SmackDown: MadMike's Revenge!

Round 1, Team 2: LAD - @NimrodKirkpatrick

LAD

by NimrodKirkpatrick

"I don't believe this shit," the man mumbled to his computer monitor. He took a sip of his extra-large Watty and grimaced in disgust. Picked a stray orange pube from his tongue. "They didn't even read my fuckin' story! The fuck is this comment supposed to mean, anyway!? 'Loved the way Pixy Dust rode Unicron LOL!' There wasn't any Pixy Dust or Unicron in my fucking story, nor was there anything remotely funny in it! What the hell are you LOLing at, you dumbass!?"

He rubbed his temples, leaving orange Cheetos dust behind. His head killed right now. Had been hurting a lot lately, but this took the cake. Nobody understood his beautiful writing. Their comments were irrelevant. It made him sick. Made him want to teach them all a lesson.

A grin worked its way across his pale face.

Yeah. Teach 'em all. A lesson.

The man brought up the profile of the latest imbecile to comment on his riveting story. Got a good look. Memorized the name and the face.

He went to his gun rack. Grabbed his finest and most powerful weapon. Locked it and loaded it.

The hunt was on.

He had barely set foot out of the house, his most prized and powerful weapon in hand, when he was caught unawares and shot in the face.

And he died, though it really is true what some people say; death is only the beginning.

Of course, if you try telling that to a bloke who's just been shot in the face then he's quite likely to tell you to do one, and rightly so. There's a time and a place for such lovey dovey, designed-to-make-everyone-except-the-subject-of-said-statement-feel-better statements and directly following said subject's death by death has never been, nor will it ever be, that time and place combination.

"Yeah?" he said. "Do one, fucko."

Told you...

"Well, I never!" said Amersham P. Shirley as the recently deceased turned on his heel and stormed away.

Amersham P. Shirley did, of course, ever... He was the self-appointed Life After Death, or LAD, welcoming committee after all, and as self-appointed LAD he had, during his several trillion year tenure, been told to do one in that exact same manner on no less than three hundred and seventeen billion occasions.

That really is an inordinate number of times for anyone to be told, essentially, to go fuck oneself.

A lesser individual might have taken it badly, but not Amersham P. Shirley, for Amersham P. Shirley knew what was what. After several trillion years in his self-appointed role, following his death several trillion years and a couple of Big Bangs ago, Amersham P. Shirley had developed skin thicker than that of a randy rhinoceros and it's those randy rhinos, as I'm certain you're aware, who have the thickest skin of all.

It has to be said, that thick skin was not the only thing Amersham P. Shirley could liken about himself to a randy rhinoceros. Indeed, for after being buggered countless times, by choice, I hasten to add, by many such rhinos, his arsehole had since become the perfectly proportioned receptacle for many a randy rhino's cock.

And he loved it. Amersham P. Shirley loved when those rhinos ravaged him, especially when they made him wear his bright orange t-shirt with the 'w' on it.

This story is not about Amersham P. Shirley and his rhinoceros fetish, nor is it about the bright orange t-shirt with the 'w' on it. Nor, in fact, is it actually about Amersham P. Shirley, self-appointed LAD, in any way shape or form.

No, this story is actually about Robby the Randy Rhinoceros.

You see pre-death and subsequently, pre-LAD buggering fetish, Robby the Randy Rhinoceros was a writer. He was not a good writer but he was by no means a bad one, either, especially when one considers his heritage and the difficulties he, as a rhinoceros faced, in attempting to use a keyboard.

But he did the best he could and achieved moderate success.

However, following a very drunk and dirty weekend in a seedy Bed & Breakfast in England's North-West with a stoat, a packet of jelly babies and an aging prostitute named Beryl, Robby the Randy Rhinoceros thought it would be a wonderful idea to post a comment or two upon one of the stories he had been following since its inception.

Those comments, it has to be said, did not go down at all well, and he heard on the grapevine that the writer upon whose work he had commented had taken such offence to his drunken text-speak comments that he was, indeed, on the hunt for Robby.

So Robby the Randy Rhinoceros did what any other randy rhinoceros would have done in that situation and got there first.

He travelled back in time - because everyone knows rhinos are capable of shitting all over physics - and stole a cannon from a sinking ship, one of those ones that went down in the Napoleonic Wars, it doesn't matter which one, and then travelled forwards in time - because once again, as far as rhinos are concerned physics can fuck off - set up said cannon at the end of his target's garden path, and waited.

In fairness he did not have to wait too long and within the merest of moments the front door opened and MadMikeMarsbergen stepped forth.

"Fuck you, MadMikeMarsbergen," said Robby the Randy Rhinoceros, although to be fair he did not utter those words in English. They were, in fact, spoken in whateverthefuck language rhinos speak.

Oh come on... I mean, do you know? I sure as fuck don't!

Robby the Randy Rhinceros had already lit the fuse, of course, and as such the timing could not have been more perfect for at that very moment the cannon fired straight into the target's face.

It took out the house behind, too, which Robby thought was a bit of a shame. You see rhinos, whether they be randy rhinos or otherwise, were firm believers in rehousing and whatnot.

Having killed MadMikeMarsbergen, Robby the Randy Rhinoceros firmly expected some law enforcement agency or other to come knocking on his door. This did not happen though and Robby the Randy Rhinoceros lived a long, happy and prosperous life, going on to star in such hit movies as Die Rhino II: Die Harder, Arhinolypse Now, Full Metal Rhino and Rhino What You Did Last Summer.

Robby the Randy Rhinoceros was married seven times, too. His first wife, whose name he could never quite recall entirely because rhinos have always been renowned for being terrible with names, was a stripper he met on the set of Arhinolypse Now. He won an Academy Award for Best Actor whereas she won several million dollars in the divorce settlement.

After that, Robby the Randy Rhinoceros was far more careful, though no less womanising and he died peacefully in his sleep between his two wives, Wilma Flintstone - for not only could physics fuck off, as far as rhinos were concerned, but reality could, too - and Betty Rubble.

One can imagine though, the children he left behind were fucking weird looking and suffered years of bullying and abuse at school and to be fair, throughout their entire lives. Then again, they were half-human half-rhinoceros so they probably had it coming and besides, having inherited their father's fortune between them they were all fucking minted so it's probably fair to say, they really didn't give a shit.