Weather Continued...

So...yesterday, this happened:

"Slim, it's Poodonkis! You need to come down to the roller rink. Something incredible is happening!"
And now this part happens.
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Slim Pickens arrives at the roller rink via log flume.

"That three-headed goat man who seized power a while back did a lot of terrible things to this city. But log flume public transportation was not one of them. I don't even shower before I go out anymore. Partly, because I don't to--but also because all running water was diverted to the log flume public transportation system."

An impressively funky faux-afro adorns the top of the old roller rink. It's come a long way from its darkest days. Little kids were getting stabbed and staple-gunned at birthday parties. Little kids were being used in "who can jump over the most little kid" contests. Little kids were even harassing bigger little kids just the cred. Finally, a voice of reason stepped in and now they don't let little kids in there anymore. The birthday parties have become a lot more fun and safer.

The building is covered in a smattering of faded psychedelic colors, like Puff the Magic Dragon vomited all over it and said, "I'll clean that up. Don't worry." Then he grabbed his ex-girlfriend and passed out on the sofa.

Inside reeks of the heavy stench of shoe cleaner and smoke. Flashing lights spasm on the galactic-neon-mess of carpet that covers the area outside the rink. Everything gyrates to a nauseating futuristic rhythm like a robot mail-order bride with busted shoulders trying to give CPR to a trash compactor.

"This place's metaphors are creeping me out."

The rink is mostly empty except for a rowdy crowd gathered at the back table. Slim Pickens heads over. Some tables are set up in what looks like a grimy food court area. As he gets close he spies Poodonkis in the back of the crowd. Poodonkis turns around and runs over to him.

"What's going on, Poo?"

"This guy named Fergtan was just kicked out of boot-camp and now he's alternating between eating a slice of pizza and skating a lap until he can't feel anymore!"

"A man abusing his digestive system to take the pain of rejection away? Sweet."

The man called Fergtan rises from his table having just finished his slice. Everything about him is thick cut. He's a solid hunk of meat from his bulging helmet of hair down to his tree-trunk ankles. His girth is only offset by his child-like hands.

"That guy's got little hands," says Slim Pickens. "I don't like little hands."

Poodonkis ignores him. "He's eaten 28 extra large cheese pizzas! He started at 4 in the morning!"

Slim Pickens admits that, despite his tiny-hand prejudice, Fergtan does move with a certain, indescribable grace. He seems as if he's about to burst but his heavy breathing between desperate gasps for air keeps his limbs moving in concert. His nose seems to be completely stuffed. Somehow, through sheer willpower he's stuffed cavities that were never meant to be stuffed.

"I'm gonna go talk to this fellow. He seems like he could be clutch in a jazz ensemble or avant-garde sketch comedy troupe. If I ever get around to starting those..."

Poodonkis interrupts, "You have started both of those things. You left them after one week and they've both gone on to critical and commercial success. Why--"

"Shut up. Stop crapping on my dreams...my hoop dreams..."

"Whatever."

Slim Pickens trots out onto the rink to talk to Fergtan.

"Hey man, I hear you've got nothing to lose."

Fergtan doesn't respond. He turns his head in the direction of Slim Pickens but only a series of burps and wheezes escapes his mouth.

"I like your style. You're not a fan of flattery, huh?"

Fergtan doesn't respond. His arms and legs shake with strain. He's completed half of a lap around the rink. He's not going much faster than a walking pace. Suddenly, he hiccups. His eyes go wide with fear."

Slim Pickens continues talking. "So I wanted to to tell you about some potential projects that I'm thinking" *hiccup* "about starting up. I'd let you in on the" *hiccup* "ground floor. If we" *hiccup* "become successful" *hiccup* " I could" *hiccup* "move" *hiccup*" you down to the basement." *hiccup* "Wait, you got the hiccups? Let me help you with that. A good slap on the back should do the trick."

Now Fergtan looks directly at Slim Pickens. He feverishly waves his hands and shakes his head but it's too late. The slap has begun. The hand hits the back, sending a mild shockwave through Fergtan's body that sets in motion a gastrointestinal chain reaction. The melted cheese reaches critical mass and the excited cheese molecules begin crashing into one another causing more collisions at a faster rate. The massive amount of unleashed dairy-energy surges forth. In the blink of an eye, an explosion of cheese fills the entire building. Slim Pickens is sent flying towards the food court by the initial blast. After that, he only remembers the heat and the dizzying rush of speed, like being caught beneath a tidal wave. He manages to grab hands with Poodonkis. He'll have to remember not to tell anyone about that later.

When he wakes up he's no longer in the roller rink. He's in spacious dark hallway with holes in the ceiling and the floor. He could be in the ceiling or the basement or somewhere else altogether.  Poodonkis is passed out beside him. Amazingly, he has no broken bones.

He says softly, "I guess that nuclear-cheese explosion was high in calcium."

His pinky then breaks out of protest of his simply inexcusable utterance. He looks around and sees a faint green glow from behind a corner. He tip-toes to the corner and as he's about to peek around he hears a voice say, "Soon, gentlemen. Very soon we will be able to control the weather with the butt that controls the weather."

(muffled) *GASP*

more continued...