Slyfox

The Hunt For Red-Eyed Vic or Rotgut Sunrise, Bloodshot Eyes

Dongo had reached his ultimate destination, well, at least until another shiny thing caught his attention. The triumphant trio (one of his potatoes had grown limbs and became really life-like after Dongo had dropped it into a toxic waste pool) had trekked from Arroyo to Klamath, pissing off the local tribals and pissing on the local spore plants. Now, they were standing in the Klamath Bathhouse, and Dongo was getting ready for his bath.

“Is that a gecko in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Jenny inquired.

Dongo looked down, reached in and pulled Harold out of his pants.

Harold pulled faces that made him look as if he was constipated or something. “It seems our friend Dongo got the notion of ‘Dongo stuff you down pants!’ in his head and tried it out on me. Come on Mr. Potato Man, let’s go get wasted at Sojag’s.”

A while later, Dongo emerged from the Bathhouse after adding a few more stains to the bed’s description and trotted down to Sojag to catch up with Harold and Mr. Potato Man.

“Wench! Bring me ale!”

“Yea, verily! This search for the Holy Hand Grenade is making me thirsty!”

These shouts came from a group of armoured men sitting in the corner of the bar, quaffing their ale and swapping stories of interesting things they’ve slashed to pieces with their swords. Dongo spared them a glance, and headed over to where Harold and Mr. Potato Man were downing shots of Roentgen Rum.

Aside from drinking radioactive booze, Mr. Potato Man was impressing the chicks by re-arranging his body parts. Strangely enough, it worked. He disappeared for quite a while in one of Sojag’s rooms. Which left Dongo and Harold to drink and philosophise.

“You reckon we’re closer to finding your big purpose in life, Dongo?”

Dongo took a swig from his brew. He stared long and hard at the Vault of The Future poster on the wall, smacked his lips and shrugged. “Nope. Don’t think so. Still need to find what’s-his-face… Vic.”

“You reckon we should probably get started on looking?”

Dongo took another swig. “Probably. Get Mr. Potato Man — we’ve got a Vic to find.”

A while later, they were standing outside Sojag’s, waiting for Mr. Potato Man to attach all his… er… parts to himself again. Apparently the girls had been a bit rough. In any event, they trudged down to the run-down shack with the big “Vic’s” sign on. Inside, it was empty, save for a whole lot of Cat’s Paw magazines and a screwed up radio.

As the trio stepped on a piece of planking covering the floor, said planking suddenly splintered and they fell through a big hole. Right on top of a pile of bones.

After numerous curses, shoves and pushes, they finally got disentangled, patched up Mr. Potato Man’s body parts again, and took their bearings. They were in a big tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel there was a light.

“You think we’re dead?” Dongo asked.

For an answer, Harold smacked his head. “Gee, Toto, I dunno. Let’s skip down this freakin’ golden road! Stop being such a dumbass, Dongo.”

And so, they set off down the tunnel. As they stepped into the light, they stood still a bit in the sudden light, so that their eyes could adjust. After a while, they became aware of a deep growling noise.

“What the hell is that?!”

Suddenly two red slits appeared in the gloom, and one hell of a big, hairy thing came into view.

“Crap! It’s a molerat! Run!”

Dongo flung out a arm to stop mass stampeding actions. “Wait a minute, something’s not right here. That kinda sounded like…” He pursed his lips thoughtfully and stepped closer to the thing.

“Hey, you go right ahead. If it snaps off your arm, don’t expect us to come running.”

Harold and Mr. Potato Man edged closer to the exit of the cavern while Dongo approached the thing. It was covered in fur very similiar to a molerat, but the shape of the body was all wrong. It was big and fat, all right, but something was out of place.

A red eye flicked open and looked up at Dongo. Determined, unwavering in the face of Ugly, Dongo reached to the thing and parted some of the fur, exposing a old, white shirt with a name written on it.

“Guys… I think we’ve found Vic!”

Vic looked up at them with bloodshot eyes, belched forth a cloud of noxious fumes and puked on Dongo’s feet.

“Now just look at my Nikes, dammit!”