Writings » Saint Butchley

Saint Butchley

By Buttermilk Baby at 2007-11-05 | Action, Comedy, Ridiculous! | Printable version

SAINT BUTCHLEY 

            I never would have guessed I'd be in this situation yesterday.  It's crazy. The last twenty-four hours have been nothing like anything I ever imagined.  I stand here, on the edge of a New York high rise holding a nude infant in my left hand, and a piece of fried chicken in my right.  Choppers hover above blazing spotlights in my eyes and whirling blades in my eardrums.  Police are down below shouting up at me.  I can't really hear them.  Thirty floors up is quite a fall, but maybe in my current state I can survive it.  Or maybe I'm just an idiot, and I'll smash my face in on a parking meter or small dog.  Why I'm up here is the reason you're reading this.  So here's why...

PART 1

            It was cold and windy, snow covered the ground, and it was around ten a.m.  My wife and I were ice-skating in the park, although I was doing more ice chomping than skating.  She is the most beautiful woman in the world, her name is Saint Butchley.  Yeah, it takes some getting used to, but most Navajo names do; like running bear and squatting archer.  I met her in grade school, and then I broke her neck in a fishing accident, but made up for it by nursing her back to health in a shed behind the power plant.  She should have gotten medical attention but I didn't want to go to jail, so I took the task on myself.  I attached a cannon to her back and tattooed a racing stripe on her face, it's pretty cool.  She wouldn't agree to such an upgrade, so I did it while she was sleeping.

            While we were taking off our skates a man in a red tuxedo started levitating.  Just as I started yelling at him to stop, I was grabbed from behind and pulled from the bench which I sat.  The man in the red tuxedo floated over to me.  I tried to break free, but my captor had the upper hand.  The man in the red tuxedo reached toward my groin so I flinched.  But he really wasn't reaching for my groin; he was in the act of stealing my wallet.  I started to panic, screaming, "Rape! Rape!"  The man in the red tuxedo started flying towards a van parked at the corner.  I wasn't concerned about Saint Butchley due to the fact she had a cannon on her back.  I was released but not in time.  My captor had vanished, the man in the red tuxedo long gone, and my wife lay dead with a severe slash in her throat.  She wasn't my concern though.  My wallet was gone.  My master card was in my wallet, so was my lucky rabbit's foot.

PART 2

            I was sprinting after the van swerving in and out of traffic.  I spotted the license plate, it read BUSTER.  I gave it all I had but I slowed down to a jog, then to a stop.  I looked to my left, speeding cars; I look to my right, a fifty-year-old woman on a purple huffy.  I gathered my self and clothes-lined her off the bike.  She hit the ground like a rock, her hip shattered into sixty pieces.  I mounted the ten-speed and started pedaling.  I jumped off a kid's back while he was shooting marbles, and cleared a fruit stand.  I was moving faster than I had ever moved on a bicycle.  Nothing was stopping me, not intersection or mother with a baby carriage. 

I could still see the van over the traffic just as it made a right turn on two wheels.  Knowing that street was a dead end I tried to cut the van off.  I quickly slid around the first corner.  I pedaled like an S.O.B. on fire.  When I got to the end I whipped a left turn.  The van was head straight at me.  Assuming it would stop I dropped the bike and stood there, in the center of the road.  It plowed into me like a freight train.  I flipped up into the windshield shattering it, then proceeded to flip over the roof of the van and land on my face in the street.  My shoulder was dislocated and my face was cut to shreds.  I looked like a walking yeast infection.  I stumbled into a nearby shop.  They were selling jet packs.  I asked if they really worked, they lied and said yes.  I asked again, they lied again.  I grabbed one of the larger ones and ran out the door.  I would have paid for it but my wallet was in the hands of that menace, the man in the red tuxedo.

In the middle of the street I ripped the start cord like I was starting a lawn mower.  A flame blew out the bottom and burned my ankles.  It was a lesson well learned.  My shoulder was still jacked but I started to lift off.  I was at forty feet before I knew it.  The little gauge in my hand was flashing E.  I didn't know what it meant because the little F at the other side of the gauge wasn't doing the same.  I tilted forward allowing myself to gain speed.  I was over the van in no time but I didn't know how to descend, so I decided to pull a "James Bond."  I got out of the jet pack and fell towards the van.  I landed on the roof dislocating my other shoulder.  It wasn't exactly like Bond, but it did the job.  Being aware of my presence, they started swerving left and right.  I slid off and crashed into a public mailbox.  It was over; I couldn't get up or even move my arms.  I passed out laying in children's letters to Santa Claus. 

PART 3

I woke up an hour or so later in a hospital bed.  I had full movement of my arms and my face was stitched up.  No one was around so I hurled a chair through the window.  I jumped up onto the ledge and leapt out the shattered window.  Much to my surprise the fall was one of eight stories.  I smashed through the roof of an ambulance and landed on a seizure patient.  His seizing stop instantly as he died.  I was fine though, so I kicked open the doors and took off running down the street. 

I stopped a Chevy avalanche; perhaps one of the ugliest vehicles ever made, and got in.  The driver wasn't too happy, but either was I, my wallet was gone.  I started to drive but then realized something, not that there were three kids in the backseat; I realized I had no idea where to go.  So I dove from the vehicle.  I rolled for a good thirty seconds.  I got up in time to see the car plunge into a lake.  My only chance was to find the man in the red tuxedo. 

I went to a police sketch artist.  He began to draw from my description.  The picture ended up looking like a perfect Charles Bronson.  But in actuality the man in the red tuxedo looked more like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman.  This was no help.  I left the police station in anger.  The falling snow began to turn into rain.  Any chance I had of getting my wallet back was gone. 

I suddenly heard the sound of a motor scooter.  A man in the biggest fur coat I have ever seen pulled up next to me.  His beard was white but his long hair was bright orange.  This led me to believe one or the other was fake.  He asked only one question, "Would you like to get your wallet back?"  I nodded and he said, "Get on."  I felt weird since the scooter was only meant for one, and there wasn't too much room.  He said it again, louder this time.  I stood on the back, as far from him as I could.  I asked no questions even though I should have.  We smashed the speed limit 3 times over.  His scooter must have been supped up or something.  He was ripping wheelies all the way down 5^th street.

We stopped outside an abandoned factory in the industrial district.  He said, "You'll find all your answers in there," and he pointed to the building.  He handed me a pistol.  I hopped off and turned to say thanks but he was already ripping a wheelie all the way down the street.  I then flipped into stealth mode...

PART 4

I kicked the door in and fired seven warning shots into somebody's chest.  I figured shoot now and gather details later.  "Where is she?" I yelled.

"Where is who?" somebody yelled back.

"My wallet."

"You're in the wrong building punk.  The man in the red tuxedo lives next door." I stood there for a second thinking.  I fired another shot at a guy with crutches.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Next door!!!"  They all yelled in unison. I realized I wasn't paying much attention when the man on the scooter pointed.  So I ran next door.  I went to kick that door in too but I twisted my ankle.  It was locked.  So I fired three shots through the deadbolt.  Then, with all my force, I pushed the door open gently.  Four men were sitting at a table in the center of the room.  They all looked up at me at once.  The man in the red tuxedo was among the four.  He floated from his chair and out a skylight in the ceiling.  I began to run for the stairs but the other three blocked my path.  There was a short one with a huge mustache, a large one wearing a cape, and a wizard with a magic wand.  I shot the little one, then the huge one, and then I aimed at the wizard.  No bullets came out of my pistol.  It was empty.  After what happened next, I came to the assumption that I should have shot the wizard first.

He started shooting nude babies at me from his wand.  I dodged them best I could.  They were slamming into the wall behind me as I ran up the stairs.  Babies were bursting through the windows left and right. But I couldn't dodge forever.  One hit me right in the face forcing me to fall to my back.  I caught the infant as it dropped out of the air.  It had the face of my dead wife, Saint Butchley.  I was shocked.  Could this be her in another life I thought, or just a coincidence.  Even though the baby had a penis, I couldn't take the chance it wasn't her. So I picked up the baby by the leg and ran up the stairs to the roof. 

The man in the red tuxedo floated there, over the edge.  "You evil man, give me back my wallet!" I shouted. Then, he finally spoke.

"You call this a wallet?"  He held it up.  "This fanny pack, HA," he laughed.

"Don't call it that.  It's a wallet!" I shouted back.

"If you're seventy, retired, and live in Florida it is," he replied chuckling.  I stood there for a second in the cold rain.  I then started running at him, baby and all.  He started levitating backwards, so I leapt off the building after him.  I tried to grab his leg but missed.  I fell onto the roof of a smaller building.  I made sure to protect myself by using the infant to cushion the fall. The man landed in front of me laughing.  "You'll never get this back, fool.  I have your master card." He began to laugh at me.   My anger towards the man was growing.  I charged him again, with all my force this time.  He swiftly strafed to the left.  I fell on my chin and slid a good four feet.  I clenched my fists tighter than ever, only to hear the cracking of infant anklebones in my hand.  I realized what I was doing as the infant let out a whimper of great pain.  Just as I looked down to it I was hit with a right hook strong enough to level a house.  I flew backwards as if I was in a kung fu movie. 

The back of my brains slammed into an electric meter, and the rest of my body finally hit the ground.  I was still holding the Saint Butchley baby look alike.  My jaw must have been broken because when I tried to say, "I'll get you for this," it sounded more like, "Margaret go Margaret."  Blood began to stream from my busted chew box.

He then flew at me faster than ever, I was taken back so much I couldn't even move.  He threw the best spin kick I ever saw.  I swear twelve of my teeth must have flew out.  The whole time I spent spinning in the air after the kick I thought about a few things.  First, why am I here?  Why am I here getting punched and kicked in the face?  Second, why am I holding a baby?  And third, the least important, why did he kill my wife?  I was baffled.  Time then sped back up to normal and I landed on a shattered coke bottle.  There was a lot of blood now.  Pouring from my mouth, and trickling from the embedded glass shards in my back.  He just kept laughing at me.  I decided to attack him one last time.  But this time I'll be smarter, I'll wait until he attacks and I'll counter him.

"You're really ruining my night, you know that?"  He said smirking.  I acted angry, but I was really excited to do my next attack.  He then flipped the coat tails on his red tuxedo and charged me again, even faster this time.  I smiled and threw the baby in his face. It hit him like a sack of bricks and he began to slow.  But just as he got to me I dropped to my knees and dealt the most powerful low blow in United States history.  It could only be described as shameful.  I might have even broken my hand doing this. But to see his face in a complete state of distraught was well worth it.

PART 5

I had won.  I had my wallet back, and a child who looked just like my former wife, the late Saint Butchley. It was a day made in heaven.  Or perhaps hell, one or the other, it doesn't really matter. 

I walked to the edge of the building to look down on the city I had just taken back.  When I got to it I was greeted with three police choppers shining lights in my eyes.  I looked down only to see more police, and SWAT vans parked below.  I then realized it must have been all those warning shots I fired.  I held a nude infant in my left hand, and a piece of fried chicken in my right.  Don't ask how I got the chicken, I don't even know. 

Choppers hover above blazing spotlights in my eyes and whirling blades in my eardrums.  Police are down below shouting up at me.  I can't really hear them.  Thirty floors up is quite a fall, but maybe in my current state I can survive it.  Then, I get a brilliant idea.  I'll jump onto the skid of the highest helicopter, swing from that, fall precisely between the blades of the middle chopper, and layout, landing completely flat and unharmed on the blades of the lowest one.  I will then stand up on the spinning blades, and use their momentum to launch me into a super jump across the street, landing on that building below.  Yes!  This will work I think to my self.  I back up, preparing for the speed I'll need.  I toss the baby on its head; but then I remember the baby was in my left hand and not the fried chicken.  I then pick up the baby and put down the chicken.  I get set to go again.

This is it; don't get scared now, I tell myself.  I start running.  I approach the edge.  At the last second I remember the man in the red tuxedo with the groin injury.  I quickly look back to get one last glance at this menace.  He's not there.  I'm so shocked I lose my footing.  No! Not now!  No, I think as I start to fall over the ledge.  I only have one option, save the child...

I hurl the infant upwards towards the loving arms of policemen in the chopper above.  I give it one more smile before I perish. The baby shreds through the propellers like hay in a tornado.  My smile turns to shock.  I just killed the reincarnation of my wife, and myself as well.  This day just keeps getting better.  Or worse, I always confuse those two. 

The fall takes nine millennia, but it doesn't feel like that at all, it feels more like two seconds.  I glance back at those important moments in my life, like Salsa con Carne nights at my favorite Mexican restaurant, "Los Banditos Regulos."  Those were the days.  Back then, all you needed was some- my thought is cut off by the sensation of my face slamming into an awning.  I flip like a ten-year-old Russian gymnast.  If my jaw wasn't broken before, it sure is now.  I lose my sense of the surroundings.  My body pierces the ground like a tattoo of an Irish man on a gay man's inner thigh (totally not a cool thing to see).  Brain matter is splattered up to twenty yards away. 

I'm no longer alive, but I am aware of the next events that conclude my story.  I lay there motionless, dead of course, and the man in the red tuxedo approaches my corpse.  He proceeds to take out his reproductive organ, and begins urinating blood all over my face and chest.  He then takes my wallet again and walks away.  He is humming the theme to the Andy Griffith show.

 

THE END