los-angeles-toon-patrol – Page 3

I quickly whipped my head around and saw the repairman looking like an oily ice cream cone in the summer sun. “What happened??” I hissed. “Why ain’t you getting back into shape? He’s gonna notice any second!”

Wheezy noticed the change, and decided to keep the Breaker preoccupated. “I never heard of you! I don’t think anybody even knows your name.” He snorted.

The Breaker shot back, “Just like nobody knows yours? What is it….Wacky? Walter? ….no seriously. What is it? Pulling a blank here.”

“We don’t need nobody to know our names,” drawled Greasy, “because everybody knows us as a unit. And you? You’re just a gaudy little lump with a hammer. A nobody. Completely useless….unless you count the “for every good, there’s an equal and opposite bad” thing. But TV tropes don’t bring home the bacon. And by the looks of your dump of an apartment, you don’t even got the pan drippings!“

Stupid picked up the mallet, while Greasy was taunting the Breaker, receded to whack him on the noggin, splattering clay everywhere.

Chunks of his nonexistent form spewed everywhere, which began to re-form, motionless until his face was reapplied. The face landed in Wheezy’s hands, and he dropped it when the face shouted, "What’s the big idea? You trying to kill me?”

Psycho cackled and asked, “Can we just put this guy in the kiln already? I wanna see him as a statue!”

“I think we’ll let the Repairman decide.” I said. “Whaddya think, blob?”

-Smartass

"Not happenin’…” he said, beginning to slur as his mouth lost form. “Can’t…keep…it up…”

He began to slip back into his normal shape at a more rapid pace, until finally he was just his old self with a few extra bumps.

“Sorry boss,” he murmered, sheepishly. “Guess I can’t be ya brother foreva, eh?”

He was already finding less joy in seeing the Breaker get squished, though he still snickered a little.

He hesitated as the pink one asked whether the Breaker should be cooked. On the one hand, there was still some weasel left in him that would love this, but on the other hand, the Repairman really didn’t think it necessary.

“C’mon,” the breaker said, “do somethin’. Those shows aren’t gonna watch themselves…”

Finally, the Repairman found an answer that satisfied both minds he was in.

“Hang on,” he said, “I want to ask ‘im a few things first…”

He went over to the recently reformed Breaker casually.

So, eh, who wuz payin’ ya–you?“ he asked. Gosh, that was a horrible accent. Was he really talking like that?

I saw the Breaker stumble around, mumbling something about a toad. While it looked like he was quickly coming to his senses, I looked over towards the Repairman, who was reforming himself back into a weasel shape after being squished, and the boys.

“We gotta jump him! While he’s still in la la land!”

We all pinned him down, with the Repairman still primping himself as he wheeled himself towards us like nothing mattered but his wig.

“All right,” I crowed triumphantly, “we got you! And we got some questions for ya!”

“Boss…..,” said Wheezy, uncertainly, “This guy is lazier than anyone I’ve ever known. Do you think that he’d even be capable of breaking walls, let alone thinking of ways to sabotage the Repairman?”

-Smartass

Yes, he was shifting back into a weasel form, but one that more resembled his self-sculpting. At least his wig was still on over the light. Though, there was somehow less heart put into his preening…

“Ha ha, yeah!” he said, enthusiastically, “You’s in big trouble, unless ya tell us–”

He was interrupted by Wheezy, whom he glared at. He shook his head; he knew the answer to that question. Though why would such a lazy blob try to sabotage him…?

The Breaker, meanwhile, looked at Wheezy as if he had grown two extra heads.

“Dude,” he exclaimed, holding up the broken hammer. Even when practically snapped in two, it was impressive. “Did you not see the huge mallet?! I would hope I can break the Fourth Wall, and maybe the first three too! Heck, you shoulda seen the job I did the other day, in your ToonTown. I bet everyone knows my name there! Gotta lotta cash doing that, too.”

The Repairman, meanwhile, found his form slowly melting back into the normal blobbish shape. He tried to keep it weasel-like, but it just wasn’t going to stay. Not after a fall like that.

“Hey boss,” he whispered, frantically trying to get the pink one’s attention by tapping him on the shoulder. Luckily, the breaker wasn’t looking in that direction.

While he was messing around with the mallet and the trap, I gave a signal.

“All right boys….on the count of three, we jump this chump!”

“Is that on three, boss?”, Stupid asked, “or after three?”

I glared at him, and I snapped, “Just…. just jump on him!”

“One,” I counted, as we inched closer, “Two,” we posed, ready to jump. “Three!”, I shouted and we all jumped on the Breaker.

All of a sudden, we heard a whistling noise, and Stupid shouted “Cannonball!”, and then he belly-flopped on us.

“Uh-oh….” He whimpered, as the floor shook, and we crashed through the floor, going down. We all crashed through floor after floor, till we hit the basement.

-Smartass

“Oof! What the–?”

And then the Breaker fell.

The Repairman, meanwhile, was still trying to regain control of his own giggling. Was it really this hard for weasels? He couldn’t even hear the leader’s orders over his fits.

He did, however, get to see five weasels and his alternate universe self crash through several stories in that classic Toony fashion. This only made him laugh even harder as he looked into the newly-created hole. Because of the mass of Toons that fell, it looked less like a singular Toon shape and more like an abstract painting.

The Repairman stopped laughing and started screaming as his bouts of laughter caused him and his wheelchair to fall down the hole.

So this is what “die laughing” means…

He landed, still screaming, with a splat! on the basement floor next to the others.

Once he got up, he still had a weasel-ish form, but the fall was not kind to that. He began fiddling with his wig, trying to get it to its normal handsome look, when the wheelchair landed on him, squashing the inkblot into something resembling a Rorschach test.

The Breaker was seeing stars, but he was still up. Granted, “up” is not that impressive when you’re the same size as the Repairman, but it was clear he was still standing. And that the finger trap was still on him. He tried to steady himself, swaying every which way in the process. He swung his half-broken mallet around as he did so.

“You got a frenemy…” he slurred in his daze, “…When the toad looks rather dead…”

Psycho giggled with maniacal glee as the Breaker peeled open layer after layer of tape

I pulled Psycho aside and hissed “What’s in that damned box??”

He said, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “just a little something to keep him occupied for a while!”

The Breaker FINALLY got to the very last layer, revealing……a Chinese finger trap?

As soon as he touched the finger trap, picked it up to examine it, his fingers.. or what I presumed was his fingers..got trapped on either end.

-Smartass

As the Breaker picked up the finger trap, he wondered if this was extra wrapping for that remote. How irritating. He put a psuedofinger in one end of this wrapping to peel it off when…it got stuck. Oh well, he had another hand, maybe he could just use the other end and…

Nope. That hand was stuck, too.

The Repairman found himself stifling some very weasel-like laughter as he watched his Nega doppelganger try to pull his fingers back out. He tried desperately to contain it, but soon a few quiet “Heh’s,” followed by several loud, rapid “HA’s” came rushing out of his mouth.

The Breaker glared at the group as he stopped his half-hearted struggling. He moved his arms downwards and sprouted two more.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

He pulled out an enormous wooden mallet, but he didn’t seem to be looking at the group of weasels anymore. He seemed to be looking at the audience…

With one hand, he readied his mallet, while the other tried to pull at the finger trap along with the other two. Bah. If only he didn’t have to walk to get his box cutter.

This guy’s a smart thinker, I thought, as he pulled out his cap and box.

Stupid nudged me as the Nega-blob opened the door. “He’s scary!” Stupid whispered, “and he smells like vinegar!”

I guess that had to do with the…. what, was he made of play doh? It looked like he wasn’t made of ink and paint, but like he was the thrown out project a kid made in summer camp.

Greasy smoothed the Breaker over, because he saw us and eyed us suspiciously. “We’re bodyguards. He’s carrying valuable stuff.”

“This better be good,” the Breaker growled, “I’m missing my marathon of ‘Dynasty’!”

“It’ll be good!” Psycho giggled. “You’ll be REALLY surprised.”

-Smartass

The Repairman handed the box over to the Breaker (who was such a lazy, pathetic knockoff that he didn’t even call himself Fourth Wall Vandal).

“Jes’ check da package,” he said, ignoring the Breaker’s indignity, “and we can move dis along.”

The Breaker knew he had a box cutter on the table but…that was pretty far. A whole six feet away.

“All right,” he muttered, as he began to peel the tape off, “I did want that automated remote control…”

He stopped to rattle the box. Oddly, it sounded like something was in it, despite it being empty. Curious, he continued peeling, hoping he would finally find that remote, so he would never have to press a button again.

“I can’t believe you’re agreeing to this…” I grumbled as the five of us struggled to carry the wheelchair up the stairs. Greasy and I took the back, Stupid supported it from underneath and Psycho and Wheezy were guiding us up at front.

Each stepped threatened to break under our weight. “This is like that Jewish chair dance,” grumbled Greasy, scowling sourly, “but worse!”

“Leave it to Nega Old Toontown to not have the infrastructure capable enough to have elevators in these buildings!” Gasped Wheezy, as his legs wobbled up the next step.

Stupid, the group’s muscle, wasn’t complaining at all. Psycho, however, whined, “When are we gonna finish, boss?? Can’t we just throw him out the window on the way down and save us the agony?????!’”

While I thought that was a good idea, I didn’t say so. As we inched closer to the final floor, Stupid picked up the chair with ease and carried it to the Deconstructionman’s door like it was nothing.

We all stared, slack jawed, at him. “Do you mean to tell me we coulda saved our asses as disposed to busting em while you could of taken that chair yourself?” I thundered.

“Nope, boss!”, he beamed. “I’m only apposed to do it when it’s funny! You know the Rule of Funny as well as me!”

Before I could say anything, a voice bellowed from behind the door, “That’s it! I’m coming out there!!!”

Crap. This ain’t good. -Smartass

The Repairman found himself dripping ink more than usual as they ascended. He was surprised, but he didn’t mind. It was all part of the look. And it was funny to see his ~~brothers~~ captors struggle to carry him, and get some ink on them to boot.

“I could just wheel down…” he mumbled. He figured that’d be better than cleaning broken glass..

He found himself laughing his non-existent kiester off as Stupid employed the Rule of Funny. Ah, a classic! And seeing the leader get so angry was just the cherry on the cake.

The laughter stopped, however, as the Breaker shouted his annoyance. The Repairman’s head shot to the door, quickly trying to think of a reason they were up there.

He was about to pull out something to use as a weapon, but he realized he didn’t have one…

What are you doing? You’re no weasel! You’re the Repairman! You know the Breaker! Do this like you!

He slapped his forehead in realization before pulling out a cap and empty box.

The door opened to reveal another blob. This one was a deep purple, with two pits for eyes. He seemed to be… blobbier than the Repairman. This was in part due to the fact that the Breaker obviously took less care about keeping a consistent form, but mainly because he appeared to be sculpted out of clay rather than drawn (or spattered) with ink or paint.

“All right, what’s the big idea?” the Breaker demanded. “I was trying to catch a show!”

“Er… Ya got yer delivery!” the Repairman replied, offering the box. “Jes’ check ta make sure it’s yo’s.”

I looked over …Slimy’s shoulder and noticed the rickety old stairs. “Well…we could always carry you.”

Psycho got a mischievous look and asked, “Chair and all?”

“Yeah. Chair and all….I don’t like the way you said that.”

“What?? I was just gonna carry him upside down!”
“Well we may have to….we gotta go single file up these stairs….” I said, looking with trepidation at the narrow, decaying stairway to god-knows-what above us.

-Smartass

The Repairman was about to say something, but then loud banging came from above, followed by a deep voice calling, “Could you keep it down? I’m watching something here!”

Yup. That was the Breaker all right.

“We can take our time,” he said, carefully and quietly. “I doubt he’s gonna move ‘till we git up dere.”

He looked at his lack of a lower half (That’s just your lower half!) and sighed.

“Fine,” he finally said, dejectedly. “I’ll let ya carry my handsome mug up.”

He smoothed his wig, making sure it was as immaculate as his ~~slimy~~ inky hands would allow.

“Aww…” Moaned Psycho. “I wanna be a nuisance!”

Greasy snapped, “You’re already a nuisance, Psycho!”

“Quiet, you mugs!” I hissed. “We gotta do this quietly. Let’s sneak up on him!”

I turned to Slimy/Repairman and smirked. “Get ready. Let’s see if they’re wheelchair accessible!” -Smartass

Sli–the Repairman scooted up to the door, more softly. He carefully tried to open the door, to find that it had been locked.

No matter. The Repairman had tools. Like a screwdriver to get the doorknob off.

After passing the door to a ~~fellow~~ weasel, he began to move his way in.

He could see that there was nothing on the first floor but a set of stairs. The floor was dusty, and the staircase looked like it had seen better days. The boards creaked under his wheelchair as he wheeled in, looking at the stairs in knowing dread.

I turned to look up at the garish purple building. “He’s up there? Kind of a conspicious hiding spot, ain’t it? Oh well, ” I sighed, “It’ll be easy to capture him.”

Psycho piped up, “Boss?? Can I use the battering ram on the door?? I wanna smash the door down!! I wanna break stuff!! ” and giggled with evil glee.

I admired his enthusiasm, but based on what the-blob-who-looked-like-my-brother said, it might not be best to shoot first and ask questions later…

“What do you think, Slimy- I mean, Blob? Go in guns blazing, or take a more quiet reproach? Normally I hate asking advice, but you’re the guide here,” I grumbled impatiently.

-Smartass

“You think he cares about hiding?” the Repairman retorted. Knowing the Breaker, he really wouldn’t.

He was beginning to find the idea of a battering ram kind of fun. All that property damage and panic at the sight of you…

He sighed. Even with his sculpted mind, he knew that wouldn’t be the best idea. Besides, a small part of him was shouting “YOU HYPOCRITE” at those thoughts.

“Jes’…jes’ go in quietly,” he finally answered, “But keep our—I mean your guns ready. Jes’ in case, yannow?”

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But then, he also kind of hoped it would.

We halted, curious about the source of the…vERY loud and annoying siren.

Stupid asked, “who is? And close to what?”

Wheezy
butted in, “The Fourth Wall Deconstructionman, you dope! And we must be
close to the Nega-Verse!” And he paused to take a drag from three cigs
at a time.

“He’s right,” Greasy said, “This must be the Nega
version of The Wrong Side of the Tracks. God knows our version of that
neighborhood never had no other colors but brown, grey, black and slimy
green. I like it….maybe it could use some flower boxes.. Maybe a cafe or
two to cheer things up……”

He trailed off awkwardly when he saw me
give him The Look. The Look meant “Quit the chin music unless you want
to speak off key for the rest of your unnatural life.”

“So we’re
here,” I began, turning towards the the fact-simile of our brother,
“What now? Is the Fourth Wall Explosionman a guy you can reproach and
make small talk to?”

-Smartass

“Yeh, and if they ‘ad a hair salon…” the Repairman considered, forgetting the fact it was just a wig.

He shook himself out of that train of thought about the same time as Greasy stopped.

“Ugh, that’s a tough one, I tell ya, I tell ya…”

The Repairman spat a large drop of ink out of his makeshift mouth. It landed on the ground with a splotch.

“He’s not as bad as some,” he said, pulling out a hankerchief and picking up the spat ink, “but only because he don’t move much. But when he does… he’s an annoying sunofa queind [Even with his changes, he still didn’t know how to swear, nor did he care] to deal with.”

He put the ink back into his form, and dropped the hankerchief.

Suddenly, he turned to the right and looked up. A boarded-up window could be seen on the second story. It seemed to be emitting a faint light. If he strained his psuedo-ears, he could hear canned laughter.

“And there’s the sucker now!” he exclaimed, pointing. His siren hadn’t let him down before.

Without hesitation, he wheeled himself around and raced to find the door.