Ice Cream, Screams And Laser Beams

Chapter Eight
Ice Cream, Screams And Laser Beams


“Take your time, Guerrero.” said Mickey. “It’s not like I’m in any way important or have anything remotely useful to do with my TIME!”

The driver tried for about the twentieth time to turn over the engine and received the same mechanical fart in response. “I’m sorry sir! Let me have a look under the hood.” He opened the door and rushed out.

“By all means, have a look under the hood,” said Mickey at the departing driver. “Fire his ass the moment we get home.”

“Yes sir,” said Philbert.

“And bust a kneecap. Just one though.”

“Mickey!” Bunny blurted.

“I’m not a thug, Mr. Mouse. I’ll do no such thing. Besides, the car is fifty-eight years old. You didn’t really think it would last forever?”

“The car is fine, Tubby. And if I wanted your pudgy opinion I’d ask for it.”

“You should get something newer. With a larger fridge.”

“And you should know when to shut the hell up, Fatso.” WHAM! Something made a loud booming noise and shook the Rolls Royce. Mickey, Bunny and Philbert stared at one another. “What the fuck is he doing out there?” Mickey demanded. “Go fire him now. Right now! Baby, call us a cab.”

“Call one yourself, you beast,” Bunny snapped. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Five more booms shook them.

“What the f-” Mickey started.

A series of high-pitched bursts then filled their ears followed by the sounds of minor explosions and the tinkle of broken glass. The door beside Bunny was suddenly yanked open and the driver appeared there, his eyes just about bursting forth on springs.

“What the hell’s going on out there!” Mickey snapped.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!” he explained. And these were his last words. Another high-pitched burst was accompanied by a bolt of blue light which passed through the driver’s body, leaving him collapsed and crumpled over the threshold of the car doorway. Mickey and his companions screamed their very finest screams to date and then beat each other near senseless scrambling to be the first out the opposite door.

Mickey was first out of the Rolls, which proved not to be the cleverest strategy after all, as he tumbled to the ground followed by the others who landed precisely on top of him. Bunny was the last out and was thus the first off the top of the heap and the first to run screaming into the presumed safety of the Queen O’ The Dairy Restaurant And Ice Creamery.

As Mickey followed Philbert along that same short path, terror and disbelief rose in him, flooding him like the worst acid reflux attack ever. He glimpsed giant mechanical beasts looming, a criss-cross of brilliant blue light beams, piercing noises, shattered glass and a glimpse of some beast; some giant green tentacled monstrosity in colourful shorts. Can’t be real can’t be real can’t be real! I can’t die this way! Oh momma I’ve done peed my britches!   

The old man drew the spoon slowly from his lips and savoured the cold creamy yumminess on his tongue.  He gave all his attention to his taste buds. He felt at one with yumness. He scarcely noticed the sound of breaking glass until shards of it skittered along his table; a piece caroming off his dessert cup.

“Oops,” he said. “Billy Junior’s put the baseball through the window again. He’ll be up here in a jiffy, head hanging like a hound dog; the little rascal.” Blue laser beams flashed overhead, unnoticed. One of them passed right above his cranium leaving two holes; an entry and exit, in his so recently pristine bowler hat. The glass front door burst open. “Here comes Billy Junior now…” he said. But instead there arrived a young rabbit in red dress along with the man in black suit and goatee who’d so recently departed, and then something else which he presumed to be a small child in Mickey Mouse costume. They came flying through the door in most chaotic of fashion, yelping and hollering and then they dove to the floor at his feet. “All right then,” said the old man. He ignored them the best he could and continued manoeuvring his spoon back down toward the cup.

What few windows remained in the Restaurant And Ice Creamery were now being blown out by laser beams. Most of these beams were passing through one window or another and exiting through another window at its opposite side of the dining room.

The front door banged open again, nearly coming off its hinges as a giant bluish green mass came bursting through. Mickey, Bunny and Philbert launched into a whole new screaming sensation as they scrambled up against table and chair legs, adding inches to the distance between they and this new threat. Laser beams crashed all around the beast in pretty shorts. His tentacles and eyestalks waved frantically as he too dove for cover, shouting, “Aye Karumba!” in a deep gurgling warbled voice. A table was battered into some kind of instant modern art sculpture as the beefy Admiral crashed into it.

“Do something! Dammit! Do Something!” Mickey screamed as he leapt atop his man, Philbert and wrapped his little three-fingered hands around his neck. He squeezed with all his mousy little might. “You are PAID..! To PROTECT ME, You BITCH! Use your freaking GUN, you fat tub of SHIT!”

The Admiral frowned at this and shot out a tentacle. In an instant it wrapped around the mouse’s neck and yanked him clear of his gasping employee. Now Mickey was the choking one. He spat and sputtered, his eyeballs bulging as Bleeekxpritzle’s tentacle turned His Mouseness to face him, though from ten feet away. “Hey!” said the Admiral. “Peace out, little dude! He’s not even fat!” With that he sat Mickey back onto the floor and released him. The mouse and his companions sat staring wide-eyed at the great squirmy beast while laser beams continued to fly; while the sounds of explosions reverberated outside, and while the old man calmly dined on his strawberry sundae in slow-motion.

“What the fuck are you?” said Mickey.

“Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle, Fifth Colony, Twin Dwingeloo Galaxies Federation at your service.” The three continued to stare at him. “And who so what the fuck are you, good sir!”

Mickey and his delegation all looked at one another and then back at Bleeekxpritzle. “I’m the single most recognizable celebrity in the history of televised entertainment… bitch!”

“I knew it! I knew it! Mickey Mouse! M-I-C…! K-E-Y…! M-O-U-S-E! I just didn’t wish to be presumptuous!”

“God forbid,” said Mickey.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” groaned the old man, drawing the spoon from his mouth again.

“Someone ought to warn him what’s going on, don’t you suppose?” said Bleeekxpritzle, nodding toward the white-haired old man; the only dining room inhabitant seated on a chair and not low on the floor.

“How about you start by telling us just what the hell IS going on here!” Mickey snapped.

The Admiral glanced up at the passing blue bursts of light. “Ah. Well. We seem to be under attack.” This was punctuated by the crash of a light fixture which had been blasted off of the ceiling and onto the floor.

“Oh, You don’t say? Well then. I‘m glad that‘s settled. Let‘s have tea, shall we.”

“Only in Canada, you say?” said the Admiral. “Pity!”

Mickey turned to Philbert. “Give me your gun.” said Mickey to Philbert.

“I don’t have it on me,” said Philbert.

“You’re fired.”

“I quit.”

“Fine. Get out.”

“Out?”

Mickey pointed at the battered doorway. “Get… out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“That would be unwise,” said the alien.

“Oh, and why is that, Admiral Bleak Pretzel?” said Mickey.

“Bleeekxpritzle. Ah - he wouldn’t survive the laser blaster attack. Those are class nine Zan-wave lasers. They’re rather unforgiving.”