Maverick Jetpants in the City of Quality Read Online Free PDF Page A

and slams it on the cafeteria table.
    â€œNecro,” I say. “You use Pants with these people?”
    â€œYou were barely up the stairs when I saw my dad’s wang, Nate,” Necro says. “I said Pants, therefore I own Pants. Free licensure.”
    â€œBut you stole it—you stole it from you and me.”
    He spins around at me and says, suddenly, from the muscles in his jaw. “Like you aren’t contradicting yourself at all, Nate—like you’ve never took and confiscated one of my original utterings and slutted it around. Look at Colonel Hellstache even.”
    â€œBut who are these people?” I say.
    â€œRight. Introduce us to these fags,” Toby says.
    Rambocream reaches into the hockey bag, extends his hand to Toby, and says: “Would you like a Freedom Crab to go with that handshake?”
    Something black is on Rambocream’s arm, something that looks alive, and Toby immediately ninja-rolls away from Rambocream—which is hard to do in an NFL-issue Bills winter jacket—and gets back to his feet.
    Rambocream smirks and drops his hands to his waist. After we have a second to actually look, what me and Toby thought was a live scorpion is actually this shiny, black, scorpion-shaped metal molding held in place by three Velcro straps. Its head curves down over Rambocream’s fist, and its front pincers and are sharpened into blades.
    â€œFreedom Crab! Erection 2000!” Rambocream says, notBringing the Funny at all, using the scorpion weapon to hump Necro’s forearm. But Necro actually cackles out loud!
    A pair of studio lights poof on, cotton white, and one of the fat guys in shorts turns on the camcorder mounted to a tripod connected to a computer off to the right side of the stage.
    Me, Toby, Lip Cheese, and Wicked College John take a seat in the back row. Necro takes off his jacket and puts his hair in a ponytail. Rambocream’s nose bumps the microphone, setting off a deer whistle of feedback. The crowd quiets, a red light on the camera goes on, and Rambocream holds some note cards in front of his face as he reads, like a principal over a loudspeaker:
    â€œWelcome to the Weapons of Mankind Show. And we welcome, particularly, our western New York hobbyists, whose customership we depend on when the state continues to fail to legislate an adequate appreciation of history, hobbyism, and the oldest means for land protection.”
    Rambocream’s lips quiver. He reads from the second note card in his hand:
    â€œWe would like to thank Bambert Tolby, our distributor, who is prevented from being with us tonight due to his health. We continue to skirt the mainstream to strive toward a sovereign life, despite a contempt for free speech, and a tip from a certain disingenuous nonprofit community organization to our programming director and police that has misled the area about our views on race and weapons on the grounds that we are not proper representatives of the greater Rochester area.” He flips to the next note card. “Penal Code 26501 states that one is perfectly legal to own the items in our inventory,as long as they are not cane swords, switchblades, or brass knuckles …”
    Rambocream looks up from his note card and back down at it, like maybe some are missing or out of order.
    â€œTo that end, our first item: the Heavy Metal 24th Anniversary Sword,” he says. “Upon its invention in 1975, heavy metal has captured the science fiction and fantasy communities. Sword artist Tag Rangel and fantasy artist Loro Miv have teamed up to pay tribute to a cultural icon. This sword features solid metal handle parts cast with intricate details, a 39 ¾ inch undulating stainless steel blade, and a solid wood wall plaque, so that now, you can truly remember: metal forever.”
    â€œAnd all the crabs you can get,” I whisper to Toby.
    â€œSeriously, there’s no alcohol here?” Wicked College John