"Hoops, Yoyo, Piddles? Yeah, they sound like real bruisers all right Bob. Tell you what, you just go ahead with this meeting, and I'll leave you alone. We'll settle this another time. By the way? Selena Gomez just got her aorta blown apart by a microbomb."
Bob's eyes started to tear up, he put his hands in his face and started sobbing uncontrollably. But it wasn't sad sobbing. It was psychotically insane.
"Just go." Were the only two words the mansion owner said. "Just go."
Ballanton took the tickets and returned to his car. He sat in the drivers seat for a few minutes before answering his phone. "Yeah, I did what you asked, Joker, the place is clean, squeaky. Chris should be there in a few hours, as should Barney Fife. I'll go handle the situation in Tokyo. We don't want to spoil HIS return, now do we?" He hung up the phone, a smile spreading across his face. "Too easy. C-C-C-C-COMBO BREAKER!" He laughed insidiously.
The flight from LAX to Tokyo International was a uneventful one, save for the violent, rough, fatal sex he had with a flight attendant.
Where at the end, he simply snapped her neck.
Tore off her skull cap.
Sucked out all her innards through the space where her cerebral cortex used to be.
Afterwards, he hocked a loogey into her now empty skull cavity.
Reattached the skull cap.
Crammed her lifeless husk of a body down the toilet, and flushed many times.
After making sure that her foot had gone all the way down, and it wasn't clogged...
He sprayed some Fabreeze.
He yawned, returned to his seat, and took a nap the rest of the way there.
Jack's voice could barely register to James as he was sizing up the weirdly Miyamoto-ish Tails Doll.
"****, you had to go for the Akira look didn't you!? I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS!" James siddenly got distracted by a ball of yarn. Then he got distracted from the ball of yarn by the big bleeding Tails Doll that stood roughly seventy stories tall, and was thirty stories wide. "What the **** were you saying you ugly piece of socialist crap?" He shouted back to the phone.
"Who am I?" The voice crackled over the speaker phone, "I'm the guy telling you you're full of ****."
James rolled his eyes, stepped on yet another button, and a Anti Aircraft turret swiveled into place, unfolding like a Transformer reject. "Wow, how original. You fail."
"How can you tell me I am a failure at life and I have made nothing of it, when you are the clown who doesn't even know who the **** I am?" Jack shouted, his voice somewhat distorting.
James thought the answer was fairly obvious. "IT'S BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE YOU JACK WAGON!" He grabbed the triggers and squeezed hard, the recoil shaking the dislocated joint back into place with a sickening pop. "Where's that damn Advil!?"
"You are addicted to pain killers, have chronic back pain, and make numerous grammatical errors while trying to convince me and others you could survive in any real political debate."
"**** YOU GRAMMAR NAZI! I'M COMING AFTER YOU AND YOU'RE WHOLE DAMNED REGIME! GIVE ME THE DAMNED PROOF!" James shouted as a city bus sized chunk of the Tails Doll crashed to the city streets below, crushing a few school buses full of Middle School kids. the middle bus, which was full of Goth and Emo kids, had the displeasure of bursting into a fire storm from the inside before exploding.
"Proof?" Jacks laughter simply ticked James off. "What a chump! I'll prove there is no Middle Class right after you prove I'm a Socialist with Far Left Elitist views. Moron..."
James and the Tails Doll paused to ponder the level of stupidity. The giant scratched his head, turned to James, and in a rare moment of saying something completely original, asked a question. "Didn't you justprove that he is what he's asking you to prove? What the hell is his problem?"
James was a little shaken, "I don't know Tails Doll. I don't know. By the way? **** YOU!" he fired again, aiming the stream of bullets across the giant's neck.
The host thought of his answer for his apparent inquisitor. "Far Left Socialistic Elitism requires a feeling of superiority by pointing out others short comings instead of actually answering the challenge. Now answer the question jackass. Can you prove that the Middle Class does not exist in America?"
"That doesn't prove ANYTHING! Go on..." Jack said silently, knowing that James had some sort of answer cooked up.
"It's pretty simply really. You reject the notion of a Middle Class. This class is achieved through hard work and achievement, the status isEARNED. Much like those that are rich have earned what they have." The stream of bullets ripped through the Tails Doll's neck, severing the head that bounced from building to building until it cratered in the spot where the previous chunk had landed, killing off any Goths or Emos that survived the initial firestorm, giant wad of bleeding cotton and cloth, or explosion.
"That says nothing about me though James, what other retarded explanation could you have in that channel surfing mind of yours?" Jack giggled, sounding like a little school boy getting hit by a bus at sixty seven miles an hour.
"You reject every point of view that I have as wrong with little or no supporting statements. You said that I just keep ranting and raving about capitalism, that it's too **** stupid to realize capitalism, and a free market shouldn't have existed." The roar of the Tails Doll pierced the night sky, sending a shock wave into the night that parted the clouds. The body exploded into the largest **** cloud of Tails Dolls he had ever seen.
"Why not just change your name to Socialist Jack for crying out loud? Yes, we don't have a totally free market economy, but our main vehicle for the American economy is capitalism. Dee dee dee!" James finished by simply sitting down. His mind trying to think of a way to combat this cloud of Tails Dolls, all of their bodies in tatters, bleeding and singing that damned song in child like voices. he started break dancing all over the button like panels on the floor.
Guns of every make, shape, size, caliber, fire rate, ammo type, barrel number, and firepower rose up through practically every beam, bolt, floor, window, wall, ceiling, cubical wall, phone, toilet bowl, every square inch of the building he owned exploded into hundreds of thousands of guns pointing in every concievable direction.
"NOW WHAT!?" James roared happily.
Back in the States, Jack turned on the BBC where a news break popped up, interrupting his favorite soap opera, "Dildos Of Our Lives", for a special report on the Tokyo Tower, and a massive cloud of what appeared to be stuffed animals in the likeness of Miles Tails Prower. "Jesus ****' Christ!" Rista shouted as he spit out his ramen noodles.
Jack was forced to agree with Rista as he laughed nervously. "Just listening to you ramble on is **** hilarious. Yeah I'm an elitist because you're illiterate. The rich earned what they have?" He paused to laugh, and promptly **** himself when the news choppers zoomed in on billions of guns firing trillions of bullets into the quadrillions of Tails Dolls flying around the building. "Why... The ****-OH ****- would I use statements supporting- GOD DAMNED! RISTA DID YOU SEE THAT? WHO THE **** IS UP THERE- my claims? You can barely read- is that... No, it couldn't be! its can't be- let alone comprehend what the **** is going on because you've been taking so many painkillers." Jack roared in anger as the cameras revealed the one aiming all of those guns with a Minority Report like technology was none other than James Onikia, leader and host of the Gathering.
The image of James looked into the camera and smiled brightly as the flashes of bullets made it seem like a scene out of a science fiction movie. "You mad Bro?" He asked proudly.
"You're so **** stupid it hurts my brain!" Jack shouted.
"And you know what? That makes me sad." James replied in his best Droopy Dog voice.
"I have no idea how you can even claim to feel sad for me, when you are bumbling around in the dark, what a buffoon!" jack shouted into the phone, glaring at the image of the business owner gone Rambo on Meth and Steroids.
"You ARE the definition of Socialist, you flaming bag of douche and dicks." James replied, not really paying attention to the conversation at hand, but rather the annoyingly huge amount of demonically possessed stuffed animals trying to kill him. Jack couldn't really tell the difference.
"I should give you the definition of socialist too since you obviously don't know that either!" He shouted into the phone as the camera in the news chopper was splattered by blood, and the screams of the pilot as the dolls painfully crammed his head into his own **** while throat **** him with their outspread claws drowned out the noise of the gunfire and the screams of the people down below.
A few hours had passed, and the quadrillions of Tails Dolls had been whittled away to a few hundred thousand with the help of mid air tactile nukes, cluster cruise missiles, and lightsaber grenades.
He was tired of dealing with this jackass on the phone.
More than a little tired of the song the dolls kept on singing.
At his wits end with the amount of gun fire, choppers exploding in mid air, and Glenn Beck. He had been asking the same stupid five questions all night long. He casually set the controls to autopilot, and just for the **** of it, targeted the last remaining Emo kid, who was updating his Live Journal post. He aimed a extremely high powered antitank sniper rifle that could turn a sperm whale into pink and black mist at the kids laptop, pulled the trigger, and watched with a slightly psychotic joy as the Emo kid exploded into ash.
James gave one final yawn and spoke into the phone. "Work is over and you aren't worth my time arguing with. Enjoy your teen angst... Douche bag Socialist." He smiled sleepily. "You don't even have a picture. It's okay though, you were a pretty ugly dude, so no picture is better than the one you previously had up!" With one final laugh, he hung up the phone, took the elevator that led to the garage, got in his car, and drove home for a good nights rest.
Jack was pissed. Even though he was quite butt hurt over the fact that James had hung up on him, he still hung onto the phone like some obsessed teenage girl after being dumped after a really good date. "Hey," He sniffed, tears forming in his eyes as Rista put on a strap on pine cone like drilldo and walked over to him. "At least now we know you don't know what the **** you're talking about."
Rista bent him over the table, took a knife, cut his pants off, and without the comfort of lube for Jack, proceeded to damage his mind beyond repair.
"Mission accomplished- DEAR GOD WHY!?- getting your dumbass to-OH MY ****! STOP, STOP, STOP- stop talking as if you know dick about politics or the real world. Have fun in your drug induced coma!GIVE IT TO ME HARDER YOU STUPID BITCH!"