Zac had been to church exactly seven times (not counting his baptism). Three times as a groom, twice as a best man, once as a bride (long story), and one more just last year when The Great Pope-ini from his Circle of Magi in Vegas had agreed to trade him a fake boating license in exchange for some holy water.

In none of those 8 situations had he escaped with his dignity or full liver function.

He stood across the street from the Church, watching the summer rain sluice across its roof. "Okay. Quick in and out, right?" he said to his Chikorita. "We'll scope the place out for jewels, see where they keep all those Jesus disks and the mid-tier booze, and best case scenario there's a weird basement that we can take some pics of to 'convince' the priest to give us a pass into the Good Place. Sound good?"

Chikorita shivered, terrified of what was happening. Petal had only a basic grasp of the law, but she was learning to trust her gut when she felt something was Wrong.

Unfortunately, Buzzster's question had been hypothetical, and before she could stutter out a complaint he had burst from the cover of the wooden awning and was sprinting up the steps of the church.

She squealed and galloped after him, her head leaf shielding her face from the worst of the rain.

Zac dodged the front doors and slipped around back, entering through the side door. Inside, he was instantly hit by a familiar smell.

Not the usual church smell of octagenarian perfume, crumpling prayer books, and ass-polished wood, but something fresher.

He noticed a young man was painting the wall.

"Oh! Sorry to bother you, mate!" Buzzster said, "I thought we'd scheduled the painter for midnight tomorrow"

His brain spun as he tried to salvage the situation. Only a fool cased the same place twice.

He took two cautious steps into the room. "Mind if I, uh, check out your work so far? The priest is pretty picky about his color palettes."

Claiming 230 Bytes for Zac! Happy New Year!

Zac didn't know what a Neopet was. Hell, he hardly knew what a Pocket Monster was, but if there was one thing he did know it was a payday! And as the thin Winter light snapped and sparkled on the islands of frozen treasure in the Snomager's laken lair, he stepped valiantly into the icy rowboat.

"Whoo! Colder in here than a Thanksgiving at the ex-in-laws, amirite?" he asked Petal and La Trixxia, his captive audience. "I mean talk about frosty, I haven't been this cold since I spent 8 months hiding in Alaskan to avoid the draft!"

La Trixxia let out a well-trained fake laugh, a titter muffled by one of her paws. "'ow 'umerous."

Petal didn't laugh, she was too busy turning blue. The flowers on her neck had retreated back into buds, and had shut tight against the frost. "Can we just get going, please?"

Happy with a 50% approval rating, Buzzster grabbed an oar and paddled out into the lake. He set his sights on the nearest island, and in minutes he was bumping up along side it like a degenerate on a dancefloor. And like that same hypothetical dancefloor shake-up, Buzzster had just one thing on his mind: booty.

"Well hello there beautiful," Buzzster said, reaching for an item half stuck in the ice. It was a mirror, with the handle and half of the face sticking above the frost line. The rest was hidden underneath.


"I think we should go," Petal said, her whole body shuddering as the cold froze her like a daisy in mid winter.

"'ere, let me wom you," La Trixxia offered, and she wrapped the freezing little Chikorita in a luxurious swaddle of six, sizzling tails.

Meanwhile, Buzzster had one leg up on the frozen bank, and was wrenching at the stuck mirror like it was a stubborn groundhog stuck in its hole. "Come on ya bastard!" he growled through gritted teeth. There was a CRACK as the mirror broke and Zac, prize in hand, tumbled backwards and fell straight into the freezing lake.

"Oh hey Furrlicity Purrfection ! Nice ears!" Zac said, waving at the tiny catboy. Furrlicity's ears hadn't changed since last time they'd met, but Zac always liked to start off a competition with a complement. It lulled the enemy into a false sense of camaraderie that he could capitalize on later if required.

Zac climbed on top of his Rolycoly, his feet resting on chunks of coal as if they were motorcycle pedals. He grabbed rocky protrusions near the Pokemon's front, and leaned forward, imagining he could hear the roar of the engine deep within the beast. He leaned down to whisper into a hole in the coal that could be an ear. "Book it straight up, okay? Rattata is on our left and he's going to be slowed down by that berry juice. Bank hard on the first turn and I bet we can force him straight off the track. Okay?"

The Rolycoly rumbled in response, shuddering with what Zac hoped was excitement and wasn't just internal combustion or indigestion.

O9zwt0pw1d201d20
Racing | Pokeball

The airhorn sounded, Rolycoly's tire bit into the dirt, and the pair of them shot forward, zipping straight to the front of the pack.

"Rattata on the left!" Buzzster said, grinning as his tactical prediction proved to be spot on. The purple rat pulled alongside and Zac tactfully leaned over to give it a quick kick, knocking it out of bounds. It crashed into one of the stick signposts, screeching bloody murder. "Hahah! They don't call me Ramsay for nothing!"

Next up was the powerups. Buzzster set his sights on a gleaming, golden Pokeball, and leaned in to the turn, aiming to swipe it from the ground. Only at the last second a lasso of sticky BULLSHIT whipped out from somewhere behind him, tangling around the orb and pulling it straight into the waiting arms of... "Yggy Br00ks ?" Buzzster shouted questioningly, as the blonde youth surged ahead on his souped-up Caterpie. "Great bug you got there, ya bastard! That one was mine! Your highly agile and skillful play won't win you this race!" Buzzster said, mixing compliment, insult, and threat to try and throw the kid off her game.

He sped along the straight, taking the next corner at top speed and snatching another Pokeball from the ground. "Aha!" he said, holding up the powerup. He waited for its power to flow through he. Any second now the engine would kick into a higher gear and he would blow his trash opponents away, like that time a hurricane tore the side door off his Chevy Impala and blew away six months of McBurger wrappers. "I've got all the bloody power now!" Buzzster shouted, unknowingly almost quoting a children's cartoon.

Only no power came.

Instead, the 'powerup' started ticking, flashing quickly through rainbows shades that more and more frequently displayed a dangerous RED. "It's a bloody bomb!" Zac said, swerving in shock and almost crashing into one of the guard posts. He twisted around and hurled the Pokeball behind him, only slightly aiming for Furrlicity Purrfection .

SUMMARY:
Rolled for progress (+11)
Rolycoly is booking it! (+5)
Knocked Rattata off the track (+5)
Yggy Br00ks stole my Golden Pokeball! (+5)
Grabbed a Rainbow Pokeball but it was a bomb. (-5)
Threw it at Furrlicity Purrfection

Total: 21

Zac had never watched Zombieland. He'd never even heard of Zombieland. However, he had an intimate knowledge of 'zombie' from the 70's, as well as a lifetime ban from Disneyland.

That would have to be enough.

"I'm not sure if I'd tap that even once!" Buzzster said, swinging a length of steel pipe at the nearest zombie. He knocked its jaw clean off and the teeth scattered across the ground like a pack of calcium-rich skittles. "Each to their own though."

But the zombie kept on coming. It grabbed Zac, intent on showing him the dangers of its remaining dentals. He let out a shout, stumbling back. "Petal! La Trixxia! These bastards are getting handsy!"

THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

Sharp-edged leaves bit into the zombie's rotten forehead like origami ninja stars, staggering it. "Yay! I got him!"

The air crackled, and what remained of the living dead's head ignited. "Woo! Now that's what I call a fiery redhead!"

Zac liked practical women. Women who had a good head on their shoulders and could improvise when a trick went wrong and someone lost a finger from a poorly-thrown knife. Women who could take the (now metaphorical) knives that life threw at you and, instead of suing about them, would fight off greedy venue managers who reneged on their promises and now wanted payment for all the free Hors d'oeuvres you'd eaten at the 'customers only' buffet.

Zac also liked beautiful women. Women with legs slightly disproportional to the standard anatomical model, and patience to match. Women with too-much makeup, bottom of the barrel standards, and top-tier boob jobs.

Olga BanHammer wasn't that second thing, but holy shit did she fit the first set of criteria.

Unfortunately, Buzzster was teleported away before he could ask for her pager number.

He found himself across from a disgusting zombie. They were jawless, and also in full clown makeup. Despite all that, she looked strangely familiar. "A zombie apocolypse? Hmmm. Good question!" Buzzster said in his haunting, ghostly voice, stalling. "Wow. Lots of variables there. I reckon I'd make a lot of money. A world full of zombies would certainly improve the average sense of humor at my usual gigs!" He laughed. "And they'd smell better too!"

Wiping away a tear, Buzzster took another look at the player across from him. Something was weird. He knew her. Was this someone he owed money to? "Is that you La Trixxia?" he asked Bergamot Gristleborg , ghostly voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.

The Pumpkaboos descended to take him away, but he dodged the first one. "No! That wasn't my question!" The second picked him up telekinetically and he shouted out his real question just in time. "After JFK faked his death, where do you think he escaped to?"

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