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Episode 01x03 - Turntable Accident

Icepunk:

I put on some clothes before heading outside. What a novelty!

Across the street is a 24-Hour Taco King. If memory serves, I believe that someone who works there is on my enemies list. I don’t remember who or why, but my enemies list is written in permanent marker - once you’ve made it to my enemies list, you stay there. Malex knows this well, so he tries to stay on my “not that bad” side.

As I cross the street, I pay no attention to the cars swerving and honking at me. If drivers can’t see a lanky, six foot two inch kid with awesome hair, they need their eyes checked.

An annoying bell rings as I enter the Taco King. I utter a curse that would curl Satan’s beard, which dislodges the bell from its precarious position above the door, and causes it to plummet to an untimely death on the floor below.

The startled cashier spots me at once. The poor man nearly jumps out of his pasty skin when he sees who I am. “Boof!” the poor dork calls out in alarm.

Boof comes out warily. “Icepunk, you know we don’t allow weapons in here.”

“Don’t got any on me man,” I say. “Seriously.”

“No broadswords, longswords, katanas, daggers, butterfly knives, switchblades, hunting knives,” the list rolls off his tongue smoothly. He must be aware of my violent past.

“Nope.”

He scratches his head. “Any .9 millimeters, .45s, revolvers, shotguns, or assault rifles?”

“Nope.” I remove my hands from my hoodie’s pockets to emphasize the statement. “See?”

He purses his lips. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here after what happened during the eighth grade play. You here to make a second trip to the ER?”

“So that’s why I put you on my enemies list!” I snap my fingers as the light goes on over my head. “You had the singular honor of punching me in the nose after I yanked your pants down.”

Not exactly sure what to make of this development, I scratch my chin and demand, “I need caffeine and nourishment now, you pimply-faced, underpaid franchise lackey!”

Without flinching, even in the face of certain doom, he says simply, “You do have money, right?”

I lean close and look him in the eyes. “You forgot to ask if I have any explosives,” I threaten sweetly, and smile as I let the thought sink in.

“Small, medium, or large drinks?” he asks resignedly.

Malex:

I watched as the ambulance sped away into the cold, black night. In my attempts to prove myself a worthy DJ, I had apparently done something so musically horrible, so viscerally disturbing, that it had thrust several of the people present into seizures. The club owner himself had screamed something about sacrilege before slumping to the floor with a near-fatal stroke.

I took the opportunity to slip away while those who had remained conscious attended to those who had not.

“Why? WHY ME?!” I bellowed to the heavens before, worn and dejected, I had finally driven off to find some food.

Icepunk:

Boof and his co-worker fearfully watch me snarf my dinner of tacos.

“Is he going to do that to us too?” the pasty little man whispers to Boof.

“He’s not a cannibal, Poo; just a psychopath,” Boof says in response.

I walk up and place the tray, along with my two-dozen taco wrappers, on the counter. “I know these things inside and out. Heck, I could probably make them better than you can,” I state matter-of-factly.

Boof glances at Poo, then back at me, as if he can’t believe his luck. “Oh yeah? I bet you couldn’t watch the place while Poo and I take our requisite six-hour break.”

A challenge worthy of Icepunk! At last! “Done.”

I shake hands with Boof and Poo, ridding myself of the mess on my hands from snarfing twenty-four tacos. They grimace and wipe their hands on their pants.

Malex:

My goal was a restaurant in a fast-food chain that served decent Mexican-style food. As I drove, I realized how blooming far it was from that club to the apartment, and was thankful that I hadn’t gotten a job there. It was nearly dawn by the time I got back to town, and pulled into the drive-through of the familiar restaurant.

I was feeling better after the club debacle, and was determinedly considering the day’s job searching. I wasn’t sure where I would look next, but I figured that nothing could be quite worse than the ‘event’ at the club.

As I pulled up to the speaker, I heard a familiar voice.

“Hey dude,” the familiar voice queried. “Would you like to try a chewy-beans pepper taco?”

“Icepunk?!” I was so surprised that I forgot to stop, which resulted in the destruction of one of the pillars supporting the overhang above the drive-through.

Icepunk:

Malex’s head appears at my drive-through window.

“Dude!” Malex sputters, “I just broke this pillar thing, but, more importantly, what the heck are you doing here?”

I take a swig from my second gallon of cola before answering. “Boof and Poo are out cow-tipping.” I belch heartily. “I think that’s where you get milk out of a cow by squeezing-”

“Very interesting, I’m sure,” Malex interrupts hurriedly, “but I have more pressing things to deal with - specifically, food and a job.”

“Well, there isn’t really any food here,” I say, “unless you want to try the crud in the back of the fridge, which I’ve chosen to call ‘chewy beans pepper taco’. It isn’t actually chewy though, just sort of cold and slimy.”

“No food.” Malex frowns. “What have you done?”

“I ate pretty much all of the food, and I don’t know how to use the grills to make more.” I shrug. “You could try the Dairy Duke though...”

“Bah.” Malex seems annoyed.

“Hey, before Boof ran out of here, I heard him talking with Poo about getting new jobs at MicroSlop. I guess they’re hiring.”

“MicroSlop? Hiring?!” the floating head outside my window yells before it disappears into the night with a squealing of tires.

Oh well. I shrug and return to my experiment.

Malex:

How fortunate that Icepunk had heard of a coding job at MicroSlop. They were one of the biggest software firms around. “Working for them,” I thought, “will surely put me squarely in the big league.”

In the short time it took me to drive to the MicroSlop office, the sun had risen, and normal business hours had begun.

Perhaps, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have accepted the job as quickly as they offered it, considering the picketers around the building and the fact that the receptionist hired me on the spot without as much as consulting anyone.

I realized that something was odd about the environment as soon as I was shown to my cubicle, but couldn’t quite pick out what it was. After admiring the cubicle and equipment for several minutes, I realized what it was that was strange about the whole setup. I jogged through the rows of cubicles to verify the assumption, and quickly came to the conclusion that, not only was my cubicle the only one in use by a human being, it was the only one containing anything at all.

As I digested this latest bit of weirdness, my cell phone rang.

“Hey Ice,” said I. “Yeah, I got a job right away! Isn’t it great?” Icepunk, however, was not quite as elated as I. “What?” I responded. “Fired already?! Why?” He was obviously angry about something, and wasn’t fully communicating the reason for his being fired, but what I heard disturbed me enough. “A cheese fire and BUNNIES?! WHAT ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH DOES THAT MEAN?!” I sought a clearer answer, but we were disconnected. Perhaps, for sanity’s sake, it was better that way.