DIPSHITS UNITED INTERNATIONAL
A group of figures congregate around a campfire. Tiki torches dot the surrounding area. Before the night is over, Melvin Beauregard will have to contend with the fact that these torches have been stolen from the poolside patio, because that’s just the sort of shit that happens when you let a mannequin tend the bar. Of course, he will also have to reconcile that a goddamn campfire has been started in the middle of his resort, so maybe the tiki torches really aren’t that much of a problem in the grand scheme of things.
Seven of these figures mill about, while the other five are stationary because they are not people at all. The human-to-replicant spread is the kind of ratio most colleges dream about for their students and faculty, but if this was a university then no one would go here because King Blueberry would be chair of the biology department and Bobby Dean would be running the dining hall, so students would likely spend their time either poisoned or starving. At least the Solid Gold Rock And Roll boys would make music theory interesting, but we don’t offer that as a major, and this school isn’t accredited.
That got off the rails a little bit. Let’s recenter. Where were we again?
Oh, yeah. Dipshits. Campfire. Tiki torches.
In the midst of this nonsense, the Blueberry boy holds a stick full of marshmallows over the fire. A few feet away is a cardboard cutout of Cher to which someone has taped a pair of replica Universal Championship belts.
King Blueberry: Alright, folks. Shit just got real. In a few minutes we’re heading outside to push a big rock, and we need a plan. Now I don’t know if Team Hey-Cool-PRIME-Has-A-Homeless-Tag-Team-Now has a plan, but you can bet that Team Dickpills does, because if there’s one thing I can tell you about Jonathan Rhine is that if that man has a thought about anything then holy shit he will let you know. That guy’s worse than a Facebook vegan.
He draws the stick away from the fire and tries to shake out one of the marshmallows, which is now charred and smoldering. The shake is a little too aggressive, and the marshmallow takes air before landing on the majestic, voluminous perm of cardboard, uhh, Cher.
King Blueberry: That’s probably fine.
It bursts into flames.
Bobby Dean: Awww, can I still eat it?
Doozer: Don’t answer. He’s gonna eat it regardless.
No one responds, as Bobby looks at the burning carcass while licking his lips lavisciously.
King Blueberry: Anywho, floor’s open. Who’s got ideas?
Near the back of the group, Nate Colton develops a sudden interest in his feet.
King Blueberry: I swear to god, if I have to start calling on people like we’re checking homework…
He begins waving his marshmallow stick around like a conductor, pointing at each person nearby in turn. As he does, a blob of molten marshmallow flies from the end and lands across the ample, buxom chest of Charity. Beside her, half the face of cardboard Cher has burned away.
Bobby’s attention is now focused on the new smoldering marshmallow, but he’s not the only one, as Super Cool Guy gazes at his love interest so intensely he hasn’t even blinked this whole time. The two men are probably staring for completely different reasons, but that’s not for us to say. Bobby licks his lips once more, but is suddenly smacked on the back of the head by his fellow Bandit and neighbor, The Dooze.
Doozer: No! Bad Bobby!
Figuring there was no better time to bring some sense into the situation, one of the Nates finally speaks up.
Nate Colton: Well…
The young superstar looks at the somehow-and-most-likely-self-appointed leader of Team Delta Upsilon Iota, and suddenly finds himself the target of King Blueberry’s full attention. It’s very unnerving, and he quickly tries to look at someone else. Unfortunately, everywhere else he tries to look is somehow worse.
Nate Colton: It’s a safe bet that the other teams are going to try to mess with us. It might be a good idea for one or two of us to play defense, keeping eyes and ears open for when that happens.
The Blueberry strokes his chin thoughtfully.
King Blueberry: Hrm. Good point, good point. Alright, Colton – it’s Nate, yeah? – consider yourself our official taze-man.
He reaches to his waist, where a stun gun is clasped to a belt like he’s Darth Goddamn Vader. He unhooks the weapon, and tosses it lightly towards Colton.
King Blueberry: Knock yourself out. Or, not. Preferably someone else. Someone else would be cool. Bonus points if that someone else is also on one of the opposing teams. Capiche?
Nate fumbles the catch a bit, then becomes even more concerned when he realizes what he has in his hands. He certainly didn’t expect to have a taser thrown at him (lol, newb.)
Nate Colton: I’m really not comfor–
Bobby Dean: So if Nater-tot over here gets a taser, what do I get?
Nate Colton: Here, you can hav–
Everyone Around the Campfire: NO!
Doozer: Please don’t give him that, please. I cannot say please enough, but yeah, please don’t do that. Pretty please.
Bobby’s hopeful look slowly evaporates as his smile turns upside down. Suddenly a large bag of giant marshmallows lands in his lap, and his eyes go wide. Looking up he sees King Blueberry with his arm extended, after having just thrown the bag across the empty space between the two. Blueberry smiles, and offers a wink to the now happy big man, as the big man begins to stuff his cheeks full of the gooey goodness like a chipmunk with nuts.
Bobby Dean: Th..k jew…
The Boston Bruiser known as Doozer shoots King Blueberry a mostly menacing, with a hint of jealousy, glare. His left nostril and eye twitch simultaneously, as his face turns red and a vein in his forehead becomes visible. Unable to control the oncoming outburst, the old man stops trying and jumps up to his feet, garnering the attention of all those around him… well, kinda… cuz… y’know…
Doozer: First off, spit that shit out.
He barks, while pointing an angry finger at his fat friend. Bobby just looks up at him like a sad, little kid, hoping his puppy dog face will somehow reverse Doozer’s directive.
Bobby drops his head and opens his mouth, letting the disgusting mix of saliva and half chewed marshmallows drip out of his pie hole. Blueberry has to look away after being pretty sure that he saw a tear fall down shortly after the thick, sugary, spitlike substance.
The Elder Bandit grimaces at the sight of his pathetic partner before turning to address the others encircling the campfire.
Doozer: Hear me now!
He bellows, sending those slumping around the fire into perfectly postured pupils. Filmix squints, then deadpans…
Nathan Filmix: Is the fire speaking to us now?
Trent Sadikaj: Are we the Ninja Turtles or something?
Doozer: Shut up.
Trent Sadikaj: Don’t remember Splinter being so rude, but I’m sorry.
Pretending he didn’t hear the latest Canadian quip, The Old Bull redirects his focus back to the group.
Doozer: Look, fellas. It’s pretty clear that no one is expecting any of us to survive this contest. From Team 80’s Canadian Pornstars, to the literally and theoretically handicapped Blue Crew-
King Blueberry raises a finger in objection, only to catch Bobby shooting him a look of “don’t, it’ll only get worse” and quickly lower it.
Doozer: Not to mention, I’ve got to push TWO boulders down the strip.
He shoots Bobby a glare so strong, Dean doesn’t even need to look up to know it’s happening.
Doozer: To be honest, the only team worth worrying about in our tribe consists of these two lamers named Nathan.
The Honourable Dooze gestures forward Filmix and Colton.
Doozer: No offense.
They both shrug, realizing there’s no point in responding any other way.
Doozer: Which means we should all vote them out, when the time comes.
Both Colton and Filmix throw their hands up, looking cross at the standing Bandit.
Both Nates: What the-
Doozer: You idiots want to argue how you’re more useless than any other team you’re lookin at?
They simultaneously shake their heads and settle back down.
Doozer: So yeah, we’re the underdogs. And that’s putting it nicely.
You can almost feel the collective morale dropping with each word.
The Bostonian raises a pointer finger to the sky.
Doozer: Underdogs CAN win. And for those of you who know the story, just before one of the biggest examples of an underdog pulling it off, their coach said to them… and if any of you go into this contest with anything in your little peabrains, please let it be this…
He waits for all eyes to be on him, or at least close as a few are still wondering where he is..
Doozer: FULL EYES AND CLEAR HEARTS CAN’T LOSE!
Blueberry jumps up, pumping his fist into the air. The Canadians look teared up. Bobby, however, cowers while cautiously raising a hand.
Bobby Dean: Uh, Doozy? Buddy? Don’t you mean clear eye-
An open hand shoots in front of Dean’s chubby face.
Doozer: One more word from you, and I’ll do the whole fed a favor and cut that tongue out of your mouth.
Bobby’s head falls again, while he mumbles…
Bobby Dean: I could still use one of those text to voice things-
Doozer: Those won’t bring your sense of taste back.
Bob’s eyes nearly pop out of their respective sockets as the rest of the group gasps.
Bobby Dean: YOU MONSTER!
The Dooze finally cracks a smile.
Doozer: Save that energy for the boulder. Let’s go, freaks.