Post by johnnydorn on Oct 30, 2020 3:00:53 GMT
It’s two days before the night of tricks and treats, and classic Halloween tunes guide the JaegerMASTER himself, Johnny Dorn, through the crowded aisles of America’s favorite pop-up holiday store. He has a plastic-bagged costume in hand and a swag in his step as he makes his way toward the line of registers, seeing an empty one toward the far right of the row.
His thumb is also in a splint, because apparently he doesn’t know how to throw a punch right and he sprained it at Cheap Pops Vol. 1. The moron.
“What’s up, sweetheart,” he says, before the mousy-looking, mid 20s-something clerk can even greet him. “It’s my lucky day, got the last one of these.”
‘One of these’ being an adult breathalyzer costume, complete with a green-to-red sobriety meter, a ‘digital screen’ showing a reading of 69.69, and an apparatus toward the bottom of the costume instructing people to ‘Blow Here.’
Of course.
“Um...cool?” The cashier, Gina, replies, and scans the item. She’s clearly not impressed with this shithead or his decision-making, and she wants Johnny to move along. “That’ll be--”
“You wanna know the secret to beating one of these?”
There’s a long, uncomfortable pause.
“Not drinking and driving?”
“I beat my first one when I was seventeen.” Johnny ignores the obviously correct advice and presses on. “Got pulled over after a football game. Trick is to hyperventilate; breathe in really deep a few times, and get all the shitty air outta your lungs before the cops make you blow into it.”
The Fireball Felon taps a finger to his temple. “You gotta be slick like that; that’s how you beat the system. Been doin’ it all my life. Keep your eyes open, take whatever advantage you can, and blow by anyone who stands in your way. Especially the little goodie goodies.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Gina deadpans.
“Yeah, probably not.” Johnny admits. “I gotta fight this chick this weekend.” A puzzled expression crosses Gina’s face, which Johnny doesn’t notice. “She’s got Smurf hair and a cow obsession. Always tryin’ to do the right thing, big on sportsmanship. Too nice for this business. Got no killer instinct.”
“And you do.”
“Damn right I do. Beat the piss outta some protestors. Boston Bumblefuck didn’t even show up to face me! But hey, maybe at the end of the day, Averie will wanna … you know.”
Johnny looks down at the costume’s ‘Blow Here’ tube then back up at Gina, whose annoyance grows by the second.
“How could anyone resist.” By this point, she’s had about enough of this interaction for one lifetime and isn't even bothering to hide her contempt anymore. “Are you going to pay for this now? There’s a line behind you.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Johnny fumbles for his wallet and produces a credit card. “Say, how about you knock some money off this, since I’ll be competing here and all this weekend. Y’know, lil’ promotional discount for one of the boys?”
Gina’s expression turns from bothered to bewildered. Did she miss a bulletin board posting or a note in her company-issued locker? “I beg your pardon?”
“Big Cheap Pops Pro show in your parking lot this weekend. It’s where I’m gonna beat the cow shit outta Smurf Girl. Santana might even kill a guy. Lookit!”
Johnny retrieves his phone while those close to him in line all groan at how long this is taking. Gina gives her customers a sympathetic look while the Keg Stand King flicks through his Twitter feed. He pulls up the lineup and shoves the phone forward. “See?” he wiggles the screen back and forth. “SPOOKYSZN, live from SPIRIT HALLOWEEN. And I’m…” he jabs his finger against the glass. “...right there. Second match! Johnny Dorn! Movin’ up the card, baybee!”
“Dude…” Gina smirks as the crowd titters. Johnny looks confused. “...this is a Halloween Express. Spirit Halloween is in the next town over.”
For the first time, Johnny looks at Gina - really looks at her - and notices that her corporate-issued vest does, actually, say ‘Halloween Express.’ In fact, so does all of the signage around the store, the neatly stacked flyers in the checkout lane, and the labeling on the plastic bags for customer purchases.
“Oh.” He lowers his phone and slips it back into his pocket, then scratches the back of his head and puts on his best disarming grin. “How about that discount anyway?”
His thumb is also in a splint, because apparently he doesn’t know how to throw a punch right and he sprained it at Cheap Pops Vol. 1. The moron.
“What’s up, sweetheart,” he says, before the mousy-looking, mid 20s-something clerk can even greet him. “It’s my lucky day, got the last one of these.”
‘One of these’ being an adult breathalyzer costume, complete with a green-to-red sobriety meter, a ‘digital screen’ showing a reading of 69.69, and an apparatus toward the bottom of the costume instructing people to ‘Blow Here.’
Of course.
“Um...cool?” The cashier, Gina, replies, and scans the item. She’s clearly not impressed with this shithead or his decision-making, and she wants Johnny to move along. “That’ll be--”
“You wanna know the secret to beating one of these?”
There’s a long, uncomfortable pause.
“Not drinking and driving?”
“I beat my first one when I was seventeen.” Johnny ignores the obviously correct advice and presses on. “Got pulled over after a football game. Trick is to hyperventilate; breathe in really deep a few times, and get all the shitty air outta your lungs before the cops make you blow into it.”
The Fireball Felon taps a finger to his temple. “You gotta be slick like that; that’s how you beat the system. Been doin’ it all my life. Keep your eyes open, take whatever advantage you can, and blow by anyone who stands in your way. Especially the little goodie goodies.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Gina deadpans.
“Yeah, probably not.” Johnny admits. “I gotta fight this chick this weekend.” A puzzled expression crosses Gina’s face, which Johnny doesn’t notice. “She’s got Smurf hair and a cow obsession. Always tryin’ to do the right thing, big on sportsmanship. Too nice for this business. Got no killer instinct.”
“And you do.”
“Damn right I do. Beat the piss outta some protestors. Boston Bumblefuck didn’t even show up to face me! But hey, maybe at the end of the day, Averie will wanna … you know.”
Johnny looks down at the costume’s ‘Blow Here’ tube then back up at Gina, whose annoyance grows by the second.
“How could anyone resist.” By this point, she’s had about enough of this interaction for one lifetime and isn't even bothering to hide her contempt anymore. “Are you going to pay for this now? There’s a line behind you.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Johnny fumbles for his wallet and produces a credit card. “Say, how about you knock some money off this, since I’ll be competing here and all this weekend. Y’know, lil’ promotional discount for one of the boys?”
Gina’s expression turns from bothered to bewildered. Did she miss a bulletin board posting or a note in her company-issued locker? “I beg your pardon?”
“Big Cheap Pops Pro show in your parking lot this weekend. It’s where I’m gonna beat the cow shit outta Smurf Girl. Santana might even kill a guy. Lookit!”
Johnny retrieves his phone while those close to him in line all groan at how long this is taking. Gina gives her customers a sympathetic look while the Keg Stand King flicks through his Twitter feed. He pulls up the lineup and shoves the phone forward. “See?” he wiggles the screen back and forth. “SPOOKYSZN, live from SPIRIT HALLOWEEN. And I’m…” he jabs his finger against the glass. “...right there. Second match! Johnny Dorn! Movin’ up the card, baybee!”
“Dude…” Gina smirks as the crowd titters. Johnny looks confused. “...this is a Halloween Express. Spirit Halloween is in the next town over.”
For the first time, Johnny looks at Gina - really looks at her - and notices that her corporate-issued vest does, actually, say ‘Halloween Express.’ In fact, so does all of the signage around the store, the neatly stacked flyers in the checkout lane, and the labeling on the plastic bags for customer purchases.
“Oh.” He lowers his phone and slips it back into his pocket, then scratches the back of his head and puts on his best disarming grin. “How about that discount anyway?”