"Pretty Fly for a Russian Guy"
By
Max Booth III
By
Max Booth III
Hans Goober jogged the four and a half miles to the gym drenched with sweat. His armpits exceeded the normal limit of body odor; all pedestrians he passed nearly dove in the bushes as if they were taking cover from heavy artillery. Whenever he ran past a woman (especially a pretty one) he flexed his muscles and formed a smile. Usually he said a smooth line, too, (or what he thought to be a smooth line). “Hey, ladies,” he said, “how you like the guns? I’m in army, huh?” He took their laughs entirely the wrong way. As he crossed the corner he smirked to himself and said, “I’m such fly guy.”
Before he opened the glass plate door he emptied the water bottle over his head and sighed in relief. It was such a cool feeling for such a hot day. Hans tossed the plastic bottle into a waste basket and entered the gym, where he just so happened to have a paid membership. He ripped off his shirt and flexed his ‘guns’ some more. Hans was somewhat of a hero there, being the most buff. Most people, though, found it disgusting on how muscular he was. Veins were on the verge of shooting out of his skin. It was ridiculous how large his arms were.
Hans was in training. He had to prepare himself for the event in six months. He was going to the Olympics, as a bodybuilder. But he wasn’t going to be on the American team, though. Russia was his country. He was undercover in the States, learning their secretive secrets. “Stupid sons of bitches,“ he had snickered one night while flexing in front of a mirror. They had no idea of his true identity as a Russian. He was incognito.
Hans believed he was the strongest man alive, and was going to prove his strength today at the gym. Before he started his exercise he gathered everybody around. He was going to try something very remarkable today. Something inhuman. The crowd of onlookers gasped when Hans lifted three 100 lb weights on each side of the barbell. “Prepare to be amazed,” he announced, and lifted it on his shoulders. He raised his arms over his head and smiled as everybody applauded. Hans did it three more times. Then five more. It was a spectacular sight to say the least. Hans was a star. He was the strongest man alive.
“Hey,” a young college student said, “what’s wrong with the back of your pants, man? You didn’t shit yourself, did you?”
At first Hans didn’t know what he was talking about, but then he felt the warm trickle of liquid leaking down his leg. No doubt it had soaked through his sweats. He looked down and saw a stream of blood flowing out of the bottom of his pants and down his shoe. “What this?” he wondered.
Hans felt warmness from his behind, and a deep itch had occurred. It itched so bad he was actually in pain. He struggled his grip with the barbell and lost his balance, resulting in the weights collapsing on his foot. “Aaarrrgh!” he cried. It was clearly broken.
Something very awkward was going on in the back of his pants, and he was determined to find out what. Hans dropped his sweatpants and reached his hand around to his buttocks. What he felt was some kind of piece of jagged-edged meat. Something squishy but at the same time tough, like an ultra-well-done tenderloin. Impossible to tear in half. Hans played with it with his fingers for a few moments and looked around the room. “What is it?” he asked. “What is it?”
“Holy shit!” another kid exclaimed. He reached into his gym back and brought back out a digital video camera. “I’m putting this shit on YouTube!”
“What?” Hans was confused. What was YouTube? Was a YouTube attacking his ass? Some kind of foreign parasite? What was going on? He decided he had to see what this was for himself. Hans gripped the piece of meat and pulled. Surprisingly, the parasite moved without struggle. It slid out of his clenched butt cheeks with ease. He pulled it around his body for a good look. The more that he tugged, the more that appeared. Whatever this was, it was inside of his body. A never-ending thick string of burnt flesh.
“Whoa dude, check out all that blood! And what the hell is that in his hands?” somebody asked.
“That’s his fucking intestines, man,” someone else replied. “Hey, guy, you shouldn’t be pulling on it like that.”
It was a game of tug-of-war. Hans’s hands were side A and his rump was side B. His insides were the rope. Hans still didn’t understand what was going on. His palms were smothered in blood, which caused the rope of intestines to slip out of his grasp. The splashing sound it made when it bounced off the cement floor literally freaked the hell out of him. Hans yelped in fright and pain and attempted to run off (presumably into the bathroom to wash up) but due to his broken foot and mile long string of insides swinging out of his ass like a rabid snake on cocaine, it was a hard goal to accomplish. The ‘rope’ got tangled up between his legs as if someone had tied his shoe laces together, and he tumbled to the ground, yelling in surprise.
The crowd gasped in excitement. They couldn’t blink, wouldn’t dare miss something as exhilarating as this. The college student was sure glad he had remembered to charge the battery of his camera before leaving his dorm that morning. This would be the most watched video on YouTube. This would go down in history as one of the most awesome of awesome things ever to be captured on camera. This would outrank the Rodney King beat-down by a thousand.
Hans tried to sit up but the pain of leaning on his behind was so excruciating he could have passed out. His cries of help seemed nonexistent to the marveled onlookers before him. Finally, biting his lower lip, Hans sprung to his feet. His intestines were still tied around his legs, so he had to hop (which, considering his now broken foot, was an almost impossible thing to do) like a bunny rabbit towards the front door. He barged out of the gym and looked left to right. Nobody was in sight so he continued to hop down the sidewalk, a trail of black ooze creating behind him. He had blown his cover, that he was certain of. But there were ways to get an American’s trust again. His commanding officer had once told him of a substance called ‘crack’. Apparently, Americans loved the stuff. So, Hans figured tomorrow he would go back to the gym with a bunch of this ‘crack‘. He would give it out for free and they would love him again. It was all so simple and yet so brilliant!
When Hans got to the next block he saw a woman sitting on a stoop reading the newspaper. As he leaped his way by, he flexed his muscles. “Like what you see, baby?”
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed, vomiting in her mouth and through her nostrils.
Hans smiled and kept on hopping, thinking to himself, “I’m such fly guy.”
