“So, how did you like your first day at Furinkan, Meatwad?” Akane asked in an awkward attempt at conversation as she walked home with Ranma and the exchange student. She already had a reasonably good idea; the faculty had quickly ascertained that the irregularly-shaped blob of processed animal carcasses was not quite ready for Nabiki’s level of education. Of course, at an institution such as Furinkan High, minor details such as a student’s intellectual capacity generally had little to no effect on one’s placement at any given level of schooling — the school had more than its share of troublemakers, and the faculty had long ago realized that the quickest way to be rid of said troublemakers was to graduate them the hell out of there as soon as possible. So the fact that the new exchange student seemed to be hopelessly behind in every conceivable subject possible was not, in and of itself, a problem. But Meatwad, by virtue of being both a gaijin and a freak of nature, had managed to incur the ire of Tatewaki Kuno, who accused him of being a “familiar” of “the wretched sorcerer Saotome.” Meatwad hadn’t a clue what the deranged captain of the kendo team meant, but he really didn’t care; he was far too busy trying to avoid the swings of Kuno’s bokken to worry about the finer points of conversation. Even that wouldn’t have been so bad, except….
“Oh, it was okay, I guess. Though that guy with the stick made me think of Shake for some reason. He crazy.”
“Ya got that right,” Ranma affirmed.
“But things got a lot better when they put me in your class.” So it was that Meatwad was moved to the same class as Ranma, Akane, Ukyo, and all the other “notable” students. Not that Meatwad particularly minded this; the situation in his new classroom seemed much better. For starters, Hinako had taken quite a liking to him, at least in her child-form — his blob-igloo-hot dog sequence had endeared him to her immediately, to the point where she didn’t seem to care that he couldn’t read or write in Japanese. Given this blatant favoritism (and the fact that most of the other students in that class assumed he was the product of one of Ranma’s misadventures and left him alone), it made sense that Meatwad would pronounce the day a successful one.
The small talk likely would have continued, but at that moment, at large, blocky, two-dimensional spaceship landed in front of them, from which two oddly-shaped two-dimensional beings emerged. The smaller was the first to speak: "Yo, Meatwad. We're going to get wasted." It wasn’t so much a statement as it was an order.
The teenagers were completely unfazed by this turn of events. “And to think, there was a time when something like this would have surprised me,” Akane observed.
“I hear ya,” Ranma agreed. He then fielded a question at the two… whatever they were. “Alright, so what the hell are you supposed to be?”
Ignignokt casually glanced at the two teenagers and decided to acquiesce to their request."We are the Mooninites."
"From the MOON!!" Er added.
"Our civilization is so far advanced that were we to explain any further, your tiny earth brains would explode."
"Bow down to our greatness!"
“Why do I get the feelin’ like I’ve heard this kinda crap before?” Ranma asked rhetorically.
If the Mooninites heard Ranma, they paid him no heed. "We would have been here sooner, but we had some 'business' to take care of in Boston," said the larger of the pair.
"DAMN that was funny."
"And now we are here."
Meatwad eyed the blocky aliens warily; they’d caused him quite a bit of trouble during the brief period he’d known them. “What are you doing here this time?”
"We do not need to give you a reason, for we are from the Moon, " The green alien replied.
"And you suck!" his smaller companion helpfully clarified.
"Our superior technology gives us the right to do whatever we want, whenever we want."
"And you can't do anything about it!"
"And you will, of course be joining us," Ignignokt told Meatwad, clearly not expecting any resistance from the simple-minded blob.
Not surprisingly, they didn’t get much. “Okay. What are we going to do?”
"We are going to get drunk, and then engage in random acts of petty vandalism."
"Defacing other people's property rocks! You in?"
“Hell yeah!” Meatwad agreed enthusiastically.
The Mooninites were about to hand their “friend” five shots of Jagermeister and a can of spray paint. "Make sure you drink them all in under thirty seconds," Ignignokt advised him.
But before Meatwad could down the alcohol, there came an interruption: “You can’t do that!” Akane shouted. “Come on, Meatwad, you don’t need these losers.”
"You are mistaken, for it is you who are the losers."
"And WE are the coolest mother%$!&ers around."
“Since when is public drunkenness cool?” Akane retorted.
"Since we said so, for we are cool, and therefore whatever we do must be cool as well. You should join us."
Er was very much in agreement with this sentiment. "Yeah! There's nothing like a drunk teenage babe!"
"Indeed, when one is so bootylicious, alcohol can only increase her attractiveness."
Akane had never taken well to being treated as a sex object, as the scores of perverts at Furinkan could attest to each morning, and her patience with these video game rejects was wearing thin. “Why don’t you go back to whatever 80s video game spit you out?”
"Oh yeah? Well, your mama's so fat, she puts her lipstick on with a paint roller," came the witty reply of the pink Mooninite.
“My mother is dead.” Akane snarled.
Sensing that his fiancée was about to commit some sort of felony (justified though it may have been), Ranma chose this moment to step in. “Woah, take it easy, Akane. Why don’t ya take Meatwad home; I’ll handle these two.”
“I can fight my own battles.”
“That don’t change the fact that Meatwad could get caught in the crossfire. Besides, if yer pops finds out that I left ya ta fight on yer own, he’ll go berserk.”
Akane sighed. “Fine. I’ll take Meatwad home — but then I’m coming right back here to beat those two senseless.”
"You are welcome to try. Assuming, of course, that you enjoy having your ass handed to you on a platter," the green alien said in his unwaveringly even monotone.
"Becuase we are EXPERTS at handling asses!" There was an awkward pause as the implications of Er’s statement set in. "Um, hold on... that didn't come out right."
“Ha! Ranma Saotome never loses,” came the familiar refrain. “I’m the best martial artist around here.” Ranma then moved into a ready stance and waited for a response.
Ignignokt dismissed the claims of the pigtailed teenager. "It is pointless for you to try and stop us. Your pathetic Earth martial arts will avail you naught against the might of our Moon Martial Arts. From the Moon."
"Yeah! We're like, seventh degree ultra-black belts," Er concurred.
“Ultra-black belts?” Akane asked in confusion.
"Yes, our awesomeness is so great, that they had to invent a color that was even darker than black in order to give us an appropriate belt."
"Y'all better recognize!"
Ranma seemed unconvinced. “Right… and what was the name of your style again?”
"It's called Ki Kyo Azz, beyotch!" Er responded, accompanying this with what appeared to be some sort of chopping motion with his arms.
“All right, as heir to the Saotome School of Anything Goes, I accept your challenge. Name your time and place.”
"Aww, yeah–– wait, what?"
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(Posted Wed, 28 Feb 2007 21:53)
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