Frank had just finished cleaning out the store with a mighty throw, chucking the 50 pound trash bag of crumbled pumpkin and squash type muck into a dumpster as though it were merely 5 pounds, which was a strong but not guaranteed indicator that Frank was ten times stronger than a normal man, but clearly it can be seen that he is one not to be messed with, in spite of his good humor and being good with children.
|Original content taken by Alexander|
Cinderella smiled at him, “I thought you were just here to be the muscle, but it seems you have a really good sensibility when it comes to sanitary practices and a helpful kind manner.”
Frank clapped the pumpkin goop off his hands, and grinned back at her, “No problem Ms. Hubbard, it’s the least that I could do, as a kind person and not because I am a man who is trying to get into your pants,” which was clearly a trustworthy thing to say since he was trustworthy and you’ll have to take the author’s word for it.
Suddenly, a thunderous crash sounding like fifty pumpkins being smashed with steel bats rang from across the street, blasting away the peace and the risk that the reader would be subject to some rather poor conversational writing. As Frank, Cinderella, and that easily forgotten generic side character who I guess we’ll call Bob because it’s faster, looked over, they saw the villains of the story staring them down, wearing various terrible costumes but all with the logo of a hammer and a pumpkin beneath it, and fire and sparks and clearly the author should commission some art because sometimes a picture is worth a lot, like maybe a bit more than 999 words, but not necessarily more than 1001.
Frank stared them down through the newly washed window through the stained glass pumpkins and acorn squash that decorated the window, then stepped out of the store to face them. “You must be the Pumpkin Smashing Gang.”
Their leader, who was clearly their leader because of their increased height and shoulder broadness, as well as the totally sweet looking mask that looked like the top half of a smashed Jack O Lantern, bellowed back a correction. “Actually we are the Pumpkin Smashers LLC! We find that the advantages of this structure allow us to be more competitive with other smashing groups due to more favorable tax treatment!”
Frank smirked and pounded his right hand into his left palm, a few times, to make the point clear that they were in for a pounding. “Alright Pumpkin Smashers S Corp, you’re going down!”
The leader picked up their bat and roared back, charging forward with the anger of a train engine that could express the anger of emotion, bat held high, “I said LLC!”
Frank met their charge head on, batting the bat out of the leader’s hand like a bat hit by a bat, with his left hand, and punched their face with a meaty right hand.
“Well I guess that means, you’re liable to get smacked down,” quipped Frank, belying a deep enough understanding of LLCs to make a relevant joke.
With the a sudden crack, like the kind you see in a plumber’s jeans as they lean underneath your sink, the semi Jack O’ Lantern mask cracked on the leader’s freshly punched face, splitting into two equal approximately equal parts. The leader’s distinctly feminine appearing face was a surprise to Frank momentarily, but that surprise was quickly dashed by the look of menacing snarliness on their face.
Frank looked at her curiously nonetheless, “Oh, I had no idea you were a woman!”
She growled back at him, “I consider myself a man!”
Frank nodded, relenting, “Then you are a man. Let us duel, man to man in this case, because even though you are a foe I respect your identity!”
The leader nodded back “Thanks, I appreciate that, but unfortunately this pumpkin store needs to be smashed, and you are in the way, so we will smash you as well!” He growled, “Get him!” The leader pointed a finger forward, at Frank, and not a coincidence. The gang, I mean LLC, charged forward. Belated, it should be mentioned that there were twenty of them, aside from the leader.
Frank easily handled two of them, grabbing their heads and smashing them towards each other like two hands clapping, clocking them together like two heads being hit into each other, and their heads made a dull thudding noise, as dull as a calculus teacher is to a student who really dislikes calculus.
He turned around, setting the manliest of jaws in a deep grimace, bracing for impact with the other 18, which is a number we know of based on arithmetic.
With a sudden repetitious impact, three heads were slammed with what sounded like a hard hollow object at rapid pace. Frank looked up at his surprising ally, Cinderella “Sugar Pie” Hubbard, brandishing a staff tipped with two laminated pumpkins on the ends.
She smiled back at him as she held the remaining 15 off if you were keeping count. “By the way, I know Pump-Kin-Do, and I just needed help, not a hero. Thanks for the help!” With that she yelled an amazonian cry and charged into the Fray, Frank laughing behind her as he rushed to support her defense of Gourdness Gracious.
To be continued….