Ty and Ryan's Fictional Hunger Games (Part VI)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

 The Plumber, the Bouncer, and the Ugly

"Charlie, I think it's time for you to wash that off," Dalton sighed as he serenely chopped at the air.

Charlie, Dalton, and Marcia sit near a bubbling brook, taking a few minutes to rest after hours of trekking.  Marcia admires her companion as he practices karate in the sunlight, forgetting that he actually had never stopped performing since they teamed up.  Meanwhile, she is still terrified of Charlie, whose blood-soaked beard had dried in the heat.

"Ah c'mon, Dalton, I killed Achilles!  You think I'm gonna kill that guy and then just wash this glory off?" Charlie laughed hysterically.  Dalton didn't acknowledge him, instead choosing to bask in the sunlight.  Charlie, feeling uneasy at his calm, concedes, dumping his head face-first into the icy brook.  Red splotches drifted downstream.  Marcia gives a disgusted look and began singing "It's a Sunshine Day" to ease herself.

"Aww yeahh!  Look what I found!"

Charlie lifts a dead fish from the water joyously and begins to do a little jig.  Finally, Dalton stops his act and peers upon the situation.  He has no idea how his companion could find substance, not realizing that Charlie's venomous mouth is so potent that at least five other fish died moments after his face tainted the brook.

"Groovy!" Marcia exclaims.

"That's a good fish.  We can cook--"

Dalton stops mid-sentence as Charlie takes a giant bite out of the fish.

"Eww!  Alice always cooks those first!" Marcia, defeated, collapses into Dalton's stoic arms and begins to cry.

Charlie continues to take hunks off of the fish until he realizes there's more blood flowing down his face.  Not wanting to seem low class, he wipes it off with his forehand and inexplicably bows, extending the half-eaten raw fish to his new friends.  Dalton looks at him with no expression.

"Dead fish don't swim around in jealous tides."

Charlie looks at him quizzically, utterly incapable of understanding Dalton's philosophy.  The quote, along with Marcia holding on to him like he was Desi Arnaz Jr., makes him realize just how inferior he is to the bouncer.

"You're so cool, Dalton, man...you want me to eat another fish or somethin'? Tell me what I should do to be cool like you."

Dalton's '80s-style hair sweats magnificently in the sun.  He thinks about the company he is keeping; deep down he always knew it would come to this as he always had a penchant for blondes and lovable losers.  It would have made more since for him to team up with that Kate girl, who seemed to have some use, or even the ninja star-throwing office worker (whose smoky fire was still visable on the horizon), but then again, Dalton never seemed to mind the struggle.  In fact, he welcomed it.

"Charlie, there are a few rules of being successful in this game.  The first, expect the unexpected.  The second, never understimate your opponent.  And the third, be nice."

"That sounds.........AWESOME bro!"

Dalton knew that Charlie was a lost cause and reached into his pocket.  "Also, here is a dagger that I found that I have no use for.  Only use physical violence when it is ABSOLUTELY necessary."

Just a little ways away inside an unexplained pipe, a short, plump little man watches what's unfolding.  Super Mario had spent hours in his singular mission trying to track down the Princess.  That damned Bowser is within my grasp, he thought to himself.  Along the way, he discovered what he thought was King Koopa.  Only after the fact did he realize that it was just sad, depressing Willie Loman.  Who was probably hiding the fake Princess somewhere, too.  And on top of that, why are there so many fake Princesses?  

About an hour earlier, Mario had found a mushroom in a field.  Thinking he would grow to be big (or, compared to the rest, normal sized), he devoured it.  Since then he was oblivious to the reality that it was, in fact, a psychedelic mushroom and that he was currently tripping.  In his eyes, he had finally found Bowser, who was holding on to the Princess while his brother Luigi was forced to eat raw fish.  Because even in his drugged out trip, Mario knew not to eat raw fish.

Mario, feeling heroic, jumps out of the pipe and leaps his way towards the trio, showing off his trademark laugh the entire way.  Because of this, Dalton and the rest notice the hilarious site of a drugged-up Mario sluggishly making his way to them.

"Oh yes come right in," Charlie said as Mario pushed him violently out of the way.  He continues to make an outstanding leap, intending to flatten the imposing Bowser.  In reality, Dalton shrugs this attack off and throws Mario back towards Charlie.  Mario lands next to him in a tired heap.

"Luigi, I can't do this alone!" Mario whispers as he gets to her feet.

"Luigi?  I'm not your brother, bro!  But I-"

"Your breath is HORRIBLE.  Now help me kill Bowser."

Mario turns and pulls out a gun, which he had found in the pipe earlier.  Luckily he honed his skill during his time in Super Smash Bros.  He aims it at Dalton with a menacing laugh.  "Yahoo!" 

Dalton didn't hesitate, standing directly in front of Marcia in order to protect her.  In one fell swoop, he grabs Mario with one hand and menacingly holds up his other hand towards the tiny plumber's neck.  As the gun goes off, Dalton mercilessly tears the throat out of the 64-bit Italian, who falls into a heap. Dalton turns around to see what he already feared most: Marcia Brady, holding her stomach where the bullet went piercing through.  He runs towards her as she remained staggering.

At the exact moment, a shiny dagger flies over Dalton's shoulder, the blunt end hitting Marcia square in the face.  As she falls over, Dalton looks back incredulously at Charlie.

"Charlie, what are you doing?!"

"Oh I'm sorry!" Charlie says sarcastically, "I see a gun and I'm NOT going to throw that dagger.  I don't think so."

Dalton looks down at his fallen woman, who has time to give out her final, meager words before her death.

"Oh, my nose!"

ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION: SUPER MARIO AND MARCIA BRADY

1)      Achilles - 1/3

2)      Dalton - 10/1

3)      Katniss - 20/1

4)      Super Mario - 30/1

5)      Dwight Schrute - 35/1

6)      Nic Cage - 40/1

7)      Willy Wonka – 60/1

8)      Kate Austen– 60/1

9)      Kevin McCallister – 75/1

10)  Horatio – 75/1

11)  Rudy Ruettiger - 80/1

12)  Helen of Troy - 90/1

13)  The Hamburglar – 90/1

14)  Yossarian – 90/1

15)  Harry Potter – 100/1

16)  Lennie – 120/1

17)  Steve Urkel – 200/1

18)  Charlie Kelly – 250/1

19)  Marcia Brady – 300/1

20)  Willy Loman – 400/1

21)  Hester Prynne – 600/1

22)  Miss Piggy – 800/1

23)  Adrian Balboa – 1,000/1

24)  Boo Radley - ? 

Ty & Ryan's Fictional Hunger Games (Part V)

The Nerd, the Pig and Papersalesman

Miss Piggy, Dwight Schrute and Steve Urkel, now joined together in a TV-character-alliance that Dwight insists on referring to as “die Jaeger,” begin looking for a place to camp for the night.  It’s early morning on the first day of the Games and they’ve just fled the chaotic scene at the Cornucopia, somewhat held up by Dwight’s improvised ninja-star attacks.  Dwight now leads the way through the woods, his beady eyes scanning the forest ahead, perspiration collecting on his forehead.  After several hours of silent searching, he stops.  They’ve come upon a broad circular area of grassy, flat, ground.  The sun has already fallen below the tree line and it’s hard to see anything but the small field directly in front of them.  As he stops, Dwight holds a hand up behind him, indicating the others should do likewise.  “This is the place,” Dwight says authoritatively, “this is where we’ll make camp.”  Immediately, Dwight begins to assign jobs.  Steve will collect firewood, Piggy will collect water from the brook they just passed and Dwight will walk the perimeter of the camp ground, securing it from threats.  They make quick work of it and are soon warming themselves near the small fire they’ve built.  They huddle together and decide that someone should keep watch at all times…the fire may invite threats.  Dwight volunteers for the first watch. Steve and Piggy express their gratitude, as both are exhausted.  Steve lies down a few yards from the fire, anticipating sleep to come slowly.  The constant adrenaline rush he’s been on since the Games began this morning surely won’t allow him to sleep easily….

Light, this is the first thing that Steve is conscious of.  It’s morning.  He had slept all night.  He should be panicking, he should be concerned. Why didn’t anyone wake me?  Has someone attacked them?  At the moment, however, these thoughts are only faint scents in the back of Steve’s mind.  Exhaustion and hunger have rendered them peripheral.  The only immediacy he feels comes from the pleasantness of lying prone, dazing only semi-conscious into the new sunlight, his eyes scarcely open.  Then a new sensation hits him, something stronger than the comfort of a grass bed…food.  The delicious smell of fatty, protein-rich meat hits his olfactory senses like a freight train.  Steve pulls himself up, sitting, now, on the grass.  He notices that everything appears foggy; his glasses have fallen off in the night.  Looking around, he can just make out a blurry Dwight, sitting next to the fire.  “Oh, you’re up,” Dwight says happily.  “Yeah,” Steve replies nasally, “did you find food?  What is that I smell?”  “It’s delicious is what it is,” Dwight says simply.  “Well, is there any more?” Steve’s asks, his mouth watering.  “No,” Dwight says casually, “I ate it all.”  This blasé response catches Steve somewhat off-guard.  How could he let me sleep all night and not think to wake me or share food with me? I wonder if he shared any with Piggy?  This last thought catches Steve, where was Piggy?  She won’t stand for this, Dwight can’t act so selfishly without repercussions; it’s two against one.  “Dwight,” Steve says, now scrambling for his glasses, “where’s Piggy?”  No response comes from Dwight, only what sounds like the smacking of lips.  Steve feels his spectacles under his right hand and quickly shoves them onto his face, anxious to find Piggy and chastise Dwight for his disregard for the team.  With everything now in focus Steve looks over to the fire, to Dwight as he sits cross-legged just next to the flame.  The first thing that hits Steve is that there is, in fact, something cooking over the fire; Dwight had constructed something of a spit.  There’s not much left but charred bone, apparently it had been cooking a while.  Immediately after this confirmation, Steve turns to inspect Dwight.  He hasn’t spoken in a minute or two but is staring directly back at Steve, a happy, well-fed expression on his greasy face.  Whatever Dwight had cooked was very fatty; he has grease dripping from his thin, curved lips all the way down to his mustard-yellow, short-sleeved button-up shirt.  “Where’s Piggy?” Steve asks again.  “I think you know,” Dwight responds slowly, his eyes staring unwaveringly back at Steve.  “What are you talking ab….” but Steve can’t finish, the awful realization hits him, he’s smelling bacon.  The grease smothering Dwight’s moony face is the residue of the barbecued Miss Piggy he had feasted on during the night.  Steve can’t immediately process this thought, the horror too big to sink in.  He sits there for at least a minute, unblinking and slack-jawed like Waldo Geraldo Faldo.  “How could you?”  Steve finally manages to spit out, his voice tremulous.  “Well, making a spit was the difficult part, Piggy was a big girl and it was tough finding branches sturdy enough to support her girth, but I managed,” Dwight says, startlingly casual.  “No!  How could you kill her?  How could you break the alliance?  She trusted you, how could you… eat her?!” Steve responds, the words coming more quickly and forcefully now.  “Survival of the fittest,” Dwights’ voice drops a half-octave, and his eyes squint beneath his middle-parted hair, “I am the fittest, and now I am full of protein and energy.  Not only did I eliminate Piggy as a threat but I have made myself that much more able to physically overpower you, not that I’d have trouble anyway.”  Dwight smirks with this last comment.  Steve can’t respond, he simply stares, horrified at the maniacally Machiavellian paper salesman.  Suddenly, Dwight launches himself at Steve, his arms flailing.  Out of instinct Steve crawls backwards, avoiding all but a few of Dwight’s wild blows.  As he stands to run from his frantic backwards crab-walk, Steve quickly sees something he never noticed in the dark last night; there is a very steep decline behind their campsite.  The 45 degree slope in front of Steve continues further than he can see through the dense foliage.  He quickly decides that he must move forward, he must put distance between himself and the insane, bespectacled man behind him.  Steve tries to run down the hill, hoping he can keep his balance and that Dwight may not pursue him, but he quickly loses his footing and begins to roll.  After what feels like ten minutes, Steve comes to a stop, he’s battered and bruised from rolling over rocks, branches and stumps, but he can’t stop.  He pulls himself upright and continues running.

 Steve crashes through the brush ahead, braking branches and shrubbery like they’re a coffee table in the Winslow’s living room.  Mostly out of habit he coughs out a quick and perfunctory, “did I do that”…but his heart isn’t in it, his thoughts are racing and he’s immediately stumbling further through the vegetation.  He notices blood pouring from his under his right arm.  The red stream quickly reaches his jeans…it didn’t have far to go.  He’s weak and getting weaker.  Five hundred yards later he collapses, spent.  You can do it, Steve, he thinks to himself, it doesn’t matter that the alliance is broken, you can make it, you can pull yourself up by your own red suspenders and…and…and…but he knows he can’t.  His own intellect squashes the hope he was counting on to keep him alive, to sustain him.  Defeated he rolls onto his back and waits for death to come.  But out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimmer.  The sun is reflecting directly at him off a shiny metal object.  What is that? Steve wonders groggily.  It’s large, very large.  Summoning all his strength, Steve rolls over, adjusts his glasses…and immediately begins laughing.  Laughing, snorting, crying and snorting again, Steve crawls over to the large object like a rat to cheese, hugging his metal savior when he gets there.  He’s hugging his transformation chamber.  It must have been a gift from the sponsors, Steve thinks.  Slowly but resolutely, he crawls inside, closes the door and presses the large green button. 

It’s midday and sunny as the metal door on Steve’s transformation chamber creaks slowly open.  Then out from the chamber, slowly and very coolly, steps none other than Stefan Urquelle.  Deliberately adjusting his tie and pulling just a hint of white sleeve-cuff out from under an impeccably tailored suit, he clears his throat.  “Let’s find some ladies…” Stefan croons in a voice that is honey, smoke, and Al Green all rolled into one.

Across the arena, isolated by a stream, for a reason unbeknownst to her, Katniss feels a flush rise in her cheeks.

ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION: MISS PIGGY

1)      Achilles - 1/3

2)      Dalton - 10/1

3)      Katniss - 20/1

4)      Super Mario - 30/1

5)      Dwight Schrute - 35/1

6)      Nic Cage - 40/1

7)      Willy Wonka – 60/1

8)      Kate Austen– 60/1

9)      Kevin McCallister – 75/1

10)  Horatio – 75/1

11)  Rudy Ruettiger - 80/1

12)  Helen of Troy - 90/1

13)  The Hamburglar – 90/1

14)  Yossarian – 90/1

15)  Harry Potter – 100/1

16)  Lennie – 120/1

17)  Steve Urkel – 200/1

18)  Charlie Kelly – 250/1

19)  Marcia Brady – 300/1

20)  Willy Loman – 400/1

21)  Hester Prynne – 600/1

22)  Miss Piggy – 800/1

23)  Adrian Balboa – 1,000/1

24)  Boo Radley - ? 

Ty and Ryan's Fictional Hunger Games (Part IV: THE CAGE!)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Kate Austen and Willy Wonka Enter…The CAGE

On the morning of the second day of the Games, Willy Wonka wakes from a night of uneasy slumber.  The sun has just risen and Wonka raises himself to a sitting position, looking around for the impromptu alliance he had joined yesterday at the Cornucopia. 

After bolting from his pedestal for a backpack filled with cash and candy near the Cornucopia yesterday morning, Wonka had found himself in a fight with Nic Cage.  As they were wrestling for the mutually desired backpack, however, Nic suddenly eased his grip, looked Wonka directly in the eye and said in a hauntingly calm voice, “only a fool chases a dream, but a dream never chases a fool.”  He then released the backpack and walked away unexplainedly.  Before he could process these odd actions, Wonka was cut on the arm by a Dwight Schrute-tossed ninja star.  Falling to a knee and grimacing in pain, Wonka quickly felt someone pulling him up by his uninjured arm.  He was on his feet again before he noticed it was Kate Austen, the attractive brunette he’d befriended before the Games began.  “Come on, I can clean that wound for you, and you can help me find and cook food, let’s team up,” Kate said.  He agreed, thinking to himself that a partner wouldn’t be a bad thing to have.  She may not be as helpful as a team of Ooompa Loompas, fair enough, but she could keep watch while his creative genius manifested itself in the woods.  Yes, he thought, there he would create a world of his own pure imagination, a world of booby traps and sadistic whimsy that would lure in the greedy and selfish of the tributes.  There was one child in particular he’d like to teach a lesson, a foul-mouthed little blonde boy who kept demanding cheese pizza at all the Tribute’s events before the start of the Games.  Besides, it got lonely living in a large chocolate factory, and Wonka couldn't pretend that Kate's flowing, dark brown hair and bright smile weren't a pleasant change of scenery from the orange skin and green hair he’d become accustomed to.  Wonka and Kate began to move away from the circle of pedestals and chaos when Nic Cage appeared suddenly in front of them, saying in a solemn voice,  “I’d like to join you’re alliance, you both have noble hearts.  It would be an honor to battle along side you.”  “Did you change clothes!?” Wonka couldn’t help but spit out, flabbergasted by the mysterious man, “and how did your hair change, it was short earlier?”  But Nic Cage simply responded slowly, peering knowingly into Wonka’s very soul, “a tiger may change his stripes, but the wolf…the wolf howls at the moon.” Neither Wonka nor Kate managed a response and before they could even look at each other Cage turned on his heal, “follow me.  We’ll head to the woods.”  And they followed.

Now, in the sunlight of the early morning, Wonka rubs his eyes.  He sees Kate Austen sleeping soundly a few feet from him.  Gently, he shakes her shoulder until her eyes open.  “Good morning.  Where’s Nic?” Kate asks groggily.  “How should I know?”  Wonka says, a bit more aggressively than he means to, he can’t quite explain the twinge of irritation he feels at Kate’s question.  “C’mon, let’s find some breakfast,” he suggests, careful to carry a softer tone.  They walk a short circle around their campsite, collecting plants, bugs and berries.  Kate’s island experience has made her very efficient at gathering food from the wild.  When they return to the campsite, she makes a fire and Wonka begins to employ his considerable culinary gifts.  Soon they have a delicious feast of exotic treats.  Wonka feels a warmth spread out from his chest when Kate, trying one of his snozzberry-flavored concoctions, closes her eyes and lets a soft, “mmmm” escape.  While eating they begin to discuss the previous day.  Once in the woods yesterday, their time had mostly been spent putting space between themselves and the Cornucopia (particularly Achilles…) and looking for a place to sleep. When night had fallen they were all shocked to see Achilles’ face appear in the sky (the Gamemakers project in the sky the faces of the fallen that day), all except Cage.  He was, quite simply, inexplicable; they both agreed.  For the most part he spoke only in parables and enigmatic axioms, save for the full, two-and-a half hour biography of John Quincy Adams that he regaled them with later in the night.  Wonka wasn’t sure what to make of the man.  He both resented him for out eccentric-ing Willy Wonka himself and feared the man for his unnerving calm and encyclopedic knowledge of American history. 

“When Nic looks at you,” Kate says between bites of her breakfast, “do you feel like he’s…like he’s…I don’t know, peering into your soul.  Like he sees everything there is inside you, deep down…even things you might not know yet?” She finishes, gazing out into the woods.  “He certainly has an intense gaze,” Wonka replies carefully, looking at Kate out of the corner of his eye and secretly thinking to himself that that was exactly how he felt.  It bothers him, he realizes after a brief moment of reflection, that Nic has this effect.  He, Willy Wonka, was supposed to be the enigmatic figure who knows what everyone’s thinking, he’s the brilliant genius who always knows the cards in everyone’s hands.  Also, he has to admit, it gnaws at him a bit that there was a hint of excitement in Kate’s voice when she asked him the question. 

“In my travels,” comes a voice from behind them, startling both Kate and Wonka, “I have countless times feasted upon the fruits of the field and the nectars of the flower.  The meal you’ve prepared here is a meal of honor, prepared with courage.  I commend you for that.”  Seemingly out of nowhere, Nic Cage now stands behind Wonka and Kate, not looking at either of them but staring up at the sky, searchingly.  “Thanks,” Wonka finally gets out, “hey, did you find a stockpile of clothes or something, you’ve changed outfits again…and I swear your hair is different.”  Cage lowers his gaze from the sky and walks over to the dwindling fire.  He picks out a charred stick and begins to rub ash on his fingers.  “In the land of the naked, William” he speaks slowly, each word heavy with gravitas, “it is the clothed…” as he speaks he walks over to Kate and draws a strange hieroglyphic-looking symbol on her cheek with the ash, “who are firemakers…”  He finishes and walks over to Wonka, drawing another symbol on his cheek as well, “but the fire…it comes from within.”  He finishes drawing and stands up.  “We should move from here.”

Wonka is simply dumbfounded, he is the riddle-maker; what is Cage doing?  Besides, Cage has taken things to a new level of inscrutability, Wonka thinks to himself, this is ridiculous!  His consternation with Cage begins to mingle explosively with his frustration with Kate, as she looks utterly spell-bound.  She and he had gotten along so well, Wonka thought.  They had a history from before the Games began!  They had been friends during the training, chatted often during the Tributes’ dinners.  If only he could show her that he, too, was mysterious and riddlingly prophetic.  These thoughts race through Wonka’s mind as the trio begins to move through the woods.  Suddenly, a voice comes calling through the woods, a high-pitched voice, a child’s voice…a voice Wonka immediately recognizes. “Hey you guys!  I’m over here!  I’m really scared and I’m aaaallllll alone.” 

“No, Willy!  Don’t chase him!!” But Wonka’s adrenaline has taken over and his blood is pumping too fast in his ears to hear Kate’s shout.  He’s already darted deep into the woods after the little troublemaker.   The combination of Cage-related befuddlement and desire to shift the tides of Kate’s affection finally manifest themselves as Wonka tears through the forest after the toe-headed fiend.  Just like that spoiled rich girl and that fat German, I’ll teach this little monster a lesson, once I find…But he has no time to finish his thought.  There he is, the boy, up in a thin but tall tree ahead of him.  Wonka runs up and begins to climb the tree, huffing and puffing a sing-song as he slowly climbs, eyes focused intently on the tree he clings to and his careful hand-placement, “oompa…loompa” he pants heavily between each word, “loompa dee doo…” His top-hat has fallen off and a vain is throbbing ferociously on Wonka’s forehead as he struggles to clamber up the tall tree; he’s lost now in his “JackTorrance-ian” lunacy.  “Willy…Wonka…is…coming….for…you,” he grunts out the last word with a maniacal grin.  Wonka looks down, he’s fifty feet up.  He looks up the tree for the boy, who should be a mere ten feet or so from him but he doesn’t see the child.  “Hey!  I’m over here,” the boy says playfully with a friendly wave.  He’s eye-level with Wonka, on the nearest tree.  “What?!  How did you…?!” just then Wonka notices a very thin rope has been tied to the tree he’s holding on to, secured about twenty feet above him, the other end held by the boy in the next tree over.  With a panic Wonka realizes how thin the trunk has become as he’s climbed higher and higher.  He notices now how unstable the tree is, swaying with his weight.  “See ya!” says the boy as he gives the rope a mighty pull.  A loud crack near the base of the tree sends birds nearby scattering as Willy’s weight and the boy’s tug of the rope become too much for the thin tree.  

Finally on the ground, a young Kevin McCallister goes to one knee and gives several Tiger Woods fist pumps with a victorious but quiet, “Yessssssss!”before scurrying off.

ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION: WILLY WONKA       

1)      Achilles - 1/3

2)      Dalton - 10/1

3)      Katniss - 20/1

4)      Super Mario - 30/

5)      Dwight Schrute - 35/1

6)      Nic Cage - 40/1

7)      Willy Wonka – 60/1

8)      Kate – 60/1

9)      Kevin McCallister – 75/1

10)  Horatio – 75/1

11)  Rudy Ruettiger - 80/1

12)  Helen of Troy - 90/1

13)  The Hamburglar – 90/1

14)  Yossarian – 90/1

15)  Harry Potter – 100/1

16)  Lenny – 120/1

17)  Steve Urkel – 200/1

18)  Charlie Kelly – 250/1

19)  Marcia Brady – 300/1

20)  Willy Loman – 400/1

21)  Hester Prynne – 600/1

22)  Miss Piggy – 800/1

23)  Adrian Balboa – 1,000/1

24)  Boo Radley - ?