Fight Club Redux: Ambler Style
“Well,” the older gentleman, who went only by the name of Floyd (though everyone knew that was not his real name), yelled to no on in particular as he stood on the cement curb. He surveyed the scene while fingering the triggers of the two 12 gauge shot guns holstered in the recesses of his leather trench coat. “Are we fixin’ to do battle, or what?”
Earlier that day, he tested his secret toxic recipe of shot.
“Pull,” Floyd screamed. Winston, his manservant, threw a small puppy high into the sky. Boom! Canine bits littered the back forty of his estate. “I think I’m even ready for Kopcow,” he whispered to himself, “should he ever show his face.”
As the clock approached
The tall ninja with the baseball cap sauntered up to the curb opposite the one called Floyd. He had just broken three girls’ hearts (wink wink) and killed a panda at the zoo, just to see if his blade was sharp. Like inhaling the essence of a fine, rare wine, the ninja loved the smell of a freshly skewered endangered animal. Resigning to the ‘bowing lotus’ attack position, the ninja drew his swords and waited.
The third contender, nicknamed ‘The Professor,’ balanced on the retention wall railing far above the lot. Unarmed, he carried nothing but a messenger bag until he made a squeaky kissing sound. Immediately two giant cats flanked him – one a tortie shelled mix and the other a Siamese. The professor pulled two dripping baby limbs out of the bag and tossed them into the air. Like furry lightning, claws ripped the fresh flesh from their ascending arc; a moment later the parking lot resonated with the thick stereo sound of purring.
A man in a sport jacket emerged from the shadows behind the laundromat and weighed his competition thus far.
“Giant cats, nice,” he said approvingly. Removing his PDA from his inner coat pocket, he pushed some buttons before placing it on the hood of a Ford Bronco. The obligatory blue electrical light of evil-science shot from the PDA enveloping the vehicle which twisted and screamed metallic. Seconds later, a giant robotic rabbit burst from the steely womb and stood beside its master. The previous summer his robotic chipmunk experiments had destroyed a full herd of vacationing nuns in
They heard another player enter the arena before they saw him. His crystal armor clinked and clattered down the pavement long before he turned the corner into view. Luckily the sounds warned them before they beheld what looked like a crystal figure covered in red paint. His grumpiness stemmed from the clunky, awkward nature of his armor and the great amount of time it took to find fifty gallons of virgins’ blood.
“Stupid whores!” he hollered to no one in particular. “You try to find a virgin round here,” he screamed across the lot.
“Heh heh,” the ninja laughed.
“Well, we ready?” hollered Floyd.
“WAIT!” screamed the newest member as he rounded the corner. He burst into the light holding a belt with two swords in one hand and a pair of kittens by the scruff in the other. “One minute,” the large man said. He placed the sword belt on the ground and with his free hand, ripped off his shirt.
“Hey,” said the ninja. “That one looks like my cat.” Then he took one kitten in each hand and pounded them into the asphalt. Using the blood of the kittens he lathered up his upper body.
“Fluffybutt?” cried out the ninja.
“Now I’m ready to rumble,” said the newest warrior.
“Alright,” said The Professor, licking baby blood off his fingertips. “Let’s fight!”