The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Virginal Defense

The mission hasn't changed: Play defense until Okayden can sweep the ground with this bitch. He already beat a magic dick, so a second one should be a walk in the park. Or a flight. It's only a matter of time until the Vamwolf slips and faceplants into the ground.

Until then, I'll have to keep the now sweaty balls out of my face and I'll be fine. I have to follow the five D's of dodgeball if I want to survive: Dodge, Dive, Duck, Dip, and Dodge.

A ball surrounded by red energy comes rippling right at me. I dive out of the way towards my right, ducking as soon as I land, which proves to be my salvation as a ball of blue energy flies past where my head was a second ago. I dodge a third ball by shifting yet again tother right, this one with yellow energy, whizzing past my left flank. I dip to my right to pick out a ball from the ground while dodging a ball with green energy aimed at my left leg.. This is easy.

That is until I see to my right that I just ran out of room to Dodge, Dive, Duck, Dip, or Dodge. The only thing to my right is the edge of the floating platform, and the promise of a painful death via a Wile. E. Coyote-style slapstick fall to the ground. It seems that in my hubris, I failed to realize that each ball Jayden was throwing my way was slowly pushing me to the edge. Damn you, Patches O'Houlihan and your damn D's!

"I suppose you don't have a self-indulgent villain monologue in you right about now, right?" I ask the Mind Bitch. Is that a reference kids will understand these days? Ever heard of Criss Angel? You know what, don't answer. I feel old already.

"Fufufu, my droog, a horrorshow evil-doer does not make a monologue before winning," says Jayden, as three balls swirled around him like atoms. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you slooshy every slovo of my manifesto once I become the ruler of this forest. And then, the world! Hey, stop moving!"

Shit. I thought I could slip away. It wasn't a monologue, but a soliloquy. Damn you, Shakespeare and your short monologues!

"Was worth a shot," I say with a grin. C'mon, plot armor. You can kick in now. Any moment... take your time.

The lanky bastard laughs gently as the balls pick up speed, shining a murky black in energy. "How funny is your choice of slovos! Because a 'shot' is what I'll shoot now. Goodbye, my droog."

The three balls fly at me at the same time, curving and swaying mid-air in unpredictable ways to throw my groove off and stop me from dodging. Not like it's necessary. It's quite literally a shotgun of magic and death wrapped around rubber. All I can do is close my eyes and pray the balls don't break my face into a Handsome Squiward-esque monstrosity. Which I do. Come home, searing pain, my old friend...

And yet—like that one friend you keep inviting to hang out and say "Sure, I'm in," but when the day comes they give some bullshit excuse to miss it like "I have to shampoo my beard" or "I'm celebrating my dog's bark-mitzvah"—the pain never comes. What does come is a collective gasp from the audience and the classing *THUNK* sound of rubber balls hitting something hard. And it wasn't my face, which is the hardest thing there is in a mile.

I open my eyes to face... something. Something big, which blocks my view. Is it a wall? It's cold to the touch, and slimy, and scaly, and-

"Are you okay, Ayden?" says a voice. A snakey voice. A voice I've heard before. Can't put my finger where, though. I can put my finger on the scaly wall.

"I'm peachy. Could be better," I answer, because it is rude not to answer such an honest question. Still, I'm a bit worried about the absolute silence in the stadium. Did everyone see a ghost or something?

A voice pierces the silence from the bleachers, a voice I easily recognize as coming from the Minotaur.

"Holy Cow, Jerry is alive!"