Monster Games: Part 6

“Touchdown Bears, Motherfucker!”

Dee Ess and The Trash sat in a bar in District 7, swilling beer and talking shit. The numerous massive flat-screen televisions that surrounded them projected crystal-clear images of football players running, throwing, catching, tackling. On this screen the Carolina Panthers were annihilating the Patriots 83-3. On this screen, the Bears were somehow also pummeling the Patriots 143-2 – and the first half wasn’t over yet. Tom Brady had been murdered in both games.

“This is MAWESUUUUMMMMM!” bleated Dee Ess through a mouthful of burger.

“This is, erm, how you say…the fucking shit,” assented The Trash. “And I can’t a’belive that the Michelle Beadle is our a’waitress, o-la-la, bleep bloop.”

“You kinda said it, Mayne,” said DEE ESS. “I just love a place where I can funnel meat and watch guys pound on each other!”

“Female utterance!” yelled The Trash “I like this so much, I think we should both to put a star by it so we may return and experience later.”

Dee Ess smiled and nodded but suddenly grew contemplative. He squinted as if trying to see not to some other place, but some other time. A time forgotten. After a moment, he reversed course, turned to his compatriot, and spoke.

“The Trash…how did we get here?”

#

TEACHERMAN

Booze, must find booze. I think.

It has been hours since my last drink and I have a headache and also I can’t stop shaking or pooping. Stop pooping!

After I stepped off my platform into the arena, I ran immediately for the woods, not even bothering to try to grab anything from the Pile of Treasures. Nevertheless, I did manage to grab a small backpack as I ran. Opening it later I found it contained one book: The Easy Guide to Hacking into Videogum and Changing Everyone’s Upvotes (Especially Your Own!) by some guy named FLW. No booze. No ties. Not even a cravat. Worthless.

Must rest. I stop and lean against a tree. From behind me I hear a strange voice, “What is up, Brrrrrrrro? You want to ally with me? We could be cool friends. Thumbs up, guy!”

I turn around to see a man dancing with a cat. It is a strange sight, but then again, this is the Whoops Arena, so I suppose I better get used to strange sights.

“Do you have any booze?” I ask, my throat and liver yearning.

“No,” he produces a small, plastic bottle from his pants, “but I did get some rubbing alcohols from the Pile de la Treasures.”

“Good enough,” I counter and swipe the bottle. I take a swig and the burning is excruciating; I immediately feel as if I am going to vomit. “Ahhhhh…that’s the stuff. What’s your name, friend?”

“Je m’apelle The Trash. Soy de District 7.”

“Nice to meet you The Trash. Name a Teech. I think you and I are gonna be alllllllll right.”

Just then, a massive image lights up in the sky. It is President Gabe. “Good morning, tributes!” his voice booms across the Whoops Arena. “Well, I guess it’s not exactly a good morning for you because you are all going to be attempting to LITERALLY TELL JOKES SO THAT YOU WON’T DIE! Haha. Classic game. You guys ever think this game is TOO NORMAL? Let’s just go ahead and sign this game up as a card-carrying member of the Yawn Committee and invite it to the Nappingsteins Bar Mitzva because it is just THAT NORMAL. I guess what I am saying in a very straightforward and not at all roundabout way is that it is time for the first post. You know the rules. Just shout your jokes and they will be recorded on the thread and voted on by the Blogitol. Get upvotes and you survive. Get downvotes and YOU DIE. Ugh, this game. Go to bed, this game. Aaaaaand…DING DONG!”

The image of Gabe disappears and is replaced by one of Gwyneth Paltrow next to the quote “I am the worst” with a block of text underneath.

“What does it read? Something about Frau Paltrow and her new perfume line?” asks The Trash.

“Who cares!” I cry. “It’s Gabe. It’s a five-paragraph rant about how she sucks. Make with the jokes!”

My head is swimming with possible jokes. More like Old Play? Just in time for 2012! That is just Country WRONG!

I keep rifling through possible ideas as I look back to the sky. 48 posts? But…it can’t be. It’s only been…30 SECONDS?? I scan the thread looking for inspiration. Some are funny. Some are tired. A few are hilarious. A few have gifs and jpegs attached – The Careers no doubt, who would have picked those little nuggets up at the Pile of Treasures. A shirtless picture of Ryan Gosling? A shirtless picture of that one male tribute from District 12? What is even going on???

My head is swimming. I can’t think of anything. I look at The Trash. He seems to have gone blank too. I am going to have to post for both of us. Overhead, the thread just keeps refreshing. 98. 144. 180. So many TWSSs.

“A POST FROM TEECH AND THE TRASH!” I scream. “UMMMM…WE THINK THAT GWYTHETH PALTROW IS….UHHH….VERY PRETTY AND…A GOOD ACTRESS TO BOOT. WE WOULD LIKE TO GET MARGARITAS WITH HER AND FIND OUT MORE ABOUT GOOP!”

Oh shit. What have I done??? I look over at The Trash. He has a look of utter horror on his face.

“Why would you say such things?” he weeps.

The downvotes pour in. The trolls come out. Some calls us racists? We get attacked from all angles. Then, a sound. Someone is behind us.

I turn. Dismyni, Dee Ess, Pollie Theen, and Ankur Manadge, all of whom I remember from training. They look at the screen in the sky. And then back at us.

“Mayne,” Dee Ess looks pleadingly at The Trash, then at me. “What have you done, bro?”

Suddenly, President Gabe comes back on screen, adorable dog in hand.

“Hello, fellow monsters. Sorry to interrupt the first thread of the day, but it would seem we already have the lowest rated comment in the history of Monster Games. That includes last year’s post from Bweno Swenyo. Bing Bong, time to die!”

From out of the dog’s eyes come piercing lasers, cutting through the landscape and heading towards both The Trash and me. There is no escape so I lie down on the soft ground, resigned.

“Oh hell no!” I hear Dee Ess’s voice above and behind me. “They’re dying just because they expressed a positive opinion about someone Gabe hates! This place is so hive-minded, bro. I QUIT!” Dee Ess lies down next to me and The Trash joins us.

“It has been the honor to have fought alongside the dos of you. Domo arigato,” The Trash utters.

I can hear the laser’s approach, felling trees and cutting a swath in the earth. I can feel it’s heat nearing. And just as I am ready for my fate, Skeledog emerges from the woods, walks over and licks my face. I smile. I am ready.

#

Teacherman found himself standing outside the door to an unknown bar. Although he had never been in this place, seen this door, he knew he wanted to enter. Even from out here, he could smell the aroma of a cornucopia of fried foods, hear the football games being broadcast and the sporadic roars of cheering. As he went to pull the handle, the door opened from inside.

“Dee Ess? The Trash?” Teech uttered in shock.

“It’s about time, Mayne!” Dee Ess clapped Teech on the back and laughed.

“Welcome,” The Trash smiled, handing him a beer, “to El Heaven.”

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