“Liu!” yelled Kang.
Liu stared at his outstretched fist in suspicious wonder. One moment, he was standing amidst rocky cliffs, performing Precious Duck Swims through Lotus, when a screeching metallic deathreaver leapt at his face. He deftly transitioned to Black Tiger Steals Heart, decimating the enemy into a thousand pieces. Only he did not see reaver parts scattered about his bare feet, nor were his feet on a rocky outcropping. He was standing in a large smokey room, on a shaggy orange carpet, littered with broken television pieces.
“Dude what the F—k!” Bill shouted from the couch, “I paid five hundred bucks for that flat screen!”
“Lookout,” Kang finished, now also looking around in bemusement. The two Shaolin monks had somehow been transported to another realm. They had been aiding the forces of Einar against a marro invasion, battling fiercely in the jagged cliffs of Laur. Now they stood in what appeared to be a large cabin-flat with wood, smoke-stained walls, raggedy furniture and a messy carpet littered with strange objects. Among them were several flat cardboard boxes, open with greasy stains, and dozens of empty red cans. The odor was of stale piss and musty hemp.
Two young men sat, half-sunk, into the battered brown leather sofa. Their eyes were red-rimmed and they both held some sort of device in their hands. The first had curly blond hair and somewhat blank, blue eyes. He had been the one who had yelled out, but was now as silent as his counterpart, who had shaggy brown hair and equally blank, brown eyes.
“What sorcery is this!?” demanded Liu. The flat electronic box he had smashed was of no concern. He turned his shaved head to stare down the inebriated westerners. He waited for an answer.
“Bill,” said Ted, turning to Bill, “I think you put in the wrong code.”
“Shut up, Ted!” snapped Bill. “Jet Li just trashed my TV, man!”
Ted eyed the monks. “Dude, I told you we should’ve split when the landlord didn’t show to give us the keys! No way they rent us this party cabin for so cheap and then as soon as we get here, nobody’s around and the cabin’s just open.” Ted shook his shaggy head. “The water doesn’t work, we can’t open the door, we can’t even break the windows!”
“I know, Ted!” Bill growled, “But how was I supposed to know this place was the cabin from hell. They had it totally stocked with pizza and beer. Not to mention an entertainment center perfect for the new flat screen AND Playstation.” He looked at the shattered remains of his TV, which had suddenly exploded in a blinding light, which after fading, revealed the two monks standing in the center of the carpet. To the two stoners, the monks were indistinguishable, other than the one who had punched the TV looked much angrier.
“You will explain yourselves,” Liu pressed. “What general do you serve? What realm is this?”
Bill and Ted looked at each other again. “This is Earth, dude,” Bill answered.
“Impossible!” Liu refused to believe his gluttonous and sloth-like surroundings were of the same realm as the pristine temples of Shaolin.
Bill threw the controller down. “Damn it, Rufus!”
When the controller hit the ground, the cabin rumbled, a tremor shot through the air and then a low rumbling built up slowly then stopped suddenly. Everyone glanced about, all silent. Then they heard a wet dripping sound coming from the shadowy corner of the cabin. Bill and Ted strained their necks to look over the couch to the back.
Klik-Klak. Klik. Klik. Klikkity-Klak.
Pulses of greenish yellow light illuminated a tall and slender figure, lurking in the dark. Fleshless, the alien’s muscle and bone were instead covered by a transparent, mucus membrane, which dripped occasionally onto the bare wooden floorboards. Clutched in its slimy arms was a twisted metallic cannon, a living thing of mixed mechanical and biological components. Long metallic pincers extended from its belching mouth. The marro itself had no mouth, only black, soulless eyes.
“Um, Bill,” Ted swallowed.
“Yeah Ted,” Bill’s eyes didn’t leave the marro in the corner.
“I’m pretty sure you did that.”
Bill looked back in amazement at the Playstation controller he had chucked on the ground. He then looked to the one in Ted’s hands.
Ted looked in horror down at his own controller. He wondered what would happen if he just started pressing buttons.
The monks had already taken fighting stances. Liu prepared Dark Dragon Draws Water while Kang began initiating Horizontally Sweep a Thousand Armies. The Shaolin moved in fluid and mesmerizing motions, their golden-brown Kung Fu robes snapping when they moved quickly. In a few seconds, their taped ankles and wrists swept and flowed until they were poised to strike.
The marro had not moved an inch, its stinger, already lowered and aimed at the two monks was still making disturbing sounds. Klik-klak. Klik-klak.
Ted shifted in his seat and accidentally pushed X.
The stinger came to life, yellow-green lights flashing off it like a strobe light in the cabin. The energized weapon also illuminated the hideous marro’s bony face. Despite having no mouth, only a surface that looked like melting wax, it was making a sound like it was getting pleasure. The stinger began vibrating furiously and Bill and Ted’s eyes went wide. The marro tilted its head back to the ceiling and began making vigorous pelvic thrusts while grunting.
Bill was aghast. “Gross, dude!”
All at once the stinger belched out an electrical blast that tore through the room. The monks simultaneously twisted and whirled out of the way. Instead, the refrigerator exploded.
Vaporized beer-mist filled the cabin.
“No way!” Ted stared, dumbfounded, his hair singed on one side. “That was all the beer for the whole weekend!”
Bill jumped to his feet and snatched up his controller from the ground, staring down the marro intruder. “That was heinous!” He aimed the controller at the marro. “Nobody trashes our beer supply.”
“Tell him, Bill!” Ted shouted encouragingly. “Only, whatever you do, don’t press X.”
Bill made sure not to press X and looked back at the marro with renewed confidence. “This is where you fall down!” He pressed R1.
Once again the floorboards rumbled under their feet. Crusty pizza crumbs danced in the discarded boxes on the floor. Broken glass flashed amidst the shaggy orange carpet. Then a locomotive-sounding steam whistle breeched the air, jarring everyone. As the shrill sound faded, it was replaced by angry cursing.
“Witless wonders they are! What the Sam Hill is this racket? I get stuck with a couple Orientals, a goddamn alien, and two pencil-neck pricks?”
The monks immediately recognized “Guilty” McCreech. Not releasing their clenched fists, or relaxing their Kung Fu stances, the monks frowned in unison.
Bill and Ted could see the disappointment in the monks, and even the marro stinger let out a flat wet fart.
The cowboy newcomer was dressed in roughshod leathers, a dusty Stetson, and a rustling gunbelt with two six-shooters in open holsters. His skin was sunburned, his moustache reddish-brown, and his eyes wild. His neck had a nasty burn scar.
“McCreech,” Liu spat. “Of all the allies we could hope for, you are the worst.”
The cowboy had both pistols in hand in the blink of an eye. One was pointed at Liu and the other at Bill and Ted.
“Whoah, whoah!” Bill and Ted threw their hands up. “We’re the good guys,” Ted announced.
“Boy, zip that lip or I will horsewhip the piss outta you,” McCreech snarled. “Mangy, no good, whippersnapper…” he trailed off grumbling.
Klik-Klak.
McCreech swung his pistols toward the marro with wild eyes. “Nasty varmint, aren’t ya? I’ll make Swiss cheese outta yer extra trestral ass!”
He lifted his guns to fire.
In panic, Ted pressed Y.
The Shaolin leapt forward. Liu sprang over the couch like a spiraling whirlwind of fists and feet. Bill caught one in the face and knocked heads with Ted. The final kick came flailing down on the marro.
The alien absorbed the brunt of the blow with the stinger, which flared lights angrily. The force of the strike sent the marro slamming off the wall, collapsing two shelves and smashing the cabin owner’s pottery.
“Man,” said Bill, rubbing his sore head, “We have to pay for that!” He looked at his controller. R1 and Y were stuck down.
Kang had flipped over the couch and landed between them and McCreech, shifting to Happy Bird Hops up Branch, ready to disarm the cowboy if necessary.
“Are you outta yer goddamn mind?!” McCreech blustered at the monk. “We’re still on the same side.”
“You aimed your weapon at us,” Kang said resolutely. “You have not broken our temporary alliance yet, but we do not trust you Westerners for a reason. You least of all.”
McCreech bristled. “Why you low down, two-bit, son of a whore!”
“Ted,” Bill was still looking at his controller, “We have lost control of this situation.”
“Bill, we never had control of this situation,” Ted saw the X was stuck down on his controller.
“I’ll have all your hides!” McCreech was still shouting. “I’ll pump your guts full of lead!”
Klik-Klak. Klikkity Klikkity Klak.
All eyes turned to Liu and the marro. Liu was crouched into White Horse Presents Hoof. The marro was shaking slightly, that same creepy vibe as it slowly began rocking its hips again.
“We gotta do something, Ted,” Bill concluded.
Just then McCreech raised both guns, one at Kang and one at the marro, clicking back the hammers with this thumbs. The marro turned his stinger towards Bill and Ted, for some reason.
Bill panicked and pressed X. “Bill!” Ted witnessed the mistake, “I said don’t press X!”
Realizing his mistake only too late, Bill stared in wide-eyed horror as the marro began thrusting his hips like never before, swaying its mouthless face back and forth, while the stinger’s lights pulsed with more and more excitement.
“We gonna die!” McCreech squealed, attempting to leap under the coffee table and knocking it over.
Then the marro grunted feverishly and looks of disgust came over everyone’s faces. But for a second, then the marro and stinger exploded like a slime bomb. Streams of ooze, clumpy with meat chunks and bone plastered over the walls and furniture.
The Shaolin now covered in slimy marro parts, relaxed their stances with blank, shocked expressions. McCreech, still on the floor, looked up from under his hat. “What in tarnation did you do?”
Bill looked down at his drenched hands at the glistening Playstation controller. He spit out some slime. “Bogus.”
“Totally Bogus,” Ted repeated, shaking some slime off himself. “Bill…”
“Yes, Ted?”
“Do you think one of these buttons opens the door?”
Liu turned on them, his focus on the controller. “Give me that device.”
“Hands off, bro,” Bill whipped the controller away, sending a small spray of slime into Ted’s face. “Only I use the camo controller.”
“Those devices are triggering events,” Kang said, stepping calmly beside them and observing the controllers from a distance. “But how could they have Wellspring powers unless dipped in the enchanted waters…” The monk looked about the blasted, littered, dingy, smoke-hazed and slime-covered cabin. “Where is your source of water?”
Not understanding, Bill and Ted exchanged confused glances. Bill gave Ted a finger-circling-the-temple crazy motion. Ted nodded his agreement, then a look of confusion came over him.
Bill recognized this look of confusion, as Ted had it most of the time, but this time it was different. It was like he was having an idea.
Ted looked up suddenly, “The faucet doesn’t work. Or the shower. But the toilet does.”
“Where is this – toilet?” Kang asked.
“Someone say turlet?” McCreech had holstered his six-shooters and was surveying the damage. “I reckon I gotta varmint I need droppin’ real soon.” He shifted in his pants uncomfortably.
“We need to find the water source and return to Laur,” Liu exclaimed. We were separated from aiding the Ashigaru by a pack of deathreavers. If Utgar’s forces take those cliffs…”
“It will be a victory for evil and defeat of the just,” Kang finished solemnly.
“I need to defeat this turd,” McCreech was grumpily tugging at his trousers. “Lousy, Ullar aid, always going and messing everything up. Wasn’t enough to send sissy elf people from fairy land, now we got these Orientals jumping in everyone’s business. That blond one though.” His beady eyes snapped to Kang. “Heh. Tell you what, partner. You set me up with that Kyntela lass, we’ll call it square.”
“What a minute,” Bill had a dawning look of anger. “They said only objects with the power of Wellspring water could do this.” He held up his controller. “And the only water we have is in the toilet.” He scrutinized Ted. “Did you clean the controllers with toilet water?”
Ted shrugged with a sheepish grin. “You said it, Bill. It’s the only water we had.”
Bill only stared. “That is…” He looked down at his controller then back to Ted, “Totally awesome!”
Ted reflected his energy and they both shouted, “Wyld Stallion!”, and began strumming air guitars. Then they looked at their visitors.
“Where’s the turlet,” McCreech repeated, more impatiently. “It was that damned sacred Greek salad.” His stomach rumbled.
“Take us to this magical toilet,” Liu demanded. “Enough time has passed, away from the battle.” Kang nodded in agreement.
Bill and Ted looked at each other, shrugged in unison, then sauntered over to the door to the small, closet-sized bathroom.
“It’s in here, dude,” Bill offered.
“Inside the house, eh?” McCreech said with delight, shuffling past them and starting to unbuckle his belt. “Get on, now. Give a man some privacy.”
“No way, dude,” Ted stopped him. “You can’t just come in here, to this fine cabin we rented from a most dubious landlord, trash the place, point guns at us, then take a massive dump in our magic toilet.”
“We have intruded, willingly or not,” Kang stated calmly, “And it is the Shaolin way to make peace and keep balance. We must restore this abode to its former glory… er, status. Only then will this malfunctioning wellspring return us to where we are needed most. Only then can we return to our state of Zen… and fulfill our noblest purpose.”
Bill and Ted nodded silently, enthralled.
The monk’s sharp eyes turned to the stoners. “Do you accept our offer? Then will you return us, using the power of your toilet?”
Bill and Ted just continued nodding.
“Very well,” Kang looked to Liu. “Let us show the Shaolin discipline of tidiness.”
“That is my least favorite discipline,” Liu frowned.
McCreech looked about them in confusion. “What now? I gotta delivery to make that can’t be held up, ya hear me?” He squirmed in his pants.
“Better clean quick, bandito,” Bill gave him a sorry-not-sorry look.
“Yeah,” said Ted, enthusiastically, handing him some Windex and paper towel. “Better get scrubbing, dude, before you have to clean your pants, too.” He chuckled.
“Good one, Ted,” Bill laughed.
After a long string of blustering curses, the Shaolin managed to convince McCreech to help clean, only after Ted found some un-vaporized beer, warm and left out to offer the cowboy.
The cleaning went swift and after a flurry of sweeping, swabbing, mopping, wiping and washing, the cabin was back to its grungy, dimly lit, rustic-stoner look. The trash can was full of crumpled pizza boxes full of marro guts, ooze-covered beer cans, and shattered bits of TV and pottery.
When complete, the Shaolin surveyed their work with satisfaction before kneeling before the toilet, much to Bill and Ted’s disgust, drawing a handful of water to their parched lips and drinking. As they did so, Liu first and then Kang, they began to fade.
McCreech, skeptical at first, quickly lapped up some water when the monks started glistening and stood waiting beside them with uncertainty.
“I think it’s working, Bill,” said Ted.
“I think you’re right, Ted,” said Bill.
“We cannot pretend to understand the mystical workings of the wellspring waters,” Kang said stoically. “But we can trust our Shaolin code to guide us.”
“Right on,” Bill agreed.
“There’ll be one less stinger when we get back as well,” McCreech added, eyeing the garbage. He looked back with a little urgency in his eyes. “I still gotta sh!t, though.”
“You have done well,” Liu admitted to the stoners. “For a pair of lǎnduò.”
“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds cool,” Ted smiled.
“Protect your wellspring and your summoning devices,” Kang urged. Then, as the three visitors began fading more rapidly, quickly added, “Tell us, before we depart, who granted you access to these waters?”
“The landlord?” Bill asked, “You mean Mr. Munthor?”
The monk’s eyes widened with recognition. “I might’ve known.”
“Did this dimwitted, dung-filled dufus say Munthor?” McCreech stammered incredulously. “That stinkin’ kyrie trickster. I’ll have his hide!” He whipped out his pistols again. “I’ll make that no-good horse-thief eat hot lead!”
Then the three were gone and Bill and Ted were left alone in the cabin living room, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the shaggy orange carpet. All was silent as they quietly looked about, waiting to see if something else would happen.
Before either could break the spell of silence and wonder, a knock on the door jarred them from their stupor.
Not waiting for a response, the front door swung open and a gray-bearded, wild, vagabond-looking man peeked his head in with a grin. It was the landlord.
“Water’s back on,” he said with a glint in his eye. “Also,” he turned to look at a delivery man standing outside behind him. “Did someone order pizza?”
Bill and Ted blinked in astonishment. They hadn’t even ordered more pizza!
“Mr. Munthor, Sir,” Ted asked humbly. “Your toilet has totally been summoning monks and aliens.”
The bearded landlord gave them a knowing grin. “Most excellent.”
