'Lets do something spontaneous' Said Boobah, as he slammed his face into a window.
'No. Every time we do anything spontaneous we end up almost being killed by some sort of tyrant we have managed to piss off along the way, eventaually escaping his evil clutches and then having our actions documented in an article on some back-water website' replied Doobah.
'Forget it, I'll get my coat...'
It was true, Boobah and Doobah had a habit of getting on the bad side of various evil non-law abiding tyrants (all of which seemed to have exceptionally large unkept basements full of torture equipment and screaming emaciated people) and it seemed today would be no different.
'Bill Gates called' said Boobah 'He wants to gut us and hang our guts out to dry then parade our guts on national TV then dress them up in funny hats and make them act out a sort of gutty version of Punch and Judy... then he wants to take our gutted corpses and hang them so he can shoot at them when hes bored'
'I stole his football'
'Damn you Boobah, always nicking rich people's footballs...'
'Well maybe if you gave me the money to get my own...'
'Boobah, I don't have a job! You do! You earn £500,000 a year! And you spend it all on boyband posters!'
'It's not my fault Boyzone give me the horn, okay? I blame their intoxicating tunes and faces that you just want to ejaculate onto'
Doobah frowned. Boobah had begun to salivate.
'Can we just do this spontaneous thing so I can wank and go to bed?' said Doobah. 'I'm tired of watching you dribble'
'OK. Wait. No, OK.'
It was an extremely cold night, and Doobah resented having agreed to do something spontaneous the second he opened the door and felt as though he had been punched in the face.
'Boobah, why did you hit me in the face?'
'I didn't...you must've mistaken the rush of freezing cold air for one of my appendages'
'No, I'm quite sure you hit me, don't try and pass it off as the wind again. C'mon, you even screamed 'TAKE THIS, WANKER' as you did it...'
And with that Doobah slung on his coat and marched out the door. He wanted nothing more than to turn around, raid the fridge, then slum out all night on his massive warm comfy sofa watching whatever happened to be on the TV when it was switched on (Boobah had eaten the remote in a previous spontaneous outburst). But no. Once again, once a-bloody-gain, Boobah somehow had convinced him to go along. Doobah could never put his finger on what it was about Boobah that he couldn't say no to, whether it be his happy little grin or his large gun.
'Okay, stroppy pants, if your gunna be all stroppy I might just not go' said Boobah. 'Might just stay here and flick rubber bands at old people out the window'
'GOOD. Lets do that, far less effort...'
'But you just...'
'I don't even want to do anything spontaneous...our spontinuity never turns out well...like the time we almost got eaten by Seth Green or the time you got your head stuck in that cat...I'm telling you, if we go do something spontaneous we will regret it 20 minutes from now when we are stuck in some undesireable and most likely soul-destroyingly embarresing situation' said Doobah, but even as he said it Boobah as shaking his head and opening and closing his mouth.
'Boobah...your forgetting to speak again'
'Ah yes, so I was'
'Anyway, as I was saying...'
'Shush...my spontaneous sense is tingling'
'Doobah, fetch me a hairband, a dead mammal and something erotic, I have a plan...'
20 minutes later
As Doobah sat next to Boobah's lifeless corpse, and waited for the inevitable sirens to impose themselves on the eerie silence that had fallen over the night, he thought back to the events of the evening. Certainly, it had been the most spontaneous of their outings so far, making most others seem logical, but it had also been the most risky and embarresing of all by quite a stretch.
It had all started...at the start. I bet that comes as a shock to you. Shortly after asking for the list of rediculous and unatainable items, Boobah had completely forgotten about asking for them, and had skipped off down the street coming to a halt outside the local pub. Doobah had followed apprehensively, picking up the clothes Boobah had managed to lose en route to the public house. He had just been recovering Boobah's underwear that had managed to get themselves stuck in a tree, when he heard a loud scream that sounded predictably Boobahish.
Doobah skulked towards the ear-splitting screech, wondering what Boobah could possibly have done in the 7 seconds he had been at the pub to justify such a noise, and hoped beyond hope someone would just punch him or kick him in the face, or generally mutilate him, so that Doobah could get back to his sofa and watch Jeremy Kyle whilst Boobah sat bleeding in A+E.
Rounding the corner, his heart sunk as he took in the sight of Boobah showing his respect to the local rugby squad in the form of 2 fingers and a bare arse.
'This little twats askin' for it' yelled the closest of the hulking tank-men, and he stepped towards Boobah, only to step back again after seeing the small clearly mentally deranged man pull out what looked suspiciously like a battle axe.
'HAHA!! Now who's wearing the trousers, bitch?!? I'm gunna kill you!!' screamed Boobah. Unfortunately, somewhere between making the threat and carrying out his word, Boobah lost interest, and midway through dashing madly at the men wielding the axe high above his head, he veered off to the right, dropping the weapon and opting instead to chase a squirrel in circles around a tree.
The burly crowd moved on, clearly far too disturbed to seek further action against the stubby little basket case.
'Boobah, there's blood running out of your trouser legs' said Doobah.
'Yeah, well, you try pulling an axe out your arse and keeping your ring intact, yeah?'
Doobah was bored. 'Where do you get all these weapons from anyway? Last week it was a frog-launcher, this week an axe...y'know, most men keep porn under their beds, I would pay money not to look under yourse, I'd never know what to expect.'
'Russians. Lots and lots of Russians. Big ones. And a pineapple. With a gun. A pineapple gun. And Linsay Lohan. 3 of her.'
'Right.....right, okay. Uh, whatever. Anyway, the police are coming, so we should move along, I think we're still wanted for that whole Elvis-whale-sex triangle episode' said doobah.
'Right you are, my fairy twig. To the Egg factory!!'
'I agree!!' And with that Boobah was off.
Doobah caught Boobah up and struck him with the news that egg factories were in short supply these days, and that he suggested going somewhere a little more existant, such as a fast food restaurant.
'NEVAR, SCUM!! I R EGG-MAN, THE EGGIST OF ALL THE EGG-PEOPLE'
'Can't you be egg man at McDonalds?' moaned Doobah, nursing his aching legs
'Don't be daft, you need to be in an egg-orienteted establishment if your eggy powers are to be effective. McDonald's is mainly involved in the production and distribution of meat-based products, more specifically burgers, although I might add that the actual meat content of their meat is negligable.'
'See, you spend all day researching fast food outlets and buying obscure weapons over e-Bay. If you applied yourself in that same way to something useful, such as learning to spell or forming sentences, you could actually one day become a worthwhile human being.'
'Nonsenses, I cans form sentence real really good'
'I just don't...PULL YOUR FINGER OUT OF THERE!! So sorry madam, it's not his fault, he's thick...Jesus man, why do I bother with you?'
'I pay your rent?'
'Ah yeah. Feck.'
'DOOD, like...yeah, Im gunna run into that big ol' house over theeeere and nick summat hefty stealthy style, know where I'm comin' from big dawg?'
'SWEET as a duck, wait here'
'Thats not even a house, it's a solid brick wall...No don't use your face as a hammer...Ahh, look, you got blood everywhere...'
Doobah picked Boobah up off the ground.
'Y'know Doobah, we've been being spontaneous for a whole 5 minutes now and we haven't angered or even come into contact with anyone in a seat of power...'
'Ah Boobah, you spoke too soon, look, the Japanese guitarist from DragonForce is coming over and he looks to have been angered in some way'
'The wee one with really long hair? Oh I remember now, yeah...I might be able to guess why he's all angry...'
'...Why?' asked Doobah, with barely constrained malice in his voice
'OI, You little wanker, yeah? Why'dya throw this used johnny in my face? I am so gunna break your face with my guitar...' spat the Chinese guitarist from DragonForce.
Doobah noticed that Boobah was oblivious to this threat and was actually counting the number of leaves on the nearest tree. He decided to try to calm down the Korean guitarist from DragonForce himself, not to save Boobah, but because he could easily see himself getting caught by a high velocity guitar swing.
'Please, Mr Kenyan guitar player from DragonForce, you have to understand, hes a complete idiot. Look at him, hes chewing his own forehead for christ's sake...'
'I don't care what he's chewin' now, in a few seconds it's gunna be the flat of my guitar!! At I would not be surprised if I accidentally caught you with one of my high velocity guitar swings too, by the way...'
Doobah began to panick. 'Look, this doesn't need to turn violent...I'm sure he had a perfectly reasonable excuse for throwing that condom at you.'
'I thought it'd be funny. It totally was.' said Boobah, who's attention had at some point found is way back onto the heated exchange of words before him. 'It was like...SLAP...and you were al like...ew...and I was all like...rad...'
The guitar collided cleanly with the side of Doobah's head.
'FECK!! What the...why? feck...'
'Soory other guy, but I did warn you about my rather unruly guitar swinging technique'
'That really bloody hurt...you bastard. Ach...ahh...Oh, man that really hurt, I've gone all dizzy...bastard'
'Sorry, these things happen...anyway, where was I?'
'HOLY FACK!!! My god that hurt...Ahhhh...bloody hell, hit HIM!! Oh my word that hurt...oh, there's blood, you made me bleed...you arse!! you arse-bastard! Honestly, how hard is it to hit a guy with a guitar? Ahhhcht....my heads throbbing...you dick!'
'My bad again...this time...'
Doobah fell over, unconcious.
Doobah awoke 15 minutes later, his head throbbing, in a pool of his own blood. Which was odd as he wasn't bleeding. Anyway, head throbbing, blood...where was I...blood...throbbing....ah yes, then he got up. Yeah, I'm totally back on track now. But seriously where did the blood come from? I mean, unless he sort of coughed some up after the hit...but that would hardly be enough to form a puddle. Yes, technically the Portugese guitarist from DragonForce did make him bleed blood as Doobah made clear, but you assume from the fact that he remains quite able to complain after said hitting that he was not bleeding enough to cause any major instability, pointing to the conclusion that this blood too was inadequate as a source for the puddle...man, I really am stumped, it makes no sense...I mean, puddles of blood don't just appear, there must have been...oh wait, thats not blood, its grass. Silly sausage...
Anyway, Doobah got up and looked around, finding nothing nearby but a dead tramp.
'No' replied the dead tramp. 'I'm a dead tramp'
'Did you happen to see any partially bald vertically challenged aggressive clearly autistic men wearing an eyepatch, a triangular monacle and with a picture of a ball-point pen on their shirts alongside the caption 'Batteries make me wet' around here a while ago? I'm looking for my friend, if you saw him and where he went it would help...'
'Aye, fact 've seen quite a few of 'em of late, see'n as there were tha' partially bald vertically challenged aggressive clearly autistic men wearing an eyepatch, a triangular monacle and with a picture of a ball-point pen on their shirts alongside the caption 'Batteries make me wet' convention jus' a few hours ago...last of 'em only jus' left a few minutes ago...'
'Ah, but there were one who kep' pokin' yus as ye slept, looked pretty badly beat to me, almos' like he'd been hit by some sort'a string'd instr'ment or summat, possibly an electric guitar...yep, he were headin' that ways last I saw'
The dead tramp pointed to a nearby alley.
'Ok, thanks dead tramp. You rest in peace eh?'
'Great, cya!' and with that Doobah ran, ran with all his might...until his lungs were sore and his legs begging for mercy. He ran faster than he had ever ran before. After a few minutes, he arrived back home, made himself a pot-noodle and sat down to watch TV.
'Ah the evening news...I wonder if they've convicted that stingray for murder yet...'
He flicked the channel and turned up the volume, then laid back to eat his noodly snack.
'And the last little piggy went WEAH WEAH WEAH, all the way home. In other news, Police are currently battling with a 100 foot tall nuclear-powered destructo-killbot in downtown Sessex. So far the death toll is approaching 563 trillion people, and a small mentally challenged man with an eyepatch is humping the robots shin. Also today, a car ran over a speedbump in Liverpool. We now go live to Mike Hunt, who is at the scene, hello mike...'
Doobah just picked up his coat, too weary from the events of the evening to even comment on the jaw-dropping stupidity of the situation. He dragged his feet to the kitchen, trudged out of the door and headbutted the side of his Mondeo several times before getting in.
It didn't take long to find the giant destructo-killbot, seeing as he was 100 feet tall and complaining very loudly about the molestation of his shin at the hands of a midget retard.
'Okay giant murderous nuclear-powered robo-whatever, stop being a douche and give my friend back' said Doobah, not even bothering to feel fear.
'I'd love to, but he's locked on pretty tight...I tried disintegrating him off with my lazer-death rays but its like he's made of win or something, I can't hurt him...'
'Boobah, relaese the mechanical behemoth's shin so we can go home and play monopoly or something please'
'Nevar!! I shall hump till my groin is bleeding and deformed!!'
'Your crotch was always bleeding and deformed, 'Bleedingdeformedcrotchivitus' is one of your many unfortunate life-long afflictions. This aggressive Iron Colossus just wants his shin back so he can continue his rampage of destruction free from leg-sex'
'Fine, I shall release his leg, on the condition that after I do so, me and him engage in a duel!!'
'Works for me' replied the giant douchebot.
'Well, you will undoubtedly be instantly murderised in a hail of nuclear minigun fire, but sod it, I'm far too tired to stick up for you any more. Here's a gun I found in the pocket of some dead tramp, only has 3 rounds left.'
'Wonderous!! Robot, we shall each turn back to back and walk a distance of 20 paces...well, to even out the size difference I will walk 20, you sort of shimmy forewards a bit...then when I yell FIRE we shall each turn and fire, then you shall fall over dead and the African children will feed on your titanium skin, solving world hunger'
'Wutever, look, I have to be on the set of Transformers 2: The Re-Deadenising in a few minutes so can we make this quick?'
The two turned back to back, to begin what must have been the most epic battle between man and machin since the Matrix. Even Doobah bothered to watch as each moved forewards his respective paces, 20 for Boobah, about a quarter for robocop.
'FIRE, I say!!'
The robot turned and buried Boobah beneath a hail of machinegun fire. He then fired a few missiles and stamped on the burning heap of retard before him.
'That was disturbingly predictable...I mean, why did none of us even try to stop that from happening?' Asked a nearby man holding a 'KILL BOOBAH' foam glove.
'To be honest, as soon as that robot turned and fired those 3.5 million bullets, my life was complete' said Doobah, who was actually crying with happiness by this stage.
'Seems kinda harsh, but hey, what do I know about your personal relationship with the deceased, I'm just a faceless character introduced solely to allow you to express your joy of Boobah's death to those reading the piece.'
and with that the man was gone.
'If I go home now I might just catch the end of the master-chef final re-run. Damn those seemingly ordinarly people can cook!'
But just as Doobah made to leave, a barely audiable murmer arose from the large crater in the floor that had once contained Boobah.
'Oh. My. God.'
Again, another murmer.
'Sod it, I s'pose someone should put him out of his misery...'
Doobah walked to the crater and looked down. He wished he hadn't.
There, in front of him, sat Boobah, riddled with bullet holes and missing several vital halves of his body.
'Did I win?'
'No. You failed on a scale at which 'Epic' just does not cover the amount you failed by.'
'It would of helped if I hadn't dropped the gun down a drain a few minutes before the fight...'
'Yes, yes it would. But hey, lets not get all 'what if' about it, fact of the matter is you got shot about as much as it's possible to be shot before you are legally listed as a walking bullet-hole, and your death is imminent.'
'Uh, Boobah, is that a vibrator in your ear?'
'Yes...yes it is. Thanks for noticing...'
And with that, Boobah laid down his head, and shut his eyes.
'YESSSSSSSSS!!! Master-chef, consider yourself watched!'
'Just die already!'
'You can't rush these things, It could be a while before I die yet. In fact, I'm actually feel a bit better...yes, wow, I'm perking up...Oh my, I've suddenly regained the use of my limbs!! Doobah, I think I might just pull through!!'
2 loud shots rang out, and Boobah fell silent for the last time. Doobah pocketed his poo-covered gun, replaced the drain cover, and went home.
Master-chef was cancelled for the snooker.