Other Fan Fiction / Romance Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Adventures of Thad Gunter ❯ Please and Bank You ( Chapter 2 )

THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF THAD GUNTER!

 

----

 

Chapter 2: Please and Bank You

 

----

 

Having thoroughly washed himself of all his icky yellow goo-puke and all his icky green goo-crap, Isaac Thaddeus "Thad" Edgar Gunter III stepped out of the shower. In the process of walking across the floor to the sink, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Because of a sudden time-warp across his bathroom, he hadn't noticed how much his body changed had while he was washing. Thad looked his new glistening wet body up and down. His nicely rounded muscular arms, a firm six-pack, rock solid shoulders, a chin worthy of George Clooney and Bruce Campbell's bastard child, and, to top it all off, a ridiculously long penis. With this perfect physique, Thad looked like something out of a gay porn film. (Not that The Author knows what those look like. Ahem.) So impressed he was with his new form, Thad began to contort his body into several different poses, similar to those regularly preformed by the muscle-bound freaks in those horrible body building contest you occasionally see late at night in the deep trenches of cable.

 

Thad was so enamored of himself that he didn't notice how slippery the floor was. So enamored he was that he didn't even notice when his feet began to loose traction with the surface of the floor. He only became aware of the situation when the fall forced his vision to focus on something besides his glistening pectorals. What he found himself focusing on instead was the toilet bowl seat quickly approaching his face. Before he knew what to do, Thad had cracked his jaw on the hard porcelain surface of the commode.

 

Twenty minutes later, Thad awoke. He was not faced with the vision of a flux capacitor; conversely, the droll bathroom ceiling was facing him. After rubbing the sore spot on his perfect chin, Thad began to take in the importance of these events. Despite being gifted with a beautiful new body through the wonders of Modern Vomit, it was best not to overly focus on it or to be even narcissistic in his study of his new form. To put it subsequently: Don't be an asshole. It was a great lesson in humility for all.

 

---

 

First Thad fitted himself in a fine black suit that he hadn't worn in thirteen years since his Great-Aunt's funeral, which only fit through the power of plot holes. He then gathered up some old pictures of his precious Helen Maria Rudwalnagirctekahs so he would be able to inform the guilty party, when he finally encountered them, what innocence it had corrupted.

 

Secondly, Thad stumbled around his front yard in an entirely different attempt at a second chapter which The Author discarded because it was, quote, “Not stupid enough.” (Ed. Note: What's more egotistical then quoting yourself? Add. Ed. Note: Answer: Providing editorial notes to your own story.) Stepping outside was initially a shock for Thad, as he hadn't faced direct sunlight for quite some time. For a second, he even considered the possibility that the Miracles of Modern Vomit actually transformed him into a vampire and that he was about to burst into flames. After this didn't happen, he figured the light sensitivities were probably a result of being inside for so fucking long. After thoroughly searching the front yard for a vehicle, discovering an abandoned Volkswagen Bug, and fighting off the family of rabid raccoons that had taken up residence in the backseat, Thad realizes he didn't have any car keys with him and probably couldn't remember how to drive anyway. He opted to walk instead.

 

---

 

“I don't like vaginas, so much.”

 

This was the first thing Thad heard when he stepped into the bank in town.

 

“Too many folds, I guess. I'm afraid loose something in there.”

 

A crazy, slightly overweight, brown haired young man in ducky pajamas was saying this to the bank clerk who just looked at him with a begrudging sort of pity.

 

The clerk responded, “Man, what kind of girls have you been looking at?”

 

Thad walked up to the clerk's desk, pushing aside the obnoxious pipsqueak, and slammed his fist down on the counter, obviously trying to drawl attention to himself.

 

“Hello, Bank Clerk, I am Isaac Thaddeus "Thad" Edgar Gunter the Third, and I need to withdraw some money from your fine banking establishment.”

 

The clerk, a man obviously embittered by the cold, hard claws of minimum wage, looked down at Thad with much the same contempt he had previously given the clueless asshole.

 

“Photo I.D., please.” The cynical clerk quipped.

 

Thad's only reasonable response was, “Wha?”

 

And right at that moment, the front door to the bank exploded open. Into the building a crazed looking man step in. He was dressed in a green skin tight leather jumpsuit, which clung to his copious layers of fat, and a black trench coat which contain far too many guns then any body should physically be able to carry. His red hair was sticking out in all direction and his neck seemed to constantly be bulging out with veins. A stylized silver death's head icon was drawn on his chest and a pair of dog tags hung around his neck. In his hand, he grasped a ridiculously, impossibly large handgun.

 

The strange man began to bellow at the top of lungs, “I AM THE VINDICATOR, COCK SUCKERS! I DEMAND VINDICATION!”

 

The Clueless Asshole, still sitting on his shore ass after being pushed to the floor by Thad, responded first.

 

“What the hell's your problem?”

 

The Vindicator screamed, “ARGGGH! PISS JERKER!!!” before shooting the asshole in the leg, causing him to scream and bleed all over the place.

 

The gun-totting lunatic then began to tell his story, typically, at the top of his lungs, “ERR, I WAS A BORDERLINE GULF WAR VET WHOSE LIVE ACTION ROLE-PLAYING GAME GROUP GOT CAUGHT IN A MAFIA CROSS FIRE! GODDAMN! FROM THAT POINT ON, I SWORE TO TAKE REVENGE ON ALL CRIME! HELL YEAH! I BECAME THE VINDICATOR!!! HRRGGH!!!! FUCK!”

 

The Clueless Asshole, still grasping at his leg wound, asks another clueless question, clueless-ly. “What did we do to you?”

 

The Vindicator stood in silence for a moment, his eyes twitching nervously. Because he obviously didn't know any other way to respond, he ran over and shot the Asshole in the head, splattering the poor foolish boy's brains all over the bank desk.

 

Eventually, the crazed not-so-thinly-veiled-parody-of-a-Popular-Marvel-Anti-Hero furiously spat, “YOU FURTHER AMERICAN CAPITALISM! DICK LICKER! RRRAARRR!”

 

Thad was completely disgusted by this vulgar display and decided to make his opinion known. “Sir, I think you need to calm down.”

 

Another vein protruded hideously from the barely contained ball of rage's neck before he turned his wrath towards Thad.

 

“WHAT DID YOU SAY, SHIT-FUCKER?????!!!?”

 

Thad, trying to be polite, though the mad man's poorly maintained dental hygiene made it difficult, reiterated, expanding on his opinions,

 

“I think you need to relax, sir. You obviously feel a lot of anger towards the world. I think you need to channel your aggression into a more constructive form of release, as opposed to just randomly killing. Perhaps painting would be good for you. Or martial arts. Taking a look at your leather jumpsuit, I'd say you could stand to loose a few pounds, Mr. The Vindicator.”

 

The Vindicator looked at Thad, confused. Slobber began to dribble from the side of his mouth as he considered the words. The insane individual spoke softly.

 

“You know, I always liked to paint.”

 

Thad smiled, satisfied, “Don't you feel better now?”

 

Before The Vindicator could respond though, the left side of his face was torn apart by a sudden shotgun blast. The suddenly faceless thinly-veiled-parody-of-a-Popular-Marvel-Anti-Hero fell to the floor, writhing in pain, as blood pour from the exposed muscles that now twitched uncontrollably for all the world to see. It would have been an incredibly painful experience for the would-be vigilante, if, when he fell, all the guns and other assorted objects of mal intent hidden in his trench coat hadn't have gone off simultaneously. A thousand bullets and other various projectiles tour through his body all at once. Soon, millions of exit wounds formed over his body, splattering small dollops of blood with every release. After seconds, the small holes quickly grew into larger ones, allowing punctured, fleshy organs to fly free from their internal chambers and sail through the air where they would fall to the wet floor with a disgusting sploosh. The fall also triggered several small explosive inside the coat, which also ripped through the Vindicator's body. The blast torn limps from sockets, also causing them to sail through the air and land to the ground with similar splooshes. Within near minutes of falling, the formerly very, very angry young man had been reduced to a steaming pile of bleeding flesh, barely recognizable as a human body.

 

Thad, shocked and appalled by this, turned to see what had caused this horrible event to come to be.

 

Standing on top of the bank desk was the Clerk, a smoking shotgun partially covered in duck tape in hand. The Clerk, in pure macho excitement over his first kill, punch himself in the face and let out a resounding, “YA-HOO!” before discreetly sitting back down at his chair.

 

Thad, more then a little upset, expressed his concern. “What the hell did you just do?”

 

The clerk looked down at him the same way he did earlier before asking, “I asked for some photo I.D. You can't take all day. You know, the bank has other customers. Do you have one or not?”

 

Thad, gulped before whispering, in defeat, “No.”

 

TO BE CONTINUED!!!!!!!!