High atop the south wall of Bookshelf Battle Headquarters, I dialed the number for Network News One.
“Hello?” a lackadaisical operator answered. “Network News One. How may I direct your call?”
“I need to speak to the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties!”
“Ugh, the hundredth time tonight,” the operator said. “Sir, I’m going to tell you what I told all the other perverts. Yes, we realize that the Hot Ass Blonde Chick is quite fetching but she’s a serious journalist and doesn’t have time for…”
I cut her off.
“My name is Bookshelf Q. Battler,” I said. “She’s been working an angle on the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse, trying to prove my fellow Funky Hunk Bernie Plotznick and I and a bunch of survivors are still within the East Randomtown limits! Get her on the phone before I’m blown the hell up!”
“One minute sir.”
Some muzak played.
“La, la, la…muskrat love,” I sang to myself.
The voice of a hot chick picked up.
“Bookshelf Q. Battler?” the blonde reporter asked.
“Yes. Is the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties?”
“It is. My God, you really ARE alive!”
“I sure am and Bernie Plotznick, my girlfriend, my deformed kid, and over a thousand survivors are at my house!”
“I knew General Morganstern was up to something,” the blonde reporter said.
“Do you have a chopper?” I asked.
“Sure. The NN1 Sky Copter is parked at the West Randomtown Shop N’ Slop.”
“I need you to get in that helicopter and get to the address I’m sending you,” I said.
“You’ll come outside so we can catch you on film?” the blonde reporter asked.
“Better,” I replied. “My associate and I are going to put on the greatest concert East Randomtown has ever seen!”
“I’m on my way.”
I handed the space phone to Alien Jones. He released it and it floated into the air.
“Can it work as a microphone?” I asked.
“Yes,” Alien Jones replied. “I’m syncing it to pick up your voices now.”
“How the hell…CAN IT DO THAT?” I asked, noticing my voice was being broadcast all over the compound. “Whoa!”
Three F-15s ripped across the sky.
Alien Jones snapped his fingers and the pilots’ transmissions were played over the space phone.
“Overlord, come in overlord. This is Buzzkill. On my six are ShockinAwesome and Limpwrist. Over.”
“Guys,” Limpwrist said. “I thought we talked about this. My call sign is ‘Hellfire.’”
“Screw you, Limpwrist,” Buzzkill said. “You show up late for ‘Cool Ass Fighter Pilot Call Name Assignment Day,’ you end up as Limpwrist. Suck it up.”
Below, I could see the townspeople standing around my yard, listening intently.
“I read you, Buzzkill.”
I recognized that voice. Morganstern was Overlord.
“Overlord we’re over the target now. Ready to turn East Randomtown into a crater and fry those zombie freaks. Over.”
The survivors gasped and started to panic.
“Copy,” Morganstern said.
“Overlord, you’re sure there’s no one alive down there?” Buzzkill asked.
The F-15s made another pass over BQB HQ.
“Affirmative,” Morganstern replied. “Jesus Christ, are you one of those hippies who whines about blowing up a whole town? Light that shit up already!”
“Preparing to light it up, sir…”
Alien Jones snapped his fingers and his space phone produced a dazzling strobe light effect. It also cast two spotlights on Bernie and I.
“Ready?” I asked Bernie.
“Shit son, you know my ass was born ready! FUNKY HUNKS IN THE HIZ-OUSE!”
Alien Jones wiggled his fingers again and the space phone shot up dazzling holograms of fireworks straight up into the sky. They were fake but to the untrained eye, they looked like the real thing.
“What the hell was that?” Buzzkill asked.
“What?” Morganstern asked. “What’s going on?”
“Come on all you East Randomtown survivors!” Bernie shouted, his voice amplified through the magic of alien technology. “Put your hands together and make some noise like your lives depend on it!”
It’d been years since my days as a Funky Hunk, but seeing Bernie in his element brought it all back.
“Because it does, yo!” I shouted. “Yo, yo, yo I’m Read N’ Plenty!”
“And I’m MC Plotz,” Bernie added.
Together, we said in unison, “AND WE ARE THE FUNKY HUNKS!”
The F-15s made another pass.
“Overlord, there appears to be some kind of nerd show going on down there,” Buzzkill said. “Over.”
“Bullshit,” Morganstern said. “You’re seeing things. Blow it all up! Now!”
“Are you nerds ready?” Alien Jones asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.
VGRF kissed me.
“For luck.”
“Thanks baby,” I said. “But Read N’ Plenty don’t need no luck because he got mad ass skills! Hit it!”
Alien Jones snapped his fingers and the space phone laid down a hip hop beat.
In the distance, I saw a light and heard helicopter blades whirring. The NN1 SkyCopter drew closer, coming to a hover over BQB HQ.
“Aww shit,” Bernie said. “The Funky Hunks reunion show broadcasted live.”
Suddenly, it was like we were both in our early twenties again. We were jumping, running around, performing sick dance moves, all the while debuting Bernie’s latest jam:
STRAIGHT UP FLOSSIN’
Yo. 2015. Funky Hunks back on the scene.
Check it!
You’re out on a date with a fly ass honey.
But damn that girl be lookin’ at yo ass hella funny.
I wonder what the hell does she see?
Awwwww shit! It’s a rogue chick pea!
Time for the chorus:
Straight up flossin! Straight up flossin!
Now here’s some advice that yo ass better not be tossin!”
Alien Jones twirled his finger again and the space phone displayed the Network News One feed on a holographic monitor large enough for the whole crowd to see.
Kurt Manley was in studio.
“Sources say that the Congressman located his pants and issued a contrite apology to his constituents. In other news…”
Kurt pressed his finger down on his earpiece.
“Hold on. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going live to the NN1 SkyCopter where the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties is covering a breaking story. Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties, are you there?”
The F-15s swooped overhead once more. Bernie and I kept jamming, keeping an eye on the coverage.
The crowd didn’t care for us at all, though some of the forty something moms in denim stretch pants in attendance did sing along. The faux fireworks continued to brighten up the night sky.
Wearing a pair of headphones, the blonde reporter, sitting in the back of the helicopter, appeared on screen.
“Yes I am, Kurt,” the reporter said. “I’m reporting live over the home of East Randomtown resident, Bookshelf Q. Battler. As you recall, General Morganstern told me earlier this evening that there are no survivors remaining in town, thus clearing the way for an aerial strike, yet as you can clearly see below…”
The camera man zoomed in on BQB HQ. We could see ourselves on the screen. Bernie and I waved.
“…the poorly reviewed late 90’s/early 2000’s rap duo known as ‘The Funky Hunks’ are performing an impromptu performance of their wholesome hip hop to a large group of survivors.”
Bernie and I kept rapping.
When you hang up yo toothbrush yo job aint done.
Get that floss on that bicuspid, son!
There’s all kinds of shit behind your incisor.
Cavities between teeth can be a real surpriser!
“Damn,” Kurt said. “That is the worse music I have ever seen.”
“Agreed,” the blonde reporter said. “But these nerds have blown the lid off a vast conspiracy tonight.”
Morganstern’s voice came over the space phone. Alien Jones amplified it loud enough that the blonde reporter’s mic was able to pick it up way up in her helicopter.
“Buzzkill, blow that bitch out of the sky.”
The F-15’s tore up the sky once more.
“Overlord, have you lost your mind?”
“She has entered a restricted area! Do it!”
“ShockinAwesome. Limpwrist. Let’s head back to base.”
“I HAVE GIVEN YOU A DIRECT ORDER!” Morganstern hollered.
“Court martial me if you want, General,” Buzzkill said. “But I’m not about to murder a bunch of civilians, especially the Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties. She’s a national treasure.”
Bernie and I wrapped up our song and I looked at the holo-screen.
“Kurt, did you get all that?”
“We sure did, Hot Ass Blonde Chick With Big Titties. General Morganstern has a lot of explaining to do. We’re going to stay with this story as it develops. Meanwhile, is your cat trying to sit on your face and suffocate you while you sleep? A prominent veterinarian will weigh in after this commercial break…”
The NN1 SkyCopter banked right and took off.
The crowd cheered and celebrated. Alien Jones cut our mics off and caught the space phone as it landed in his hands.
“Um, nerds?” the Esteemed Brainy One said as he pointed his finger towards the neighborhood.
AJ pressed an app that turned his phone into a powerful pair of binoculars. I looked at the screen to see a legion of hungry zombies marching down the road.
“It’s not time to party yet,” AJ said.
Bookshelf Battle 