By vysethebold . September 22, 2007 . 4:36pm
Last time, our hero, vysethebold, drank some Game Fuel and found that his Gears of War skillz where slightly more 1337 than usual. However, Funky Fresh can still frag him pretty good. Will vyse be forced into early retirement and be forced to drink prune juice to stay regular, or will he exact his revenge on his wanksta nemesis?
I hop into my '96 Camry aka "The Love Machine" and pull out of my driveway with the lust for the only radioactive orange soft drink that can insure my victory. On my way to the convenience store, I get the urge to turn on my local top 40 station. I was really taken aback by this sudden compulsion. I've never had that specific urge in my entire life. My usual music choices include things like the "Strongbad Techno" from Homestar Runner and "Simon's Theme" from Castlevania 2. But something compelled me beyond my usual level of consciousness. What was left of my normally cool and collected inner monologue warned me that it was indeed a horrible night for a curse.
I found myself listening to some song about an umbrella. I wanted to rip my ears off and eat them with a spork, but I kept listening to it occasionally tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. Then the DJ came on and announced, "Alright, alright, alright, this one's been gettin' da showties all in a tizay. Here's my man Justin Timberlake!!!"
"Oh, great," I thought to myself, "This song will surely be epic. How could millions of preteen girls be wrong?" The first couple measures of the song thump through the speakers of "The Love Machine," rattling my already barely there transmission. As the first lyrics enter my ear drums I hear someone yell, "Oooooh yeah. Jay TEEE is the guy! This thang is da JON!" I look around so I can yell at the ignoramus and berate him for his lack of taste. I mean what does "jon" even mean? Then I realize I'm stopped at a traffic light with no other cars in sight. And my windows are all UP. I realize I'm alone in my steel chariot with no one to emit so much as a sneeze besides myself. I quickly shut of the "music." My car's retracting antenna winces with a mechanical whine as it tries to do lower, as if just it were a gazelle walking away from being mauled by a cheetah that barely escaped with its life. I feel an abundance of fear in my eyes and shame on my soul, a sensation not felt since my pants ripped and revealed my Ninja Turtle briefs to my entire sixth grade lunch period. Yet, for some unknown reason, I still fight with my whole being to turn the radio back on. Luckily I am only a block away from the convenience store and Mountain Dew nirvana.
I bust into the doors of the store with a confident swagger, almost knocking over some 40-year-old soccer mom carry two gallons of one percent milk. She gives me the evil eye but I ignore her. She'll soon forget me and go back to her meaningless existence of sweat pants and Weight Watchers meetings. I walk straight to the beverage fridges in the back. I open the fridge door and find the most horrifying discovery: they're out of Game Fuel. There were no bottles to be found. No cans to be had. No Dixie cups with Game Fuel residue were in sight. There is only an empty section between Mr. Pibb and Fanta. "What the crap is this? Where the stuff at!" I blurt out not even thinking about the actual content of my words. The clerk looks over his counter and lets out a sigh.
"We're out," he says in a disinterested tone.
"What do you mean you're out?"
"We ran out like an hour ago. That Asian kid kept coming back and bought all of our stock."
"Don't you have any in the back or something? I need it now! I NEED IT NOW!" I exclaim while licking my lips while somewhat crazed and wild eyed.
"Look, dude, maybe you can try the store in the next town over. I hear they just got in the Game Fuel Slurpee flavor."
My eyes light up and I know that nothing would get in the way between me and Mountain Dew Splurpee bliss. I have a thirst for the Slurp, and it must be satiated.
To be continued…