Fernando El Gusano Rey De Todos Los Colones, was a sluglike symbiote. He had slimy skin the colour of monkey crap with a bulbous head and pug like mug. He didn't look like much, but Fernando was a high-profile gangster. He was a wanted felon in five galaxies across seven universes.
After several disastrous attempts to capture the fugitive, he was eventually apprehended by the Terry Tuff Scruffs. Although in the process, RAMBOT's voice synthesiser was damaged beyond repair, leaving the metal bound battle droid with a speech impediment. He also messed up Mr Tea's mohawk, slapped Bam Dam in the rambutan and partially severed Master Seagull's ponytail. Argh-Argh called Fernando, 'one ugly mofo' and gave the vicious slug the old one-two but ultimately, it was Chuck Norris he was forced to step in and swiftly subdue the symbiote with a spinning back kick.
Fernando was imprisoned and on trial for various offences. However, after infesting the Federation Supreme Court Judge at his hearing, he granted himself bail. Fernando then fled into the infinite backwater dumps and alleyways of the pan cosmos.
As an intergalactic-pancosmic bounty hunter, Bigfoot tracked the notorious criminal across several universes and time lines, until he eventually found Fernando hiding out inside the carapace belly of an 80-armed Faatardiblastarefluxikhaaan. These beings resembled a cross between an alligator, Jaguar, a festering haggis and a centipede. The Faatardiblastarefluxikhaaan ran a dodgy little cantina on the tropical beach of some backwater holiday moon.
After a fistfight from hell, Bigfoot safely extracted the symbiote from the Faatardiblastarefluxikhaaan. He fitted the pug like slug with a restraining collar and immobilised the gangster in a suspension tank onboard his ship. He then blasted off and headed towards the nearest Federation run prison facility, an asteroid floating in deep, remote space that was infamous for once allowing eight Krites to escape. Bigfoot would drop the fugitive off and then collect his bounty from Fernando's bail bondsman.
Bigfoot was between two galaxies in the Blokesverse. He sat in the pilot chair and held a bag of frozen mint peas over his badly bruised left brow ridge. Burning Heart by Survivor, played from his ship's stereo. A chat request flashed onto his holoscreen. He opened the incoming chat and was greeted by an old acquaintance, an intelligence agent for the Federation. The agent was a cybernetic organism and resembled a contraceptive crossed with a pinball machine, a toucan's beak attached to a slug and a set of golf clubs.
"Hey Craig, dude," said Bigfoot, "what's happening man?"
"Congratulations Bigfoot," said Craig the intelligence agent, "I have heard through an asset that you captured Fernando El Gusano Rey De Todos Los Colones. The symbiote is worth a sizeable bounty."
"Yeah," replied Bigfoot.
"I have an opportunity for you Bigfoot … that is, if you are interested?"
"Dude, no," said Bigfoot, "Fernando was my last bounty. My last big job. It's time I kicked back and retired man."
"Are you sure?" said Craig, "the target is on your home world."
Bigfoot paused for a second, "Dude, there's a Federation outpost on my home world. Let them handle it, bro."
"I'm afraid that organisation was almost destroyed by a combined Minger/Daemon-Shihtz attack. They are unable to assist at this point in time."
Bigfoot tried to hide his shock and concerns over such dreadful news, "Well, that's bogus, let the Federation handle it."
Craig paused for a moment, "The Federation is dealing with something … something catastrophic that has emerged in the timeline. I don't know what this catastrophe could be, other than the fact that all Semi-Aquatic Guinea Pigs, are being drawn to a specific event in the timeline. They have locked out all other species from knowledge of the event … presumably for our own protection. Not a single Semi-Aquatic Guinea Pig will discuss the matter. They are taking their best, most advanced warships and leaving in droves. The Federation is unable to assist at this point in time."
"Well," said Bigfoot, "as whacked as all of that sounds man, I'm still not interested in whatever target you're offering bro, let alone returning to my home world for that matter man."
"Come on Bigfoot," said Craig, "are you really getting that long in the tooth old friend that you would allow old grudges to rise to the surface? Please, don't be like that, you can do better. That planet is still your home world big fellow. From what I have heard, you are a major celebrity there during this current era in time. They make films and documentaries about you. You even have an entire community of fans, determined to prove that you exist."
"Yeah right bro, so they can lock me up in a cage and parade me around like a circus freak show? Fudge that man. My kind is almost extinct bro; just a handful of us left … and we're all just dudes, bro," Bigfoot sighed in a mixture of hurt, sadness and acceptance, "like honestly man, when we're knocking trees, we're not just 'knocking' them bro, we're banging them. Well, most of us dude, Yeti has, like; this unhealthy obsession with ice sculptures bro … and I don't even know how that works without breaking the laws of physics man.
"Anyway, probably the only group that would let me go if I was caught, are those guys who keep trying to find me in a documentary cable show man. If they actually found me bro, I'm guessing they'd let me go so that they could keep making money producing their show and trying to find me all over again. I'm just a carrot on a stick for those money-makers. Now listen Craig dude, there is nothing for me back there."
"I am afraid Bigfoot that you cannot decline. Due to the sensitivity of this target, we need a bounty hunter with intimate knowledge of the local turf. You are the ideal candidate Bigfoot. And I must emphasise, the acquisition of this target is a Code Purple priority."
"Code Purple?" questioned Bigfoot.
"Yes, and the bounty is huge. Enough to retire and complete the terraforming of that heavily forested asteroid of yours."
Bigfoot considered the proposal, "I select only the finest trees bro; and they don't come cheap. What is the target?"
"A Minger Queen."
"Fudge man," said Bigfoot, "you're telling me there is a Minger Queen unleashed on my home world? I guess from that Minger/Daemon-Shitz attack, right? It's bad enough that these assholes are working together, let alone that the Mingers were willing to risk bringing a Queen! That's horrible dude – not cool bro. Okay, I'm in, transmit the coordinates and half the bounty as deposit with the remainder upon receiving the Minger Queen."
"Done," said Craig, "and we only need it's head."
"I don't kill my targets bro; you know my code. I am a bounty hunter, not an assassin."
"Fair enough, we will have a containment cell prepared in advance at the same asteroid maximum-security prison where you were planning to drop off Fernando. It will be two bounties for the price of two."
"Very dry, dude."
The transmission ended.
Bigfoot selected Sweet Emotion by Aerosmith from his playlist. He then punched the coordinates to his home world into his ship's astronavigation. He grabbed the flight wheel with both hands and performed a 163 degree turn towards the Milky Way galaxy. ETA to Primordial Earth was 7 hours and 34 minutes.
Meanwhile, back in Wattle Creek… It was late Saturday afternoon. The boys agreed to meet in Woodford's shed on his stepdad's farm. It was a cattle property, positioned at the base of the hills, about 20 minutes ride on push bike from the outskirts of town. The boys sat on bales of hay. They surrounded a pile of random junk and equipment.
Shane stood next to the pile. He held a clipboard and pen and read out the inventory, "Right," he began, "we have a pair of binoculars, check, a length of chain, check, packet of cable ties, check, a crow bar, check, handheld sledgehammer, check, Swiss army knife, check, large hunting knife complete with compass in the tip of the handle…"
"Is this necessary?" complained Dave, the giant boy was clearly annoyed.
"Look, if movies tell us anything, it is that you need to be prepared," Shane replied, "Goonies, Lost Boys, Monster Squad, Stranger Things, Home Alone … they were all prepared. Now, let's see, ah, knife complete with compass in tip of the handle, check, five torches, check, cricket bat, check, Johnny's set of bamboo Eskrima sticks, check, my nunchakus reinforced with electrical tape, check, duct tape, check, several hardwood sticks to be used as clubs, check, slingshots and ball bearings…"
"Oh jeez, can we just get on with it, fat boy?"
"One giant sack of grumbling bumble turd named Dave, check…"
"Okay Shane," said Johnny, "I think it's all there."
"Yeah," added Jimbo, "I reckon we're all good."
Shane sighed, "Well, okay then."
The boys grabbed their equipment. They armed themselves with the makeshift clubs, sticks, cricket bat, crow bar, nunchakus, slingshots and the handheld sledgehammer. They put these, along with a torch each, in their backpacks before they mounted their push bikes and rode out of the shed.
"We're you lot going?" asked Woodford's stepdad.
He sat on a rocking chair with a beer in his hand, on the bottom veranda of the run-down farmhouse. Rusted wrecks of cars littered the area that surrounded the house.
"Going for a ride," Woodford replied with a seething coldness.
His stepdad sneered at them as they rode by before spitting off the veranda. He gave an especially long, hard stare at Dave as he rode his purple BMX, "That's a tosser's bike," he sneered at the boy.
"You're a tosser," replied Dave.
"What did you call me boy?" replied Woodford's stepdad. He wasn't too sure on account that he was hard of hearing due to working an endless series of labouring jobs using power tools without adequate ear protection.
The boys rode off down the dirt road.
"And tell that mate of yours at the back to lose some weight!" shouted Woodford's stepdad, "bunch of losers," he said to himself before taking another swig of Fosters.
Half a dozen eyes, embedded in a large menacing skull, eyed Woodford's dad from a thicket of trees that hid the creek that snaked its way through the paddocks. Soon the sun would set, on the townsfolk of Wattle Creek.