VICO CORPORATION PICTURES PRESENTS:
BORDER ADVENTURES
WITH ENOUGH BOOZE TO BRING THE LOCAL BIKER BAR TO A HALT
FEATURING ONE CRAZY REDNECK KNOWN AS SKELLER
AND A CRAZY NORTHERN MEXICAN KNOWN AS VICO SURGE
Somewhere around the US-Mexico Border
The figure known as Vico Surge awaited on his side of the border, wearing his usual engineer boots, faded jeans, flannel shirt open over a black t-shirt that read “BRUJERIA” on top, with the image of a man in the center and “EL PATRÓN” below. He topped it off with an Indiana Jones-style hat.
Soon he heard the sound of a truck on the other side and took the secret passage below the border. He passed through a small square tunnel and emerged to see a massive monster truck.
“Come on, man,” said the driver, and Vico Surge climbed in through the passenger side like a monkey. Inside the cabin, Skeller waited patiently with a canteen in his left hand. He wore black boots, camo pants, a black t-shirt, and a black leather trench coat.
“Got a lot of work to do.”
“You brought booze?” asked Vico Surge.
“Maybe,” replied Skeller.
“That ain’t water, right?” Vico asked again. Skeller stayed silent for a moment, letting the blast from the radio fill the cabin—some local band playing a corrido.
“Nah,” he finally said, shaking his head.
“All right then, we’re set. Where are the guns?”
“Behind. Somewhere between the porn, big truck magazines, and the moonshine,” said Skeller, pressing the pedal to the metal.
Vico opened the back window and rummaged through the mess.
“Porn… porn… porn… trucks… booze… gun! No wait… yeah!” He pulled out a Winchester .30-30 rifle. “You got it loaded?”
“Spit-shined and more loaded than a Thanksgiving turkey,” said Skeller, making a rough turn over a dune.
“Thank God for that. So what are we doing tonight? Messing with the raggedy-ass boys?”
“Nah, I think we’ve got more trouble behind us than we’ll ever need,” replied Skeller, shifting gears.
“I don’t see no—” Vico was interrupted by the buzz of a bullet near his window and the flash of headlights from old trucks.
“Aww shit, it’s them.”
“Serious? Want the Nobel Prize?” asked Skeller.
“I want double-D breasts with extra mayonnaise, please,” replied Vico, opening the door to aim at one of the truck drivers. “Shit, you messed up the sight on this thing.”
“Nah, got it the same way you left it yesterday,” said Skeller as the monster truck bumped another dune.
“Shit no, this aim is messed up,” said Vico, adjusting the iron sight a few millimeters while bullets buzzed past. “There, fixed that.”
“You little son of a—”
“Watch out for that dune!” Vico shouted.
Skeller flew over the dune, raising all kinds of hell before landing and jumping back into action.
“Told ya.”
“Keep shooting while I drive, damn it. I can’t do four things at once.”
“Four things? What other—” Vico looked over. Skeller was reading a truck magazine, drinking from his canteen, and driving without much attention to the road.
“Right.”
Vico aimed again and fired at the trucks. Some shots hit, some missed, and some missed so badly they hit another truck entirely. He searched for more ammo but found only moonshine, magazines, and smoked beef—lots of smoked beef.
“Why do you have so many smoked beef sticks?” asked Vico.
“In case I get hungry,” replied Skeller.
“Cool. Do they have any secondary function aside from being a nutritious source of vitamins?”
“Yeah. Mix it with moonshine and you’ve got a homemade redneck bomb.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, try it.”
Vico took a beef stick, mixed it with moonshine, and threw it at one of the trucks. It exploded in flames. The men inside ran like kids to a candy store—except they weren’t looking for candy, and they were on fire. Well, you get the drift.
“No they don’t.”
Shut up.
“So how did you find out moonshine and smoked beef make an explosive?” asked Vico.
“One day I was taking a shit in the woods, drinking moonshine and eating jerky—like God intended. Some of it got into the bottle, and I realized I shouldn’t eat and drink at the same time. Also, I noticed shit is quite a good explosive.”
Vico threw another bottle and slowly turned to Skeller, who was now driving, reading, drinking, and eating.
“It was a horrible experience,” said Skeller.
“I never want to hear about this again,” said Vico.
“All right. Watch out for the branch.”
“What bran—” Vico was smacked by a pair of dead tree branches.
“Son of a bitch.”
“It’s tough, but you gotta take it. I think we’ve still got two on our ass.”
Vico looked. Two trucks still behind them.
“So?”
“How the fuck do you know that if you don’t look back?”
“Redneck mystical power.”
“Mystical powers my ass.”
“Well, that and a GPS.”
“Ahh, now we’re talking. Where’s the GPS?”
Skeller pointed at the console—a white paper labeled “GPS tech thingie” taped over the air conditioner.
“Right… does it come with a pencil and eraser to change our position?”
“I think it does, but I left those at home. They take up too much space.”
Skeller made a rough stop. The monster truck was at the edge of a cliff. The trucks behind them didn’t notice and flew off like whores on payday at half price.
“Where does the author come up with this shit? Fallout?” asked Vico.
Silence, mortal, or I shall smite thee!
“It’s thee, you moron,” said Vico.
Stick to the damn dialogue!
“There’s no dialogue at all! You’re making everything up as we go!” yelled Vico.
Don’t make me take out the eraser!
“Ha, like I’m afraid of an eraser.”
“Watch out for the eraser,” said Skeller.
“What eraser?” Vico looked outside. The sun was being blocked by a massive eraser headed straight for him.
“Ahhh! Okay, I regret! I regret!”
Say it. I want to hear you say it!
“What? I already said I regret it!” yelled Vico.
Say you’re my bitch!
“What? But I—” The eraser got closer.
“I’m your bitch!”
That’s better. Now you two get going, because I’m all out of ideas.
“Thank God for tha—” The eraser approached again.
“I mean… how unfortunate!”
The eraser disappeared, and with it, Vico’s fear of being erased forever.
“So what now?” asked Vico.
“Wanna go see some action movies and grab some babes?” asked Skeller.
“I’m on!” replied Vico, and Skeller changed course for the city.