NovelaKlok (Part 2 of 2)
Nov. 20th, 2010 03:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificHey, dudes! We made it to September! New shows soon, but meanwhile, I offer some humble LULZ.
Title: NovelaKlok
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Foul language. Lots and lots and lots of foul language. Also, there is one particular joke (in part 2) involving Skwisgaar that I truly believe crosses the line. Twice. If you think you will be offended by that kind of thing, you will probably be offended by that kind of thing. Oh, also, probably because I'm a big Venture Brothers fan, I noticed there's a whole lot of babbling snotty henchmen in this part, so if you really hate OCs mixed in your Dethklok, maybe you should avoid.
Summary: The Boys become mad fans of a telenovela. When the production is suddenly halted by a drug war/coup, they fly to the Central American cocaine capitol of Santa Dominica. Um, to fix things. Or something.
Notes: I totally stole some of the jokes from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wikdsushi and nugatorytm. I ams hoping they will not send their Klokateers after me. Also, alpacas live in SOUTH AMERICA, not Central America, but since I totally made up the country of Santa Dominica anyway, I didn't really think anyone would care. ALSO, I don't own Metalocalypse or Dethklok or whatever, but it seems like Brendon Small owns part of my brains.
Part 1 is here. Not sure why you'd want to read Part 2 without reading Part 1, although I'm also not quite sure why you'd wanna read any of it. :D
PART 2
“So, what’s happening, dude?” Guillermo asked his fellow henchmen, in Spanish.
“The Generalissimo is having the stupid American rock band, Demise Chronograph, or whatever, to dinner.”
“Oh, he’s gonna blackmail them?”
“Yeah, pretty much. What’s up with you, Guillermo? You don’t look so hot. Did you kill that lawyer dude.”
“Um.”
“Whaddya mean, um?”
“Well, we tossed him off one of the balconies.”
“That usually does it, dude. A hundred feet, to the rocky coast below, blah blah blah. What’s your problem?”
“You didn’t see the look in that dude’s eyes! I think I should have used a wooden stake! And, some silver bullets! And, and, maybe some dynamite!”
“Dude, you are so whack. C’mon, let’s go annoy the alpacas!”
“Annoy the alpacas? That sounds like a fucking boring ass thing to do.”
“Have you forgotten? Other than the coke, this is a boring ass Central American country. And now since the Chief shut down ‘Corazon de azul,’ we actually have ONE LESS THING TO DO to keep us from losing our fucking minds.
“Yeah. You know, the Generalissimo is kind of a douche bag.”
“Yeah, that he is.”
The Generalissimo proudly introduced his family to the Dethklok. "May I introduce my lovely wife, Maria Helena?" The band muttered greetings, except for Skwisgaar, who boldly stepped forward and kissed an appreciative Maria Helena's hand.
"Hello, lovely lady," he cooed, to appreciative giggles from Maria Helena.
"And this is my mother, Dona Raquel." Skwisgaar seized her hand and whispered something to the elderly woman. She broke out in a broad smile.
"And here is my precious daughter, Lucinda." Lucinda was, quite honestly, breath-taxingly beautiful. She looked to be all of sixteen years old. She fluttered her lashes at Dethklok's guitarist as he elegantly kissed her hand.
"Now please sit down," the Generalissimo told them.
"Skwisgaar will sit here," trilled Maria Helena, yanking him down into the chair between herself and the Generalissimo's mother.
"So many lovelies ladies," Skwisgaar murmured. The Generalissimo didn't look terribly pleased about any of it, but was evidently too polite to comment.
When everybody was seated, the Generalissimo told them, "I would like to share with you, my special guests, one of the rare delicacies of my country." Several servants were now bringing out jars filled with some kind of preserved meat.
"This is something we call, in the local language, hearts of angels."
Nathan eyed the small, round, squishy objects with no small measure of suspicion. What was the matter with this country that they didn't have any fucking chips?
"They are the pickled testicles of the alpaca."
There was a pause.
Murderface, his mouth stuffed completely full, suddenly let out a small choking noise.
"What ams alapraxa?" Skwisgaar wondered.
"You eat BALLS?" Nathan thundered. He lowered the volume a few hundred decibels, leaning over towards the Generalissimo and confiding, "Dude, isn't that a little GAY?"
"In my country," the Generalissimo loudly announced, "It is thought to be the sign of a true man that he eat this dish."
"Dood, da men here all like t' have balls in their faces?" Pickles protested, probing the objects with a drumstick.
"Dude,” Nathan whispered to Pickles, “I think maybe this country is a little GAY."
"If you do not finish the dish, I will be highly offended," the Generalissimo warned.
"You want us to eat your balls?" Nathan growled.
"Maybe we could just taste 'em?" Pickles considered.
"You want us to LICK YOUR BALLS?" Nathan asked the Generalissimo.
"Nah, I t'ink I'm losing my appetite," Pickles confessed.
Toki picked up one of the empty alpaca ball jars and tucked it in his coat pocket.
"What's the deal now?" asked one of the henchmen, in Spanish.
"They don't like the pickled alpaca balls."
"Eh. No one likes the alpaca balls."
"Yeah. They ARE kinda gay."
“Now, if you don't mind," the Generalissimo said, "I would like to discuss a little, er, business."
"Business?" Nathan whispered to Pickles. "I thought we were gonna avoid that fucking shit without Ofdensen here."
"Yeah, where is dat dude, anyway?"
"Eh. Probably found and some hookers and blow."
Ofdensen was amusing himself by inventing newer and more horrendous curses. He was sitting on a rocky beach, pouring seawater out of his shoe. Another pair of shoes destroyed thanks to fucking Dethklok. He flung the ruined loafer away in fury. Another suit ruined due to fucking Dethklok. And he'd just had this one fitted. In goddam London. Glasses gone due to fucking Dethklok. Vacheron fucking Constantin fucking timepiece fucking filled with fucking sea water due to fucking Dethklok….
He wasn't at all surprised, given his current string of luck, to feel the gun muzzle poking at the back of his neck. He turned around and glared. Even without his eyeglasses, the dude pointing the gun looked a little weird to Ofdensen. He had longish hair, and he appeared to have a guitar strapped to his back.
"Prepare to die, interloper!" the dude warned in Spanish.
"What the fuck are you supposed to be? Are you a mariachi or something?"
The man stood up to his full height, which was well over six feet, his long hair blowing dramatically in the coastal wind. "Yes. I am a mariachi. They call me....." But he never got the chance to finish, as he was finding it difficult to speak with a maraca jammed so far down his throat.
"I fucking hate mariachis," Ofdensen explained, checking out the firing on the guy's AK-47. The guitar dude was now sinking down on his knees, as he was finding maraca-impaired breathing to be an insurmountable challenge. Ofdensen checked the guy's feet and decided with regret that his boots would be too big to fit well. But he went through the flailing mariachi's pockets and was delighted to find a package of cigarettes.
As the man fell to the ground, Ofdensen lit up. He looked up at the Generalissimo's castle, perched high up on the cliffside overhead. And then he carefully counted the cigarettes left in the pack. It wasn't clear it would be quite enough to last the journey, but it would have to do. As the mariachi turned an unhealthy shade of blue, Ofdensen grabbed the AK and, like a chain-smoking avenging angel, started the long trek up the hill.
"So," the Generalissimo began, sitting back in his chair at the head of the dining room table. "I suppose you would appreciate a safe passage out of my country."
"No, we ams like it here!" Toki assured him.
"Except for the goat balls," whispered Nathan.
"Alpaca balls, dood."
"Yeah, whatever."
The Generalissimo decided to try again. "Um, I suppose you would find it inconvenient to remain my guests for too long."
"We ams guests? Does dat means we gets some of dat good blow?" asked Skwisgaar. Dona Raquel, holding his left thigh, and Maria Helena, gripping his right, glared at each other over the seemingly oblivious guitarist.
“I could potentially clear more time in my schedule for an exschtended vischit.”
"THE OZ MAN LIKES IT HERE," Nathan commented, making his Ozzy Osbourne Chia Pet shake its head in agreement. He then began using his water glass to sprinkle the Metal God's green, vegetative hair.
"Wouldn't you...." the Generalissimo began, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Um, what the fuck is that thing?"
"ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THE OZ MAN?"
"Uh, dood," Pickles confided to the Generalissimo. "Ya might wanna be careful what ya say. Nat'an and da Oz Man are pretty tight dese days."
"Oz man? I'm sorry, do you mean like, Dorothy and Toto?"
"We ams friends of Dorothy," Toki cheerfully volunteered.
"What are they squabbling about now?" asked one of the bored henchmen.
"The Generalissimo apparently doesn't know who Ozzy Osbourne is."
"No fucking way! Tsk. You know, for a man in his position, he shows a disappointing amount of ignorance regarding the metal genre."
The Generalissimo decided to try a different tack. "I wonder if you gentlemen would be amenable towards a payment scheme in return for assurances from my country regarding your safe passage home?"
"Amenininabobble?"
"Payments? Sure. How much? WE DON'T WORK CHEAP!"
"And you gotta t'row in some good blow."
"Ands we woulds like somas alpraxas!"
“So, what’s the deal?” Guillermo asked his fellow henchman in Spanish as they escorted the boys through the castle.
“Get this. You’ll fucking die. They’re all too fucking stupid to realize they’ve been kidnapped.”
“No way. You’re fucking shitting me.”
“Way!”
Guillermo snorted. But then frowned. “So, why did Generalissimo have us kill the only smart one?”
“Dude, you know how the Generalissimo feels about lawyers.”
“Yeah, but.”
“But what?”
“Well,” Guillermo decided to just forge ahead. “It just seems like poor decision making on his part.”
“Hey, YOU wanna be Generalissimo?”
“I dunno. What are the hours?”
The boys had retired to a large suite of rooms the Generalissimo's henchmen had indicated would serve as their quarters for the night.
"Is it just me, or do the servants here seem a little, you know, rude?" asked Nathan.
Toki sat on the floor reading a large trade paperback, titled, "1001 EASY and PRACTICAL VOODOO SPELLS for HOME and OFFICE." "Oh, dey ams t'imks we don't understand Spanisches," he said. He grabbed one of the little Fimo clay figures he had been sculpting, and popped it into the jar he had removed from the dining room table earlier at evening. He closed the lid and gave the jar a good shake.
"Well, I t'ink I ams retire for da night," Skwisgaar announced, stretching. "Good nights!" And with that, he went to the main door and exited the suite, walking confidently down the hallway of the vast castle.
"Wait, ischn't THISCH our schuite?" Murderface asked once the Swede had departed.
"Dude. It’s Skwisgaar," Nathan said. Murderface looked puzzled for another long minute. And then, at length, went, "Ah, yeah!"
"Speakin' a which," said Pickles, who was fiddling with the TV remote, "Where's Ofdensen wit' da paternity waivers?"
"You know that guy. He's probably doing TEQUILA SHOTS WITH STRIPPERS. Like WE SHOULD BE DOING." Nathan evidently considered for a moment, and then announced, “I’M GOING OUT TO FIND SOME FUCKING TEQUILA SHOTS AND STRIPPERS.” Nathan grabbed his Ozzy Osbourne Chia Pet from the top of the television and made to leave the room. “C’mon, Oz Man!” he said.
“Schtrippers? Schounds good,” said Murderface, rising to leave with Nathan.
“Wait, Murderface,” said Nathan, suddenly stopping short. “You’re COMING ALONG?”
“Uh, yesch?”
Nathan held up his Chia Pet. “I kind of thought it would be my SPECIAL TIME. With the OZ MAN.”
Murderface looked puzzled, then suspicious. He leaned over to whisper to Nathan, “Yesch, but, what if the Ozsch Man, you know, overundulgesch?”
Nathan carefully held Ozzy behind his back, so the God of Metal wouldn’t overhear. He looked around suspiciously. “The Oz Man,” he whispered to Murderface. “Do you think he could get, TOO METAL?”
Murderface nodded sagely. “Thisch isch the notoriousch cocaine capitol of Schentral America!”
Nathan nodded, as if he knew what the fuck Murderface was talking about.
“You may need a wingman if thingsch get … too brutal.”
Nathan nodded slyly, and addressed Ozzy. “We’re taking MURDERFACE!” he told the Chia Metal God. And then the three marched out of the suite, and down the corridor in the opposite direction from the one Skwisgaar had taken.
Ignoring them all, Pickles messed with the remote control for a few more moments, finally tossing it away in disgust. “How do people use dose fucking t’ings?” he muttered. He moved to directly in front of the TV screen and turned the dial. "Boy, da cable here is even worse dan at home," he sighed
The screen lit up with what looked like an American newsroom.
"And in other news, corrupt and loathsome record executive, Damien Cornickleson has just been rushed to the hospital with apoplexy. With an update, here is Connie Conehead.”
"Yes, Bill, it's true, corrupt and loathsome record executive Damien Cornickleson has just been rushed to the hospital, suffering from apoplexy. Doctors here are mystified, telling me they have no fucking idea what apoplexy even is, that they thought it was, in the words of one puzzled medical professional, just some Victorian shit.
"Connie, is it true that Cornickleson is both corrupt AND loathsome?"
"I would say, loathsome and corrupt, Bill!"
Pickles looked up in surprise. Toki had suddenly come up beside him, and was staring intently at the television, a look of satisfaction spreading on his face.
"Hey, Toki, dood, you wanna get out of here, maybe look for some coke?"
Murderface had wandered out onto one of the many creepy castle’s many balconies overlooking the rocky coast to take a piss. He had already become separated from Nathan Explosion (and Ozzy Osbourne). Possibly because it had been all of five minutes and they still hadn’t located any strippers. Nor tequila shots. Nor just about anything else that was currently of interest to William Murderface.
It was a seriously awesome piss, as the cliff dropped off at least a hundred feet below the castle to the rocky coast below. And Murderface was quite the connoisseur of urination.
“SENOR!” The call seemed to come from up above him. It sounded like a voice soaked by a thousand shots of whiskey and then ripened by a million packs of cigarettes. Husky was not the word for it.
Murderface hastily zipped his shorts and looked upwards to behold the figure of a very, very tall woman, standing on a balcony on the floor up above. Her heavily made up face was partially hidden behind a lacy mantilla.
“SENOR, CAN YOU HELP ME?” she rasped, batting her long eyelashes.
“Well, schertainly, schexschy schenorita!”
“UM. DID THAT MEAN YES OR NO?”
“Yesch!”
“OK. COOL. ANYWAY. MY BROTHER HAS LOCKED ME AWAY IN THIS CASTLE!”
"How can I help?”
"IF YOU HELP ME ESCAPE, I WILL BE EVER SO GRATEFUL!"
"Hrm. Exschactly how grateful?"
"EVER. SO. GRATEFUL."
"Yeah, but, you know, what'sch in it for me."
"I DUNNO. HOW ABOUT A BLOW JOB?"
"Yeah! That would be schufficient."
The large figure suddenly seemed to get distracted.
"Miguel, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" asked someone in Spanish.
"Uh, is there schomeone else up there, schweetie?" called Murderface.
"UM, CAN YOU WAIT HERE A MINUTE, MY DARLING?"
"Schure!"
Up above, out of Murderface's hearing, someone was asking, "Miguel, you know your brother doesn't like it when you do that fucking nightclub act here."
"BUTT OUT," snarled Miguel.
"Seriously, we're gonna take away your Cher albums this time!"
"What? Ah, fuckin' a. Stupid one alpaca town I'm stuck in."
Murderface continued to wait, but the mysterious person had apparently vanished as quickly as she had appeared. He tried running upstairs to search for her room, but ran into Nathan and Ozzy, who had so far fallen short in their quest for drugs and/or broads.
“Nathan, did you schee where schee went?”
“Who?”
“There was a schexy schenorita, and sche wasch really into me.” His band mate boggled.
“Murderface,” Nathan intoned, taking his band mate by the collar. “WHERE DID YOU FIND THE AWESOME BLOW AND WHY DIDN’T YOU SAVE ANY FOR ME?”
Pickles and Toki turned a corner in the presidential palace and came upon one of the Generalissimo's henchmen.
He was not in a friendly mood.
“What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing?” barked the henchman, aiming an automatic weapon and Pickles and Toki. He spoke in Spanish, but his meaning was clear. Or would have been clear, to anybody besides a member of Dethklok.
“We ams looking for cocaine,” Toki cheerfully told him.
The henchman started to reply, but instead of speaking, simply emitted a gurgle, and fell to the ground.
“Oh, hellos Ofdensens! How ams your vacation?”
“It was pleasant, thank you, Toki. I went to the seaside, and had a hike.” Dethklok’s manager was already scavenging the henchman’s body. He handed the fallen man's automatic weapon to Toki. “Do you know how to use one of these, Toki?” The Dethklok guitarist replied by cheerily shooting out a nearby picture window as well as several suits of armor. Ofdensen and Pickles rifled through the former henchman’s pockets, Ofdensen coming up with a pack of cigarettes, and Pickles extracting something in a baggie.
“What ams happens to your shoes?” asked Toki, as Ofdensen lit up.
“I’d, uh, prefer not to talk about that now. How’s the, uh, blow, Pickles? Pickles?”
Pickles lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Ofdensen and Toki went to stand beside him. “Quando para mucho mi amore de felice corazon,” he said.
“It ams good I guess,” Toki commented.
“Any idea where the others have, uh, gone to?”
“Dey wents lookings for hookers and blows I t’ink.”
“Mundo paparazzi mi amore chicka ferdy parasol,” Pickles commented.
“We should probably, uh, go find them.”
“Yes, we ams not want to be late to Conchita’s weddings!”
“Uh, yeah, that.” And so saying, they each got an arm under one of the recumbent Pickles’s arms and pulled him up.
“Presto OBRIGADO tanta mucho Kay can eat it carousel,” the Dethklok drummer commented.
“What’s the deal?” asked the yawning henchman. Despite the recent coup, things were usually pretty low key in Santa Dominica, so he wasn’t used to being roused in the middle of the night.
“The boss is in a stew. He can’t find Lucinda.”
“Boy, there’s a puzzle. Three guesses what she’s up to.”
"Where is my daughter," wailed the Generalissimo. "Where is my Lucinda?"
The henchmen were pounding on a locked door. The door opened, answered by a sleepy looking blond man who was apparently wearing nothing but an electric guitar.
"Ja, what ams you wants?" babbled the naked blond man. The Generalissimo recognized him as one of the members of Mortal Wristwatch, or whatever that fucking band was called.
"I am looking for my daughter," snarled the Generalissimo.
The blond dude scratched himself and yawned. "Oh, why you ams not say dat? Hey, Lucindas!" The Generalissimo gasped as his daughter sheepishly emerged from the room, clad in nothing but a blanket.
"Lucinda!” screamed the Generalissimo. “What have you done to my daughter?” He demanded of Skwisgaar.
"Wow, you wants to know details? Dat's kinda kinky, dude."
Just then another blanket-wrapped figure emerged from the room.
"MARIA HELENA!" screamed the now angry and cuckolded Generalissimo.
"Er, I can totally explain this," Maria Helena told him in Spanish.
Maria Helena was followed by another woman who didn't bother to cover herself up. She stood boldly naked with her arm around Skwisgaar.
"MOTHER!!!" fumed the Gemeralissimo, shielding his eyes. "Oh my god, please put some clothing on!"
"I'm not ashamed of our love," the Generalissimo's mom averred.
Skwisgaar gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I did tells ya I'm seeings other people, ja?"
It was then that yet another woman showed up at the bedroom door.
The Generalissimo peered from between his fingers.
"Oh my god. GRANDMOTHER!?!?!" The elderly lady peered up from her walker and smiled brightly.
"Please," the Generalissimo pleaded, "Please tell me you don't also have my favorite horse on there."
Skwisgaar grinned.
From the room, a sound very much like a soft whinny emerged.
Toki had opened a door at random and then stared in wonder. It looked like someone's well-appointed office, though perhaps from an era 20 or 30 years ago. There was a large mahogany desk, and on top of the desk… Well, even Pickles the drummer had never seen such a whooping mountain of cocaine. It was seriously like the Everest of Blow.
Electronica music thrummed in the background. There was a strangely familiar man sitting at the desk, just behind the pile of white powder. His face was in shadows. All at once, he looked up and screamed, "I DO K- K- K- COCAINE!!!" And then he pitched over, face first, into the powder.
"Oh fucking Christ," said Ofdensen.
The man briefly raised his head and whispered, "Seriously, dudes. LOTS of cocaine." And then collapsed again.
Ofdensen slammed the door shut, and they continued down the hallway. And then Ofdensen and Toki reversed course, marched back to the door, and hauled Pickles away with them this time.
Nathan and Murderface heard the music coming from behind the door, so they knocked. It was answered by a very pretty young girl.
"Oh, thank god!" she exclaimed. "Girls, they've come to rescue us!" She threw open the door to reveal about two dozen young girls, dressed as if for a giant slumber party.
"We're just a tour group consisting entirely of college aged models and teen gymnasts!" the girl explained.
"Dawwwww," said Nathan.
"And we became stranded here. Do you think you could help us?"
"I dunno," said Murderface. "You guysch got any blow?"
"MURDERFACE," warned Nathan.
"What?"
"OK, what the fuck do you guys think you're doing?" asked the henchmen, who had suddenly appeared at the sound of people having a good time.
Nathan raised his hands at the automatic weapons. "But. But. GYMNASTS," he sputtered.
"Come on, our boss wants to talk to you."
"GYMNASTS," screamed Nathan as they marched him away. "NOOOOOOO!"
Guillermo the henchman stood at one of the balconies overlooking the rocky coast below, enjoying a smoke.
"So, did you get a chance to review your life insurance?" came a voice from behind him.
Guillermo didn't even have time to think, "Oh, fuck!" before he was tumbling over the balcony towards the sea, a hundred feet below.
"Boy, dat ams a long ways down," said Toki appreciatively.
"Yup," said Ofdensen.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Pickles. In a flash, Toki and Ofdensen were on either side of him, hauling him back over the railing.
The henchmen led Nathan and Murderface to a room that already contained Skwisgaar, plus, seemingly, half of the female population of Santa Dominica. He was contentedly strumming his Gibson, while also playing footsie under the table with an elderly woman who was wearing just a blanket.
"Hey, Skwisgaar," said Nathan. "Did you ever find any blow?"
"Nah," said the guitarist, "it ams been a pretty boring evenings."
"We might asch well have schtayed home," Murderface moped.
"I wish you had stayed home," brayed the Generalissimo, bursting in the door.
"Dude, no offense, but your country kind of SUCKS."
The Generalissimo frowned and lit a cigar. "And where the fuck are the rest of these guys?" he demanded of a nearby henchman.
"Uh, we can't find 'em, boss?"
"What?"
"Uh, yeah. And, some of the guys we sent looking for them? They're, like, dead. And stuff."
"What the fuck does ‘and stuff’ mean."
“Uh, it kind of means dead, too.”
“WHAT?” The Generalissimo seriously looked like he was going to pop a vein.
“There’s supposed to be this guy with no shoes who’s been going around, killing dudes.”
“What the fuck? These guys are all morons! How the hell are they killing our dudes?”
Everyone suddenly started to the sound of some automatic weapons fire and bodies thumping just outside the door.
Ofdensen and Toki marched in, carrying automatic weapons. Pickles drifted into, just behind them. Ofdensen immediately strode over to the Generalissimo and stuck the barrel of his gun into his face.
“I already fucking killed you!” sputtered the Generalissimo.
"I fucking GOT BETTER! Now, you have exactly TWO SECONDS to give me one of those fucking cigars!”
The thoroughly flustered Generalissimo gulped and handed Dethklok's manager a cigar.
"Oh, thank Christ!" Ofdensen said. He immediately lowered his weapon, and sank down next to Skwisgaar to light up.
"What ams happen to your shoes, dude?" inquired the guitarist.
"I don't want to talk about that. Can we just fucking go back to Mordhaus now?"
"Awwwww!" came several cries of disappointment.
"But I schtill haven't gotten any blow!"
"What abouts Conchitsa?
"Dude, there are GYMNASTS HERE!"
“Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.” (This latter was from Pickles.)
"No!" shouted the Gemeralissimo. "You people are evil!"
"Well, dat ams true."
"In one evening, you have ruined my daughter, and my wife, and my mother, AND MY GRANDMOTHER!!!"
"Skwisgaar! Dude!" said Nathan, clapping his band mate on the back.
"Aw, he ams exaggeratin'" shrugged the guitarist humbly.
“You know what I am going to do?" shouted the Generalissimo. "I'll tell you what I am going to do! I am going to restart production of ‘Corazon de azul!’ And I will have Yolanda GO MARRY THE LONG HAIRED GUY!"
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then some muttering from amongst the henchmen. “Dude, what did he just say?” “Said he’s gonna have Yolanda marry the long haired dude.” “He can’t fucking do that! She belongs with the eye patch dude!” “Yeah, Generalissimo is kind of a douche bag.” And there was more muttering, and quite a lot of frowning.
Suddenly, Toki boldly stepped forward towards the Generalissimo.
"Says hellos to my little friends," he barked.
He plonked a little Fimo clay man decisively down on the table.
The Generalissimo stood in silence for a long minute. And then he started laughing. It was a chuckle at first, but it soon deepened to gales of laughter. "You are the dumbest people alive! How do you assholes even get out of bed in the morning?"
Ignoring him completely, Toki withdrew a glass jar - one that had formerly held the pickled alpaca testicles - and plonked the little Fimo man inside. Then he replaced the lid and shook the concoction frenetically.
"You ams bad man, and you needs to be voodoo'd!" he announced, thumping the mystical brew down on the table.
The Generalissimo kept laughing. He laughed so hard, he seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. And then he was just rasping. He writhed, and gasped, and finally fell face forward onto the table. He silently clawed at the table for a time, getting weaker, and weaker, and finally dropped to the floor with a thud. He continued to writhe there for a long minute, and then with a final spasm, went very, very still.
Nathan looked down at the fallen Generalissimo, and then looked up at Toki, appreciatively. He put a hand on the guitarist’s shoulder. “Dude, I have to say, that is one of the most FUCKING METAL things I’ve ever seen.”
They all looked at the fallen man for another long moment.
“Do you think next time you could make his HEAD BLOW UP TOO?”
Ofdensen sat uncomfortably on the couch in Mordhaus’s gothic living room. He was still more than a little green around the gills from the excruciating Dethcopter ride back to Mordhaus. He had always hated this fucking room, and now hated it even more following the expensive redecoration attempt some time back. He was certain he’d gotten leftover sand in his shoes, and Pickles kept trying to snarf his bottle of 125 year old Scotch.
Ofdensen had managed to negotiate their way out of Santa Dominica with the newly installed leader on favorable terms, possibly due less to his arbitration skills than to the fact that the new Generalissimo was none other than Maria Helena, who seemed most interested in keeping Skwisgaar what she deemed an appropriate distance from her mother in law. In return for a simple vow to never, ever enter the country again, Dethklok was to receive a lifetime supply of good cocaine, plus several pounds of the really good stuff, a dozen kilos of the excellent stuff, some baggies of the absolutely primo stuff, a Tupperware container of the completely fucking blow your mind stuff, and a lead-lined tin of the you will lose bowel control and see the face of God stuff (as it turned out, Santa Dominica had no less than 256 different words for cocaine - who knew?). Plus, they received a pack of fine young alpacas. Which Ofdensen fervently hoped Toki had meant to secure for knitting purposes, and not voodoo purposes, though, as he had learned, sometimes with Detklok, it was simply best not to know.
Santa Dominica had also agreed to restart production of the “Corazon de azul” program, to be kicked off tonight with the much delayed nuptials of some character named Blanquita or Consuela or something. The new Generalissimo had, however, absolutely refused to take a suggestion from the boys that some character they referred to as only as “the long haired dude” be either shot or beaten up or both. As it turned out, this was the single favorite character of almost every female fan of the show.
Which just went to prove, women are weird.
Pickles was swiftly whipping through the channels.
"HEY, KIDS!" screamed a hyperbolic announcer. "IT'S HAPPY FUNTIME WITH DR. ROCKSO THE ROCK N ROLL CLOWN!"
"Hey, I know dat dood!" Pickles said, happily swigging Scotch directly from the bottle.
"WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE BEGINNING CREDITS PICKLES MOVE THE FUCK ON!"
On the TV screen, a particularly frightening man dressed in clown paint asked, "Hey, kiddies! How are you doin', you sick little motherfuckers, hahahahaha!"
Then finally the picture changed to a dramatic, back-lit photo of a raven-haired woman, and the title card, "Corazon de azul." The boys were all immediately captivated, variously shouting out bits of advice or abuse at particular characters and tossing beer bottles and popcorn at the screen. Ofdensen winced at every flung beer bottle, anticipating the bills for yet more flat screens.
At length, during the commercial break, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t, uh, seem to UNDERSTAND this program.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, and he realized five pairs of eyes were staring intently at him.
“What’s not t’ get, dood?” insisted Pickles.
Ofdensen huffily snatched his Scotch bottle back from drummer and poured another glass. “I mean, uh, the main character, Wanda?”
“YOLANDA!” boomed Nathan.
“Yolanda.” He insistently waved his glass at the TV screen. “Why is she with the, uh, guy with long hair, when she’s OBVIOUSLY supposed to be with that guy with the, uh, EYE PATCH.”
Suddenly everyone was talking at once.
Title: NovelaKlok
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Foul language. Lots and lots and lots of foul language. Also, there is one particular joke (in part 2) involving Skwisgaar that I truly believe crosses the line. Twice. If you think you will be offended by that kind of thing, you will probably be offended by that kind of thing. Oh, also, probably because I'm a big Venture Brothers fan, I noticed there's a whole lot of babbling snotty henchmen in this part, so if you really hate OCs mixed in your Dethklok, maybe you should avoid.
Summary: The Boys become mad fans of a telenovela. When the production is suddenly halted by a drug war/coup, they fly to the Central American cocaine capitol of Santa Dominica. Um, to fix things. Or something.
Notes: I totally stole some of the jokes from
wikdsushi and nugatorytm. I ams hoping they will not send their Klokateers after me. Also, alpacas live in SOUTH AMERICA, not Central America, but since I totally made up the country of Santa Dominica anyway, I didn't really think anyone would care. ALSO, I don't own Metalocalypse or Dethklok or whatever, but it seems like Brendon Small owns part of my brains.Part 1 is here. Not sure why you'd want to read Part 2 without reading Part 1, although I'm also not quite sure why you'd wanna read any of it. :D
PART 2
“So, what’s happening, dude?” Guillermo asked his fellow henchmen, in Spanish.
“The Generalissimo is having the stupid American rock band, Demise Chronograph, or whatever, to dinner.”
“Oh, he’s gonna blackmail them?”
“Yeah, pretty much. What’s up with you, Guillermo? You don’t look so hot. Did you kill that lawyer dude.”
“Um.”
“Whaddya mean, um?”
“Well, we tossed him off one of the balconies.”
“That usually does it, dude. A hundred feet, to the rocky coast below, blah blah blah. What’s your problem?”
“You didn’t see the look in that dude’s eyes! I think I should have used a wooden stake! And, some silver bullets! And, and, maybe some dynamite!”
“Dude, you are so whack. C’mon, let’s go annoy the alpacas!”
“Annoy the alpacas? That sounds like a fucking boring ass thing to do.”
“Have you forgotten? Other than the coke, this is a boring ass Central American country. And now since the Chief shut down ‘Corazon de azul,’ we actually have ONE LESS THING TO DO to keep us from losing our fucking minds.
“Yeah. You know, the Generalissimo is kind of a douche bag.”
“Yeah, that he is.”
The Generalissimo proudly introduced his family to the Dethklok. "May I introduce my lovely wife, Maria Helena?" The band muttered greetings, except for Skwisgaar, who boldly stepped forward and kissed an appreciative Maria Helena's hand.
"Hello, lovely lady," he cooed, to appreciative giggles from Maria Helena.
"And this is my mother, Dona Raquel." Skwisgaar seized her hand and whispered something to the elderly woman. She broke out in a broad smile.
"And here is my precious daughter, Lucinda." Lucinda was, quite honestly, breath-taxingly beautiful. She looked to be all of sixteen years old. She fluttered her lashes at Dethklok's guitarist as he elegantly kissed her hand.
"Now please sit down," the Generalissimo told them.
"Skwisgaar will sit here," trilled Maria Helena, yanking him down into the chair between herself and the Generalissimo's mother.
"So many lovelies ladies," Skwisgaar murmured. The Generalissimo didn't look terribly pleased about any of it, but was evidently too polite to comment.
When everybody was seated, the Generalissimo told them, "I would like to share with you, my special guests, one of the rare delicacies of my country." Several servants were now bringing out jars filled with some kind of preserved meat.
"This is something we call, in the local language, hearts of angels."
Nathan eyed the small, round, squishy objects with no small measure of suspicion. What was the matter with this country that they didn't have any fucking chips?
"They are the pickled testicles of the alpaca."
There was a pause.
Murderface, his mouth stuffed completely full, suddenly let out a small choking noise.
"What ams alapraxa?" Skwisgaar wondered.
"You eat BALLS?" Nathan thundered. He lowered the volume a few hundred decibels, leaning over towards the Generalissimo and confiding, "Dude, isn't that a little GAY?"
"In my country," the Generalissimo loudly announced, "It is thought to be the sign of a true man that he eat this dish."
"Dood, da men here all like t' have balls in their faces?" Pickles protested, probing the objects with a drumstick.
"Dude,” Nathan whispered to Pickles, “I think maybe this country is a little GAY."
"If you do not finish the dish, I will be highly offended," the Generalissimo warned.
"You want us to eat your balls?" Nathan growled.
"Maybe we could just taste 'em?" Pickles considered.
"You want us to LICK YOUR BALLS?" Nathan asked the Generalissimo.
"Nah, I t'ink I'm losing my appetite," Pickles confessed.
Toki picked up one of the empty alpaca ball jars and tucked it in his coat pocket.
"What's the deal now?" asked one of the henchmen, in Spanish.
"They don't like the pickled alpaca balls."
"Eh. No one likes the alpaca balls."
"Yeah. They ARE kinda gay."
“Now, if you don't mind," the Generalissimo said, "I would like to discuss a little, er, business."
"Business?" Nathan whispered to Pickles. "I thought we were gonna avoid that fucking shit without Ofdensen here."
"Yeah, where is dat dude, anyway?"
"Eh. Probably found and some hookers and blow."
Ofdensen was amusing himself by inventing newer and more horrendous curses. He was sitting on a rocky beach, pouring seawater out of his shoe. Another pair of shoes destroyed thanks to fucking Dethklok. He flung the ruined loafer away in fury. Another suit ruined due to fucking Dethklok. And he'd just had this one fitted. In goddam London. Glasses gone due to fucking Dethklok. Vacheron fucking Constantin fucking timepiece fucking filled with fucking sea water due to fucking Dethklok….
He wasn't at all surprised, given his current string of luck, to feel the gun muzzle poking at the back of his neck. He turned around and glared. Even without his eyeglasses, the dude pointing the gun looked a little weird to Ofdensen. He had longish hair, and he appeared to have a guitar strapped to his back.
"Prepare to die, interloper!" the dude warned in Spanish.
"What the fuck are you supposed to be? Are you a mariachi or something?"
The man stood up to his full height, which was well over six feet, his long hair blowing dramatically in the coastal wind. "Yes. I am a mariachi. They call me....." But he never got the chance to finish, as he was finding it difficult to speak with a maraca jammed so far down his throat.
"I fucking hate mariachis," Ofdensen explained, checking out the firing on the guy's AK-47. The guitar dude was now sinking down on his knees, as he was finding maraca-impaired breathing to be an insurmountable challenge. Ofdensen checked the guy's feet and decided with regret that his boots would be too big to fit well. But he went through the flailing mariachi's pockets and was delighted to find a package of cigarettes.
As the man fell to the ground, Ofdensen lit up. He looked up at the Generalissimo's castle, perched high up on the cliffside overhead. And then he carefully counted the cigarettes left in the pack. It wasn't clear it would be quite enough to last the journey, but it would have to do. As the mariachi turned an unhealthy shade of blue, Ofdensen grabbed the AK and, like a chain-smoking avenging angel, started the long trek up the hill.
"So," the Generalissimo began, sitting back in his chair at the head of the dining room table. "I suppose you would appreciate a safe passage out of my country."
"No, we ams like it here!" Toki assured him.
"Except for the goat balls," whispered Nathan.
"Alpaca balls, dood."
"Yeah, whatever."
The Generalissimo decided to try again. "Um, I suppose you would find it inconvenient to remain my guests for too long."
"We ams guests? Does dat means we gets some of dat good blow?" asked Skwisgaar. Dona Raquel, holding his left thigh, and Maria Helena, gripping his right, glared at each other over the seemingly oblivious guitarist.
“I could potentially clear more time in my schedule for an exschtended vischit.”
"THE OZ MAN LIKES IT HERE," Nathan commented, making his Ozzy Osbourne Chia Pet shake its head in agreement. He then began using his water glass to sprinkle the Metal God's green, vegetative hair.
"Wouldn't you...." the Generalissimo began, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Um, what the fuck is that thing?"
"ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THE OZ MAN?"
"Uh, dood," Pickles confided to the Generalissimo. "Ya might wanna be careful what ya say. Nat'an and da Oz Man are pretty tight dese days."
"Oz man? I'm sorry, do you mean like, Dorothy and Toto?"
"We ams friends of Dorothy," Toki cheerfully volunteered.
"What are they squabbling about now?" asked one of the bored henchmen.
"The Generalissimo apparently doesn't know who Ozzy Osbourne is."
"No fucking way! Tsk. You know, for a man in his position, he shows a disappointing amount of ignorance regarding the metal genre."
The Generalissimo decided to try a different tack. "I wonder if you gentlemen would be amenable towards a payment scheme in return for assurances from my country regarding your safe passage home?"
"Amenininabobble?"
"Payments? Sure. How much? WE DON'T WORK CHEAP!"
"And you gotta t'row in some good blow."
"Ands we woulds like somas alpraxas!"
“So, what’s the deal?” Guillermo asked his fellow henchman in Spanish as they escorted the boys through the castle.
“Get this. You’ll fucking die. They’re all too fucking stupid to realize they’ve been kidnapped.”
“No way. You’re fucking shitting me.”
“Way!”
Guillermo snorted. But then frowned. “So, why did Generalissimo have us kill the only smart one?”
“Dude, you know how the Generalissimo feels about lawyers.”
“Yeah, but.”
“But what?”
“Well,” Guillermo decided to just forge ahead. “It just seems like poor decision making on his part.”
“Hey, YOU wanna be Generalissimo?”
“I dunno. What are the hours?”
The boys had retired to a large suite of rooms the Generalissimo's henchmen had indicated would serve as their quarters for the night.
"Is it just me, or do the servants here seem a little, you know, rude?" asked Nathan.
Toki sat on the floor reading a large trade paperback, titled, "1001 EASY and PRACTICAL VOODOO SPELLS for HOME and OFFICE." "Oh, dey ams t'imks we don't understand Spanisches," he said. He grabbed one of the little Fimo clay figures he had been sculpting, and popped it into the jar he had removed from the dining room table earlier at evening. He closed the lid and gave the jar a good shake.
"Well, I t'ink I ams retire for da night," Skwisgaar announced, stretching. "Good nights!" And with that, he went to the main door and exited the suite, walking confidently down the hallway of the vast castle.
"Wait, ischn't THISCH our schuite?" Murderface asked once the Swede had departed.
"Dude. It’s Skwisgaar," Nathan said. Murderface looked puzzled for another long minute. And then, at length, went, "Ah, yeah!"
"Speakin' a which," said Pickles, who was fiddling with the TV remote, "Where's Ofdensen wit' da paternity waivers?"
"You know that guy. He's probably doing TEQUILA SHOTS WITH STRIPPERS. Like WE SHOULD BE DOING." Nathan evidently considered for a moment, and then announced, “I’M GOING OUT TO FIND SOME FUCKING TEQUILA SHOTS AND STRIPPERS.” Nathan grabbed his Ozzy Osbourne Chia Pet from the top of the television and made to leave the room. “C’mon, Oz Man!” he said.
“Schtrippers? Schounds good,” said Murderface, rising to leave with Nathan.
“Wait, Murderface,” said Nathan, suddenly stopping short. “You’re COMING ALONG?”
“Uh, yesch?”
Nathan held up his Chia Pet. “I kind of thought it would be my SPECIAL TIME. With the OZ MAN.”
Murderface looked puzzled, then suspicious. He leaned over to whisper to Nathan, “Yesch, but, what if the Ozsch Man, you know, overundulgesch?”
Nathan carefully held Ozzy behind his back, so the God of Metal wouldn’t overhear. He looked around suspiciously. “The Oz Man,” he whispered to Murderface. “Do you think he could get, TOO METAL?”
Murderface nodded sagely. “Thisch isch the notoriousch cocaine capitol of Schentral America!”
Nathan nodded, as if he knew what the fuck Murderface was talking about.
“You may need a wingman if thingsch get … too brutal.”
Nathan nodded slyly, and addressed Ozzy. “We’re taking MURDERFACE!” he told the Chia Metal God. And then the three marched out of the suite, and down the corridor in the opposite direction from the one Skwisgaar had taken.
Ignoring them all, Pickles messed with the remote control for a few more moments, finally tossing it away in disgust. “How do people use dose fucking t’ings?” he muttered. He moved to directly in front of the TV screen and turned the dial. "Boy, da cable here is even worse dan at home," he sighed
The screen lit up with what looked like an American newsroom.
"And in other news, corrupt and loathsome record executive, Damien Cornickleson has just been rushed to the hospital with apoplexy. With an update, here is Connie Conehead.”
"Yes, Bill, it's true, corrupt and loathsome record executive Damien Cornickleson has just been rushed to the hospital, suffering from apoplexy. Doctors here are mystified, telling me they have no fucking idea what apoplexy even is, that they thought it was, in the words of one puzzled medical professional, just some Victorian shit.
"Connie, is it true that Cornickleson is both corrupt AND loathsome?"
"I would say, loathsome and corrupt, Bill!"
Pickles looked up in surprise. Toki had suddenly come up beside him, and was staring intently at the television, a look of satisfaction spreading on his face.
"Hey, Toki, dood, you wanna get out of here, maybe look for some coke?"
Murderface had wandered out onto one of the many creepy castle’s many balconies overlooking the rocky coast to take a piss. He had already become separated from Nathan Explosion (and Ozzy Osbourne). Possibly because it had been all of five minutes and they still hadn’t located any strippers. Nor tequila shots. Nor just about anything else that was currently of interest to William Murderface.
It was a seriously awesome piss, as the cliff dropped off at least a hundred feet below the castle to the rocky coast below. And Murderface was quite the connoisseur of urination.
“SENOR!” The call seemed to come from up above him. It sounded like a voice soaked by a thousand shots of whiskey and then ripened by a million packs of cigarettes. Husky was not the word for it.
Murderface hastily zipped his shorts and looked upwards to behold the figure of a very, very tall woman, standing on a balcony on the floor up above. Her heavily made up face was partially hidden behind a lacy mantilla.
“SENOR, CAN YOU HELP ME?” she rasped, batting her long eyelashes.
“Well, schertainly, schexschy schenorita!”
“UM. DID THAT MEAN YES OR NO?”
“Yesch!”
“OK. COOL. ANYWAY. MY BROTHER HAS LOCKED ME AWAY IN THIS CASTLE!”
"How can I help?”
"IF YOU HELP ME ESCAPE, I WILL BE EVER SO GRATEFUL!"
"Hrm. Exschactly how grateful?"
"EVER. SO. GRATEFUL."
"Yeah, but, you know, what'sch in it for me."
"I DUNNO. HOW ABOUT A BLOW JOB?"
"Yeah! That would be schufficient."
The large figure suddenly seemed to get distracted.
"Miguel, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" asked someone in Spanish.
"Uh, is there schomeone else up there, schweetie?" called Murderface.
"UM, CAN YOU WAIT HERE A MINUTE, MY DARLING?"
"Schure!"
Up above, out of Murderface's hearing, someone was asking, "Miguel, you know your brother doesn't like it when you do that fucking nightclub act here."
"BUTT OUT," snarled Miguel.
"Seriously, we're gonna take away your Cher albums this time!"
"What? Ah, fuckin' a. Stupid one alpaca town I'm stuck in."
Murderface continued to wait, but the mysterious person had apparently vanished as quickly as she had appeared. He tried running upstairs to search for her room, but ran into Nathan and Ozzy, who had so far fallen short in their quest for drugs and/or broads.
“Nathan, did you schee where schee went?”
“Who?”
“There was a schexy schenorita, and sche wasch really into me.” His band mate boggled.
“Murderface,” Nathan intoned, taking his band mate by the collar. “WHERE DID YOU FIND THE AWESOME BLOW AND WHY DIDN’T YOU SAVE ANY FOR ME?”
Pickles and Toki turned a corner in the presidential palace and came upon one of the Generalissimo's henchmen.
He was not in a friendly mood.
“What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing?” barked the henchman, aiming an automatic weapon and Pickles and Toki. He spoke in Spanish, but his meaning was clear. Or would have been clear, to anybody besides a member of Dethklok.
“We ams looking for cocaine,” Toki cheerfully told him.
The henchman started to reply, but instead of speaking, simply emitted a gurgle, and fell to the ground.
“Oh, hellos Ofdensens! How ams your vacation?”
“It was pleasant, thank you, Toki. I went to the seaside, and had a hike.” Dethklok’s manager was already scavenging the henchman’s body. He handed the fallen man's automatic weapon to Toki. “Do you know how to use one of these, Toki?” The Dethklok guitarist replied by cheerily shooting out a nearby picture window as well as several suits of armor. Ofdensen and Pickles rifled through the former henchman’s pockets, Ofdensen coming up with a pack of cigarettes, and Pickles extracting something in a baggie.
“What ams happens to your shoes?” asked Toki, as Ofdensen lit up.
“I’d, uh, prefer not to talk about that now. How’s the, uh, blow, Pickles? Pickles?”
Pickles lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Ofdensen and Toki went to stand beside him. “Quando para mucho mi amore de felice corazon,” he said.
“It ams good I guess,” Toki commented.
“Any idea where the others have, uh, gone to?”
“Dey wents lookings for hookers and blows I t’ink.”
“Mundo paparazzi mi amore chicka ferdy parasol,” Pickles commented.
“We should probably, uh, go find them.”
“Yes, we ams not want to be late to Conchita’s weddings!”
“Uh, yeah, that.” And so saying, they each got an arm under one of the recumbent Pickles’s arms and pulled him up.
“Presto OBRIGADO tanta mucho Kay can eat it carousel,” the Dethklok drummer commented.
“What’s the deal?” asked the yawning henchman. Despite the recent coup, things were usually pretty low key in Santa Dominica, so he wasn’t used to being roused in the middle of the night.
“The boss is in a stew. He can’t find Lucinda.”
“Boy, there’s a puzzle. Three guesses what she’s up to.”
"Where is my daughter," wailed the Generalissimo. "Where is my Lucinda?"
The henchmen were pounding on a locked door. The door opened, answered by a sleepy looking blond man who was apparently wearing nothing but an electric guitar.
"Ja, what ams you wants?" babbled the naked blond man. The Generalissimo recognized him as one of the members of Mortal Wristwatch, or whatever that fucking band was called.
"I am looking for my daughter," snarled the Generalissimo.
The blond dude scratched himself and yawned. "Oh, why you ams not say dat? Hey, Lucindas!" The Generalissimo gasped as his daughter sheepishly emerged from the room, clad in nothing but a blanket.
"Lucinda!” screamed the Generalissimo. “What have you done to my daughter?” He demanded of Skwisgaar.
"Wow, you wants to know details? Dat's kinda kinky, dude."
Just then another blanket-wrapped figure emerged from the room.
"MARIA HELENA!" screamed the now angry and cuckolded Generalissimo.
"Er, I can totally explain this," Maria Helena told him in Spanish.
Maria Helena was followed by another woman who didn't bother to cover herself up. She stood boldly naked with her arm around Skwisgaar.
"MOTHER!!!" fumed the Gemeralissimo, shielding his eyes. "Oh my god, please put some clothing on!"
"I'm not ashamed of our love," the Generalissimo's mom averred.
Skwisgaar gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I did tells ya I'm seeings other people, ja?"
It was then that yet another woman showed up at the bedroom door.
The Generalissimo peered from between his fingers.
"Oh my god. GRANDMOTHER!?!?!" The elderly lady peered up from her walker and smiled brightly.
"Please," the Generalissimo pleaded, "Please tell me you don't also have my favorite horse on there."
Skwisgaar grinned.
From the room, a sound very much like a soft whinny emerged.
Toki had opened a door at random and then stared in wonder. It looked like someone's well-appointed office, though perhaps from an era 20 or 30 years ago. There was a large mahogany desk, and on top of the desk… Well, even Pickles the drummer had never seen such a whooping mountain of cocaine. It was seriously like the Everest of Blow.
Electronica music thrummed in the background. There was a strangely familiar man sitting at the desk, just behind the pile of white powder. His face was in shadows. All at once, he looked up and screamed, "I DO K- K- K- COCAINE!!!" And then he pitched over, face first, into the powder.
"Oh fucking Christ," said Ofdensen.
The man briefly raised his head and whispered, "Seriously, dudes. LOTS of cocaine." And then collapsed again.
Ofdensen slammed the door shut, and they continued down the hallway. And then Ofdensen and Toki reversed course, marched back to the door, and hauled Pickles away with them this time.
Nathan and Murderface heard the music coming from behind the door, so they knocked. It was answered by a very pretty young girl.
"Oh, thank god!" she exclaimed. "Girls, they've come to rescue us!" She threw open the door to reveal about two dozen young girls, dressed as if for a giant slumber party.
"We're just a tour group consisting entirely of college aged models and teen gymnasts!" the girl explained.
"Dawwwww," said Nathan.
"And we became stranded here. Do you think you could help us?"
"I dunno," said Murderface. "You guysch got any blow?"
"MURDERFACE," warned Nathan.
"What?"
"OK, what the fuck do you guys think you're doing?" asked the henchmen, who had suddenly appeared at the sound of people having a good time.
Nathan raised his hands at the automatic weapons. "But. But. GYMNASTS," he sputtered.
"Come on, our boss wants to talk to you."
"GYMNASTS," screamed Nathan as they marched him away. "NOOOOOOO!"
Guillermo the henchman stood at one of the balconies overlooking the rocky coast below, enjoying a smoke.
"So, did you get a chance to review your life insurance?" came a voice from behind him.
Guillermo didn't even have time to think, "Oh, fuck!" before he was tumbling over the balcony towards the sea, a hundred feet below.
"Boy, dat ams a long ways down," said Toki appreciatively.
"Yup," said Ofdensen.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Pickles. In a flash, Toki and Ofdensen were on either side of him, hauling him back over the railing.
The henchmen led Nathan and Murderface to a room that already contained Skwisgaar, plus, seemingly, half of the female population of Santa Dominica. He was contentedly strumming his Gibson, while also playing footsie under the table with an elderly woman who was wearing just a blanket.
"Hey, Skwisgaar," said Nathan. "Did you ever find any blow?"
"Nah," said the guitarist, "it ams been a pretty boring evenings."
"We might asch well have schtayed home," Murderface moped.
"I wish you had stayed home," brayed the Generalissimo, bursting in the door.
"Dude, no offense, but your country kind of SUCKS."
The Generalissimo frowned and lit a cigar. "And where the fuck are the rest of these guys?" he demanded of a nearby henchman.
"Uh, we can't find 'em, boss?"
"What?"
"Uh, yeah. And, some of the guys we sent looking for them? They're, like, dead. And stuff."
"What the fuck does ‘and stuff’ mean."
“Uh, it kind of means dead, too.”
“WHAT?” The Generalissimo seriously looked like he was going to pop a vein.
“There’s supposed to be this guy with no shoes who’s been going around, killing dudes.”
“What the fuck? These guys are all morons! How the hell are they killing our dudes?”
Everyone suddenly started to the sound of some automatic weapons fire and bodies thumping just outside the door.
Ofdensen and Toki marched in, carrying automatic weapons. Pickles drifted into, just behind them. Ofdensen immediately strode over to the Generalissimo and stuck the barrel of his gun into his face.
“I already fucking killed you!” sputtered the Generalissimo.
"I fucking GOT BETTER! Now, you have exactly TWO SECONDS to give me one of those fucking cigars!”
The thoroughly flustered Generalissimo gulped and handed Dethklok's manager a cigar.
"Oh, thank Christ!" Ofdensen said. He immediately lowered his weapon, and sank down next to Skwisgaar to light up.
"What ams happen to your shoes, dude?" inquired the guitarist.
"I don't want to talk about that. Can we just fucking go back to Mordhaus now?"
"Awwwww!" came several cries of disappointment.
"But I schtill haven't gotten any blow!"
"What abouts Conchitsa?
"Dude, there are GYMNASTS HERE!"
“Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.” (This latter was from Pickles.)
"No!" shouted the Gemeralissimo. "You people are evil!"
"Well, dat ams true."
"In one evening, you have ruined my daughter, and my wife, and my mother, AND MY GRANDMOTHER!!!"
"Skwisgaar! Dude!" said Nathan, clapping his band mate on the back.
"Aw, he ams exaggeratin'" shrugged the guitarist humbly.
“You know what I am going to do?" shouted the Generalissimo. "I'll tell you what I am going to do! I am going to restart production of ‘Corazon de azul!’ And I will have Yolanda GO MARRY THE LONG HAIRED GUY!"
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then some muttering from amongst the henchmen. “Dude, what did he just say?” “Said he’s gonna have Yolanda marry the long haired dude.” “He can’t fucking do that! She belongs with the eye patch dude!” “Yeah, Generalissimo is kind of a douche bag.” And there was more muttering, and quite a lot of frowning.
Suddenly, Toki boldly stepped forward towards the Generalissimo.
"Says hellos to my little friends," he barked.
He plonked a little Fimo clay man decisively down on the table.
The Generalissimo stood in silence for a long minute. And then he started laughing. It was a chuckle at first, but it soon deepened to gales of laughter. "You are the dumbest people alive! How do you assholes even get out of bed in the morning?"
Ignoring him completely, Toki withdrew a glass jar - one that had formerly held the pickled alpaca testicles - and plonked the little Fimo man inside. Then he replaced the lid and shook the concoction frenetically.
"You ams bad man, and you needs to be voodoo'd!" he announced, thumping the mystical brew down on the table.
The Generalissimo kept laughing. He laughed so hard, he seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. And then he was just rasping. He writhed, and gasped, and finally fell face forward onto the table. He silently clawed at the table for a time, getting weaker, and weaker, and finally dropped to the floor with a thud. He continued to writhe there for a long minute, and then with a final spasm, went very, very still.
Nathan looked down at the fallen Generalissimo, and then looked up at Toki, appreciatively. He put a hand on the guitarist’s shoulder. “Dude, I have to say, that is one of the most FUCKING METAL things I’ve ever seen.”
They all looked at the fallen man for another long moment.
“Do you think next time you could make his HEAD BLOW UP TOO?”
Ofdensen sat uncomfortably on the couch in Mordhaus’s gothic living room. He was still more than a little green around the gills from the excruciating Dethcopter ride back to Mordhaus. He had always hated this fucking room, and now hated it even more following the expensive redecoration attempt some time back. He was certain he’d gotten leftover sand in his shoes, and Pickles kept trying to snarf his bottle of 125 year old Scotch.
Ofdensen had managed to negotiate their way out of Santa Dominica with the newly installed leader on favorable terms, possibly due less to his arbitration skills than to the fact that the new Generalissimo was none other than Maria Helena, who seemed most interested in keeping Skwisgaar what she deemed an appropriate distance from her mother in law. In return for a simple vow to never, ever enter the country again, Dethklok was to receive a lifetime supply of good cocaine, plus several pounds of the really good stuff, a dozen kilos of the excellent stuff, some baggies of the absolutely primo stuff, a Tupperware container of the completely fucking blow your mind stuff, and a lead-lined tin of the you will lose bowel control and see the face of God stuff (as it turned out, Santa Dominica had no less than 256 different words for cocaine - who knew?). Plus, they received a pack of fine young alpacas. Which Ofdensen fervently hoped Toki had meant to secure for knitting purposes, and not voodoo purposes, though, as he had learned, sometimes with Detklok, it was simply best not to know.
Santa Dominica had also agreed to restart production of the “Corazon de azul” program, to be kicked off tonight with the much delayed nuptials of some character named Blanquita or Consuela or something. The new Generalissimo had, however, absolutely refused to take a suggestion from the boys that some character they referred to as only as “the long haired dude” be either shot or beaten up or both. As it turned out, this was the single favorite character of almost every female fan of the show.
Which just went to prove, women are weird.
Pickles was swiftly whipping through the channels.
"HEY, KIDS!" screamed a hyperbolic announcer. "IT'S HAPPY FUNTIME WITH DR. ROCKSO THE ROCK N ROLL CLOWN!"
"Hey, I know dat dood!" Pickles said, happily swigging Scotch directly from the bottle.
"WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE BEGINNING CREDITS PICKLES MOVE THE FUCK ON!"
On the TV screen, a particularly frightening man dressed in clown paint asked, "Hey, kiddies! How are you doin', you sick little motherfuckers, hahahahaha!"
Then finally the picture changed to a dramatic, back-lit photo of a raven-haired woman, and the title card, "Corazon de azul." The boys were all immediately captivated, variously shouting out bits of advice or abuse at particular characters and tossing beer bottles and popcorn at the screen. Ofdensen winced at every flung beer bottle, anticipating the bills for yet more flat screens.
At length, during the commercial break, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t, uh, seem to UNDERSTAND this program.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, and he realized five pairs of eyes were staring intently at him.
“What’s not t’ get, dood?” insisted Pickles.
Ofdensen huffily snatched his Scotch bottle back from drummer and poured another glass. “I mean, uh, the main character, Wanda?”
“YOLANDA!” boomed Nathan.
“Yolanda.” He insistently waved his glass at the TV screen. “Why is she with the, uh, guy with long hair, when she’s OBVIOUSLY supposed to be with that guy with the, uh, EYE PATCH.”
Suddenly everyone was talking at once.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2010-12-20 03:27 pm (UTC)You are officially my new favorite Metalocalypse fanfic author. How did I not come across you earlier?
Oh wow. My stomach hurts from laughing. You sir, are amazing. Awesomer than the awesomest awesome times infinity.
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Date: 2010-12-20 05:21 pm (UTC)