A/N: It's been forever since I posted anything, and I'm very apologetic about it. You know, real life likes to interfere with these things. Now I'm experimenting with different styles to get a better grasp on creative liberties. In short, I'm not dead and I hope you enjoy this odd crossover!

If you really want to know about it, how I had my goddamn ass roped into it, you wouldn't believe me in a million years. It was like wrestling and theater crashing into each other. It really was. It was just about the phoniest tripe I ever saw. No kidding. You got this tall robot dude who's really a twenty foot tall broad inside whacking the goddamned guts out of this elf who could've came from the seventeenth century. He was a madman if he thought he could beat this broad with a gun that shoots electricity. I'm not even pulling your leg. I nearly fell over the rails into the seats because she kills me, she really did. You could imagine a bunch of meatheads going after her and she'll goddamn flip you if you didn't please her. I was too excited and wasn't proud of myself for it. And she was wearing a full body leotard, which you can't get away with in the streets. People will assume you're an exhibitionist and throes of women who cling to the flapper fad would stick their noses up at that.

Then there's this yellow rat plushie thing pouncing on some dude in overalls who must have weighed two tons in blubber getting electrocuted and the thing managed to throw him into both the tall woman and Peter Pan and they fell off the sides with earsplitting screams. Shit, this is a live snuff match! The guy in charge of this'll see some sensible phony's hands around his neck.

Or so I thought when this flying floorboard brought them back to the field. Sweet Jesus, those explosions back there were some impressive special effects. It's like they blew out seven stove tops to do it. The elf immediately bee lined for the rat while the pig in the overalls just farted himself over his own goddamn rolls just to punch out the lady on the opposite side. He sorta flew when he did, he really did. The bastard sweat all the beans he ever ate. It was depressing. Yet it's folks like him who hogs all the ladies. It makes no sense, people just don't know how to be nice to each other. But this woman had the sense to throw him into the dirt and knock out all three hundred of his teeth. And boy was she pissed.

Peter Pan poked his butter knife into the whale and sent him flying up so goddamn high you thought the ceiling will crumble. Then the rat did the darndest thing calling forth a lightning bolt which bounced the guy high and he did hit the roof. Boy, you'd think some bored scientist read up on Tesla and stuck a battery up the rodent's ass or something. It killed me.

Then he was thrown off the goddamn cliff and, I'm not kidding, jumped back up in the air. You'd have to be drunk off your ass not to see it's clearly a puppet. I was elbowing my way down the stairs to get a seat. Unfortunately I got one next to this obnoxious couple throwing their heads off with laughter. Clearly, they were none too bright. Nobody laughs this hard at phony comedy, at least I hope this wasn't a stand up of a sort, because it's really not funny. It's something else, just not funny. I don't know what to say.

Suddenly the loudspeaker booms "TIME" and everybody just stops. It is a phony play after all. Anyway, the loudspeaker guy sounded like he smoked the entire factory. I squirmed thinking what his goddamn lungs looked like. Everybody stampeded outta there. Who could blame them? I was one of the last to leave because getting up would have me flattened, if you want to know the truth. I put on my hunting hat because the hole the fat bastard blew through the roof sent old man winter in here and freeze my brains out. As I
walked up the stairs, there was this ragged hairy guy old enough to be my pop leaning on the wall with a cigarette in his mouth.

I asked him and he said that no, he wasn't the announcer though I thought he was lying through his teeth because, damn it, he sounded a lot like the guy. I gave him heck for it and he gave these harsh answers in a smooth manner as though he was trying to hide his impatience for young folks. I asked him for a cigarette just to horse around with him and he said I ought not to turn my lungs into an ashtray. Too bad he didn't know how much I smoked before. He was a swell dude, so I asked him if we could talk over coffee but he said he had a mission to attend and skittered away in a cardboard box. You could swear everyone around here is loopy. That's what these things do to people.

I went to the snack stand where an attractive woman behind the counter gave me hot chocolate and asked why I looked so goddamn wrecked. She was swell and all, and I suddenly wanted to run away with her to a cabin outside the woods. I'm a madman, honestly.
I had a hard time not spilling my damn dreams to her. She flipped her hair and said that was nice, but you could tell by how her voice waned thin that she was bothered. I told her that I'm no pervert or anything, just a hopeless romantic looking for someone who isn't a phony. After I guzzled a gallon of hot chocolate, she looked at me like I was some hairy cockroach and said I'd get a restraining order from three million women if I kept it up.

"Fine!" I yelled and stuck out my tongue for good measure and left her wide eyed and muckle mouthed. It's sad, she really was a beauty, almost like a princess even. Girls in proper decorum are so rare these days it knocks me out and depresses the hell out of
anyone with half a brain. I went back and apologized. I really did. She was still miffed and said "Okay" in the flattest tone possible. I apologized a few hundred times before she slammed the bar's metal screen down nearly chopping twenty-three of my fingers off.

I finally left the stadium and walked for a good hour or a million when this vehicle pulled up and I saw the driver. He had the wackiest grin on his face and you coudn't see his eyes behind that damned crash helmet of his. You could tell he's insane because his car looked
like a freaking rocket ship. I bet it cost millions of clams and the coastline they came from. He was smirking at me for five minutes before I answered his question. He wanted to give me a ride to anywhere. He was frozen like those creepy mannequins in shop windows, he
really was. You couldn't expect him to take no for an answer. I had no choice since this stadium was smack in the middle of godforesaken nowhere and he said he wouldn't charge me anything at all. I hopped in and we took off.

"Where to, man? What's your name?" He sounded crazy, he really did. Live fast and die young crazy.

"The nearest city. Nothing specific, sir." I wasn't gonna give this bastard my real name, you don't trust speed demons. We were going at a million miles per minute and I didn't feel a thing. " I'm Smith Steele," I said. He stuck his thumb up and flashed another whacky grin. I swear if I die tonight, I don't want to be remembered by any phonies.

The inside stunk of shoe polish and leather, and damn it, he really did have leather seats plastered with the stuff. He said it was to cover the cracks, but if you smelt it, you'd swear he was lying or trying to knock people out. As though he read my mind, he went yammering on today's matchups and who rung who's neck and what he'd do to land one of the babes if he had the chance. I made a quip that we'd both get restraining orders and he cracked up like a gassed hyena, no joke. Then he lost posture and told me that it isn't funny when it's serious and I apologized a jillion times. Then he got muckle mouthed over the lean, tall woman my mind went nuts for. I said she seemed out of this world and he chuckled as if he knew something. He said I was right in a way and laughed even harder at my incredulous face.

He said her name was 'Sam' or some odd variant of it, then went on about Signature Wednesdays when the staff get these chunks of hours to do nothing but give out autographs. It's a Friday night, so I missed something, really something. We also chattered about the fat guy who blew the hole in the building and Mister Crash Helmet said it was no worry, they can bleed money and those sort of shenanigans happen all the goddamn time. That depressed the hell out of me, you kinda felt bad for the guy as much of a bastard he is. People laughing at your expense all the time makes horrible living, you know? Not to mention he swallowed a whole motorbike. He really did.

The city looked lousy as we got closer. I suppose it's better than gawking at the stars all night, but it really isn't. Everyone had their lights on and all and all the music booming at once sounded terrible. So I asked Crash Helmet to drag me into a quieter part of town, if it existed at all, and drop me there. He couldn't laugh anymore for whatever reason, you know? When a person's face droops a mile to the ground and all. He didn't seem tired, the bastard had the wheel gripped so tight his tendons looked like they'd snap. The place I was looking for was smack in the middle of a goddamn graveyard. You could see homeless guys doing business behind dumpsters and chaps who thought they were real hotshots carving swears into someone's house.

"You sure you want to fly here?"

"Yeah, I could practically fit in." I said. No horsing, either. I'm a skinny man and it's not like I didn't have to defend myself in scraps before. Okay, I got beaten twice at least, but I survived that. I really did. Otherwise I couldn't tell you how frowny Crash Helmet made himself.

I stepped out and almost forgot to ask his name. He said it was 'Captain Falcon' or something. I could've guessed by the bird emblem on his tight suit. Seriously, he looked like a goddamn superhero and tried to act it, too. It spoils it when people do this and know they're not actual heroes or anything. You could tell he was using a phony name and liked it too. You just knew.

He was still depressed when he zoomed by and made everyone's clothes fly like some celebrity on a vent. All I did after was walk up the streets to avoid muggings hoping I won't strike a damn car or anything.