All-Star Comics Presents... Lobo

[capeandcowl]

Hey you! Get yer greasy paws offa my space hog! Naw, I don’t care that ya didn’t touch it yet. Ya might have later and ain’t but nobody touches my ride!

Aw, yer a human ain’t ya? No offense, but the Main Man thinks you ain’t nothing but a pack of naked monkeys. Yes he does. Hell, ‘bout the only thing ya ever done right was AC/DC. Righteous that is. Cranked up on my space hog whenever on I’m road….what’s that? Ya can’t hear hard rock in space? Why not? Cause ya can’t hear in space? Stupid monkey! Don’t push yer luck!

I’d probably kill ya right here, right now, but I got a business-type appointment. Can’t figure why a soft skinned chimp like yerself would dare walk into a place like Vogon’s Cantina. But I’m in a forgivin’ mood, chimp. So ya can come along and watch the action. And there’s always action at Vogon’s. Just stay outta my way and keep yer head down.

My name? Ya better not forget it ya fraggin bastich. It might be the last name ya ever hear.

Lobo!

[capeandcowl]

LOBO: DIRTY DEEDS – DONE DIRT CHEAP

Written by Grant “The Fraggin Bastich” LaFleche
Edited By Grant LaFleche & John “The Main Man” Elbe
Cover by Cover by Sylvain "Wild Space Hog" Swimer

[capeandcowl]

I hate the cantina. Vogon’s Cantina. Ta call this dump a dive is to insult every garbage scowl, trash heap, and two-bit whore house this side of Proxima Centauri. The pub scum on the floor actually moves and has been known to eat a customer or two.

But that ain’t why I hate the cantina.

This dump is located on the 3rd moon of Spovik. It rains here. It rains all the frackin’ time. It rains 792 days a fraggin year. Only an aquatic bastich would want to live here. And it’s acid rain too, just for giggles.

But that ain’t why I hate the cantina.

I hate the cantina because without a doubt, this dump serves the worst pan galactic gargleblaster on the outer rim. Ya can’t even get a decent drunk on after two of these things. So what’s the damn point really? If ya drink a pan galactic gargleblaster and can’t wake up four days later and rememberin’ nothin’, yer better off chuggin’ a keg of warm Khund urine.

I hate the cantina. But business is business, and I am here to see a lady ‘bout killin’ a man. And killin’s what the Main Man does best. Yes he does.

Vogon, the fat slob who runs this dump, sits me at a table at the back of the bar. I like it this way. Keeps most of these bastiches in my sights.

“C-c-can I get you a drink, m-m-m-m-Mr. Lobo?,” says Dex, the six eyed, six tentacled waiter Vogon keeps hanging around here.

“Whatca got on tap, kid?”

“Well, we have a Qwardian lager…”

“Ya had better be joking, squirt….”

“O-o-o-r a Raylien malt….”

“I’m thinkin’ tentacle soup might be a good start….”

“O-o-o-o-or an ale from Earth. Something called Gin-Us”

See why I hate this place?

I order the Earth drink and light a cigar. My mark should be here shortly.

[capeandcowl]

When the door swings open, the rain tries to scamper in like a pathetic alley cat. But no one it paying much mind to that. I sure as hell ain’t. All eyes are on her. Even under that cloak and hood ya can tell she’s trouble. The kind of trouble most men want – and can’t handle.

But then, most men ain’t the Main Man. No they ain’t.

She wiggles across the floor and several men start to follow up behind her. Two bit losers looking for an easy lay. I figure one or two might pounce on her, and hell, that might make an interesting show. But then she pulls her hood and cloak off. That backed ‘em off in a hurry.

Everyone whose anyone out these parts knows Lady Druuna.

She ain’t wearing much. Ya don’t need no imagination figure out what’s under the scraps o’ cloth she calls clothes. Not that it matters to the Main Man. No, it don’t. Still, I’d be a lying Czarian tree sloth if I said she didn’t get my blood boiling. A tasty treat she is.

Druuna. Princess of Apokoplis. One of the most beautiful and dangerous bastiches in the galaxy.

“You. Lowly. You must be Lobo, yes?” she says with a voice that drips sex like hot honey. “We are for to be doing the business here, yes?”

“Yeah. Have a seat,” I say blowing smoke rings at her fine bod. She might be hot, but ain’t nobody calls the Main Man a “lowly.” No they don’t. I hate Apokolpis bastiches.

Dex wiggles over and tries not to leak too much mucus on her highnessness in the bright red, thigh high leather boots. Hot stuff I know. Too bad Dex don’t know Lady Druuna carries a 12-inch guttin’ knife in one o’ them boots. And she loves sea food.

After gettin’ her drink – some fraggin fruity thing with an umbrella in it - Druuna gives me the once over. The Main Man knows she likes what she sees. He’s one fine hunk o’ man, if I do say so myself. Yes he is.

“So, Mr. Lobo. You can do this job for me?”

I take a long so drag of my cigar, fire the smoke out my nose and put my size 24s up on the table. I love a broad that can get down to business.

“Depends. What’s the job?”

“My husband. The stupid good looking must, how you say, go away. Yes?”

I nearly swallow my cigar.

“YOUR husband??”

“Yes. My husband. Desaad.”

I’ll give her one thing. The lady has a pair made out of deuterium. Desaad. The high executioner of Apokolips. Right hand bastich to Darkseid himself.

“Unless I am come to wrong man,” Druuna says, leaning across the table and purring into my ear. “I am told, big strong Lobo can kill anyone…”

Before I can say anything, a fat finger pokes me in the back. I hate that. Someone is going to get fragged.

“Well, well, lookie lookie lookie. I think you just made my day Lobo. You know the Guardians still have a price on yer head.”

Jack T. Chance. The Green Lantern for these parts. Like all o’ these ring totting pansies, Jack figures he is a big bad law man. Like I said, someone is going to get fragged!

[capeandcowl]

“Still, huh?” I say without takin' my eyes of Druuna, who is now nibblin' my ear lobe. "What, the little dress wearin’ gnomes still got that 'arrest without harmin' ' order out one me?"

“Sorta. They changed the bounty a few months back.”

“Ta what?”

“Leavin’ ya mostly functional”

“Ooh, I’m quakin' my boots Jackie-boy. Beat it. I’m busy.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see the glow from Jack’s ring. He’s dumb enough to try this. Good. I ain’t killed anyone all day, and Druuna’s getting me all hot and bothered. I stand up and face the GL nose to nose.

“Listen, ring slinger, I ain’t got no problem polishin’ this floor with yer innards. So either spark that cheap jewelry in some other bastich’s face, or we gonna have a problem. A big, stinkin' frackin' problem.”

Jackie-boy takes a long hard look at me. The ring fades.

“We never had this conversation, Lobo,” he says and he walks to the door.

“Good boy,” I say, sitting back down so Druuna can pick up where she left off. But I get poked by another finger. This one as boney as a Talaxian mud hound.

“If that Lantern ain’t getting the b-b-b-bounty, I might has well, Lobo.”

One-Eyed Twitch. This loser is the single worst bounty hunter in the galaxy. A frackin' disgrace to the frackin’ profession. I shoulda killed this bastich on principle years ago.

Last time I saw One-Eyed Twitch was on Qward. The dumb bastich had actually tried to cash a bounty on Sinestro. That would almost be a tough job for the Main Man. Yes it would. Almost. But for a Denebian slime devil with Twitch? Let me put it this way –when the bastich confronted Sinestro, he had three eyes. We just called him Twich then.

By a hideous twist o’ fate I was on Qward on business and Sinestro paid me to drag Twitch home. A job’s a job. But I told Twitch the next time I saw him, it would be the last.

“S-s-s-s-so h-h-h-ands up, Lo-lo-lobo,” he says, reachin’ for his blaster. I lunge from the table and grab Twitch by the face. I crush his head in one squeeze.

“Gods below, Lobo!,” Druuna shrikes, tryin’ to wipe the bits o’ brain from her hair. “Even Darkseid has more manners than that!”

Women.

I sit back down, puttin' my blaster on the table. Gotta make sure it ain’t clogged with Twitch juice.

“Yo, Dex!” I say. “Get me another drink. I got brains and itty bitty pieces of skull in mine! And ya better not charge me!”

Dex wiggles over and goes green when he sees the body on the floor. The pub scum will eat well tonight.

“Uh, y-y-y-yes. But Mr. Lobo, you killed that man…”

“Yeah.”

“You did that…”

“Yeah.”

“We-w-well, since you did that to your drink, I am going to have to charge…”

I snatch up the blaster and fire it into Dex’s face. His body slums on the floor over what is left of Twitch. Guess it ain’t clogged, huh?

“Yo, Vogon!,” I say. “Get me another drink! I got brains, itty bitty pieces of skull and squid juice in mine! And ya better not charge me.”

Vogon lumbers over and snorts.

“Did you have to shoot Dex in the head, Lobo?”

“Relax, Vogon. It’ll grow back. Just get me a drink.”

[capeandcowl]

By now Druuna knows the Main Man is the man for the job. Yes she does. I can tell by the way her skin is changin’ color. She’s is getting excited. Happens to women who hang around me. Ain’t my fault.

“So, Lobo dear. What for you are charging for making Desaad like squid boy?”

“Normally, I charge 10,000 for a hit. But yer husband ain’t no regular bastich. No he ain’t. He lives on Apokoplis. And then there's his boss. It’s all gonna take special equipment. And I’m gonna have to do it all quiet like. Which, as it happens, I have a sale on for sneaky killin’ this month,” I say while reloading my blaster. “So that’s 10,000 now and another 10,000 when you get yer husband’s head in sack.”

Druuna giggles as Vogon brings me a fresh drink. She’s gettin’ off on this.

“So for 20,000 my stupid good looking will be for to trouble me no more,” she purrs. “Yes, to this I agree.”

She reaches into one of her make me drool boots and pulls out a credit disk.

“Ten thousand. I give you other 10,000 once Desaad is dead.”

“Sure thing lady,” I say. I finish loading the blaster, point it at Druuna and squeeze the trigger. She don’t make a sound when she falls the floor. “When Desaad is dead.”

I can hear the clapping of hands of behind me.

“Good. Good,” Desaad says, slithering out of the shadows draped in a dark purple robe and hood. “You have fulfilled our agreement, Lobo. You indeed know the power of Darkseid.”

“Give it a rest. You paid me first. And is the only reason I ain’t fragged you, freak boy.”

He walks slowly around me. By now, most of the other bastiches in the bar have seen him. They either flee or hide under their tables. Smart move. But the Main Man ain't runnin' from no dress wearin' pansie. No he ain't.

“Well once I learned my wife intended to have me killed, I knew she would execute order 66.”

“Order what?”

“I don’t actually know, to be totally honest. I just like saying that,” he says. “I just rolls of the tongue. ‘Execute order 66’.”

“Freak”

“Oh yes,” he says. “Well my dearest would only go to the most lethal killer in the galaxy and the only one with even a chance of reaching me in my citadel on Apokolips. It was only natural that I contact you. And this was worth every penny. Pity about Druuna though. She was beautiful. I suppose I will just have to create another.”

“Whatever flips yer pickle,” I say, as Desaad walks away. “Whatever flips yer pickle.”

I go to pick up my drink and notice I got bits of Druuna juice it in. Fraggin’ hell.

I hate the cantina.

[Admin]

The End!

[mockingbird]

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