The Return

[Hammock Parties]

THE RETURN

Chapter One - A Matterfly flaps it's wings in Minnesota.

It was a cool, calm October day the day Matt Cassel returned to an NFL starting lineup. The Vikings, trailing by three touchdowns against the Cleveland Browns that Sunday, had replaced Christian Ponder with Cassel midway through the third quarter. Four touchdowns and a thrilling come-from-behind victory later, Minnesota had their new quarterback, and Cassel had his confidence back.

I saw it watching via my DirecTV subscription, an unsmiling onlooker, knowing what was likely to come. In the moments after the game-winning touchdown pass, after the jubilant throngs of Vikings had died down and the hands had ceased slapping his butt, Cassel sat on the bench, talking into a cell phone.

A very expensive cell phone, with an unlimited data plan and no charges for roaming or overages. The kind of service only bought by a $60 million contract. Ugh.

I knew who Cassel was talking to. Deep down, I knew, at my core. The battle was coming, and there was no avoiding it now.

Flipping off the TV, I grimaced. The hours were dwindling, and I had to prepare. The past would not save me.

To be continued...

Chapter Two - The Devil's sleep. (http://www.chiefsplanet.com/BB/showpost.php?p=9725561&postcount=16)

Chapter Three - Into the belly of the least. (http://www.chiefsplanet.com/BB/showpost.php?p=9727482&postcount=21)

Chapter Four - Put on your Warpaint. (http://www.chiefsplanet.com/BB/showpost.php?p=9729958&postcount=28)

Chapter Five - Process this. (http://www.chiefsplanet.com/BB/showpost.php?p=9732118&postcount=34)

Chapter Six - *****'s Sticky End (http://www.chiefsplanet.com/BB/showpost.php?p=9736903&postcount=37)

Chapter Seven - The Magnificent Seven - SPELLBINDING EPIC CONCLUSION TO EPIC CHIEFS CYBERPUNK TALE OF FLIGHTY CHIEFS HEROISM. (http://www.chiefsplanet.com/BB/showpost.php?p=9738078&postcount=48)

[Hog's Gone Fishin]

Please, I'm trying to forget Matt Cassel. Now I feel like throwing up.

[Hammock Parties]

Please, I'm trying to forget Matt Cassel. Now I feel like throwing up.

This is a gut-wrenching tale. Evil never dies.

[AussieChiefsFan]

Vikings fans have no idea what's coming....

[rico]

You get this from a Vikings message board? I've ventured to a few of those since Cassel signed there....I don't know why I have continued to torture myself with Cassel-related shit, but I have.... Possibly for the same reason some of the Smith-haters ventured here for a while. But anyways, some of these dumbass Vikings fans think he is the savior. No joke.

Makes me sick.

[ChiefGator]

Four touchdowns? I hope you aren't implying that Cassel had anything to do with that. If so.. wake up and stop "dreaming".

That said, I can totally see it up to that point.

More like..

"It was a cool, calm October day the day Matt Cassel returned to an NFL starting lineup. The Vikings, ahead by a touchdon against the Cleveland Browns that Sunday, had replaced Christian Ponder with Cassel midway through the third quarter since they were getting nothing from their passing game. Four turnovers and a thrilling come-from-ahead defeat later, Minnesota discovered they had made a huge mistake not getting another QB this offseason. And Cassel had his confidence back since he 'graded out perfectly' in the loss."

[bevischief]

:popcorn::bong:

[TimeForWasp]

Dexter Rocks !!!

[BlackHelicopters]

Fear and Loathing.

[OrtonsPiercedTaint]

***** was the evil(stupid with stuborn seems more apt) Cassel was just his tool.

[Chief Roundup]

So are you going to be the next stalker?
Cassel is gone and you are still stalking him...Denise is that you??????

[RealSNR]

Please put a warning on this thread. It's one hell of a scary ghost story, and now I'll have nightmares for weeks.

[Dunerdr]

Its a possibility if they still had percy harvin whos everything dmc is not. But they fucked that up theyre probably less talented than the chiefs on offense. Both have a stud runner and meh recieving cores. I feel bowe puts us ahead. Thier tight end was hot early last season but i think moeakis As good when healthy And our coaching staff made it clear this season hes not good enough or is t dependable enough. So yeah fuck that guy fuck ap fuck matt cassle and fuck all the ou-Ap bandwagoners im surrounded by.

[Dante84]

Well, you see, all Cassel needs to succeed is a high-caliber running back, so...

[bevischief]

He just needs a dome...

[Hammock Parties]

THE RETURN

Chapter Two - The Devil's sleep.


Porkney High, just an average middle class suburban white high school. Nothing special about it at all. Even so, this is where he works now. That makes it something else entirely. A breeding ground for evil. A percolator for corruption. A crock pot for a sadistic arrogance that must be halted before it fully matures.

That's why I'm here early today. I pull my yellow 1968 Ferrari 250GTO into the parking space closest to the entrance, slam the door shut and race inside. It's 8:45 AM. I have 15 minutes to find him and stop this before it starts. If it's even starting. I actually have no idea, but there's a pain in my gut like a burst appendix the week before you play the St. Louis Rams, and it tells me "watch out."

I round a corner and the scent is unmistakable. He's leaned up against the wall, one hand extended, trapping what looks to be a fresh-out-of-college substitute teacher against the lockers. Probably thinks she's "in to him." Whatever.

I walk past, knowing what's coming. Welcoming it. Let the dance begin.

"Hey Sam. See that Vikings game yesterday?"

"No, sir. I don't watch much football. Did they win?"

"Sure did, Sammy. Matt Cassel was terrific. I think he's great. You ever watch him play quarterback?"

"Oh, yeah I've heard of him. Kind of sucks to be honest, at least from what I've heard."

I can feel the rage coming off his scalp.

"Bullshit, you don't know what you're talking about, he threw twenty-sev-"

"I heard he had like three wins for his entire career against winning teams or something. Pretty shitty player if you ask me. Overpaid, too. Whoever thought he could play in the NFL probably lost their job."

An uncomfortable silence as I look at him with a slight grin on my face. If only he knew. I can tell he's mad, but he won't do anything. Not yet.

"You know, Sam, I'm not used to people disagreeing with me. You don't have to use such foul language here, though. In fact, it's in your student code of conduct. So just try to show a little respect, especially to me, OK? Good kid."

I scratch my head. Fuck it.

"Respect? For you? I really don't give a shit, sir. Dumping the ball off to Adrian Peterson and letting him beat the Browns doesn't really impress me. Matt Cassel did, does, and will always suck."

"Also, I don't give a shit about the student code of conduct. You've been here for a year, too. You think I give a shit about you or your fake sense of authority over a bunch of high school kids? Blow it out your fat fucking ass. Sir."

He'd like to hit me now. He can't, of course, but he really wants to. So he'll do the only thing he can.

"Unbelievable. This attitude won't be tolerated, Sam. Report to my office after school for three hours of detention. You need discipline and clearly I'm the only one around here that can give it to you."

"Whatever. Sir."

I take his detention slip and stuff it in my pocket. He's playing right into my hands.

The hours pass, I wait for the final period bell to ring, and now it's time. I make my way down the hall, past the gymnasium, take a left at the library and stare at the door. The sign, in big black letters rimmed in 24k gold:

PORKNEY HIGH SCHOOL PRINCIPAL
SCOTT *****

Some motherfuckers are always trying to ice skate uphill.

Showtime.

To be continued...

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

Please, I'm trying to forget Matt Cassel. Now I feel like throwing up.

You'll get to remember all over again, and soon.

[RunKC]

With our luck, Cassel will win a playoff game in Minnesota due to AD.

[Simply Red]

With our luck, Cassel will win a playoff game in Minnesota due to AD.

You're in direct violation of the rules in regards to your signature size.

I'm going to go ahead and bump the senators thread, n00b. It's Barbara Streisand how you get by w/ everything that NOBODY else does. Fuck you right now pal - RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[MahiMike]

Matt will be the Vikings starter by EOY.

[Hammock Parties]

THE RETURN

Chapter Three - Into the belly of the least


I grimace as I push the door open. ***** looks up from whatever bullshit paper he's been offending with his stupid pen strokes. Probably something about lax janitorial standards.

"Take a seat."

"Yes sir. By the way, Matt Cassel still sucks shit."

His lip curls. A slight tremble of his nose.

"No talking, or you'll have to deal with a lot more than a simple detention, Sam."

I take a seat and stare at his bald head. He's fatter now. After the NFL Network fired him, clearly he started feasting on Cannoli and Calzone thrice daily. Why would he give a shit, anyway? Out of the public eye, safe at his cushy little bullshit high school principal job. Always needing that power fix, though. He probably steals ice cream sandwiches from the cafeteria at lunchtime.

He looks up.

"I have to make a phone call. Stay here or you face suspension."

I'm shaking, I'm shaking. Jesus Christ, he hasn't changed a bit.

***** produces a pink iphone and steps outside. He reeks of fritos and bean dip, the pungent aroma infecting me as he passes the desk. Disgusting.

I can hear him outside.

"Yes, this is Scott *****. Is Matt around? It's urgent."

Hahaha. He's actually calling him. What a sad little bastard. This should be interesting.

"Hi, Matty. I saw the game. Great effort kid. You've still got it. Listen, I've been thinking...your contract with the Vikings isn't too big, right?"

It better not be.

"Wow, that's not bad at all. Yeah, you can get out of that. I've been thinking...we have unfinished business. Yeah, you know it. We were wronged."

What? You've got to be kidding me.

"No, Matt. No one gives a shit about Kansas City. We can do whatever we want. No one will even care. You know they can't stop me, anyway. This will be perfect."

That sounds...disturbing. Something's brewing. I've got to stop it before it starts.

I look at my watch. It's almost time for action.

"You got it. We'll connect after the dust clears. They will all be our bitches, Matty. It's time for revenge. And I'll be trading that dipshit Bowe this time."

The force of the door slamming open knocks ***** clean to the ground, his girly phone skittering across the slick floor. There's a momentary pang of fear in my gut as I realize I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing. ***** rolls over onto his fat ass, in shock, his brow furrowing as he realizes what the fuck just happened.

"THAT'S IT, MISTER. YOU JUST BOUGHT YOURSELF A ONE WAY TICKET TO JUV-"

I leap across the hall in one step and hook him across the jaw. His mouth drops open in surprise, clearly appalled he's just had his clock cleaned by a 12th grader. As much as I'd enjoy prolonging this, there's no time to waste. I high tail it down the corridor.

Shouting. Something about police. Don't care, especially since his heart would burst before he caught me at this point. I still have no idea what I'm doing. First things first - I've got to get the hell out of Porkney.

I round a corner, slip and stumble backwards through a door into a tiny, dim room. Dammit.

I get up, brush myself off and take a deep breath. Smells like floor cleaner and turpentine in here. Must be the janitor's closet.

"What are you doing here?"

I look up. A familiar face.

Amazing.

"I...uh...could ask you the same thing, Nick."

He looks puzzled. I'm a mirror. But I've got to go. I reach for the door.

"Wait."

"Hurry up. *****'s planning something. I've got to act fast."

He nods.

"I know."

"I have inside information."

To be continued...

[CleveSteve]

I was just thinking "What this forum needs to be complete is some creepy gay porn fan fic."

[Hammock Parties]

Chapter 4 is gonna be a doozy!

[DMAC]

Graphic novel.

[HemiEd]

You get this from a Vikings message board? I've ventured to a few of those since Cassel signed there....I don't know why I have continued to torture myself with Cassel-related shit, but I have.... Possibly for the same reason some of the Smith-haters ventured here for a while. But anyways, some of these dumbass Vikings fans think he is the savior. No joke.

Makes me sick.

Why wouldn't some of them think that? There are actually Chiefs fans that think Alex Smith is the savior.

There is no difference, and the Vikings fans have had to swallow the same crap since Fran Tarkenton, similar to Chiefs fans and Lenny.

[Hammock Parties]

Graphic novel.

Would love to have ANYONE illustrate these chapters in MS Paint.

Chapter 5 is going to be FULL of awesome things to illustrate.

[DMAC]

Would love to have ANYONE illustrate these chapters in MS Paint.

Chapter 5 is going to be FULL of awesome things to illustrate.

http://www.chiefsplanet.com/BB/showthread.php?t=242525

Go recruit.

[Hammock Parties]

THE RETURN

Chapter Four - Put on your Warpaint


"I have inside information."

I have no idea what the fuck Nick's talking about.

"Are you trying to tell me Ty Law is involved in this?"

"No, nothing like that. Listen, ***** is...pissed. And you know how he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. All that Save Our Chiefs stuff...he feels wronged. Slighted. He's out of control."

No shit. Tell me something I don't know.

"So what's he gonna do? Sue the Hunts?"

"No, it's...far worse than that."

"Spill. I don't have time to read a forum."

"***** has spent the last two years acquiring top secret military hardware from around the globe. He's invested heavily in developing technologies in the field of heavy energy weapons, next-generation ballistics and, most important, human-cyborg relations."

It takes me a second to digest the news. It sounds like ***** wants to fund his own war machine. Like he's launching an offensive.

"Are you trying to tell me..."

A heavy sigh.

"Yes, it's true. Scott ***** is building a massive war mech, code-named 'Patriot Way Shitkicker 5000X.' It's the most sophisticated piece of man-machine battle tech the world has ever seen."

"He's going to take back the Truman Sports Complex in a hail of destruction, fire and crumbling 40-year old architecture. I'm afraid nothing will stop him. He's hell bent on re-assuming control of Arrowhead. He believes it's his birthright."

I'm in shock, but not too surprised. After all, it's Scott fucking *****.

"So...how do we stop this."

He grins.

"Step into my office."

We exit the janitorial closet, stepping into darkness. We're in an enormous room. Not the Porkney gymnasium. Smells like used motor oil, dirty rags and coolant in here. Someone's building something. Something big.

Banks of lights flip on, one by one. There's something covered under a tarp, misshapen and all angles, with weird tube-shaped bulges forming odd peaks.

Nick grabs the tarp and yanks it off in one clean motion.

"I call it 'Warpaint Hellustrated.' *****'s not the only one with a grudge, you know. Plus, I've always loved computers."

I pick my jaw up off the ground and run one hand under it's smooth chrome underbelly. It's got a clean coat of red and gold paint running through the mechanical musculature. Sleek, aerodynamic lines. It looks really fucking cool. And really fucking expensive.

"How did you afford this?"

He winks.

"Ten years of insider subscriptions, how else. I was going to take out the Kansas City Star, but, you know, what would be the point..."

I point at the tubes.

"Premium cannons. They pack a punch!"

There's a large, circular dish lined with holes in the middle of the thing's chestplate.

"What's this?"

A knowing nod.

"That's your get-out-of-jail-free card. If you wind up getting your ass kicked, last resort. Close quarters only. But don't abuse it. It shuts down the entire mech for 10 minutes. Anything unshielded within 50 meters is getting a crater the size of an SUV blown right through it, though. I call that baby "The Deal Is Done."

Suddenly, the tech bay rumbles and I fall to my feet. It feels like an earthquake. Something outside is making a lot of noise. It fades.

Nick goes to a console, begins punching buttons. The mech roars to life, humming energy, pulsating with heat. A strange glow peeks out from between the joints.

"Saddle up. You hear that ruckus outside? *****'s got a lead on you already. This thing could be over in a matter of hours if we don't do something now. Right now."

I hop up, strap in, the cockpit slams shut and Warpaint Hellustrated screams into the clouds.

It's time to Save Our Chiefs. Again.

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

Chapter 4 is gonna be a doozy!


http://img.pandawhale.com/post-18357-Let-s-Go-mlkshk-b7tr.gif

[Hays]

The Deal is Done

[InChiefsHeaven]

I'm actually really enjoying this...you better not go all Stephen King and fuck up the ending...

[Hammock Parties]

I'm actually really enjoying this...you better not go all Stephen King and fuck up the ending...

Oh man, the ending is just gonna be the best.

THE BEST.

Can't wait for you guys to meet C.A.R.L and the SKY MARSHAL.

[saphojunkie]

Oh man, the ending is just gonna be the best.

THE BEST.

Can't wait for you guys to meet C.A.R.L and the SKY MARSHAL.

I'm not reading any more until you acknowledge my drawing.

[Hammock Parties]

THE RETURN

Chapter Five - Process This


"In range?"

"Not yet, sir. Sixty seconds until Premium Cannons can be brought to bear."

C.A.R.L - Combat Application Reconnaissance Link - is the artificial intelligence running this angel of Patriot Way death. It's like I'm inside a computer, only the computer lets me blow things up, and talks to me. It's my buddy. It makes things go boom.

"Thirty seconds, sir. Charging weapons now."

I can see Arrowhead now. The parking lot's full. Crowds are running for the hills. There's a huge goddamn silver and blue robot stomping around, crushing barbecue grills, belching smoke and launching ordnance at anything in red.

A voice, booming and metallic, violates my ear drums as C.A.R.L's targeting senors come online.

***DO NOT RUN. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR. MATT CASSEL WILL RETURN. THE PATRIOT WAY IS HERE. WE WILL FINISH WHAT WE STARTED. YOU WILL BE HAPPY. DO NOT RUN***

"Is it just me, C.A.R.L, or is there a real issue with statements equating Matt Cassel and happiness?"

"I don't know, sir. I don't know anything about quarterbacks. Five seconds."

I position the targeting reticule directly over the huge missile launcher perched on Patriot Way Shitkicker's right shoulder. Better not miss. Any more damage to the Truman Sports Complex and the Chiefs won't spend a dime on a single free agent next offseason.

"Optimum ballistics range achieved. Recommend immediate engagement of hostile."

I hit the firing switch so hard my knuckles crack.

Red light fills the cockpit as huge bolts of energy streak out on both sides of Warpaint Hellustrated.

***MATT CASSEL WILL RETUR-***

BOOM!

*****'s missile launcher sparks and explodes, sending debris flying through the air.

"C.A.R.L!"

"Executing evasive sequence R2P2 now, sir. Firing thrusters."

The mech twists violently, dodging chunks of *****'s launcher, slamming me against the cockpit wall. Another jerk. The sun shines through the canopy. I'm going to be sick in about five seconds.

"No damage from explosion. Reacquiring target. Charging cannons."

*****'s mech is huge. Definitely bigger than mine. It also has four legs and what looks like a giant rocket launcher on the backside. I don't have a rocket launcher, let alone a giant one.

"C.A.R.L? Scan *****. What's he packing?"

"One moment."

I keep my distance as Shitkicker gets up off the concrete. The right shoulder is a smoking, black mess but the rest is glowing bright yellow. It looks angry.

"Eight heavy plasma cannons, six missile launchers - you neutralized one, - four grenade launchers and one -"

"One giant ass rocket that I don't have. Thanks. Any advice?"

"*****'s assault mech is far advanced past yours, sir. At this distance, without the element of surprise, we won't last long. Recommend engaging in close quarters and attempting pilot extraction. At that range he won't use explosives due to splash damage."

"So you're telling me I can either die up here or on the ground?"

"Probability of Shitkicker neutralization calculated at 8.7 percent, sir. Shall I divert energy to armor and life support?"

"Yeah. And alert the authorities. We can use the distraction."

"Distress call was broadcast on all frequencies three minutes ago, sir."

I wish they'd hurry the fuck up. Something bright and smoky flashes past the cockpit. There's that voice again.

***THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT. ARROWHEAD STADIUM BELONGS TO THE PATRIOT WAY. EXIT NOW OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES***

"C.A.R.L, put everything into the thrusters on my mark."

I hit the intercom.

***HI SCOOTER. REMEMBER WHEN MATT GOT A CONCUSSION?***

"Mark."

The mech surges forward, right at Shitkicker's chest. I see *****'s fat face, frozen in shock before the impact sends both mechs crashing to the ground. The ground shakes and everything goes dark as smoke fills the cockpit.

"C.A.R.L?"

"Heavy damage sustained. Switching to backup power reserves. Shitkicker appears to be offline, but I'm reading a building power surge."

The lights come back on and Hellustrated groans to it's feet. One good smash and I can crack Shitkicker's cockpit wide open. The hydraulics scream as one giant steel arm reaches back and-

"Sir! He's firing thrusters!"

Whiff.

I look up and see four enormous mech legs blotting out the sun. The cockpit around me shatters and suddenly I'm hurtling through the air, looking at the clouds rushing by. The landing hurts. My fall is broken by concrete, grass, sand and water. Dust fills the air.

Nice knowing you, Kauffman Stadium.

"C.A.R.L?"

"All main systems are down. Propulsion is offline. Emergency power only. Incoming hostile, sir. I recommend immediate evac."

"No. We're going to play possum. We get one shot at this. Lure him in close and - "

"The Deal Is Done, sir?"

"Put everything into it."

The ground shakes. He's here.

A shadow falls over the Hellustrated. I close my eyes as the heat coming off Shitkicker seeps into my exposed cockpit. He's close. C.A.R.L whispers in my earpiece.

"Arming sequence initiated. Ten seconds to blast."

Smoke in my nostrils. Something jostles the mech. I crack an eyelid. Silver and blue steel fills my vision.

"Five seconds."

***THE PATRIOT WAY IS HERE. WE WILL FINISH WHAT WE STA-***

"FIRE!"

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

LMAO

[Hammock Parties]

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JFiet5TIyGw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

[Hammock Parties]

THE RETURN

Chapter Six - *****'s Sticky End


"FIRE!"

Heat surges through the cockpit. Blinding green light floods everything a split second after I watch *****'s eyes get as big as dinner plates. The shrill sound of the laser screeching against Patriot Way Shitkicker's metal fills my ears.

Gotcha.

The sound cuts off and the light disappears. My eyes begin to adjust. C.A.R.L speaks up.

"Direct hit, sir. Energy reserves at two percent. Assessing opponent damage now."

Smoke fills the air, thick and pungent. I can't see shit. But Shitkicker isn't beating the crap out of my mech at the moment so I assume The Deal Is Done - my last-resort, one-off, close-range trump card weapon - has done it's job.

***THE PATRIOT WAY IS INVINCIBLE. YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS UNPROVOKED ATTACK. MATT CASSEL WILL RETURN***

Oh shit. It didn't work.

"C.A.R.L?"

"It appears the weapon simply burned off a lot of outer plating on his armor, sir. I'm reading zero effect otherwise. Shitkicker appears to be running at 97 percent operational efficiency. I'm afraid we have nothing left to stop him with."

God dammit, Nick.

The smoke clears. Shitkicker stands over Warpaint Hellustrated, victorious. *****'s cockpit is open. I can see him sneering, grinning ear to ear, as if he just signed a free agent castoff from a Parcells-run franchise.

Shitkicker raises one arm, aiming a huge laser cannon directly at me.

"Reading huge energy buildup from enemy mech, sir."

A loud whine builds in my ears as *****'s cannon begins to charge. The tip begins to glow an angry green. I close my eyes.

Suddenly, something drowns out the cannon charge. Buzzing noises. Far overhead. Getting louder. Closer.

"Sir, reading multiple airborne objects entering the vicinity at high velocity. They appear to be headed straight for us."

"More hostiles?"

"They do not appear to be armed, sir. Scanners indicate they are cargo planes."

I open my eyes. Shitkicker's cannon is pointed up. ***** stares skyward, puzzled. I look up.

There must be dozens of planes, over a hundred. They're all carrying enormous loads of cargo. The lead plane is a 747 with a huge, distended belly. A banner flies behind it.

FIRE AT *****, BENCH CASSEL - WWW.SAVEOURCHIEFS.COM

The radio crackles.

"THIS IS SKY MARSHAL ERIC GRANELL. POWER DOWN THE MECH AND EXIT THE TRUMAN SPORTS COMPLEX IMMEDIATELY, SCOTT *****. ANY OTHER COURSE OF ACTION WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE COMBAT RESPONSE. WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO USE LETHAL FORCE."

Shitkicker raises it's other cannon-arm skyward.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

***** begins to pepper the incoming fleet with lances of green energy.

"SKY MARSHAL GRANELL TO RED GROUP - ALL WINGS, DEPLOY PAYLOAD!"

Dozens of bomb bay doors open and tiny, rectangular specks fly out by the millions. Miniature bombs? Nanobots? Chemical warfare? It's impossible to tell at this range. The specks turn into thick dark clouds, dotted with flecks of orange, yellow and blue.

*****'s laser blasts incinerate giant holes in the mysterious clouds, but he can't fire fast enough. The clouds envelop his mech, clogging his cannon barrels, gumming up air intakes, swamping his cockpit, jamming his sensors.

A single SNICKERS bar wrapper lands on my instrument cluster. Fresh, sticky and beautiful.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

*****'s scream cuts the air like a hail mary pass headed for a crossbar. A tornado of sticky, gummy, nasty SNICKERS, M&Ms, MARS, KIT-KAT and SKITTLES wrappers swarm his mech, turning it into a giant garbage heap of a robot. Shitkicker's arms flail wildlly. Smoke pours from it's exhaust.

The cockpit is filled with candy wrappers almost to the brim. A bald head pokes out, it's brow furrowed.

"YOUUUUUU MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUCKERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The mech is off balance, out of control. It stumbles violently. Tips to one side. One of the legs explodes. Shitkicker topples backwards, weighed down and fucked up by a billion candy wrappers.

*BOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*

***** is down.

The radio crackles.

"Target has been neutralized. Outstanding red team, outstanding. Get you a case of beer for that one. Hellustrated, do you require further assistance?"

"Everything looks good here, capone. That was one hell of an entrance, you really saved my ass. Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Hellustrated. SOC Fleet, form up on my wing and prepare to return to base. This is Sky Marshal Granell, signing off."

All that cutting-edge technology, taken out by a bunch of candy wrappers. You couldn't write a better ending to this nightmare. I smile as I unstrap and climb out of the cockpit.

The air smells sweet and smoky. Like candy. Like barbecue. Like a Sunday morning where everything is right at Arrowhead. A Sunday morning without Scott ***** or Matt Cassel.

C.A.R.L speaks up.

"Sir, the enemy is down but..."

"But what?"

"I'm reading a massive power buildup at the center of mass. His propulsion systems are offline, but this is something else. One moment, sir. Scanning."

*****'s mech begins to glow with blue energy as steam vents from every crevice. This doesn't look good.

"Sir it...it appears ***** has started an explosive countdown on the warhead within the large rocket fixed to Shitkicker's aft fuselage. I've scanned the rocket and it appears to house a B.E.L.C.H.E.R type warhead at it's core."

"Oh god, no. Not a B.E.L.C.H.ER. missile."

"I'm afraid so, sir. It will destroy everyone and everything in Kansas City if it detonates."

To be concluded...

[Thig Lyfe]

"Chapter 6 of The Return is the most thrilling yet. It's an action-packed thrill ride that really packs a punch. And the cliffhanger is truly mindblowing. Get on this train NOW before you get left behind!" - Thig Lyfe

[Simply Red]

http://i.imgur.com/3a1LdCb.png

[Hammock Parties]

Chapter 7 is gonna be SO GREAT.

Really looking forward to writing this.

Gonna be two very awesome characters introduced.

Can you guess who shows up in Chapter 7???!?!!?!?

[Thig Lyfe]

Chapter 7 is gonna be SO GREAT.

Really looking forward to writing this.

Gonna be two very awesome characters introduced.

Can you guess who shows up in Chapter 7???!?!!?!?

Tyler Thigpen and Bobby Sippio

[Simply Red]

I liked them Claythan.

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

Chapter 7 is gonna be SO GREAT.

Really looking forward to writing this.

Gonna be two very awesome characters introduced.

Can you guess who shows up in Chapter 7???!?!!?!?

http://gifsoup.com/view/676470/morris-day-dance-o.gif

[T-post Tom]

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wDoIM1dRzGo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

[Hammock Parties]

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wDoIM1dRzGo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

WE'RE ALL ABOUT TO OD IN CHAPTER 7

[T-post Tom]

WE'RE ALL ABOUT TO OD IN CHAPTER 7

http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7cd8wQ0hA1qedb29o1_r1_500.gif

Unless your name is Matty Cassel or C. Wendler.

[milkman]

Clark Hunt and Andy Reid.

[Hammock Parties]

THE RETURN

Chapter Seven - The Magnificent Seven


"It will destroy everyone and everything in Kansas City if it detonates."

I can hear the droning whine of the B.E.L.C.H.E.R missile as it's core overload builds toward meltdown and explosion. It's louder than a freight train. Louder than a jet engine. Louder than...80,000 Chiefs fans screaming in your ear on third down.

And they will all be silenced, forever, if B.E.L.C.H.E.R goes off.

"Seven minutes to detonation, sir."

I stare into the beating midday sun. The SOC Fleet is long gone, and they couldn't carry *****'s mech far away enough to prevent catastrophic fallout anyway. Hellustrated could do the job, but it barely has enough power to run C.A.R.L after getting the hell beaten out of it.

Oh well. At least Jackson County Taxpayers will be off the hook for all of this.

Through the reverberating shrill of B.E.L.C.H.E.R, an engine roars. A large purple bus has entered the Arrowhead parking lot. It rumbles up, screeches to a halt. A shadowy figure, about 6-foot-4 and 230 pounds, exits and walks up.

Matthew Gus Brennan Cassel. Here, at the end of all things.

"I was told to meet my Lord and Master, Scott ***** here. What's that noise? Are those giant war robots? What's going on? Who are you?"

My hands clench in fists of rage. My jaw sets to one side as my teeth grind in anger.

"My name isn't important, Matt. What is important is that we are all going to die in seven -

"Six minutes, sir."

-In six minutes if that whiny bomb over there goes off."

Cassel stares at me like I'm 250 pounds and just blitzed him straight up the middle on third and seven. Like a cow, gazing mindlessly at an oncoming freight train. Moo, motherfucker.

"Any last words, Matt?"

Another vacant stare.

"...I know...."

"You know? What? What the fuck? Do you have any idea how many people are going to die in six minutes because of you? Why'd you have to go beat the Browns like that, huh? Can't you just stay down for once, bitch?"

"No...I've always known...this is how...it ends. Here. You. Him..."

"Scott *****?"

"Yes...and....them...."

I'm puzzled.

"Them?"

"I've seen them. In my dream. I'm the first. There are six others and...we stop the bomb. We right all the wrongs. We make everything good again. We save this place. We save the Chiefs."

What the fuck is this idiot even talking about? I should just beat the crap out of him for a few minutes until everything blows up.

"I know what I have to do, you strange yet handsome and clearly intelligent person. Excuse me."

Cassel sits down, indian-style, closes his eyes, extends his palms outward, touches index fingers to thumb. He's entering...some kind of trance. Evidently he's been smoking a lot of peyote with a lost Indian tribe from Minnesota.

"OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM--"

Yep. This will stop us all from dying. Great job, Matt. You imbecile.

"OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM---"

What the fuck. Seriously. Ugh. What a fucking way to die. Surrounded by candied *****, baked Cassel and a talking computer.

"Five minutes, sir."

"OMMMMMMMMMMAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!"

A blinding flash of light knocks me to my feet. I can't hear the whine from B.E.L.C.H.E.R anymore. Cassel's rhythmic hum is the only audible sound. He is bathed in a heavenly glow. Another flash.

Damon Huard materializes out of thin air. He looks at me. At Cassel.

"Yes...yes. This is how it ends. We save you. It is meant to be. I will summon the next one."

Huard sits down. Closes his eyes.

"OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM"

What the fuck. Is this heaven? Or hell? Or -

"OMMMMMMMMMMAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!"

Elvis Grbac materializes out of thin air. He joins the group. The ritual repeats itself. More flashes. More shitty quarterbacks. Light, flowing like water, flooding everything, drowning me with a strange, ambient joy. I begin to giggle. It's lovely to be insane at the end of your life.

One by one, they begin to form a circle. Cassel. Huard. Grbac. Bono. Krieg. DeBerg.

The chant stops. Cassel looks up.

"Where is the seventh?"

Shrug.

"We must have the seventh. He, too, came here for a reason. His task has not yet begun...and yet his destiny is already complete. Where is the seventh?"

Blink.

The group nods, smiles and closes their eyes once again.

"OMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHAOMAHA!"

Alex Smith appears in the center of the circle, dazed, but coherent. He speaks.

"I've....seen this."

Six voices.

"Wwee kknnooww, AAlleexx. Jjooiinn uuss nnooww. Iitt iiss ttiimmee."

Alex looks at me. I shrug. Pantomime smoking a blunt. Beats me, dude. Go join the shithead parade.

Matt Cassel, Damon Huard, Elvis Grbac, Steve Bono, Dave Krieg, Steve Deberg and Alex Smith join hands. They are robed in ethereal white. Their hair flutters in the breeze.

"We are the seven. We could not save you in life. We will save you in death. We go now. Omaha be with you."

A flash. They disappear. The whine. B.E.L.C.H.E.R. Minutes to live.

"One minute, sir."

One minute to live. My ears feel like they're about to burst.

In the distance, a bright light illuminates Patriot Way Shitkicker. Seven figures surround it. They raise their arms in unison.

SHAKA-THOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM

This is it. I'm going to die in about three seconds. The Truman Sports Complex is bathed in a nuclear, radiant glow. Everything is white. I raise one useless arm to shield my eyes. Fall to my feet.

The whine stops.

The light dissipates.

I'm still alive. Pick myself up, dust off, stare into the setting sun.

***** is gone. Shitkicker has evaporated. Hellustrated stands tall beside me. The Truman Sports Complex has been restored. I smell barbecue.

"C.A.R.L, what the fuck just happened. Is this real? Are we dead?"

"Quite, real sir. We are alive. Amazingly, we've just witnessed a Poly-Universal Quantum Phase Shift within the Zeta-Omega-Xlibutscrale spectrum, I believe. At least if these readings are correct."

"Poly wanna cracker what? In English, please."

"I believe...sir...those beings phased out of our existence into another dimension and took *****, his mech and B.E.L.C.H.E.R with them. We're safe, sir."

"Wait wait wait...you're telling me Scott ***** and every shitty quarterback that has ever fucked up something good for this franchise...is gone from this universe forever?"

"It would appear so, sir. You did it. Congratulations! I'll phone Mrs. Underwood immediately for your usual carnal celebrations."

"Don't thank me, C.A.R.L. Thank Matt Cassel. He...he saved us all. Finally."

"It would appear so, sir. Perhaps he was worth $63 million dollars after all?"

"I've honestly had enough of your bullshit for one day, C.A.R.L. Shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down."








EPILOGUE - FIVE MINUTES LATER

An engine rumbles in the distance as a golf cart from the Chiefs practice facility speeds my way. Two figures, one in black, another in red, ride beside each other. The cart stops.

A portly man gets out. He looks rushed, panicky. Sweat beads his brow as he waddles hurriedly towards me.

"Alex Smith? Have you seen Alex Smith anywhere? We were hiding from the horrible giant fucking robot attack together and he just vanished! "

I smile, knowingly.

"Yes, Coach Reid. I saw Alex Smith."

Reid's mustache twirls in excitement.

"Well?"

"He saved us, Andy. He saved us all."

"Is he...coming back?"

"No, Andy. I'm sorry. It's...for the best."

Saddened, Reid casts his eyes toward the pavement and turns his back. A heavy sigh. Then he smiles, glances back, nods, and walks back to the golf cart. Reid turns the key in the ignition, and looks at his passenger.

"John, Alex isn't coming back. It's time."

"You can't be serious, Andy."

"I'm deadly serious. We go with Plan B or...play Chase Daniel."

"Fuck. You're right."

"Tell Clark. Operation: Escape From New York is greenlighted."

John Dorsey shakes his head. Furrows his brow.

"I guess so. But...who's gonna bust Geno out?"

Reid smiles.

"I think I know just the guy."

FIN

THE HEROES OF SAVE OUR CHIEFS WILL...RETURN

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

FUCK YES! That was teh awesome.

http://kolyan.net/uploads/posts/2010-08/1281017246_dazi-gifi-4.gif

[Hammock Parties]

YOU GUYS GOTTA READ THIS

IT'S FREE TOO!

ACT NOW BEFORE BANTAM HOUSE OR DEL REY PICK THIS UP!

[AussieChiefsFan]

I don't know where to post this, but this is hilarious. LMAO


Matt Cassel over Aaron Rodgers? Yes, a 2009 poll says

By DanHanzus

Published: June 09,2013at 12:04PM PDT

Here's something to give you a chuckle on a quiet Sunday.

The Big Lead (via IGN.com ) has unearthed a 2009 ESPN poll which asked readers "Which young quarterback would you most want leading your offense in the future?"

The list included Jay Cutler , Matt Cassel , Philip Rivers , Aaron Rodgers and Matt Ryan . Coming off a strong rookie season with the Atlanta Falcons , Ryan scored 49 percent of the vote. Rivers came in second (17 percent), followed by Cutler (15 percent) and Cassel (11 percent).

That left Aaron Rodgers bringing up the back end at a measly 8 percent. Yes, Aaron Rodgers , the greatest quarterback on planet Earth, was deemed to have the dimmest future on a list that included Matt Cassel .

What does this tell us? Rodgers' disrespect went beyond draft day and Brett Favre barbecues. Also, people of Kansas (the only state to vote Cassel No. 1) must have a lot of No. 7 Chiefs jerseys crumpled up in the back of the closet.

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

Also, people of Kansas (the only state to vote Cassel No. 1) must have a lot of No. 7 Chiefs jerseys crumpled up in the back of the closet.

I KNEW they were all Jayhawks.:harumph:

[InChiefsHeaven]

Seriously...name me another fan base like this...we are THE SHIT...nobody does this like we do. Clay, fuck what they all say, even when you piss me off, I recognize your Chief-ness...good job laddy. Goddam, I love the Planet!!

[Simply Red]

Go Chiefs is Patrick Bateman levels of pissed off that this thread hasn't even achieved 100 posts.

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

Go Chiefs is Patrick Bateman levels of pissed off that this thread hasn't even achieved 100 posts.

Perhaps new skin cream would make him happy?

[Sweet Daddy Hate]

Valiant efforts on the part of Clay and PGM, but the Planet is just fucking DEAD these days. This is what drafting 1st round fatties gets you for an offseason.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

[Hammock Parties]

Go Chiefs is Patrick Bateman levels of pissed off that this thread hasn't even achieved 100 posts.

IT'S THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD

[Simply Red]

IT'S THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD

I LOVE IT!

[AussieChiefsFan]

http://i.imgur.com/UgjCgqC.jpg

[CleveSteve]

A single SNICKERS bar wrapper lands on my instrument cluster. Fresh, sticky and beautiful.

Great, googly moogly.

Standing ovation!

[Hammock Parties]

just re-read this...forgot how insane i went