***

(And now a word from our sponsors)

Bambi was standing in an open glade nibbling a few blades of the lush spring grass as the butterflies wafted around him on the gentle breeze coming up the valley from the Pacific ocean. His large size was enough to make him a trophy to any man. But his wisdom had grown and he was aware of the evils that they would bring to the forest.

Bambi bent to his head to decimate a dandelion as Godzilla's foot came down and smashed that little motherfucker in the bottom and foot print that could hide a full sized ford truck.

Godzilla 1 vs Bambi 0

The end

(And now back to your regularly scheduled program)

***

Outside in the year 19,493. A man stood in front of the MTU-port and waved a sign that read: GET YOUR BIG GOVERNMENT RIGHT HERE. An arrow pointed downward, and his dick hung out his open fly. Aintree shot him and dumped the body in the trunk of an idling PT Loser. The Loser's driver came running outside, hopped in the vehicle and drove off.

"That'll be funny when he finds out," Aintree said through chuckles as he wiped tears from his eyes.

Judy sighed and held out a finger. "Taxi!"

A yellow cab pulled up. An Indian man rolled down the passenger's-side window, pulled off his mask and revealed himself to be Chinese. He saw the gun in Aintree's hand and sped away. Shouts of "FUCK-A YOOOOOOOOU!" were heard for about two seconds before the taxi smashed into a streetlight and exploded.

"That was weird." Judy hailed another taxi.

A grumpy-looking Pakistani carrying a rickshaw pulled up.

They got in and got moving.

"Look, Judy! It goes faster when you put a gun to it." Aintree giggled and jammed the barrel of his Excelsior into the driver's tailbone.

"Aintree—" Sighing, Judy looked away. She had no more words left.

Why was she boning this guy? He had the maturity of a fresh block of cheese—definitely not the finely aged manchego-style old men she was used to having daddy-issue-related crushes on. But yet, as she watched him threaten to murder the rickshaw driver, there was something oddly attractive about his room-temperature—Celsius, of course—maturity level. Aintree was the guy you banged and brought home to make your mother hate you. He might even be the guy you later have babies with and hope the children don't outgrow before they outgrow diapers.

Judy grabbed Aintree's hand and squeezed it.

He looked down at it, scrunched his face up and farted. Chuckling, he took his hand out of her grip and wafted the stench up, flaring his nostrils rapidly like a dog.

"Smell that shit, Jude? That's beef wellington."

She grimaced and fought the urge to puke. "Does the driver know where we're going?"

"I dunno. I just put a gun to his back and he got moving."

"Driver!" Judy shouted. "The Enchanted Rainbow Forest!"

The driver looked back and wiped away tears. His nose was bleeding, as were his ears.

"Aintree, did you beat him?"

"A little." Aintree shyly lifted his hands. They were covered in blood.

"When did you even manage to do that? We've only been in this car for five minutes and I've been sitting next to you this whole time."

"It was in a spin-off storyline, doesn't matter. And why are you even asking questions? Haven't you learned not to do that by now?"

Abruptly, the cab slammed to a stop. Judy and Aintree were thrown forward and catapulted into the windshield with a heavy WHOMP as the blazing headlights of a monstrous vehicular mass ignited before them, brighter and brighter, closer and closer, screaming with speed.

A quick glance to the left revealed a clean bullet hole in the driver's forehead.

There was no time to think. Aintree thought anyway: Wait, what the hell? Weren't we just in a rickshaw? Now we're in a car. How'd that happen? He was about to vocalize such thoughts when Judy bitch-slapped the stupid out of him. Suddenly he possessed an unrivalled intellect. With his new brainpower in effect, Aintree kicked out the windshield, slid back and started blasting, sweeping left and right with the Excelsior. The dead driver's dead body blew chunks out its front and the other car exploded in a fireball surely visible from the Moon.

They stepped out of the taxi and walked to the car's smoking remains.

Just then, Aintree's phone dinged. Surprisingly, it was another message from Boss Hogg:

"Did you, by any chance, just kill one of my guys? His signal went dark."

Aintree's new pet intellect connected all the dots before anyone else could, said a heartfelt goodbye to its wife and three small children, and waved at him. "See you around, buddy," it said to him, sympathetically. "You're on your own now." Then it slid out of his brain and committed suicide.

Aintree looked up at Judy in horror.

"Oopsie," he said.

"What?" Judy asked, trying to glance at his phone.

"Nothing." Aintree chucked the phone into the goon's flaming metal grave. He felt smart as he watched the phone melt, crackle and pop.

"Dumbass. That was a vintage iPhone 11. They don't make them like that anymore." Judy's phone dinged. She read the text. "Dumbass. That was Boss Hogg's guy. He was gonna drive us."

Aintree spun on her with clenched fists. "THEN WHY DID HE KILL THAT PAKI, HUH!?"

"Because that Pakistani man was an assassin from a rival league of assassins. Duh."

"YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SMART!" Aintree sulked.

He crossed his arms and pouted, in Judy's view like a particularly spoiled four-year-old. The brain damage must've been affecting his character.

"It's okay, Ainy."

"NO!"

"Yes." She hugged him and sung him a lullaby, cradled him when he fell asleep with his thumb in his mouth.

A car pulled up, waking Aintree. The window went down. A man stuck his head out.

"ALVIN!?"

"No," the lookalike said. "Alvin was my twin brother. My name's Malvin. Malvin Qwin. Get the fuck in the car. We've got a twin brother to save, and then a whole race to save after that. Time's a bit tight."

They quickly clambered into the car and with a wholly unnecessary amount of wheel spin, tyre screeching and the rather sickly smell of burning rubber, Malvin sped off as Reel Big Fish blared cheerily over the vehicle's quite impressive sound system.

"So first thing's first," said Aintree, having recovered from his brief spell of big-biddy-babyness. "How the fuck are we gonna' save Alvin? I mean, he's dead."

"Poppycock!" said Malvin, because he liked the word. "Dead my arse... I mean his body's dead, yeah, but the rest of him ain't."

"OK... Well, in that case..."

"Check beneath your seat, Judy."

Her fingers felt around, grabbed a handle and pulled out a briefcase. Cracking it open, her eyes went wide and she said, "A kilo of cocaine! No way!" Her nose immediately vacuumed up at least half of the briefcase.

"Oh, behind that," Malvin said. He turned and drove with his feet as he snorted up the rest.

Judy pulled out a— "No way! A Soul-Reclaimer 9000!"

"There we go. We just need to suck ol' Al's soul up, kill his killer so Alvin doesn't get wasted again in the future, and then we can destroy the future future's robot menace. Cool?"

Aintree wondered many things. He wondered why he'd not been offered any coke, and why he was in the back seat when, quite clearly, he was the MC. Most of all though, Aintree wondered about the Soul-Reclaimer 9000, and whether there were 8,999 previous incarnations of it or if 9000 was simply a number picked at random.

There was something else though, that Aintree wondered about the Soul-Reclaimer 9000, and he voiced that thought to his coked up companions.

"So that thing reclaims souls," he said, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Does that mean it also contains souls?"

***

*a public service announcement*

Do other inmates on your cell block take advantage of you. Does your butt hurt all the time. Have you shaved your head and stopped washing in an attempt to reduce your sex appeal. Have the prison guards been directly involved in selling your sweet booty to the highest bidder. Has your torn and bleeding anus soaked through the toilet paper yet again.

Well, don't whine to us, there ain't shit we can do about it. You shouldn't break the law if you don't want bubba to sexually abuse your butt.

*thank you for your support*

***

*Meanwhile, during the commercial break...*

"For fuck's sake!" Alan Undertone said, clenching his fists so tightly that his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands and in places, drew blood. "I really can't work under these fucking conditions. Somebody call my fucking agent!"

"What's the problem, Alan?"

"You mean apart from the entire premise of this show, Stefān?! It's ridiculous. There's no discernible plot, no sense to the dialogue... Fuck, I've worked in amateur theatre better organised than this piece of shit!"

"Sorry, Alan, but you know what the judge said. You've got to play the part of Aintree Rex; serving your time, remember?"

*We're live in five... four...three...*

***

"No," Malvin said. "Boy, you're really out of your element here, aren't you, Aintree? The Soul-Reclaimer 9000 simply sifts through the many souls lingering about this awful planet and sucks one particular soul in, temporarily, and you can ask it questions and all that shit. We need to find Alvin's soul, ask him who murdered him, then bring him back to his body, reunite his soul with his corpse and give him peace. Of course, this means we'll eventually need to head back to the future present, so we can destroy the robot menace of the future future. Got it?"

"You just told me two different things."

"Well, go with whichever suits you best. We're just making this up as we go along."

***

-And now a public service announcement-

Ziploc brand emergency life support units are a staple of the space industry. All employees are responsible for checking to make sure that the proper equipment is in place at the beginning of each shift. Failure to do so may result in your death. Removal of emergency support units for purposes other than inspection or emergency constitutes a class five felony. Class five felony charges if found true will result in your summary execution. And we will make sure it hurts like hell the whole time you're dying.

-back to your regularly scheduled program-

***

"But if that's true and we're really making this up as we go along," said Aintree, thoughtfully, as he slipped a hand down the front of his trousers, "then surely we can break a few rules."

"See, I like where you're going with this," Malvin replied. "Question is, can you follow through?"

"There's only one way to find out." Aintree smiled, and turned to Judy whilst simultaneously removing his hand from his trousers. "Cup my magic testicles, Judy... Go on; give them a good firm squeeze."

"You fucking what?" she retorted, her eyebrow raised. "Don't get me wrong, Aintree, I'm all for breaking rules here and there but cupping your testicles, be they magic or otherwise, is a line I'd rather not cross... I mean there's no coming back from that."

"Pussy!" Malvin scoffed. "Fuck it, Aintree. Come here, and I'll get a hold of your bollocks."

Aintree smiled as Malvin slipped his hand down the front of his trousers with surprising delicacy, and his body gave an involuntary shudder as one of the many Mr Qwins gently massaged his balls.

"Ah, screw it!" As Judy spoke she pulled down Aintree's pants and jammed a finger into his asshole, which...

***

-And now a word from our sponsors-

Introducing the newest of DuPont corps fine products for planetary pluverization. With the "Soul Reaver 10k" you can actually recycle a whole solar system (minus primary) while still retaining the souls of up to ten thousand inhabitants for permanent interment within your planetary archives. When you got to rip a planet to the core and get the materials to store, without a doubt the "Soul Reaver 10k" has the muscle for the chore.

When you need needless destruction you need to call us. Need we say more.

-back to your regularly scheduled program-

***

...due to its incredible likeness to a black hole, also just so happened to serve as a black hole in this particular story. Judy shoved her whole arm inside, ignoring Aintree's groans and moans, and gripped something by what felt like an ear. She tugged whatever it was out of Aintree's anus.

Alvin emerged, alive and well.

Malvin disappeared, because suddenly things stopped making sense.

"Yo, fags, let's go kill those robots of the future future," Alvin said, climbing forwards and settling into the driver's seat of the car. He popped a wheelie, just because, and off they went for it.

"When this baby hits 88 miles per hour..." said Alvin but Judy stopped him continuing that sentence with a clip around his ear because plagiarism isn't cool, kids.

"Whatever," Alvin scoffed. "Aintree; punch that shit."

Aintree wound down his window and punched the Shit Demon in its shit face and then wound the window back up again. Then he noticed a button upon the dash emblazoned with the words, 'THAT SHIT.' Rather than punching the button he simply pressed it and the car, along with its passengers, were transported directly to the future future...specifically, a McDonald's car park.