsy tries to shoo him off and them two start a-talking.
“Mike-san, this homeless man wants to give you a precious amulet for your kindness. He says it will protect you on your next adventure.”
And true to his word, the old man is holding some kind of strange jewel on a piece of string. Mike holds it in his hand.
“Well, I’ll need all the help I can get for this next challenge. Now y’all boys know me. When there’s a tournament come my way, Big Ole Country puts on his big boy trousers and gets a-hustling. But there’s a lot of skilled folk in this tournament, believe you me. That there FDJ’s a bigger hoss than Hoss Mountain. And that fella Kusumotor? Well, he’s got a motor, I tell you what! But let me tell ya somethin’…”
Mike makes a meaty fist out of his other hand and holds up the amulet to the sky.
“I’m a-prayin’ to this here beauty of a gem that by god you get Tokyo Zombie and me goin’ one-on-one at the end of the night. I’ve had enough of his buddy GRIM spittin’ up all that voodoo mist. I ain’t no damn spittoon. No sir! To get to GRIM, I’m gonna have to take his partner-in-crime down to the woodshed and fill him in on a secret…”
Mike puts the amulet around his neck and beats on his chest with his fist.
“I’m MIGHTY FINE Mike Musket! I got more hooks than a five-armed fisherman and this sweet lariat o’ mine got enough power to give the moon a kiss and beat it back into outer space! And when I lock on my Wolf Trap Sharpshooter… you’re takin’ a trip to the pretzel factory! HELL YEAH!”
He walks over to the hobo and gives him the stick with his sack o’ supplies.
“Thanks for the gemstone, my Japanese friend. You can make a fine home out of the supplies in this here sack. Go on and start livin' the good life!”
He turns back around and gives his pals that Big Ole Country grin.
“Cause after I win that damn tournament, I’m buyin’ us a brand new campin’ trailer with all the trimmings and fixins! C’mon, boys! Yokohama’s just down the road! AROOOOOOOOOO!!!”
And with that, Mike and the boys take off runnin’ down the dusty trail, in bound for Yokohama, under the protection of the amulet from the strange hobo, and carrying with them the will to fight, survive, and build a victorious future.