Floyd's Blog

Floyd Blog-Week 1 “Action’s In a Name”

I’m being followed. I can feel it. The hairs on my neck tingle as I
step into Ralph’s “grocery” store. Who is this Ralph and how did he gain control of all
the world’s supplies?

I feel the eyes watching me as I examine the cantaloupes. Some call it “Sixth Sense”, some call it “Unagi”, I just call it my “Mojo Pujo”. And it’s going off like crazy. It’s screaming like the Russian Paratrooper I had to kill in Kiev. But that’s a different story, a different Ralph’s. Right now my Mojo’s telling me people here want me dead.

That Man. Trying hard to hide the slight twitch in his left leg as
he limps to the tomatoes. It’s obviously a war injury and he’s a
member of the lost tribe of the Hindi Anu warriors, secret assassins of
the far west. Yeah, he’s deadly.

The Woman. In the impossibly ugly hat. Sent here to lure me with her
feminine wiles. Her perfume bewitching me, seducing me into laying down my weapons. Yeah, Angelina Jolie tried that too. Two bottles of Crystal later and she was naked on the bed with an ecstatic grin plastered across her face, whispering, “Don’t go, Floyd, please don’t go” and me hopping out the window, “Sorry Angie. I gotsa.” Yeah, I know that tango and this is not my first time at the dance. This “Ralph’s” is a viper pit.

How did I end up here?

It all started with that note. The note. Stuck innocently under the
watermelon magnet on the refrigerator door.

“Floyd,

Need some T.P. Go to Ralph’s.

-T”

Obviously a code. Who was this “T”? What was he- or she- trying to tell
me? Was “T.P.” a new thermonuclear device designed to leave all of
mankind in a wasteland of destruction? Or was it the cure for a new
disease about to be unleashed by Mondango the mad scientist and my most
dangerous enemy? I needed to find out. But how? Dammit, How?!?

“Clean up in Aisle Six. Clean up in Aisle Six.” The voice rings out
through the halls of Ralph’s Lair. I look up and there it is. Above me, clear as day. THE NUMBER SIX. Looking down at me. Mocking me.

They’re on to me! And now they’re sending in a Cleaner! A Cleaner, whose job it is to wash my body in a chemical bath and say goodbye-bye to Floyd. Just like when I was supposed to pick up the “dry cleaning” at the “dry cleaner’s.” Another damn note. Yeah, right. They won’t get me that easily! Not this Cowboy! No sir!

With cantaloupes and other survival items in hand, I ran, ran, RAN like the wind.

At the end of the aisle I froze in my tracks. Between me and
the glass doors to freedom was an army of Degenerates, standing in rows and operating high-tech scanners. And waiting to be scanned were lines of ghastly-looking mercenaries, their war-scarred hands pushing red ramming devices up to the death-ray scanning machines. The look of death in their eyes. These humanoids were being “S” and “P’d”- Scanned and Programmed to attack and destroy me.

I scrambled for an alternate escape. Any escape.

Suddenly there it was. My chance. One of the older guards was leaving
his scanning post and the path was made clear.

I made a break for it.

I pushed my way through a crowd of the mercenaries, they screamed profanities straight from the Devil’s mouth, but I got through. Two obstacles remained: The Metal Archway of Doom and the Decapitating Glass Doors of Hell.

I held my breath, clutched my supplies close to my chest, and bolted through the metal. Suddenly deafening shrieks beeped, and beeped and beeped, a warning system was alerting the world that I was escaping. Shrieks of electronic protest- but I ran.

I made it to the glass doors. I screetched to a halt as the doors closed in front of me with deadly precision. Then they opened. They were taunting me, daring me to pass. And if I didn’t time my exit right my head would be rolling down the block. And if that happened, what would the world do?

One…two…three! I leapt for it. The glass doors crashed closed behind me but goddammitt, I made it.

My heart raced as I headed for my Dodge Charger- I was almost
There! Again, I was about to cheat death and everything nefarious and evil.

And then, a sharp pain shot across my back.

They got me! I fell across the hood of my
trusty Charger. Cantaloupes everywhere. Life ebbs from me. Through the
haze of pain I hear a voice. “Did you get the T.P?” I look up. TED.
TED? Is that you? My oldest friend. My most trusted associate. He left
the note. But why? Why Ted? WHY?!?!?

I will never know. The sound of sirens, everything goes black, and I
hear Ted call out, “FLOYDD!!!!!!!!”

Then nothing.

Oh well. It was a good day to die.


I don’t have thoughts

I don’t have thoughts, I have instincts. Killer instincts. I don’t think. I react.