The Winds Of Craif

“I hurt myself today… to see if I still feel… I focus on the pain… the only thing that’s real”

Craif was drunk again. But not the kind of drunk you see in people when they’ve been out partying all night. No. This was the kind of drunk you see in a person who despises their own existence. A certain level of intoxication that makes one wonder what that person could have done in their past life to want to punish their own body in such a manner. His eyes were crusted shut.  Had he been crying?  God only knew.

The back seat of the Prius that Craif had been using as his bed began to jostle and he heard voices from outside that began to grow louder.

“What’s a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here?!” Craif grumbled drunkenly.

As Craif exited the rear passenger door of the unsightly vehicle, he saw four young men of Asian descent working vigorously to remove the wheels from Craif’s vehicle. It was dark, and the streetlight under which he was parked proved to be insufficient for the men to remove Craif’s wheels with any real finesse. 

“What are you Mexicans doing?” Craif asked in a haze.

“Go back to sleep, you old bum,” one of the men responded.

“Seriously, what are you punks doing with my 20’s?” Craif demanded. 

“Old man I hate to break it to you but these ain’t no 20-inch rims,” one man corrected. 

“Alright they’re tens but I keep them clean,” replied Craif.

The young punks were quickly growing tired of the feeble senior that stood before them. The alpha among the group stepped forward and drew a pistol.

“Listen, grandpa, I’m going to count to three and you had better make like a tree and get out of here,” the leader ordered. “One… two…”

Craif gave a sly smirk and chuckled to himself as the punks walked toward him. It had been ages since he had used his secret weapon. “Junior,” Craif began, “you just fucked with the wrong bull.” Craif began walking toward the group. Suddenly, something began to swell from deep within him. Only it wasn’t excitement. Craif began to slow his pace as he realized what was about to happen.  

“WAAAARRRFFFF!” Craif yelled as vomit spewed from his mouth. A combination of cheap alcohol and Arby’s roast beef erupted from his feeding orifice like a putrid volcano, covering the young punks from head to toe. Ounces turned to pints. Pints turned to quarts. Craif could have filled a baby’s pool with the amount of puke spilling from his mount. But there was no pool to contain it.   The would-be assailants had made the mistake of catching Craif on a bad night.

The thugs stood silent for a moment. Drenched in Craif’s digestive waste, they struggled to collect their thoughts. It was the alpha among the group that broke the silence.

“Kill this old son of a bitch!” he shrieked. As the leader’s second-in-command pointed his gun at Craif, he managed to slip on a chicken wing that had been projected from Craif’s gullet. His aim went wide and the man carelessly fired three shots into the passenger side of Craif’s Prius.

“No, not the car!” Craif cried. “Now what am I going to Uber people around in?!” Needless to say, Craif’s existence had become an unsightly one in his later years. Forced to shuttle douchebags around in the most unmasculine way imaginable, Craif had become the thing he despised the most in his youth: a hipster. 

Rage began to swell within Craif. It was definitely rage this time. Not puke. He felt his blood boiling and his face began to turn red. Then Craif said the words he never thought he would say again.

“Magic shoulder… engage!”

Craif’s arm began to rotate at the shoulder like the propeller on a World War II fighter plane that had seen decades of weather and rust. Craif struggled to get his arm to move using his other arm to assist with the rotation. All the while the punk with the gun was focusing his aim on Craif. The gun began to fire and Craif began to take shot after shot. He fell to the ground with a thud. 

As the vomit-covered Asian mob began to walk away from the apparent massacre, they heard Craif let out a gurgle. They turned in horror as Craif drunkenly clambered to his feet.

“I didn’t hear no bell,” Craif said to the crowd. “Or in your case… I suppose it would be a Taco Bell.” Craif grinned at his own joke.

“We’re not fuckin’ Mexicans, bro!” one of the young men exclaimed. “My family is from Vietnam!”

“It’s all Mexico to me,” Craif replied. “Oh, and by the way… don’t call me bro.”

“How are you still alive?” one of the punks asked.

“It would appear that years of putting gravy on everything has had some pretty profound effects on my body,” Craif responded. “Not the least of which is my extended life span and rejuvenating capabilities.”

“Are you trying to tell us you’re some sort of Weapon X?” one of the other men asked.

“No… I’m Weapon Craif.”

Suddenly, Craif’s windmilling arm began to revolve with a fervor that Craif hadn’t felt in years. He began sprinting toward the villains. They tried to flee but slipped on the puddle of Craif puke that coated the street. All they could do was watch in horror as Craif closed in on them.

“Fuckin’ Craif!” were the last words any of them heard.

 ______________________________________________________________________________

Back at his lair, Craif sat and brooded over what had become of his life. Fate was a cruel bitch with the menstrual cycle of a rabid mongoose. She had been so retched as to condemn Craif to spend his days living in the place he once hated most in the world: The Silverfox Company. The factory that once employed Craif and his friends now served as his only means of shelter. No longer did the sounds of outbound phone calls fill the hallways. The building was silent now. The glass windows that walled the facility had all been shattered by ruffians during the Great Uprising.  Craif sat in the office of the man he once called “Sir.” Those days were over now. The only beckoning call Craif answered to now was the call of nature and even then he was often too apathetic to find a lavatory. A pile of feces lay in the far corner of the office. A sign of all the shits Craif no longer gave.

He slowly rocked in the executive chair behind the large broken desk in the room and gazed out over the empty parking lot that lay before the building. He looked up at the scorched sky that hadn’t shown a ray of sunshine in decades. 

Nice day, today, Craif thought to himself.

As Craif began to drift off into a sleep he heard a voice call from down the hall.

“Craif…” groaned a scratching voice. “Craif…” it repeated.

Craif was silent for a moment. He was in no mood for this interaction. He closed his eyes and hoped the voice would begin traveling in the opposite direction. Craif’s butthole puckered when he realized that it was getting closer.

“Dammit Craif, I ain’t got all fuckin’ day! Answer me when I’m yelling at you, lazy ass bitch.” The Godfather always had a way with words. He rolled in on his Rascal Scooter that he had acquired from an abandoned grocery store many years ago. It was the type of motorized cart designed to mobilize amputees and disabled people along with the occasional sedentary fat person who was far too afflicted with their pastry addiction to ever actually walk anywhere. 

“Its that time again, Craif,” Godfather commanded. “Diaper time!” Godfather was fully capable of using the bathroom on his own. He just liked the idea of Craif wrestling with his feces. Godfather would frequently eat food that caused him severe bowel problems just so Craif would have more of a mess to clean up. 

Craif cringed at the thought. 

“What’s wrong, Craif?” Godfather asked. “You’re more depressing than usual.”

“I got into a fight with some Mexicans today,” Craif answered.

“You wind-milled them all to death, didn’t you Craif?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the problem. I’m not healing like I used to,” Craif said.

“That can’t be,” Godfather said. “God gave you a life of misery and then cursed you with immortality. Then he blessed me with the endurance to live long enough to witness it. What could possibly kill you?”

Craif knew the answer. It was the one thing that had given him his miraculous powers all those years ago. That one thing that had killed so many middle-age men before him but in large quantities had special healing properties. The one glorious substance that was once the source of his healing powers was now the one thing responsible for his undoing. One word: Gravy.

Craif and ingested large quantities of gravy for decades. “Gravy on everything!” he would always say. For a time it had served as his Lazarus elixir giving him what seemed like everlasting life. Now, it was killing him. His battle with the Mexicans had left him bleeding and bruised and his wind-milling arm was throbbing. Craif wasn’t sure how much more time he had.

“Come on, Craif,” Godfather said while Craif awakened from his daydream. “Pick me up and change me.” The Godfather could walk just fine on his own. He just liked having Craif take him places. Craif picked up Godfather and began walking down toward what used to be his boss’ desk. The workstation of the man they once referred to a “Rock Eater” had become Godfather’s changing table in this post-apocalyptic world. 

“Craif…?” Godfather began as he was being carried down the hall. “Do you ever think about him?”

“Who?” Craif asked.

“You know who.”

“The truth is,” Craif replied, “I haven’t thought about him in years.”

“Don’t lie to me Craif…”

That night, a storm raged. Not a storm of the sky, though. It was a storm of the soul. Contrary to popular belief, Craif still had one. He kept it buried deep down where he kept his love of all-you-can-eat buffets and his desire to dance battle. As the night wore one, the storm got more intense.

“No… no… you cant… don’t… don’t do it…” the dreams had been coming more frequently in recent nights. And with the dreams came a pain that Craif had tried to bury long ago.

“No… stop it… I’m … I’m sorry…” Craif wrestled with the visions as they had become increasingly vivid. It was almost as though he were reliving a past life. His heart was racing and his teeth were clenched as the dream grew more intense. Then, suddenly, he jolted.

“… Day Day!” Craif sat up in his bed abruptly with his arm outstretched as though he were reaching for something that he could never touch again. A pool of sweat encircled him in his bed. Some of it was urine… there was a little bit of semen too… but mostly it was sweat. He lay back on his pillow and embraced the stew of his own filth in which he was the meat log.

A light came on down the call as Godfather expressed his contempt for Craif’s nightly outbursts.

“Dammit Craif!” Godfather exclaimed. “What did I tell you?! If you keep waking me up every fuckin’ night I’m gonna have to kick your ass.” 

Craif was in no mood to deal with Godfather’s antics. He knew good and well Godfather was already up playing Words With Friends, a game that Godfather had mastered in his youth. Craif was quite the Words player himself, although he could never best Godfather in a game of words. This was primarily because Craif only played two-letter words, many of which were completely made up. 

Suddenly, a thunderous sound echoed through the building that the two of them called home. Craif sat silent for a moment and then it came again. 

Boom… boom… boom. 

It was a knock at the front door of the building. Whoever was knocking showed no sign of leaving anytime soon.

“Dammit,” Craif said aloud. It wasn’t that he was being disturbed in the middle of the night that angered Craif. It was the fact that the elevators hadn’t worked in decades and Craif would be forced to use the stairs to answer this late-night-knocker. Nevertheless, Craif pulled on his Sofia The First underwear (Craif typically slept in the nude) and began to make his way down the hall to the stairwell. 

“Answer that fuckin’ door, Craif” Godfather commanded from within his room. “I’m trying to sleep here.”

“You just played a word five minutes ago!” Craif yelled back.

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing, Craif!”

Craif was in no mood. He walked down the hall, toward the stairwell. He passed the cubicles that were once the workspaces of some of the most useless people Craif had ever laid eyes on. His fists clenched as he was reminded of all though who had crossed him throughout the years.

What would you say… you do here?

Craif made his way to the stairwell and down the stairs. His blood pressure started to elevate and his heart rate began to rise as he descended. By the time he hit the bottom step, he was sure he was about to die. The knocking grew louder as he walked up to the front door to the hellhole he called home.

Craif swung the door open angrily. What stood in front of him left him feeling both furious and confused and Craif felt a sudden desire to kill. A young girl stood before him. She was probably 11 or 12 years old. She had long hair and a goatee, which was kinda weird.

Yes… I’m sure of it. I hate this chick, Craif thought to himself as he observed her stupid glasses. 

Suddenly, the little girl spoke.

“Bonjour!” 

“I don’t speak Mexican,” Craif replied. 

“Mon nom est Crepe,” the little girl replied.

“Speak English, dip shit,” said Craif. He was losing what little patience he had.

“Oui Oui. Sorry, sir. My name is Crepe and I’m a little French girl.”

“Wee wee? Look, if you have to piss, do it in the yard.”

Just then Godfather came up behind Craif.

“Who is it, dumbass?” Godfather asked.

“Some Mexican chick,” Craif responded. “And apparently she has to piss.”

“I like where this is going,” said Godfather.

The little girl forced her way through the door and past Craif. She looked around the lobby of the building. It was a complete shithole.

“Bonjour Monsieur,” Crepe said to Godfather. “My name is Crepe and I believe you are the man I am here to meet.”

“Jesus Christ, Godfather!” Craif exclaimed. “What have I told you about the age of consent?!”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Godfather responded. “I’ve been communicating with bitches telepathically. Crepe here responded to my brainwaves.”

Craif was confused for a moment. Then it all started to make sense. “You found this kid on Craig’s List didn’t you?”

“Shut up, Craif,” Godfather commanded.

“Thought so,” Craif replied.

“Listen, Craif,” Godfather began. “She’s like you… very much like you.” The tone of Godfather’s voice became very ominous and Craif knew what his long-time companion was getting at.

“She got a daddy named Craif too?!” Craif asked with his special voice.

Godfather sighed, “You’re her daddy, Craif…” His voice trailed off.

Craif was silent for a moment. His mind began to reel. The room was spinning and his legs became weak. Godfather rushed over to catch his hetero life-partner. He caught Craif just as he began to faint.

“That’s… going to be… more… money… out of… my… pocket…” Then everything went black.

__________________________________________________________________________

“… Craif… Craif…”

The voice was far away but unmistakable.

“…Craif… how could you, Craif?”

“No. It’s not possible,” Craif tried to reassure himself. “You… you’re dead.”

Craif’s vision was shielded by darkness. All he could hear was the repetitive calling of his name. Craif tried to wake up but he was stuck in this nightmare. He tried to pinch himself but he was paralyzed. All he could do was listen to the calls of his name.

“… Craif. I was your friend… Craif… how could you.”

“You’re not real!” Craif exclaimed. “For the love of shit, just let me wake up!”

“There’s no waking up for me now. Is there, Craif?”

Craif was growing increasingly agitated. His breathing was rapid. He knew he was dreaming and all he wanted to do was wake up. But he couldn’t. In the blackness, he called back to the haunting voice.

“Dammit Day Day, what do you want from me?!” Craif called out.

“… What I want… you cannot give me, Craif” the voice answered ominously. 

“Jesus Christ, Day Day! It was just a stupid bet!” Craif pleaded to the invisible apparition.

“And I was forced to pay the price…” the voice called back. 

Craif began to cry. He hadn’t eaten in hours. Just then his entire body began to shake violently and the voice began growing louder.

“Craif… Craif… CRAIF!” 

Suddenly, Craif was blinded by light. His body continued to convulse and he began to regain his sight.

“Wake up, Pussy!” Godfather exclaimed from over top of Craif’s body. He was shaking Craif back to the world of the living. “You were crying in your sleep again… and you pissed yourself too.”

Craif sat up looked down at his moistened lap in disgust. Day Day always did have this effect on him. Craif rose to his feet and noticed that Godfather and Crepe were staring at him with concerned looks on their faces. Craif tried to save face.

“Look, peeing your pants is cool. You’re not cool unless you pee your pants.” Craif then turned and walked toward his room to freshen up. He choked back the sorrow he was feeling from his dream vision. The visions were coming even more frequently than before. Sooner or later, he would have to confront his past. 

Crepe broke the silence. “Excuse me monsieurs, but I have traveled a very long way and I would like to continue what we discussed on the Craig’s List.” 

“Yes, of course,” said Godfather. “Everyone come into the kitchen and I’ll explain everything.”

They all followed Godfather into the kitchen. Craif led the way because he was the hungriest. He went straight to the refrigerator and began making a sandwich. Godfather looked on in disgust but decided to proceed with the story.

“Now, as I mentioned before, I met Crepe online. I began seeing posts on social media and several blogs about a young girl with a very familiar set of talents to those of Craif’s. She was able to do things that only a few people have ever been able to do, as far as I know,” Godfather said.

“What can she do?” Craif inquired.

Godfather looked at Crepe silently and she hung her head in shame. “Let’s just say that she has a very particular set of skills that make her a nightmare for bad men,” he said.

“You said that I was her father. What did you mean by that?” Craif asked Godfather.

Godfather looked away from Crepe and stared at Craif. “You remember your battle with Swilner all those years ago?” he asked Craif.

“How could I forget?!” Craif replied. The battle was all over the news. It had resulted in hundreds of thousands of dollars in property damage alone.

“Well, it would appear that some government types came by later and collected some of your DNA. They used part of your DNA to make a child. A super-soldier with all of your strengths an none of your weaknesses.” Godfather’s story struck Craif to his core. This couldn’t be possible, could it? Then Craif was struck by a question that shook the very foundation of his being.

“Godfather… if I’m this Mexican child’s padre… who is the madre?” Craif’s question hung in the air like a wet fart.

Just then there was a loud knock at the front door. Then a louder knock. And then the door exploded off the hinges with a blast so loud that the surrounding windows shattered. Craif, Godfather, and Crepe all ran into the foyer to see what the commotion was about. Smoke and dust made it difficult to see at first. Then a figure began to emerge from the lingering debris. He was only a shape at first. Short and portly and he walked like he was smuggling illicit goods up in his rectum. However, as the light shown on his face, his identity was unmistakable. 

“Rock Eater,” Craif uttered. He scowled at the unwelcome visitor with hatred and disgust in his eyes.

“Well, well, well. The gang’s all here.” Rock Eater said in his douchey voice. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of limestone the size of a butter dish and began chewing bites off of it.

“The fuck are you doing here, Rock Eater?!” Godfather demanded. 

“You fucks have something that belongs to me,” Rock Eater replied as he pointed his narrow index finger at Crepe. “Luckily, I brought reinforcements.” Rock Eater snapped his fingers and suddenly a foul stench filled the air. It was a vile, disgusting odor and Craif identified it immediately.

“… Mother of God…” Craif muttered.

Just then That Fat Bitch walked into the room from outside. She was wearing nothing more than a thong and pair of boobie tassels. At the ends of the tassels hung miniature wrecking balls that she used to concuss and destroy her opponents and lovers alike. Her lady parts smelled of hot garbage and death and Craif was certain there was an unborn fetus rotting away in her unholy birth canal.

“Jabba jabba wookie nipple pinchy,” That Fat Bitch muttered.

Craif and the others were paralyzed with fear. This was a fight they could not win. That Fat Bitch had a way of fucking people whom you never expected would fuck her back and no one had ever survived her vigorous love-making. Some of the greatest men that Craif had ever known had taken on her foul vagina and they had all perished in the brawl. 

“We’re all gonna die,” Craif whispered under his breath. 

Just then, Craif felt the gentle touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder. Craif turned to see Godfather with tears in his eyes and a strange smile on his face.

“It’s alright, Craif,” said Godfather. “I’ll take one for the team.”

“No… NO! Absolutely not!” Craif yelled. “You won’t survive it!”

“It’s not up to you. I’m the only one who can take the punishment, Craif,” replied Godfather. “You just be sure to take care of the girl. She’s more important than you know.”

Craif watched as his friend walked onward toward certain death. “You can’t fuck That Fat Bitch, Godfather.”

Godfather paused and turned to Craif. Then he said, “That’s my secret, Craif… I already did.” And then he was gone.

Craif watched in horror as his longtime companion fucked the blob of a woman in front of them. Fluids flew everywhere. There was blood and sweat and tears and Craif couldn’t help but vomit at the sight of it all. Crepe was crouched in the corner of the room with her eyes closed and her hands covered her ears. 

“Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques…” Crepe sang to herself to drown out the sound of Godfather’s screams.

When it was all over, there was nothing left of Godfather but a bloody pile of flesh and broken bones. Craif fell to his knees but he didn’t cry because crying is for pussies. 

“Well… that was fucked up,” said Rock Eater who was equally disturbed by the entire scene. He looked upon That Fat Bitch who seemed unable to rise up off the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked.

That Fat Bitch grunted and moaned for a minute but she was unable to speak. Her jaw had become dislocated from her tumble with Godfather. All she could do was speak from her horrid vagina.

“… queef .. “ went the vagina. And with that, she was dead.

Godfather had done it. In his last act of sacrifice, he had taken one for the team and paid the ultimate price. Craif and Crepe were spared from That Fat Bitch’s stinking snatch. However, there was still the mater of Rock Eater. 

“I’ve had enough of this shit, Craif,” said Rock Eater. “Give me the girl and no one gets hurt.” 

“What do you want with her?” asked Craif.

“She’s a science project. Nothing more,” replied Rock Eater.

“She’s my daughter!” yelled Craif.

Suddenly, Craif felt a breeze rise up from behind him. He turned to see Crepe standing with a fire in her eyes. Her arm was rotating in a windmill motion at such a high velocity that Craif worried she might fly away.

Just then, Crepe broke her silence, “Magic shoulder, ENGAGE!” Crepe had been charged by Craif’s acceptance of her as his own daughter. She stormed violently toward Rock Eater with a barrage of windmills that put Craif’s to shame.

“She IS my child…” Craif whispered to himself.

Craif watched on as Crepe battled Rock Eater. He watched her fight with furry and honor. She struck fast and true. For a moment, Craif thought that she actually might defeat Rock Eater. Then suddenly, the unthinkable happened.

Rock Eater lashed out with his rock-eating teeth and caught Crepe’s hand in his mouth. He held her arm steady for a moment and then with a quick flick of his elfin body, he ripped Crepe’s arm off at the shoulder. Then he spat her arm on the floor and paused for a minute to listen to her scream. 

“You fought well, my dear,” said Rock Eater. “ But I’ve invested too much money into your development to allow you to run off with Craif.” Rock Eater looked down at his own crotch. “I know what you’re wondering, ‘Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’ Well…” Rock Eater reached into his pocket. “Its actually a banana.” Rock Eater proceeded to pull out the longest, girthiest banana Craif had ever seen in his entire life. Then, he began to peel it slowly.

“Maybe I was wrong about you, Crepe,” Rock Eater said looking down upon the girl as she held the hole where her arm was once located. “Maybe you aren’t the super-soldier I had hoped you were. Oh well. As they say in your native tongue, ‘C’est la vie.’” Then Rock Eater raised the banana over his head and plunged it down into the mouth of Crepe in an effort to choke her to death.

Craif looked on in horror as the banana went deeper and deeper into his clone child’s throat. Any moment now, she would surely begin to gag. Then the vomiting would come and she would surely choke to death. All Craif could do was watch and wait for the end to come… only it never did.

Deeper and deeper the banana went into Crepe’s bottomless throat. There seemed to be no end to the amount of banana she could take. Craif had only seen such talent once before in his entire life. Just then, his heart skipped a beat.

“No… its… it’s not possible,” Craif whispered to himself. His mind was reeling. “That just not biologically possible!” Craif was screaming now. Confusion and disbelief overwhelmed him. “No… no, no, no, no… NO! I found his body… I saw his grave!”

Rock Eater relented from his deep-throat banana plunging and observed Craif’s reaction. This brought a smile to his face as he began to unbutton his shirt. As he exposed his bare chest, to Craif’s horror he saw one of the most terrible things he could imagine. Silver Fox’s baby! It wasn’t the whole baby. Only the baby’s head protruded from Rock Eater’s gluttonous stomach and a gold chain dangled from his neck. Clearly, Rock Eater had eaten some Kryptonite or some other radioactive rock that caused his body to merge with Silver Fox’s baby.

God, this is fucked up, Craif thought to himself.

As Craif struggled to gather his thoughts, Baby spoke to him. “You’re beginning to remember, Craif…” Baby whispered to Craif. “Let the past flow into you.”

“This can’t be true!” Craif screamed at Baby’s head.

“Open your mind, Craif…. OPEN YOUR MIND!”

Suddenly, it all came rushing back to Craif. That fateful night when Craif had bet Day Day that he could pee in his butt from across the room. Day Day had argued that this was physically impossible and Craif, not wanting to be upstaged, had chased Day Day around the room all while showering his friend with a golden stream of piss. The entire time Craif was screaming, “Light weight, baby!!!” Day Day hadn’t noticed the puddles that had accumulated on the ground and with one wrong step, he had slipped on the wet floor and fallen into Craif’s pet liger’s cage. A liger was a crossbreed of a tiger and a lion and Craif had acquired one of these monsters in years prior. The violent animal proceeded to rip Day Day’s face off and castrate his manhood. When it was all over, the evil feline defecated on Day Day’s remains. Craif always felt bad about that. When the authorities arrived on the scene, they found Craif with his dick still in his hands and his memory was totally blank from the traumatic thing he had witnessed.

“Speak the truth, Craif…” Baby’s head commanded from its perch on Rock Eater’s stomach.

“Crepe’s mother… its… its Day Day.”

“The girl is the genetic combination of you and your dear friend. All of your strengths but none of your weaknesses,” Baby elaborated.

“But why do this?” asked Craif.

“Why do anything?” Baby responded. “Why change things that already work fine? Why ask people to make 30 pointless outbound calls in an eight-hour period? Why continuously add more and more templates to everything?!” Baby paused for a moment to allow all of this to sink in for Craif. “There is no “why,” Craif. Life is about nonsensical, knee-jerk reactions to one-off scenarios that arise once in a lifetime. That is all.”

Craif looked down at Crepe with sorrow in his eyes. He knew that she would be doomed to a life of nonsense just as he had been. Then Baby spoke again.

“And when you’re dabbling in nonsense, you had better go hard or go home!” Baby clapped his hands and a figure walked into the room from outside. It took a moment for Craif’s eyes to adjust but it wasn’t long before Craif recognized the person in front of him.

“That’s… that’s… that’s ME!” Craif exclaimed. Craif looked at the man standing before him as though he was looking in a mirror.

“He’s not just you, Craif,” said Baby. “He’s the younger, more athletic version of you. He’s the version of you back when you allegedly did Crossfit and took better care of yourself and you looked totally cyborg even though there are no pictures to corroborate these claims.”

The younger Craif stared at old Craif like a gorilla that was ready to mate. Craif felt a shiver travel down his spine. This was the better version of himself. Baby had cloned Craif and genetically modified it back to a time before Craif had been run down by outbound calls, excessive gravy, and templates. This was the superior Craif and old Craif knew that he was no match for him.

“Papa, you must flee!” yelled Crepe.  She was still laying on the ground.

Suddenly, young Craif bitch slapped Crepe through the adjacent wall. Craif could only look on in horror. He turned to face young Craif with fury in his eyes. Suddenly, young Craif spoke.

“Donde esta la biblioteca,” the abomination said to old Craif.

My God, the bastards made this one speak Mexican!

Craif heard Crepe moan somewhere in the pile of drywall left from the impact she caused. At least she was alive. He weighed his odds and knew that if he didn’t act fast he would surely die. That was when he did something he swore he would never do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a glowing vial.

“Que?” asked young Craif.

Suddenly, Baby knew what was in the vial and panic swept over him. “Hurry and kill him now, young Craif!” yelled Baby. “That glowing liquid… it’s Craig Pee!”

It was too late. Craif was already guzzling down the Craig Pee and within seconds he could feel his muscles swelling. His heart began to race as he felt 30 years younger. He even had a boner, which was also pretty cool. 

“Fuckin’ Craif!” Craif called out his own battle cry and began charging at the villains who had invaded his home. His arm rotated in a devastating windmill motion as it came crashing down on the head of Baby. Over and over again, Craif windmilled Baby. There was blood everywhere. When the deed was done and Baby was dead, Craif turned his sights on young Craif.

“Puedo ir al baño,” said Young Craif.

“You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me,” replied Old Craif.

Then, they had at it. The two Craifs charged at one another like a pair of horny buffalo fighting over territory and buffalo pussy. Young Craif kept lifting his shirt up and pointing to his ripped abs. It was totally weird but Young Craif was clearly proud of them so Old Craif was forced to go along with it. Old Craif began to feel the strain on his heart as the Craig Pee began to take its toll.

I’ve got to end this now, thought Craif.

Young Craif came at Old Craif with one final death-dealing windmill blow but Old Craif was too fast for him. He ducked beneath Young Craif’s arm and the genetic freak went falling to the ground on his hands and knees. Old Craif positioned himself behind Young Craif and proceeded to lick his own fingertips.

“This one’s for Day Day!” yelled Craif. Then he laid into Young Craif’s ass with one mighty windmill. The force of the blow was so powerful that it shattered every bone in Craif’s arm. Young Craif was thrown face-first into the ground. His pelvis was shattered and he was bleeding internally. 

“Mantequilla..” muttered the beast. Then he was gone.

Crepe ran over to Craif as he laid on the floor. She had been pretty much worthless throughout this entire incident. She truly was her father’s daughter.

“Papa! Does it hurt?” she asked Craif.

Craif was in too much pain to point out how stupid her question was. 

“Is this the side effect of Craig Pee?” She asked her dying father.

“No.. ‘twas gravy that did me in. Gravy… on… everything.” And with that, Craif drifted off into oblivion. He had given his life to protect his offspring. After years of selfish behavior, he had finally put someone before himself. Or, maybe he just went berserk from consuming Craig Pee. Who knows? 

Crepe stood up and walked outside the house. She took one last look at Craif’s lifeless body and all the destruction and rubble that he had left in his wake.

I’m not cleaning that shit up, she thought to herself. Craif would have been proud.

Crepe walked out onto the front lawn where her dragon was waiting for her. She climbed atop the beast and rode flaming into the night. Seconds later she lost her mind and blanketed the nearest city in dragon fire. She burned women and children without remorse. She did all of this because, clearly, there has been enough character development here to justify this behavior.

– FIN –