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A Daring Rescue (Portly Boy pt. 34) by Ray Printer Friendly

“I am Seductress! And you will bend to my will!”

“Nice tits.” That was me, in case you were wondering. Yeah, crude as hell, I know, but sometimes I just can’t help it. The chick yelling about how she was Seductress, she was the one that had kidnapped Arnie. I didn’t know much about her really, except that her real name was Rachel, and that she once took her panties off on my front porch. She was trying to ransom Arnie for fifty thousand dollars. The funny part is, she wanted ME to pay that much to get him back. Sometimes, in my happier moments, I think it’s kind of cool to have other people on the planet—their stupidity really cracks me up.

She was just standing there, looking all dumbfounded. I didn’t quite understand why, really. She was wearing her little fishnet getup, you could see through it completely. What was I supposed to do? NOT remark about being able to see her tits? Come on, man—I’m Portly Boy.

“Yes…um, well.” She was clearly flustered, so I went to get some more coffee. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Chill, babe, I’m just going to get some more coffee.” Believe it or not, I’m not generally as sexist as I might seem. But one thing I’ve noticed is, if you’re dealing with a female who is feeling all empowered and dominant, the best thing to do is make some rude remark about her breasts and then give her a demeaning sexist-pronoun. You know, like “babe” or “honey” or “sweetheart.” Don’t do this if they’re close enough to claw your eyes out, though, because they’ll sure as hell try. But, really, you kind of deserve it if you’re gonna be a sexist bastard, right? I was safe, at least for the moment, because she was communicating through some sort of internet link. As far as I know, technology hasn’t advanced enough for a chick to jump through the internet and claw your eyes out.

I got a new cup of coffee and flopped back down onto the couch. Rachel was looking all pissed off. “All right,” I said, “What’s the score?”

“The ‘score’ is that you better shut up and pay attention to me, if you ever want to see your friend again.”

“I’m all ears, hon.” I sipped my coffee. I don’t believe anyone should feel empowered, really. By the way, as far as dealing with a man who’s getting a little too high on his horse, alls you have to do is pour some ice down his pants and then de-pants him in front of a bunch of his friends. Public shrivel-dick is something that few men have the heart to recover from.

She glared at me for something like three minutes, and then said, “As I said before, I am Seductress.” She wasn’t yelling it this time, which was really all I was after. People yelling their name at you, it’s really bad for a hangover. “So now, meet the rest of my team.” She fooled around with a little remote control thing for a second, and then the camera zoomed back to reveal her friends.

On the right was a black chick, all dressed up in red pleather. She had a hot body and some really cool braids. She had a mask kind of like mine—Lone Ranger-style that barely covers up anything—but hers was made of the same plastic/leather material of her costume and looked eons cooler than mine. “I’m Twister,” She said.

“Right on. Rockin’ bod, there, Twister.” Instead of accepting the compliment with grace, she just sneered at me.

On the left was an Asian chick with blonde hair. She didn’t have a mask on, and was wearing a black miniskirt and a white shirt that was about three sizes too tight. I felt like maybe she wasn’t taking this whole super-villain thing too seriously. “I’m Becky.”

“Damn it, Becky,” Rachel screamed. “I told you that you have to use your villain name if you want to be in the gang!”

“Like, no way!” Oh, dear me—a valley chick. Becky was the type of girl who ended pretty much every sentence with a question mark. The type of girl that Alicia Silverstone played in that movie Clueless, and the type of person you can tell she really is, no matter how many times you see her try to be serious in the Batman movie. “I told you, I’m in this for the sex and money? I don’t, like, want to be all geeky and comic booky?”

“Please don’t let that girl talk again,” I said, “Or all negotiations are off.”

“Like, I so didn’t want to talk to you anyway? I mean, hello? Ever heard of a gym?”

“Yeah, I have. That’s where I plan on taking my gun when I finally snap. Which one do you go to?”

“Oh, it’s so great! Like, over on fifty-ninth and-“

“Shut up, Becky,” Seductress said.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You shut up, too. Now here’s the deal: we want our money, or you’ll never see your friend again.”

“That’s cool, dude. I’ve got keys to the house, and I know where all the credit cards are. I don’t particularly need him around. So you kids have fun.” I stood up and turned off the monitor.

“Asshole!” That was Mandy. The giant screen that I had just turned off flashed the words, “Manual Override” and turned back on. Seductress was standing there, looking all shocked again.

“Let us see Drunkard,” Mandy told her.

This seemed more like in the line of what Seductress had planned, as far as this demand-money conversation went. She smiled and stepped away. There was Arnie, still tied to the bed. They had at least covered him with a sheet this time, but I still didn’t like seeing him in bed. They had taped his mouth shut, which I thought was some really good thinking.

Seductress walked over to him and ripped the tape away.

“Don’t you DARE try to rescue me!” Arnie yelled immediately. She slapped the tape back down. Then she turned back towards the camera and smiled a pretty evil smile.

“Did you know that it’s actually possible to screw someone to death?”

“Nope, but it sounds like a pretty good way to go.”

“You might think so, at first. Probably not, though, when the dehydration kicks in, or the massive strokes. When every ejaculation causes stomach cramps and-“

“They’ll never break me!” That was Arnie again. Apparently the tape didn’t stick so well the second time. “I left my house to you in my will! And all my money! You get it all, man! Stay away! Don’t try to rescue me! I’ll never-“

And then the screen blacked out.

“Wow,” I said. “Chicks are so weird. Why would anyone think that Arnie needed to be saved from that?”

“You have to go save him,” Mandy said.

“Are you insane? Save him from WHAT? Why?”

“You can’t screw someone to death, Howie.”

“I think we should let Arnie decide something like that. Him and his heart or whatever.”

“You can’t screw somebody to death, no matter what those ditzy bitches think.”

“Well, I guess you would be the person to ask about something like that.”

“Shut up. Look, they’ll give it their best shot, I’m sure, but come on—you’ve been around Arnie. They’ll eventually get tired of it and just break his neck or something.”

“It beats getting shot in the crotch by a jealous husband and then left in a dirty alley to bleed to death, which is the way that Arnie figures he’s going to die. I mean, I think that ignoring this whole thing is the best way to play it.”

“You have to go save him.”

“No way. Weren’t you listening? He left his house to me.”

“I can’t believe what a petty, greedy, vile example of human life you are.”

“Yes you can.”

“Okay, let me put this another way: it’s Monday. You have to go out tonight, ON FOOT, of course, because the Portmobile won’t go without Arnie. So you’ll be walking around in your little yellow outfit, getting teased and beaten and abused in ways you don’t even want to think about. And Arnie? He’ll be getting laid. By those three women. Repeatedly.”

Mandy knows how to make a point, I’ll give her that.

“Well,” I said, “I guess I can’t leave him in their evil clutches.”

“Right! Okay, so I’ve been working through some ideas about how to track him. I mean, those skanks won’t give him back, not if they think they can milk the situation for more money. I’ve been tracing the messages back, and although I don’t have an exact location yet, I think I can pinpoint it by the time you have to go out tonight.”

“Do you try this hard to find me when I get kidnapped?”


“Dude, you’re like busting balls to figure out how to get Arnie back safe and sound. And that’s just from some girls that want to have sex with him over and over again. So when I get held by gigantic barbarians with all kinds of guns who want to catch my eyelids on fire, do you try this hard to save me?”

“You were rescued, right?”

“Does that really answer the question?”

“Do I care?”

I was getting bored with this whole stupid conversation where every sentence ended with a question—I guess maybe it reminded me a little too much of that Becky chick—so I decided to end it.

“Piss off, Mandy, you and your stupid question answers.” I rolled into the Portmobile and clapped my hands.

“Where are you going?” She asked. Her voice came over the speakers from the Drunk Tank as well as from the interior of the Portmobile.

“I’m going to get Arnie.” I waited until the garage door was open and then I said, “Portmobile?”

“Yes, The Amazing Portly Boy?”

“Let’s go get Arnie.”

The engine revved, the theme song kicked on, and the Portmobile took off. The thing is, Arnie had a tracking device implanted somewhere in his body. Yeah, it’s pretty creepy, but so is Arnie. When you jump in the Portmobile without him, about the only place you can drive is to wherever he is. It’s a real pain in the ass when you’re trying to ditch him, but I guess it comes in pretty handy when you’re trying to locate him. Generally, I’m not trying to locate him, though, so this is a feature that I don’t really use much.

“We need a plan,” Mandy said from the dashboard. “Maybe what we should do is-“

“Oh, shut up,” I said. I turned the volume down. I hadn’t ever tried that before, and I was kind of happy that it worked out. Pretty much everything Arnie or Mandy touched had some sort of stupid “Override” thing on it that everybody knew except for me. Good ole’ volume knobs, though. Beat that, science.

It also turned down the theme song, which was cool, and I rode the rest of the way in silence. The Portmobile goes so fast that it’s basically impossible for a human being to control. I guess maybe a racecar driver or an astronaut could do it, but my motor skills and reflexes are nowhere near those of a racecar driver or astronaut. I’m down there with the two-year-olds who are trying to figure out how to get that red block to fit through that little triangular hole in the box.

The good thing is, when it actually knows your destination, the Portmobile can drive itself, anyways. This doesn’t come in handy nearly as much as you might think, because you can’t pre-set it to go to the grocery store or anything. It can track down Arnie, and it automatically stops at all of his favorite bars. That’s it. I’m sure there’s a way to make it do all kinds of amazing things, but I don’t have any idea of how, and I’m not motivated enough to try to find out.

What I’m saying is, while the Portmobile raced across the city, on a mission to save it’s creator, I took a nap. It was a pretty good nap.

“Wake up.” That was Mandy, and I was getting pretty sick and damn tired of her always telling me to wake up all the time.

“What? What do you want?”

“You’re coming up on the place.”

“What place?” I’m always kind of discombobulated when I wake up, and waking up behind the wheel of a vehicle that’s maneuvering through traffic at really high speed is really pretty disorienting. I grabbed the wheel in a moment of panic, but the Portmobile was locked on course and wouldn’t let me turn it, which was probably better for me, anyway. Not to mention all the pedestrians that I would have plowed over if I had altered the course of the car.

“I don’t know what place,” Mandy said, “But it’s where they’ve got Arnie, apparently.”

“Ah. Well…good, then.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“What in the world would make you think that I had a plan?”

“Well how are you going to save him?”

“Shut up.” I don’t know if it was because I was just waking up or what, but Mandy seemed like she was a lot more annoying than usual. Maybe it was because Arnie was usually around to annoy me, and that made Mandy look like small potatoes, I don’t know. “Just shut up for a second and let me think.” This was pretty much just a trick, since she had gotten around the volume knob obstacle. I didn’t want to do any thinking, really, except about the dream I was just having where it was ME that had been kidnapped by the three slutty chicks instead of Arnie.

My trick worked for about thirty seconds, and then Mandy goes, “Well?”

“I’m all right.”

“What’s your plan, I mean.”

I didn’t want to think about a plan, so I just decided to crash through the wall, rescue Arnie, and get back to the house in time to grab a couple of Hot Pockets before I had to officially be at work. “It’s actually kind of a secret plan at this point,” I told Mandy.

“What is it?”

“See, the thing is, I would tell you, but I need you left in the dark, so you’ll act surprised when it all goes down.”

“You’re so full of shit that your hair has turned brown.”

“My hair’s brown because of genetics, thank you very much.”

“Just tell me the plan.”

“Never.” It was at this point that the Portmobile swerved into a driveway and squealed to a halt. The thing is, you can’t crash through walls when you’re in the Portmobile, because it has that stupid auto-brake thing.

“Auto-brake engaged,” the Portmobile told me.

“You’re an asshole, Portmobile,” I told the Portmobile. One of the bad things about the Portmobile is that it never gets agitated when I insult it.

“So now what?” That was Mandy, and I could tell she was just waiting for me to say that I didn’t know what to do so that she could pipe in with whatever great plan she had up her sleeve.

I got out of the Portmobile and walked up to the front door. I could hear Mandy’s voice yelling at me that what did I think I was doing, but I ignored her like a champ. When I got to the door, I couldn’t really think of what to do, so I relied on the classic fallback—I rang the doorbell.

“Who is it?” A voice asked from inside. It was the valley chick—Becky was her name, no alias because she thought comic books were stupid. Bitch.

“Um, it’s UPS. I have a big box full of money I’m suppose to deliver to this address.”

I heard an excited yelp from insdie and the door opened. I don’t know exactly what she was expecting, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a fat guy in jeans and a t-shirt (which is what I generally wear if I’m not wearing the stupid costume). About ten different looks of confusion crossed her face, and then I got bored of watching her react and pushed her out of the way.

“Like, hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“In here. I’ll just be a second.” I wasn’t sure where I was going, but since I was in the suburbs, I didn’t think the layout of the house would be that difficult to figure out. Front room, kitchen, long hallway with a bedroom at the end. Pretty basic schematic, you know? It smelled good, like only a girl’s house can smell, all kinds of nice perfume and soap and whatever.

Nothing like the sweat and violence I have to endure when I get kidnapped. I swear, man, Arnie can’t even get kidnapped right, the jackass.

I kicked open the bedroom door—mostly for effect, since it was barely even closed—and saw Arnie strapped to the bed. Thank goodness he was still covered up. I didn’t know where the rest of the gang was, but they weren’t guarding Arnie. I untied one of his hands and he immediately took a swing at me. I tied that hand back up, which gave me kind of a nasty, dirty feeling, but it’s not like I could rescue him with him fighting me every step of the way. I tried untying his leg next, but then he started kicking at me. It was pretty obvious that he wasn’t going to work with me on this rescue.

The fact the he was so adamant about not being rescued gave me purpose, I guess, because usually if anything was this difficult, I would just go home and watch some TV. I tied his leg back down. The valley chick was all yelling about how I like better totally get out of here before she called the police.

“If you call the police, you get arrested for kidnapping. Now quit your yelling and help me with this.” I was trying to turn the bed sideways so that I could push it down the hallway and out the front door. She helped me tilt the bed up on the edge and then went back into the kitchen to make some microwave popcorn. Arnie just hung there for a second, planning his next move, I guess, or maybe just being really confused. The sheet that was covering him had been tucked under at the edges, so I didn’t even have to see him naked, which was a major bonus. I got the bed out of the bedroom easy enough, but then Arnie began to comprehend that I was taking him away from his captors. As I tried to pull the bed down the hall, he started shaking around all crazy and making the bed really unsteady.

“Knock it off, you bastard,” I told him. “If you don’t quit fooling around, someone’s going to get hurt.” He kept shaking, though, and I finally got sick of it and shoved the bed against the wall.

Arnie’s face smashed into the plaster and a framed picture crashed down on his head. Just to make sure he got the idea, I slammed him into the wall one more time before righting the bed. This time, he stayed still. I didn’t know if it’s because he had learned his lesson or if I had knocked him unconscious, and I didn’t really figure that it mattered. The important thing was that he was being still. “See?” I said, “I told you someone was going to get hurt.” He didn’t respond, so I got back to business.

I pulled him out the front door and as far out into the lawn as could get without exhausting myself (which, honestly, wasn’t that far), then walked back to the Portmobile. “Portmobile?”

“Yes, the Amazing Portly Boy?”

“Grab Arnie and let’s get the hell out of here.”

I heard Arnie trying to yell, but the tape that The Seductress and her crew had put over his mouth was holding tight. I bet you anything he was trying to yell “Override,” too, that son of a bitch. Not this time, sucker.

A metal arm shot out of the Portmobile and wrapped around the entire bed. I was trying to think if that was what usually happened, but I didn’t really have time to do things like recollect, because right then, that’s when Rachel, aka The Seductress, pulled up.

“Hey!” She screamed. I guess her and the other girl—Twister? Yeah, Twister, I think was her name—they had been at the grocery store, I guess, because the car was full of food and stuff, and they weren’t dressed up in their costumes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Me? Nothin’. Let’s go, Portmobile!” I jumped into the Portmobile and the top slid shut. The metal arm placed Arnie and the bed he was strapped to into the back, and we roared across the front lawn and into traffic.

“Hell of a rescue,” Mandy said. She sounded all sarcastic, like her plan would have worked out much better, if only I had listened to it.

“Yeah, well, I got the job done. I’m blaming this all on you, you know.”

“The rescue? Come on, man. I’m sure he’s going to be thankful, once he realizes that he was in serious danger.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. So you take full responsibility?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Say it. Say the whole sentence, and start with your name.”

“Fine. I, Mandy, take full responsibility for saving Arnie from a horrible death.”

“A horrible death at the hands of who?’

“Of that slut Rachel and her gang of skanks. Satisfied?”

I was.

And that’s it for this adventure, kidd-o’s. Join us next time to see the repercussions of Mandy’s foolish…you know what? If you’ve read this far, you’re obviously going to keep reading, so why should I waste my breath trying to make it sound all interesting and shit? If you want to read about my horrible, humiliating life, alls you gotta do is tune in next time. SAME FAT TIME, SAME FAT CHANNEL!


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