Adventures of Rando, Space Thug for Hire In “Men are from Mars, Dropkicks are from Jupiter”

In the year 2189 AD, man has traversed the vast final frontier of space and extended their reach to the stars.  Now in contact with vast forms of life, Earthlings have set-up an impressive number of colonies in the various systems throughout the universe.  Throughout these colonies though, a seedy underbelly has appeared.  With the broadening of human horizons, so too the world of organized crime and drug trade has spread throughout the universe.  In this new world there is one man who walks the line between citizen of space and gun for hire.  These are the…

Adventures of Rando, Space Thug for Hire

In

“Men are from Mars, Dropkicks are from Jupiter”

In the vacuum of space not a sound can be heard, except for Young MC’s “Bust-a-move” blaring at obnoxious levels from our heroes Space Cadillac _TM.  We zoom in to see our hero, who could only be described as a being ripped out of a blaxploitation film from the seventies (1970’s, the 2070’s were less shiny) and thrown into a cocktail shaker with Space and awesome.  As he casually drives through the back alleys of space picking up his Space ‘Fro, a call comes in on his Space Phone _TM (ironically his ringtone is also Young MC’s “Bust-a-Move”).

 “Who the fuck is calling me when I’m trying to get my Young MC on! (picks up phone) Hello!”

 “Is this Rando, Space Thug for Hire? (Hey! Check it out! That’s the name of the series!)

 “Obviously dude, duuuuuuuur, what’re you Space-tarded.”

 “Uh….anyway yeah I heard you can provide special services, for the right price of course.”

 “Woah dude I’m not gonna suck your dick!”

 “What, no, that’s not, that’s not what I meant!”

 “It’s not my fault you come across as a flaming homoterrestrial.”

 “JUST LISTEN! There is a shipment of Space-Meth being moved to a space warehouse in the Sentia   Quadrant on jupiter.  The space-street value of the package is easily 1,000,000,000 space credits.  The warehouse is run by the Jupiter Space Mob Crime Family, and will be heavily guarded, so it will be very dangerous.  For the retrieval and delivery of this package you will be paid 20% of that projected space-street.  The package cannot be compromised in any way, Space-Meth is a very unstable product and if the package is harmed in any way the entire shipment can become contaminated.”

“For someone who’s not a homoterrestrial you sure say package a lot.”

“GOD DAMN IT WILL YOU DO IT OR NOT!”

“Shit yeah.” (Rando is never one to turn down easy space credits, especially with the promise of graphic violence). “Send the info to my space-com and you best watch that tone with me or ill hit you so hard you’ll turn heteroterrestrial.”

Zooming through space Rando bumps the MC of the Young variety until he closes in on Jupiter.  Locating the warehouse he lowers the volume on his bumpin’ system as to not give away his arrival, he’s just stealth like that.  Using his ninja-esque skills he sneaks around the back of the warehouse and finds a ladder on the adjacent building.  Climbing up the ladder reveals the building’s roof provides a view into the warehouse through its glass roof.

“Damn, he wasn’t kidding when he said heavily guarded.”

From what he can see there’s about 5 thugs loading the boxes of Space-Meth onto a Space truck, and an additional 10 armed guards with assorted heavy laser artillery.

“No sense in pussy-footin’ around.”

(Inside the warehouse)

“Hey carl, you see that knicks game last nigh-(Glass shattering) HOLY SHIT!”

“ANYBODY ORDER A LARGE SLICE OF FUCK YOU!?!”

As Rando crashes through the ceiling window the sound of shattering glass is nearly drowned out by Young MC’s “Bust-A-Move” coming from a boom box that was apparently strapped to Rando’s back the whole time; he brandishes his two chrome laser pistols.  Is what might be the finest example of a dropkick in history, Rando hits one of the goons loading boxes square in the chest, following the body to the ground and standing on top of him he fires his guns directly into his face just to put a little “fuck you” to the dudes insanely awesome death.

“HOLY SHI-WHAT TH-FUCKIN’ SHOOT THAT DUDE!”

The completely baffled goons start shooting wildly in Rando’s direction, but with Rando’s panther-like reflexes and the goon’s shock of how awesomely Carl just got murdered, he easily evades their attacks, kneeing some other dude right in the junk.  Doing a Michael Jackson spin Rando fires in all direction hitting three of the guards in a move that would wipe the Chinese off of John Woo’s face.  

“JESUS CHRIST WHO IS THIS GUY!?”

“DR. RANDO M.D. MOTHERFUCKER, I SPECIALIZE IN FISTOLOGY, THE STUDY OF MY FIST GOING THROUGH YO’ FACE, SIDE EFFECTS MAY INCLUDE HOLE IN HEAD!” 

Rando somehow managed to say as he wound up to not so ironically punch a hole straight through the guards head.

“HOLY FUCKIN’ BALLS THERE’S NO WAY THAT’S POSSIBLE!  HOW’RE WE NOT HITTING THIS GUY!?”

“BELIEVE IT MUTHA’ FUCKA’ CAUSE IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE ABOUT TO COME DOWN WITH A BAD CASE OF IT TOO!” Again, punching through another guards face.

“CAN SOMEONE HIT THIS GUY BEFORE HE PUNCHES THROUGH ALL OF OU-*OOF*!  (Hard to finish your sentences while you’re getting a knee to the sternum).

With only two guards left with heads not completely punched through and/or shot they dive behind a box of the Space Meth.

“Jesus Christ just take it!  I like my face too much for this shit!”

“Much obliged honky,” in one swift kick Rando kicks the rest of the boxes onto the truck. He closes it up and hops in the driver’s seat pulling out of the warehouse, “There is one more thing though…”

“Oh fuck…”  Without the sound of all the face-punching going on the two guards left could hear the make shift bomb Rando somehow inexplicably built and programmed to go off the exact time he estimated he would be leaving the Warehouse.  As he blasts off from Jupiter an explosion can be seen on the surface which must’ve been huge if you could see it from space.

“Alright dude the truck’s outside, where’s my money at?”

“What the fuck did you do?! I didn’t say to blow up the warehouse!”

“You didn’t say not to.”

“But why did you do that, now they won’t be bringing any more shipments there and I’ll have to find out where the new location is.”

“Yea dude that sucks, sooo where’s my money?”

“Here, next time someone hires you though you might want to tell them there’s a chance you’ll be blowing shit up.”

“Word, oh and one more thing-ROUNDHOUSE KICK! (he screamed as he did, which Rando’s are wont to do)”

“AGGHHH-WHAT THE FUCK-MY NECK-I CAN’T MOVE!”

“That’s for talking to me like I’m some punk ass bitch, Rando don’t play that shit!”

TUNE IN NEXT TIME, SAME SPACE THUG TIME, SAME SPACE THUG CHANNEL

-That Kid