I’ve recently begun reading “The Destroyer” novels. It is a long running series of men’s adventure novels that lampoon the men’s adventure genre, politics, and generally spoofs life as a whole. In the middle of the series, it had a bad run of authors, and there were three really bad books that didn’t hold true to the character of the series. I took it upon myself to devise 3 stories to “replace” 108-110. Pretending they never happened, I plan to write 3 tales that will bridge the gap between 107 and 111. The following is part of chapter 1…
At 6 foot 6 inches, Ashley Grambell cut a striking figure. He stood with an uneasy confidence that can only come from enduring some of the most gruelling experiences known to man. His simple denim shirt dripping with blood, he adjusted the fly on his khakis and steeled himself for his next unenviable task. His chiseled chin bobbed as he walked with an arrogant stride through the wasteland of dead bodies that surrounded him. Looking down at the buzzsaw that he had used as a makeshift artificial hand, he unravelled another length of orange extension cord, proud of himself for having the foresight to bring that seldom used european adaptor.
Rounding the corner, he was greeted with the violent screams of the undead. Instinctively, he raised the sawed off 12 guage he carried in his right hand, blowing the head off the living corpse. As the blood splattered over his face he quickly shot a glance to his left, ducking in time to avoid the oncoming butt of a German rifle. He raised up, revving the circular saw and bisecting the opponent with startling precision.
Interrupted by the deep laughter of a diminutive zombie, Ashley turned around to see the mustachioed corpse of Adolph Hitler staring through him with a menacing, maniacal, twitch.
Grambell dropped the empty shotgun, and placed his finger under his lip, mocking the necritized dictator. He goosestepped forward, approaching the german. He stopped within arms reach of the undead megalomaniac. Lowering his hand, he calmly looked Hitler in the eyes. Staring intently he quickly raised his left hand, burying a spinning blade into the rotting nose of the figure that stood before him. Firmly, he looked at the bloody mess that lie before him, saying, “Sig Hell!”
“Cut!” yelled the director, “That’s a wrap!”
“Oh, thank God!” thought the 40 year old actor, realizing he was getting too old to play these roles. He knew that the lines were cheesy, but cheese was what the fans wanted, and it was the fans that put food on his plate. Besides, he had worked with his buddy Ram Chainey since they were kids. In fact, it had been Ram that wrote and directed Ashley’s first movie, Dead Reich. Now on it’s fourth sequel, Ashley Grambell was famous the world over as “the guy in the zombie Nazi movies.” Ashley had grown used to acting in movies that nobody claimed to like, but everyone loved. His movies were the epitome of “guilty pleasure.” His third movie had actually been titled “Guilty Pleasure.” Ah yes, the country was obese, and his movies were cinematic junk food, and he knew it, he was proud of it— embracing his cult status, he had been choosy, only appearing in movies that lived down to a certain standard. It was his destiny to be a B movie actor, and he was glad of it. After all, he could churn out 3 or 4 movies a year, and still kick back for a few months at his ranch in the west. This movie was the 3rd one this year, and he was looking forward to some r&r with his horses.
Heading back to his trailer, Ashley dropped the buzzsaw into the prop box, and licked a little of the blood off his lip. After all these years, he still liked the candy syrup that they used for the effects, but he did wish they’d offer it in some other flavour. As he tried to figure out just exactly what flavour it was, everything went white… then black… then quiet.