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Yu-Gi-Oh! Chronicles of an Average Joe (PG 13, Part One, Chapters 1-6, bios)

Kenny Bohner

By Kenny Bohner
in Creative Writing

How'd you rate the novel?  

2 members have voted

  1. 1. How'd you rate the novel?

    • 1... YOU SUCK!
      1
    • 2... YOU SUCK SLIGHTLY LESS!
      0
    • 3... you suck, dude
      0
    • 4. "Meh" is being generous
      0
    • 5. Meh
      1
    • 6. Not too exciting
      0
    • 7. None too shabby
      0
    • 8. Not bad!
      1
    • 9. Good- I like it
      1
    • 10. ZOMG I now worship you!!
      3

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Kenny Bohner Newbie

Kenny Bohner

Posted
Posted

Hello! I'm the author and main character of this fanfic, and I just wanted to give you a bit of a heads-up; I swear. So, be warned. To really get into this story, though, you'll need the bios:

 

[spoiler= Bios]

 

NAME: Kenneth Roger Bohner III

 

BORN/DIED: March, 8, 1990/ Not Applicable

 

APPEARANCE: Dark, mid-length, messy hair, darker-than-your-average-cracker skin, blue eyes, with a yellow ring around the pupil. Height: Six feet even. Weight: Two hundred and ten pounds. Almost no facial hair; a trace of a moustache. Somewhat bushy eyebrows.

 

PERSONALITY: Considered highly intelligent by those close to him, and jokes around a lot. Has a care-free attitude, leading people to believe that he never takes things seriously enough. Screw them, eh?

 

OCCUPATION: Currently unemployed.

 

DECK: Warrior

 

ACE: Supreme General Ukitake

 

BIO: Born in Philadelphia, to Kenneth Bohner II and Judith Mullen, in March of '90. Moved to Brooklyn, New York on Independence Day, '93. Sister, Danielle, born exactly a year later. September '94, moved to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Moved back a year later. Starts Kindergarten almost immediately, meeting Joey. April 15, '96, sister Gabrielle born. Summer, '98, parents divorce, mother moves to a small town outside of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. May, '02, wins first Duel Monsters tournament, in New Rochelle, New York. March, '06, obtains driver's license. June, '08, graduates from high school, rents apartment in Queens. December, '08, Joey moves in, concerned about fiscal future. July, '09, enters Big Apple Tagforce Blowout, with Joey. *WARNING! SPOILER!* Wins.

 

FAVORITES: Baseball team: New York Mets. Football: Denver Broncos. Basketball: Phoenix Suns. Hockey: Philadelphia Flyers. Band: Jimi Hendrix. Song: Helter Skelter (The Beatles). Food: Shrimp Alfredo. Movie: Happy Glimore.

 

POLITICAL VIEWS: Left-wing, and Democratic. Believes in peace, and almost total pacifism. Against guns. Supports Barack Obama in almost every way: if there's gonna be a war, at least make it count.

 

RELIGION: Neo-Judeo-Christian. Believes that some of the Bible was edited by Constantine according to his own personal agenda. Still, believes that Jesus died to save humanity. (Worth noting, that, in real life, I am a proud Athiest)

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

NAME: Joseph Lawrence Barone

 

BORN/DIED: July, 24, 1990/ Not Applicable

 

APPEARANCE: Hair is blonde, very untidy, needs cut, has brown eyes. Surprsingly light skin for an Italian. About 6'3", and two hundred sixty pounds. Five-o'-clock shadow, with average eyebrows.

 

PERSONALITY: Fun to be around. That pretty much sums it up. He tells the occasional joke, and has a comment for almost anything. Has a very distinctive Brooklyn accent.

 

OCCUPATION: Currently unemployed.

 

DECK: Dragon

 

ACE: Victory Dragon

 

BIO: Born, July 24, '90, to Anthony Barone and Nancy Rose, in Brooklyn, New York. '93, Tony becomes professional Duelist, wins the championship in '95. Starts Kindergarten that year. Enters first tournament in '02, finishes runner-up. '06, arrested for disturbing the peace, following the Mets' dissappointing loss in the playoffs. December, '08, moves in with childhood friend, Kenny, to better his financial situation. July, '09, enters Big Apple Tagforce Blowout with Kenny. *WARNING! SPOILER!* Wins.

 

FAVORITES: Baseball team: New York Mets. Football: New York Jets. Basketball: New Jersey Nets. Hockey: New York Islanders. Band: The Rolling Stones. Song: Won't get Fooled Again (The Who). Movie: Kingpin.

 

POLITICAL VIEWS: Not applicable. He really doesn't care.

 

RELIGION: Catholic, though not in the strictest sence. He's never fondled a young boy

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

NAME: Roscuro Pierre Norman Jr.

 

BORN/DIED: December 21, 1974/ Not Applicable

 

APPEARANCE: Long, straight, dark hair, streaked with red at the bottom, very pale skin, eyes are unknown, since he always wears sunglasses. Height: 6'5", and lanky. Weight: Two hundred and ten pounds. A jet-black chin beard, trimmed very thin. Average eyebrows.

 

PERSONALITY: Very smart, but shy. Held in high regard by friends, and has a cool aura about him. His attitude is pretty mellow and laid-back, even in a duel. He is very trusting.

 

OCCUPATION: Chef at Komichi's Sushi.

 

DECK: Zombie

 

ACE: Vampire Genesis/Swordsman

 

BIO: Born in Manhattan, to Roscuro Pierre Norman Sr., and Maria Guthrie, in the winter of '75. Father fired from his job, relying on his mother for cash. Moves to Queens in '80, as he starts Kindergarten, at age 4. '86, cousin, D.J., born, in New Brunswick, Canada. Graduates in '93, and moves out of childhood home to 126th Street. Gets job in a new Japanese resturaunt opening up in the Bronx, a year later. June, '08, he meets Kenny and Joey, becoming fast friends. July of the next year, he meets Bob Norman, the hobo. Supports Kenny and Joey in the finals of the Big Apple Tagforce Blowout.

 

FAVORITES: Baseball team: San Francisco Giants. Football: New York Giants. Basketball: New York Knicks. Hockey: New York Rangers. Band: Jethro Tull. Song: Aqua Lung (Jethro Tull). Movie: The Godfather movies.

 

POLITICAL VIEWS: Almost identical to Kenny's, only is against total pacifism.

 

RELIGION: Completed Judaism.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

NAME: Robert Lance Newman

 

BORN/DIED: March 8th, 1951/ N/A

 

APPEARANCE: About five ten, roughly 220 pounds, with long, straggly grey hair and a matching beard. Usually wears a Hawaiin-print shirt. Has been known to dye his hair. He's got wild, blue eyes, a full face, and a meaty build.

 

PERSONALITY: He's an odd one. Let's just put it that way. He's a homeless man, living in a box in an alleyway in Queens, New York, on 126th Street. He's been known to dye his hair despite his curcumstances, but once he regained a place to live, he worried about it a lot less. He's a conspiracy theorist, and a total nutjob. At heart, though, he's a good guy, that would have your back if you were in a bind. He doesn't Duel, though.

 

OCCUPATION: Beggar/Legend in his own mind

 

BIO: Born in winter '51, to Seymore and Julie Newman, in Philadelphia, where, exactly 39 years later, Kenny would be born. He was raised as a hippie, in the sixties, and was unlucky enough to turn 18 the very day of the final draft pickings, so, he was sent off to Vietnam. Paired with frequent acid flashbacks, this creates many random outbursts in public. When he came back home, he learned that his parents were killed in a car accident, and so he saught a new life in New York. However, the city ate him alive, turning him into a seasoned hobo.

 

FAVORITES: Hockey team: The Flyers

Band/Artist: Jimi Hendrix

 

POLITICAL: Apolitical

 

RELIGION: N/A

 

 

 

 

[spoiler= Part one: A Day in the Life]

 

 

 

[spoiler= Chapter one]

 

Wow. Talk about pressure. See, I'm in a duel, right? But, not just any duel... this is the one that counts, the grand stage, the big dance, the Mother of them All... the Kaibasus' Industrial Illusions Corporation World Championship... and, this isn't any ordinary Pete out there as an opponent, either... this is Sebastion Ecuban, who hails from London, England. The reigning champ was like a god to me; he was as big a hero to me as a sumo with a Thyroid condition, as cool as Elvis, Burt Reynolds, Adam Sandler, Superman, Darth Vader, Mike Piazza, or Ozzy Osbourne. And I was in the middle of a come-from-behind win! Plus, I had my ace card, Supreme General Ukitake, on the Field, who was more than capable of winning right here! "So, Sebastion," I said, a slight mocking tone in my voice, "Anything to say during your last few moments as champion?" His responce was... "Some dance to remember, some dance to forget! Yeah!" He then broke into an audible air-guitar solo.

 

I then realized what had happened; it was time to get up. My eyes fluttered open to the chorus of "Hotel California," by the Eagles. Friggin' alarm clock... I thought as I blindly groped my nightstand for the evil contraption. I ended up knocking it to the floor, unplugging it. Well, I thought, That's one way to do it, I s'pose... I looked around, on my back, at my room. It really was crap. There was the moldy ceiling, which smelled a bit dodgy, the yellow-ish, peeling wallpaper, the once-white grey carpet, and the unblinded, curtain-less, cracked, half-boarded window at the far side of the room, which was so smeared and dirty that you could barely make out the fact that this was a fifth-floor apartment. All that you could really see was the distant outline of Citi Field, the Mets' new stadium. The only furniture was a thrid-or-fourth-hand bed, purchased from a thrift store two years ago, with its plain white linnens, a make-shift nightstand, which was a few milk crates stacked on top of each other, with a dollar store lamp on it, and where the alarm clock used to be. The only personal touch was a Mike Piazza poster that I've had since Kindergarten, that hung on the door (which I suspect to be the incarnation of Satan). Oh, I hated that friggin' door... it was partially off of its hinges, so, to open it, you really had to put your back into it, and when you did, it made this horrible, terrible sound... it was like the claws of my seventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Grantier's, fingernails scraping a blackboard from Hell. So, as gently as I could, I tried to open it, and, being Mr. Finess, it made a sound about like the one I described, mixed in with a Slayer song, as it crashed to the floor. It not only woke up my roommate, and the guy across the hall, but, I'm willing to bet, Adolf Hitler. It was that bad.

 

My roommate and best friend, Joey Barone, woke with a start from the pull-out sofa. He looked like he'd been through Rosie O'Donnell's underwear drawer, he was so scared. "Dude, Kenny, what the hell just happened?!" He asked, mouth moving at roughly the speed of light.

 

"Relax, man, that door finally gave out."

 

"Good-freakin'-riddance, ya piece of crap." Yeah, it was about time, but I wasn't looking forward to replacing it.

"So, uh, Ken, any particular reason you're naked?" I looked down, and remembered that I was only wearing a pair of Coca-Cola boxer shorts. I rushed to the other side of our sprawling, three-room metropolis, to the sole closet. I opened the door, found random pants and my favorite t-shirt, and slipped on the former first. They turned out to be white althletic pants. I then threw on my shirt, a white tee with a hippie smiley face on it. It was so cool. I walked into the living room, which looked a lot like my room, but with a pull-out sofa, and a TV with a whopping 25-inch screen, with a V.C.R. Joey was already wearing some grey t-shirt (formerly white), a pair of jeans so threadbare and worn that my pants were a good bit thicker, and some ancient, faded grey Nikes, one of which was missing a lace, and he was watching Goodfellas (you know, the Ray Liotta movie?).

"Ya 'bout ready?"

 

"S'pose... lemme get something to eat, though." I slipped on some socks and a pair of battered black Etnies, put my cell phone, which I won in a contest, in my pocket, and grabbed my Mets cap... only to find a pair of Joey's boxers in it. Oh, I thought, He'll pay for this... I walked over the aforementioned third room, which was a kitchen-dinette. What a freakin' joke. It sported an electric range top, a three-legged table, which was filled to the brim with junk, two white, Wal-Mart brand lawnchairs, with free stains, a dry faucet (we just used the bathroom's), and a whopping square yard of counter space, occupied by a mini-fridge with an old boombox on top of it. Joey was sifting through the pile of assorted crap on the table, and he found a box of Pop-Tarts. Satisfied, he started shoving the pastries into his mouth, one after a another. I saw my vengance, in the form of the Blizzard of Ozz, sitting next to the boombox. I set it up to Crazy Train, cranked the volume, and hit play. "ALL ABOARD! AHAHAHAHA!!!!" You shouldda seen it. Honestly. He jumped ten feet high, man. I wish you'd have been there. He proceeded to put me in a fake headlock, saying,

"Gonna kill you one of these days..." although he was laughing, too. He handed me my Duel Disk, which was on the chair. He was wearing his already.

 

Oh, yeah, almost forgot; the reason I'm writing this is that we entered a tournament, the Big Apple Tagforce Blowout, which pitted the two of us versus all other dueling pairs in New York, for prize cards, which were blank cards, hung around the neck. If you got 100, you advanced to the finals. I looked at my friend.

"You know, Joe, your shirt's on backwards." He checked, and sure enough, it was.

"How'd you know?"

 

"No mustard stain." Boy, were we a sight. There was me, standing at about 6', with my black-and-blue Mets cap, which struggled to conceal my dark, dude-get-a-haircut mop-top, the ghost of a moustache, an AC/DC hoodie, which was unzipped to reveal hippie smiley, my track pants, the black Etnies, and my dinosaur of a Duel Disk. Then, there was Joey, who was easily three inches taller, with unkempt mid-length blonde hair, wild blue eyes, needed a shave, had a time-greyed mustard-stained t-shirt, ultra thin jeans, and those flippin' Nikes. He opened the door. "Let's roll."

 

 

 

 

[spoiler= Chapter Two]

 

So, we headed out the door. I locked the door behind me, when Joey said, "Toss me the key." I tried to turn around and toss it to him in one smooth, cool motion, but something went horribly wrong, and I fell, sending the key sailing into Joey's stomach. I pulled myself up as Joey bent down to retrieve the key, as we both prayed that no-one saw us. Except God. Hope he had a nice laugh. I called the elevator, pretending that none of that had happened. Joey hit the ground button, and the doors came shut. Oy, I hate elevator music. They were playing a Billy Joel song, slowed, with no vocals. It sounded like Captain Jack. When we stopped, and the doors opened, the lobby was a friggin' zoo.

 

It was like we'd gone from the Sahara Desert to downtown Tokyo, the crowd was so thick. There was a general pushing for the front door, and we did nothing to resist the flow. I was going to get a Coke from the machine by the front desk, but now, I supposed it wasn't going to happen. I looked around, and it really was a nice lobby, competely betraying all of the apartments. I guess they were going to get around to fixing all of those as soon as I can afford a house... The walls had nice, glazed tiles, about the color of sand. The floor... well, for right now, the floor was an endless sea of feet, so that was indistinqueshable from a Foot Locker. Or a Lady Foot Locker. Either way. As we neared the front door, I had my first official senior moment... I saw a penny on the floor, and I bent down to pick it up. A-whoops.

 

I tripped up the guy behind me, sending him into the guy in front of me, and then... Bedlam. I swear to you, it was just like friggin' dominoes. Once those two fell, they hit those in front of them, and those in front of them. Within seconds, shouts went up, like "My leg!" or "Madre de Dios!" or "I hate crowds!" or "GAH, MY FREAKING EYE SOCKETS!!", from all corneres of the room, and everyone except me, Joey, some old man, and the woman behind the counter had crashed to the floor. The lady was really laughing. Hard. I though that she was gonna burst. She was holding her stomach, with tears rolling down her eyes. Then, she, too, fell out of her chair. So, just the three of us, one of whom was a short, balding, hairy-armed middle-aged man, with a George Costanza hair-do going on, who yelled at us. Like, a lot. He was letting loose a steady torrent of swearing and obsentities of all sorts, language so colorful, you'd swear you were at a Pink Floyd laser light show. I couldn't help but laugh. Joey was as embarrased as if his pants fell down to reveal Bob the Builder briefs. We walked outta there in a hurry. As soon as we were outside, "Man, what is it today with you? First the door, then the key, and now this! What happened, anyway?"

 

"Well, uh, I, er, found a penny on the ground, ya see, and, well, picked it up, and it, um, tripped a guy... or two." I couldn't read him here. He looked like he wanted to laugh, and stab me, all at the same time.

Instead, he just shook his head, and said, "Man, I don't know about you sometimes..." We decided to walk to Citi Field, see if somebody wanted to duel. We needed tokens, bad. We started a little late, and the penny fiasco, with everything... yeah. So, we crossed my street, 126th, to Roosevelt Avenue, and we noticed an Internet cafe.

"Dude," I started, "I'm getting thirsty; I was gonna get a Coke from the lobby, but I don't think that going back in there would be wise, do you?"

"Nah, and, besides, there might be some duelists in there. Let's go." We opened the front door. It was okay inside. Nothing special. Plain green carpeting. Nice, white wallpaper. A counter, with an Asian girl behind the counter, who looked to be our age. There were a few PC's, and a drink cooler. There were only five people in here: Us, the lady behind the register, and two people, a man and a woman, both in their early twenties, who were talking, just inside the doorway. They didn't seem friendly. The conversation was clearly professional, and hurried. They seemed very serious. I walked over to the counter. Joey was just standing around, looking uncomfortable. I reached for the soda cooler- when I was cut off.

 

"HEY!" Shouted the man, who had a stereo-typical pompus male voice. "Who do you think you are?!" I was, frankly, as confused as a redneck at the opera. "Pal," I say, "Are you talkin' to me?"

 

"Who are you, Robert DeNiro?"

 

"Possibly. Now, what's your problem?"

 

"I'm the manager here, and I have the right to refuse the right to serve any duelist." I looked down and saw that he had a prize card case with him.

"I see what this is about. I'll duel you, if that's necessary." I deployed my duel disk.

"Not so fast. Let's raise the stakes." He waved his hand, beckoning the woman that he was talking with earlier to come over to us. Joey followed her. "So," he said, "A Tag Duel. I'll go first."

 

He pushed a button on his watch, deploying a regulation-sized Duel Disk, with a holographic computer monitor. The woman did the same. I looked around, as per my pre-duel ritual. There were me and Joey, with our Duel Disks, that Jesus' granddad probably designed, and Mr. Gizmo-pants, with his cutting-edge technology. He appeared tech-savy, but not a geek. He had overly-neat shoulder length jet-black hair, with very dark eyes, that looked like cartoon character-esque solid black circles, hard set features, and a seldom-smiling face. He wore a very dark navy blue Spandex tee-shirt, which really showed off how fit he was. He wasn't a body builder, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, so that he looked like an average guy, only every muscle was visible. He also wore tan khaki pants. His lovely assistant had a matching Disk, a very straight, moderately long, neat, coal hair, brown eyes, and she was very white. She'd be attractive if she'd only crack a grin once every millennium. She wore an unflattering, long-sleeved, uni-sex lab uniform, which was black (not a dog pun, I swear). She was probably around my age. Manager-pants drew. He set a face-down card, when a hologram of the back of a card shimmered into being in front of him. He set a monster, too, and ended his turn.

 

It was my turn. I drew. Let's see what we've got to work with... hmmm... no, that's crap... er... ah-ha! I played one of my favorites: Obnoxious Celtic Guard. Him spawning into existance was amazing... a tall, celtic, elf, who held a sword, in his spiked green armor.

"I summon Obnoxious Celtic Guard in attack mode, who already has fourteen-hundered attack, and equip him with Black Pendant, bumping him up to nineteen-hundered attack! I'll attack your face-down." It was, unfortunately, a Cyber Jar, which sent all monsters on the Field to the owner's Graveyards. His Life Points drained to 7500, because of the Pendant's effect. We picked up the top five cards of our deck, and Special Summoned all of the four-or-lower level ones. I ended up with a Goblin Attack Force, two Command Knights, and Gearfried, the Iron Knight. Condecending Pompus Man only had a defence-mode Cyber Prototype Dragon. I destroyed that with my nineteen-hundred attack Command Knight, who looked absolutely stunning during the strike. With a flash of crimson, she lept at it with her blade, carving it in half. Then, her twin did the same... to the manager. His Life Points fell to fifty-six-hundred. Gearfried, in his bulky, black armor, ran at him, and smacked him with a steel punch, dropping his Life to forty-four-hundred. Although it was only a hologram, the manager flinched. I think he was genuinely frightened. Goblin Attack Force, with 2900 attack points, charged at him. They were a mob of short, green, very muscular people, with leather armors, and spiked clubs. There must've twenty of them, swarming him at once. His Points were now dangerously low; they were now at 1500. I was forced to end my turn with a face-down, even though my monsters were invincible (due to Command Knight).

The woman drew. She activated Cyber World, turning the landscape around us changed to all black, with chains of green ones and zeroes flying about. It also allowed her and manager-pants to use Hack, Error!, and Cyber cards, with no sacrifice. She played Hack: Reverse Engineering, reversing their Life Points with mine. Uh-oh. Not good. They were back at full strength, and we were on the brink of failure. She also used Error! Sysetem Virus, which prevents Joey and I from retrieving cards from the Graveyard, and from increasing our Life Points. Oh, dang. She set a card, and ended her turn.

Joey drew... and I saw that oh-so familiar look on his face. He set a face-down card, and ended his turn.

I knew what was comming next. Spandex drew for his turn. He used Hack: Trojan Dropper, allowing him to play two Virus tokens, each with 1500 attack.

He nodded, and said, "I offer my two tokens, for Shishimi, the Tech Angel!" The two tokens, that looked like security bots in some futuristic bank, were transformed into digital code, which combined in the air, taking the shape of an angel, which slowly materalized before my eyes. It was a tall, robed, man-type... thing, with a metal face, with feathered wings, and a futuristic, two-handed laser sword. His effect was that when his owner had two or more machine-type monsters, whose combined attack is greater than the opponent's Life Points, you could offer them for him, with 3000 attack. Also, all other monsters on the Field are destroyed. This all happened. He then attacked, for the game, when Joey activated Clone Duplicate, which created a mirror image of the robed mech, right in front of him. It was of equal strength. The manager ended his turn. I drew. I activated Emergency Deployment, allowing for me to play one level four or lower monster from my hand. I chose Familiar Knight, who looked like a dwarf in her usually intimidating armor, next to the two mechs. I tributed the freshly-summoned Knight and the clone to summon my ace, Supreme General Ukitake, which allowed me to special summon Goblin Attack Force. I used the A-Forces, a continuous Spell, which increased the attack of both of them by 600. I then activated Fissure, opening up a huge crack under the robotic saint, sending him falling down, down, down, below the Earth. My General, with 3400 attack points, with his two blades, and his flowing silver hair, struck out at the manager, sinking his Points to 2900. Then, the juiced-up Goblin Attack Force attacked, swarming the two opponents.

The duel holograms faded. We all put our disks on standby. I smacked Joey a high-five. We'd pulled it off.

 

 

 

 

[spoiler= Chapter Three]

 

I don't think that our manager friend had ever lost a duel before. He wasn't a sore loser, he just seemed... shocked. He handed us the prize cards. We now had four. Only 96 to go! Woo-friggin'-hoo. I turned to leave. Joey did the same. The woman turned to the manager, and said,

"Alex... you know Burūaizu Howaito won't like this..."

He sighed. "Rebecca, you know I can't help that..."

Now, clearly, I wanted to know what was going on. "Excuse me," I began, "Who?"

Alex just told us to leave. We oblidged him.

We crossed back over to my street. In doing so, we passed the alley between our building and this "legitimate hostel," which is, apperently, some Scandanavian dilect's way of saying "crackhouse."

I looked over, by chance, and saw a Dumpster... with a pair of human legs sticking out of it. I stopped and stared at it. Joey noticed that I had stopped, and he watched, too. We both stood, dumbfounded, as the man inside did a backflip out of the thing, and landed on his feet. The most impressive part was that the guy was easily forty, maybe fifty. He was lookin' kinda rough. He had long, greasy, dark hair, that looked like it hadn't been washed in ten years, complimented by a ragged, scraggly, beard, which made him look like the result of ZZ Top going camping. He had wild, blue eyes, and a tattered military uniform, which just looked like a bunch of dirty, loosely stiched rags, covering soiled long-johns. He held a sign, which said, "Food is great. Beer is good. Change is welcomed. Hugs are appreciated." Although we hadn't spoken, I knew, immediately, that I liked him.

"Well, what're you lookin' at? Never seen such an athletic, handsome hobo before?"

"Actually, no..."

"Good. Now I feel special." He noticed my tee-shirt.

"Hey, right on, soul brother! Power to the people!" I figured that he was stoned, drunk, or crazy. Hell, he could've been stonkzyed.

But, I thought I'd humor him. "No jive! Stick it to the man, man, night and day!" Joey looked like he wanted to die. He was laughing, almost literally, his guts out.

"Sorry," the hobo said, "My name's Bob. I sometimes forget my manners when I'm really stonkzyed." Knew it. "I, uh, live in that box over there." He pointed to a moldy refrigerator box. "Times are tough... I had to take out a second-mortgage on it."

Joey spoke up. "Hey, man, it's been real, but, we gotta go."

"Alright." We turned to leave. "Oy!" He said, "What're your names?" I told him. "I'll remember that..." We continued on down 126th. We neared Citi Field, when Joey, seemingly out of the blue, stopped short and shoved his arm into my path, halting me where I stood.

"What?" I asked. I was confused.

"Look." He whispered his responce. All I could see were the "wholesale" tire/rim shops, and the ads for everything from mufflers to adult books.

"What's the matter with you?" He whipped his head around and stared at me.

"Dude," he whispered, with a great sence of urgency, "LOOK!" I stood on my tiptoes, looking over his head. Nothing.

"Are you on crack?" I asked. Just then, from the corner of my eye, I saw something move. Okay, maybe he wasn't on crack. Still, though, I'm keeping the Magic Markers away from him. I did a complete 360 to see what it was. At first, I didn't see anything. While I stared at the street behind me, I blinked. As I opened my eyes, sure enough, there was someone there. Well, someone and a half.

They were Siamese Twins, conjoined at the torso. Now, this is friggin' ridiculous. I know that all types live in New York, that I'll probably encounter ethnic groups that I've never even heard of, yada, yada, yada, but this is going overboard. The scariest part: They weren't identical. Really. One head was a girl, the other a guy, and they... he... she... whatever, were/was roughly 17 years of age, and white. The twins wore a black trenchcoat over a white tee, with black, hairband-esque leather pants, and the body was very fit, ripped, even. They (I think) had a knife drawn (I'm sure).

"Uh... hello... can, we, uh... help you in any way?" I stammered. One of the heads smiled. The hand with the knife waved across my face. Neither twin spoke. Neither did Joey. Hell, even I was at a loss for words. The last time that happened, the sheer disruption of the natural balance of nature caused an air-bourne plane to crash. Flying that plane was Amelia Earhart. We didn't know what to do. Finally, after what seemed a century, the female head spoke up.

"We know who you are. We also know that Master Burūaizu-San wants you eliminated. So, here we are." She broke into a heinous laugh. Her face twisted into an ugly howl. Her blonde hair seemed to fan out, taking on a life of its own. Her brother/bodymate was grinning. He had an ugly, light-brown bowl cut. I wasn't about to insult them, though.

Just then, I heard a metallic, echoing, sound, and, by some strange turn of events, the twins were on the floor. This was getting too weird for me. I was staring at them, when Joey looked up at the source of the sudden salvation. It was that homeless dude we'd just met... brandishing a frying pan.

"Quick," he yelled, "Get outta here!" Didn't have to tell me twice. We were off like a shot. I didn't pay attention to where I was going; I just knew to go in the general direction of the Mets' box office. After about three minutes of running, I was greeted by a fence to the face, as I ran headlong into the chainlink barrier which surrounded the William Shea Memorial Parking Lot. Joey, dispite of all that had happened, was laughing.

"Yeah, hilarious," I said, sarcastically, "No, see? I'm busting a friggin' gut." This made him laugh harder. He swung his arm, patting my shoulder, and resting his hand there.

"Pal," he said, "YOU of all people should really be able to laugh at yourself. You taught me that, yourself."

Right. I tried to collect my thoughts. Oh, yeah. "Where'd the hobo go?"

"Dunno... but he left us a present."

 

 

 

 

[spoiler= Chapter Four]

 

looked at Joey's outstretched hand. In it were two things. The first: A note. I read it aloud.

 

"To: Joe nd Ken. Hay! I saw those guys... or that guy... howevr you wana say it, follwing you. I seen them arownd before and in case you han't guessed there no gud. Then I seen the weirdst thing they had a caseamubob like yurs in there poket! I desided ta giv it ta yu. Keep on keepin' on, Bob. (ps sory abowt the speling im not vary gud.)" I'd figured he'd left a good bit early from school, but this was insane. "Good guy, though. What's that other thing?" I asked. Joey smiled. He opened his fist, revealing... a case, just like ours, filled with prize cards. There were, like, fifty. Neither of us could stop smiling. "Better than half way!"

"Got that straight! Just hope the twins don't show up again..."

"Yeah, me neither. Still, though, we've got work to do. Let's go find some more suckers..." Just then, two teenaged girls, one my age, one a little younger, walked up. They had duel disks. "So, we're 'suckers,' eh? No way to speak to a lady. Do you think so, sister?"

"No ma'am. I don't. These jerks better show some respect!" Oh, boy. Here we go. "So, boys," the older one said, "If we're 'suckers,' a duel would be a pretty easy thing for you, against suckers like us, eh?" Yes. "Maybe," Joey said, "But maybe not. Wanna find out?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'm Asuka, by the way. This is my baby sister, Naomi." I rolled my eyes. I couldn't take much more of this song and dance. We all deployed our disks. Asuka had a very new one, an academy version, from the Slifer Red Dorm. Naomi had what was almost certainly a hand-me-down, because it looked exactly like ours, only slightly newer. "Ladies first," said Asuka. How unexpected. This friggin' dialogue was getting predictable to the point that the famed deaf, dumb, and blind Pinball Wizard could figure it out. She deployed her disk. I looked around, as usual. There was Asuka, with her long, blonde hair, which was streaked with red, and her fresh, designer clothes. There was one thing I couldn't figure out, though: Asuka was clearly a Japanese name, yet she was whiter than Billy Idol. She must have changed it herself. She had a very thin build, like that of a fashion model... and all of the charm of an old-fashioned train wreck. Naomi, on the other hand, was shorter, with less lengthy, darker hair, with designer clothes that looked to outfits that Asuka wore more than once, and low self-esteem radiated from her. Joey and I exchanged a glance. He was looking even rougher (I didn't know it was possible, either), because his shirt was devoloping a nice-sized hole on the left shoulder, and the other Nike's lace finally fell out. Took it long enough. I smiled, and he did, too. Now it was time to focus, though... it was time to duel.

First card she plays: Sactuary in the Sky. Perfect. Know what I'd just realized, though? Those projectors were nice pieces of equipment. It actually looked as though we were in some huge temple, on a cloud, miles above actual society. Incredible. She summoned Shining Angel next, who had only fourteen hundred attack, but, when it was destroyed, she got to summon another Fairy. The looks of it were amazing, though: like a man, about my height, with giant wings, a robe, and a halo. It really was impressive.

Joey drew next. He activated "Heavy Storm," destroying all Spell and Trap cards on the Field, so Sanctuary was gone, the Angel was weak, and we were back on 126th. Asuka was clearly angry, but she didn't say anything. Naomi was just silent, as usual. Joey then activated Dark Hole, creating a huge, black vortex on the ground, which began swirling violently, sucking the Angel in. He was a goner. Joey summoned Luster Dragon, who was incredibly powerful for a four-star, at nineteen hundered. He attacked, sending the jewel-encrusted lizard into a frenzy, spitting out blasts of pure Sapphire. The sisters' Life Points fell to sixty-one hundred. Asuka went into a tyraid of "How dare yous" and "You'll pay for thats." Naomi repeated almost every word. I pretty much tuned her out. I'd seen this act before. Joey ended his turn with a face-down.

Naomi drew, and looked at the card in her hand. She set a monster, and ended her turn.

I went. The first thing I drew was a Nobleman of Crossout, which I activated. I watched as the hologram knight slashed an "X" over the face-down card, and good thing, too: it was a Magician of Faith, which would've brought the Sanctuary back. I then activated "Sword of the Human Race," which was equipped to the Luster Dragon, increasing it's attack by five-hundred, and turning it into a Warrior. I summoned Marauding Captian, and by his effect, Command Knight.. In my Main Phase's final move, I played the A-Forces, increasing everyone's attack by 900, which, when added to Command Knight's effect, became 1200. The Command Knight, with her 2500, attacked Asuka, dropping her and her sister to 2600. I kept up the onslaught, attacking with Marauding Captian, dropping them down to 200. Just as I raised my hand in the signal to attack, my phone went off, sending Be my Lover by the Spice Girls echoing up and down the street... so I took the call. I mean, what was I gonna do? Everyone just stared at me.

"Hello? Oh, hey, Lisa! Yeah... oh, nothing... yup... hold on," I said, in my hand-held conversation, as even the Luster Dragon stared at me like I was some kind of lunatic. I said to Joey, "It's for you. Lisa." I handed the phone to him, and they started to talk. Lisa and Joey had been dating since our Freshman year, and they'd been friends since Kindergarten. She came over a lot to play cards or Trivial Pursuit, or the occasional movie night, when we scraped together enough to watch something other than Joey's mafia flicks (Even though I like The Godfather and Scarface, enough was enough!) or home movies of me dunking a basketball into a plastic hoop when I was three-ish, in my Michael Jordan Bulls uniform (even though I am a Suns fan). I liked her okay. Even if she was slightly insane. Only slightly. I only heard the tail end of their conversation:

"Yeah, you too. Sure. Bye." He flipped the phone shut and pitched to me. Lucky for him, I caught it. I shot him a glare and forgot what I was doing. Oh, yeah.

"Luster Dragon," I'd said, as if nothing had happened, "Attack them directly!" I could've sworn I saw the thing shake its head at me in disbeilef. It obeyed, though, and we won. Two and 0... not bad at all.

 

 

 

 

[spoiler= Chapter Five]

 

I fist-bumped Joey, and made my way over to the opponents. Asuka was all sulky, and Naomi was... a friggin' parrot. Obviously. Asuka snapped her fingers, and Naomi ran ro get the case from her sister's purse. She handed it to me. There were, like, twenty cards in there. Cool! We'd gone from 0 to 72 in a day! That's awesome. Now, I suppose you expect me to ask Naomi why she takes orders from her sister, and to tell her sister off. You are wrong. I just collected our winnings, turned around, and left. Joey apparently had the same thought process as me, because, as soon as he was fairly sure we stood out of earshot, he exclaimed, as he was tucking our prize into the case, "What a piece of work!"

I asked, "What did Lisa have to say?"

"Nothing much. Says she wants to meet me someplace tonight, and we're supposed to pick up some eggs."

"Eggs? Why? We don't cook, and neither does she."

"Yeah, well, she's on this health kick right now, hopefully it doesn't last."

"Well, that may be, but she still doesn't cook..."

"She could drink 'em, ala Rocky Balboa."

"Whatever. You sleeping over there tonight?"

"We'll see how much 'sleeping' gets done..."

"Yeah, okay, and I'll go the 7-11, and we'll see how much 'not winning the lottery' gets done..."

"Yeah, you're right. Dunno. If I'm not home by ten-ish, I'll crash over there. I gotta say, though, that was sorta mean."

"What, me just crushing your dreams ten seconds ago?"

"I s'pose..."

We passed DOQ, Deli of Queens, and Joey stopped me.

"Eggs." This as gonna get old in a hurry. This "health kick" better not last. It was built on a street corner, so that, from the curb, you could see the front of the three-story off-white brick building, and the walls going back at an angle. It was pretty cool. We walked up and went inside. There was the owner, an older, Italian guy, who sort of reminded me of Carlos Santana, crossed with Mario. Same moustache.

"Hey, Manny!" I shouted.

"Kenny! Joey! How's ita beena going? I havea nota seen you in forevers!" He shouted, enthusiastically.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Joey said, Manny's additude spreading.

"What can I doa for you boys?" He asked.

"Well," I said, "We need eggs."

"Eggs? You needa the eggs? I will get you the eggs, eh? You wait righta here." I looked around. The place had a real professional set-up; like any other food store. There was the high, white ceiling, the white and green tiles, the shelves and shelves of meat, all cooled, thank God, and the stained ash counter, with the stainless steel cash register. There was a door behind it, which Manny had disappeared within. It was painted blue.

I was about to say something to Joey, when the door flew open, and Manny re-appeared, with three containers of Calico Hen Eggs. I heard that they were the best of the best.

"Herea you are, Joey, you puta these to gooda use, eh?" He handed them to my roommate. I reached into my pocket and withdrew a twenty. "Ah, no, your moneya no good here! Ahaha!"

Nice guy. "Thanks a billion, Manny!" Joey shouted, as we turned and left.

"You know..."

"What's that?"

"Doesn't his nephew sorta look like half of those twins we saw earilier?"

"Kinda... what're you getting at?"

"Well, Manny said that the kid was born, like, deformed, didn't he?"

"Yeah..."

"I think two heads counts as a deformity."

Joey shrugged. "Nah, Manny's gene pool couldn't spawn a hitman."

"I guess you're right-" I began, as I walked right into an old lady. We both crashed to the ground. The eggs went soaring over head, rapidly spinning in the air, before slamming down on the sidewalk and the lady's blouse. Joey was absolutely rolling with laughter. I don't think he could breathe. The old lady began screaming at me, in some Slavic language.

Great. Now "Back in the USSR" by The Beatles would be stuck in my head all day. That ever happen to you? Something happens, which is similar to some song, which in turn is stuck in your head? Guess that's life... about fifteen minutes later, we were back in front of the building.

"Alright, man," Joey began, "I'll see you later. You give me a call in the morning if I'm not home, and I'll swing by."

"Okay, man, take care."

"See ya." He walked away. I looked around. There was the same old brick face of the building, the same old alley, with the same old Dumpster, but something felt... different. Like I was being watched. I shrugged the notion off, and went to the front door. As I turned the knob, someone poked me in the side, yelling as loud as he could. I screamed like a litle girl. I mean, really. Imagine Michael Jackson on helium (NOTE: This was written before his death... this story takes place in July '09, and I meant no disrespect). No joke. I spun around to see the assailant, and saw... Bob. He was almost wetting his pants with glee.

"Funny," I said, as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"I thought so. Where's Joe?"

"On a date."

"Oh, yeah? Cool. You get my message? Sorry I can't spell... I haven't been to one of those prisons for the soul, 'schools,' since I was eight. It's just the man, tryin' ta keep you down."

"No big deal. What're you up to?"

"Well, actually... could I stay with you guys tonight?"

"Sure, just don't wake the neighbors. The door's always open."

"Right on, soul brother! What floor?"

"I'll show ya... I was just gonna watch the Mets game and turn in, anyway."

"Cool." I opened the door, and he followed me in. The lobby was teeming with joy, lemme say. I got a few glares, a scowl or five, one punch to the arm, a laughing receptionist, and three guys chanting "domino."

Bob whispers, "What's that about?"

"Tell ya later..." We finally reached the elevator, where I hit the number for my floor.

I noticed my friend, Roscuro Norman, who was even taller than Joey, at about 6'5", dressed in a black thrift-shop suit, a cheap medallion, tinted shades, had straight, dark, shoulder-length hair, a black chin-strap beard thing, who was about ten years older than me, standing in front of my door. "Hey, Ros!"

"Kenny!"

"What's up?"

"I can't get into my apartment... the entire floor's police-taped. Apparently, a set of Siamese twins broke in and robbed the place, so I'm wondering, could I crash with you and Joe?"

"Sure, but Joey's not home. He's out with Lisa."

"Oh, that's cool. Who's your friend?"

"Ah. Ros, this is Bob, Bob, this is Ros." They shook hands and exchanged generic greetings.

"Where do you live?" Ros asked Bob.

"Actually, behind that Dumpster, in a box."

"Ooh, no lie? That hurts. You stayin' over, too?"

"Yeah, my main man hooked me up, over here."

"So," Roscuro started, "Can I stay?"

"Alright, one thing, though; you gotta duel me," (he was in the tournament), "Alright?"

"Fair enough. Now, lemme in." I turned the key. We stepped into the apartment.

"Sorry, should've cleaned up more."

"Uhhh..." it was Roscuro. "What happened to the door?"

"Yeah... sorry. It wouldn't cooperate."

"No sweat," Bob said, "I'm used to sleeping behind a Dumpster under a box in New York. Could I use your shower?" Bob asked, with as much humility as he could muster.

"Sure... Ros, put on the game, would ya? I gotta hook Chief up over here."

"No problem." I went to the closet, and got him a some khakis and a Hawiian-print shirt.

"We've got a razor in there for the sheep you've got laying under your nose." He laughed, thanked me, and went into the bathroom. I walked into the living room. I looked at the TV, to see that the bases were loaded for Carlos Delgado, and the count was 3-and-0. He'd get a meatball, for sure. I then looked over at Roscuro, who had his disk deployed.

"After you," he said.

 

 

 

 

[spoiler= Chapter Six]

 

I drew. My hand was pretty good: Sogen, The A-Forces, Command Knight, Marauding Captian, Trap Hole, and Snatch Steal. I activated Sogen and the A-Forces, and summoned Marauding Captain, and, via his effect, Command Knight, and then set Trap Hole. It was actually pretty funny; a huge, sprawling flat, grassland, with two knights on it, with yellowing wallpaper, and a discount TV. For those of you keeping score at home, they each had 2200 attack points.

As I ended my turn, I heard Gary Cohen's voice. "There's the wind-up, and the pitch, and... this one has a chance! Going back... at the track... at the wall... It's outta here! It's outta here! Grand Slam! The Mets win it, the Mets win it!" I pumped my fist, and Roscuro said something that I didn't quite catch. He then drew. He summoned Pyramid Turtle, which sprung Trap Hole. It was almost comical: a huge turtle with a giant pyramid on his back, magnificently shimmering into existance... and then falling down a hole. He ended his turn with a face-down.

I drew Pot of Greed, which I activated, as Johan Santana walked in front of the camera for an interview. My two cards were Mystical Space Typhoon, and Lightning Blade. I activated the former, destroying his face-down. It was Mirror Force. Talk about luck. I set the Lightning Blade, and attacked with the Command Knight, knocking his Life Points down to 5500. Marauding Captian attacked, too, with his twin blades, dragging it even further, down to 3000, as the interviewer asked Santana what it was like to throw the first no-hitter in Mets history. I ended my turn.

Roscuro drew, with a smile. Uh-oh. He activated Heavy Storm, destroying all of the Spells and Traps on the Field, returning the floor to normal, and weakening the monsters my by half. Lightning Blade was gone, too. He then used Skill Drain, making them vulnerable to attacks. He used Call of the Mummy, to summon Vampire Lady, who he sacrificed for Vampire Lord, who he sacrificed for Vampire Genesis. The last card he activated was Spell Shield, so that Skill Drain only affected me. Man, was Genesis creepy. It was easily ten feet tall, and chunky. They way its wings spread... oof. He attacked Marauding Captian, knocking my Life Points down to 6700, and, via his effect, destroying my Exiled Force, which was still in my Deck. He ended his turn.

I drew. Pot of Greed, and Heavy Storm. I used Pot of Greed, and got Stray Lambs and... Pot of Greed, which I used. Moster Reborn and Supreme Genreal Ukitake. I used Heavy Storm, taking out Skill Drain. I used Monster Reborn, bringing back Exiled Force, whose effect I used. There goes Genesis, too. Phil Collins is overrated, anyway. I then used Stray Lambs, and sacrificed them along with Command Knight to Special Summon Ukitake, via his effect. He attacked for the win. I patted the hologram on the shoulder just before he faded. He'd served me well.

Roscuro clapped a few times, and tossed me his case. As I caught it, both the front and bathroom doors opened, almost at the exact same moment. Joey was home and Bob was out of the shower. Joey had something behind his back. This would be interesting.

 

 

"Hey, Joe!" Roscuro exclaimed.

"Hey, Ros! Hey... Bob?!"

"Yessir, that's me!" I took a good look at the new Bob. He had the clothes I'd given him, he was clean and shaven, and, by the looks of things, treated himself to a haircut. He now looked like any other regular guy. He'd be the best dressed hobo in New York, by far. I opened the case, and looked through our winnnings. 99 prizes, now. We needed one more.

"Hey, Kenny," Joey began, "I found a prize card on the floor of the movie theater me and Lisa were at. Add this; it can't hurt." I smiled from ear to ear, and threw the closed case into the air, launching myself at Joey. I missed horribly. After picking myself up, I said,

"We're going to the FINALS! YES!!!"

"Cool. Who won the game?"

"The Mets... aren't you excited?"

"Sure I am, but the finals aren't 'til five tomorrow, anyway; I was pretty much positive we would." Whatever. Joey withdrew a bag of Burger King food from behind him. We ate good that night. -------------------

After we ate, I flipped on the Late Show. Letterman was interviewing reigning Duel Champion, Sebastion Ecuban. On the set were Letternam, in a suit with a grey, cotton jacket and a blue, silk tie, sitting opposite Sebastion, with his cropped brown hair, his handsome... well, you know what I'm trying to say face, the navy, monogramed, polo shirt, bearing his gilded initials, and some black slacks. He was a sharp-looking guy, alright, and he was around 26. Letterman said, "Are you worried, at all, for your title?"

"No, actually, it's the funniest thing," he said in his English accent, "We- my partner Geoff, who couldn't make it tonight, and I, looked through the list of people who made the finals, and it looks as though none of them pose a threat!" There was laughter and applause. It sort of got under my skin. I fell asleep on the couch, like, five minutes later.

I woke up to John Lennon's voice,

"I read the news today, oh, boy, about a lucky man, who made the grade..." For one crazy second, I thought that he was in the living room. Then, I realized that I had a boombox, and that Joey liked The Beatles, too. I opened my eyes. Somehow I was on the living room floor, on my back, staring up at the cracked, stained by God-only-knows what, formerly white tiling on the ceiling. I rolled over to my left, to see that the TV was on, but muted. ESPN news was on, with the headline reading "Cutler sorry about earlier actions, wants to return to Denver." I sat up on the greyed carpet, and looked to my left, at the couch, which Joey and I had affectionately dubbed the "PS" (Pope's Sofa, because it's so holey), which had ancient green upholstery, springs sticking out here and there. There was a note on the table, from Ros.

"Gone to work; I'll try to make it to the arena in time. If I'm not there, then Mr. Komichi's in one of his moods... still, though, I think I'll make the first match, and, even if I don't, I'll be rooting for ya. -Ros. PS: Bob's out running some errands... what that's supposed to mean beats me."

I looked around for the remote, flipping couch cushions, making throw pillows earn their names, et cetera. It was nowhere to be found. So, I got up, and did it the caveman way, and turned the volume up. Finally, sounds came out of the sportscaster's mute lips. "... Plaxico swears never to wear sweatpants to a nightclub again. In other news, the Big Apple Tagforce Blowout Finals are to take place today, 5PM, at Madison Square Gardens. Tickets have been sold out for weeks..." I tuned him out after that. I wondered where Joey was. I stood up to go to the bathroom, and found out. I opened up the door to a jet of steam. "Whoa, Ken, like what ya see?"

He was in the shower. Mortified, I slammed the door shut. You know those criminals in the movies, that say "No man should ever know, the things I've seen, the things I've done..." This is much worse. I wanted to puke. I realized that I should take a shower, too. I mozied over to the closet, and pulled out my autographed, white Mike Piazza jersey, and a pair of black jeans. Joey stumbled from the bathroom door, chuckling. I walked in. It was by far the nicest room in the apartment. The floor tiles were very white, since they were only a week old, thanks to the pancake incident... I shuddered at the thought of it. Long story short, the words "I" and "Hop" now send Joey into convulsions. The walls were covered in tacky floral paper, and the ceiling sucked, like in every other room. There was a stand-alone sink, with no counter space, and was completely white, next to the toilet, which needs no description, and the shower. The shower was a single shower, no tub, with a new nozzle, which we'd purchased (legitimately, not like a certain Seinfeld duo...) from Joey's cousin, which increased the pressure three-fold, making it one of the best I'd ever had. I stepped inside, and turned the hot water all the way up. I'm not gonna give you all of the details, pervert, but I sang Beat it! by Michael Jackson the whole time, and, apparently, pretty loud, because when I came outside, Joey was cracking up.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. What could be funny about a white kid in the 21st Century singing a Michael Jackson song?" He was losing it. Ah, well. I reached into my pocket, and opened my cell phone to see the time. Wow. One o'clock. We had to be there in less than an hour, for the opening ceremonies. "Joey," I said, "We gotta get going."

 

About five minutes later, we were back on 126th street. I had no idea how we were gonna get there. We'd call a cab, take a bus, or hop on a train, but neither of us had any cash, except one twenty, but that was our entry fee. Just then, a blue convertable, roof up, passed us. I looked at the plate on it. It read "ASSMAN". "No way..." I said softly. Joey heard me. "What?"

"Follow me." I ran down the sidewalk, towards the car. "Dude, what are you doing?!" Joey asked, thinking that I'd lost my mind. I finally caught up with it at an intersection. Before I could do anything, it took off as the light changed. I continued to pursue it. I was jumping up and down, waving my arms above my head, rapidly. The car finally pulled over, and rolled down its window. I ran to the side of it. "Cosmo!" I yelled, looking at the driver on the inside. "Hey! You guys need a lift?"

"Yeah, we do."

"Well, hurry up, hop in." Joey and I jumped in to the back seat. It was upholstered in black leather, and the radio was turned off. I looked at Cosmo. He had a brown, curly, raised haircut, with a leather jacket, and a brown-and-yellow veritically striped shirt. He was smiling. "What're you in such a hurry for, Kramer?" It was Joey.

"Well, remember that intern I had, back at Kramerica?"

"Yeah, Devon?"

"Well, he was released today, and he says that he wants to be paid as a regular employee."

"And?"

"He said that if he doesn't get his money, it's over."

"Over?"

He made a crazy, flailing motion, with an equally weird noise. "Over, you know?"

"Where're you headed?"

"Outside of the Soup Nazi's old place."

"Great, so you'll pass right by The Garden?"

"You gonna go there?"

"Yeah, we're in the tournament."

"Good for you, good for you!" We'd been moving at easily double the speed limit the whole time. I looked out the window, and saw that we were on Murray Hill. "Cosmo," I said, "Stop the car, eh?"

He slammed on the brakes, sending us to a screeching halt. "Here we go, and thank you for choosing Coach Kramer!"

"Thanks, man," I said, "Watch us on ESPN, huh? 5PM, alright?"

He made a strange, popping noise with his mouth, and pointed to his head, saying "Got the metal alarm set, buddy. Good luck!" He sped away. I was convinced that he was crazy. Even still, we were on a mission. We stood in the parking lot of MSG, in full view of the building. "This is it, eh, Joe?"

 

 

 

 

For some reason, there's not enough room for chapter seven. It will be posted on a seperate thread.

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Kenny Bohner Newbie

Kenny Bohner

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Just a sec...Kenneth has got three Pot of Greeds in his Deck?

 

Yeah... though this takes place in 2009, this was written in before I was enlightened as to the Forbidden/Limited List... I mean, I thought I was a hardcore player, but I had no idea it exsisted. This first part is mediocre, I know, but it's mostly for establishing the history of characters, like a long ass Prolouge. But, Part Two will be posted as soon as I finish the last chapter.

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Nexev Newbie

Nexev

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Hey Kenny.

 

Just a heads up, you can post Chapter Seven in this thread as a new post or edit your second post.

 

No need to make it a new thread.

 

Also Fenir: You didn't know he was here? I met him here when he posted his fic a long time ago. Weathr Report liked it which is pretty shocking itself since he is a cross between Joker and Simon when it comes to making reviews.

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Weather Report - Stand Newbie

Weather Report - Stand

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Posted

Also Fenir: You didn't know he was here? I met him here when he posted his fic a long time ago. Weathr Report liked it which is pretty shocking itself since he is a cross between Joker and Simon when it comes to making reviews.

 

Nope. =o

 

Honestly I didn't bother checking.

It's all true. I was saddened when I realized that Mr. Kenny wasn't going to update... UNTIL NOW!! And I was one of the VERY few people who posted on that topic. But, aside from everything then and now, I like this guy's style. Good job!

 

Also I like being called Joker. From now on my 2nd name will be Joker or Red Joker, however you wish to say it. I probably won't mention it again, though.

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