“Hrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.”

“...You all right, Mister Flynn?”

“...Just…. Hrrrrrgh. S’Awkward, is all.”

“...Sure.”

“I mean, they don’t make greeting cards for this sort of thing.”

“How do you mean?”

…Flynn clicks his tongue, parsing for the perfect summary.

“Like, you can’t buy a Hallmark card that says ‘Hey! Sorry I left you to be horrifically mangled by Jason Voorhees and you literally died and now you’re back, I guess?”

…

“Mister Flynn… You literally started a greeting card line that sells that exact card.”



…

“Well then why didn’t you SUGGEST I buy one of those, Irwin?!?!”

“...I-I… I guess I thought you would have thought of it, sir…”

“I can’t think of everything! I’ve thought up the big picture!!! Like convincing Dick Powers to teach me Mini-Golf!”

“...That was MY idea, sir.”

“Great idea, too!”

Flynn and Irwin both jump with a start!

Sitting across from them is none other than the Slambassador himself, Dick Powers! Sipping on a hot pink strawberry milkshake.

“Fuck me!” Flynn says, covering his heart in shock.

“Hmm… No thank you.” Dick retorts.

…Dick looks Flynn up and down, thoughtfully.

…Powers tilts his head to the side, like he’s really thinking about it, just out of morbid curiosity.

…

“Nah.” Dick shakes his head, finally concluding the experience would not be worth the pillow talk. “Naaaaaaaaaaah.”

Flynn’s eye twitches. “I was having a PRIVATE conversation with my SIMP, Powers!!! State your business!”

Powers scratches his nose, perplexed. “...Like… YOU asked ME to cum to this putt-putt course.”

Indeed, the three are seated at a picnic table outside Wacky Walter’s Putt-Putt Emporium, Tattoo Parlor and Regional Airport!

In the background, a plane takes off…

…

It lands about 15 seconds later at a mall 0.75 miles down the road.

“Ah. Right.” Flynn snaps his fingers, leaning in over the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Powers… I hear tell that… you’re a master of putt-putt.”

“Yep.”

Irwin leans in, copying Flynn.

“Mini-Golf’s a tough game, we hear… How’d you get so good?”

Powers looks both ways… First left, then right.

Finally, he too leans in over the table…

“I have a natural talent at any activity that involves putting something in a hole.” Powers says with a wink. “Plus, You ever notice what ‘putt-putt’ sounds like?”

Dicks Powers slaps his fist sideways into his hand over-and-over. His grin’s a mile wide.

“You hear that? What ‘putt-putt’ sounds like?”

…Dick nods at Irwin as he continues putt-putting., The Simp is deeply uncomfortable.

“Yo, dude. What does ‘putt-putt’ sound like to you?”

…He speeds up his putt-putting by about 20 percent.

“...Ooh… ooh…ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh” Powers adds some vocals, delighting himself.

…Flynn’s face contorts in disgust.

“So, you’re saying… Being a sex-addicted lunatic is the secret to mini-golf supremacy?”

“...I prefer ‘hopeless romatic’, but Yeah!” Powers nods. “Seduction and golf are basically the same game.”

“Rule 1. Half the game is in the pants.” Powers stretches the waistband of his sparkly blue tights off his hip. SNAP! They slap his waist… in a way that is somehow alluring.

“Rule 2. Finesssssssssssse and affirmative consent. Ya gotta make the hole waaaaaant to be filled before you start. Otherwise, you’re just gonna be left gripping your five-wood alone.”

…

“Or three-wood if that story about a clown woman biting your dick off is correct, Flynnie.”

…

Flynn’s eyes narrow. “It is. BUT, (for once), it’s NOT TIME TO TALK ABOUT THAT.”

Flynn stands up at the table, hovering menacingly over Powers.

“Listen, you disgusting, perverted, DEPRAVED, DEVIANT REPROBATE.”

“Listening.” Powers smiles non-chalantly, sipping on a milkshake.

“If I’m going to remain the MOST DOMINANT UNIVERSAL CHAMPION WHO HAVE EVER LIVED…” Flynn snarls. “I need to master this stupid, STUPID sport…”

Flynn shoves a finger in the Slambassador’s face.

“Now! I don’t like you and you don’t like me. BUT I DEMAND TH-”

…A single tear cums to Powers’ eye.

“...W-w-wait, I like you!”

…Flynn’s eyes narrow in distrust.

“...You do?”

…Irwin’s head tilts, shocked.

“B-b-but… Mister Flynn left you for dead! He drove away while Jason Voorhees literally chopped you into meat strips!”

Powers shrugs.

“Whatevz… Besides! If it wasn’t for XWF’s new company healthplan, I’d still be dead!”

“...Company… healthplan?”

***

SEVERAL WEEKS EARLIER

A Hospital Emergency Room…

An EKG slowly beeping… Faintly… Faaaaaaintly…

Then nothing.

Dick Powers, covered in machete stab wounds, seeping pools of blood, is no more.

A motherfucking sexy-ass daytime TV Doctor lifts a sheet over the Slambassador’s face.

“I’m sorry. We’ve done all we can. Time of dea-”

Suddenly, from off-screen, a hand extends an insurance card in the doctor’s face…



The Doctor blushes! “Oh!” He leans down to bow toward Dick Powers’ corpse. “I’m so sorry, forgive me sir. I didn’t realize you were ‘RECORD PROFITS™’ status…”

The Doctor clears his throat, reaches down and knocks twice on Powers’ sternum.

Then once.

…

Then twice quickly.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASP!” Dick’s body sucks all the air in the room as life rushes back into his body.

Powers resurrects so hard that he unshits the shit you take when you die.

As that happens, Powers’ return-to-life gasp raise two octaves.

***

…

“So. Wait. You’re saying that Theo Pryce bought such good health insurance… That it can bring the DEAD back to life?”

“Yep!” Powers lifts a punchcard with two punches stamped out. “In fact, if I die three more times this billing cycle, I get a free satin tote!”



“And it’s all because Flynnie raised company profits. If we were on the standard plan, I might still be dead.”

Flynn strokes his chin. “Somewhere in here is commentary about American healthcare…”

…He smacks the table.

“BUT NO TIME FOR THAT. Teach me mini-golf!”

Powers nods.

“I will teach you everything I know.”

Flynn lifts his wrist, displaying his watch.

“You’ve got 600 words four hours.”

“Then, I will teach you two-thirds of what I know.”

Powers reaches into the back of his silky ass kimono.

And withdraws a veiny purple putter.

“Let’s putt-putt.”

***

BEGIN MONTAGE

Flynn and Dick are standing in front of a par 3 hole. A big windmill spins, with a crevice in its base.

Flynn does some mental math… Calculating the exact timing and rotational torque of the windmill…

NOW! He steps up to the ball and strikes!

The ball rolllllllllllls!

…Straight into the blade of the windmill.

Flynn grits his teeth.

Powers gestures to Flynn, to allow him to demonstrate. Flynn steps back.

Powers steps up to the ball… And Swings, with a playful thrust to his hips!

The ball rolllllls! Exactly in time to hit the windmill’s blade!

…But the windmill stops! And seems to blush as Powers’ shaft points through!

The ball flies out the other side, into the hole!

“Ehhhhhhhhhhh…”

…Did the windmill just moan?

***

Par 2 hole with a big wooden box in the middle, requiring the putt-putter bankshot the ball off the wall.

Flynn has a protractor out, measuring the exact angle he needs to hit the ball.

He nods, affirming his math. He strikes!

The ball perfectly banks where he aimed it…

It rolls like a man ball possessed!

It goes in!

Flynn pumps his arm!

…When suddenly, the hole *actually* spits the ball back out, just inches from the hole.

…Flynn lifts the putter to break it against his knee, furious.

Powers elbows Flynn to watch this.

Powers walks up to the hole with two Sex-on-the-Beaches in his hands.

He puts one next to the hole and starts pointing at Flynn back at the start of the hole, wingmanning it up.

The wind seems to shift and the flag points at Flynn curiously.

…Flynn scratches his face.

Suddenly, the hole… opens itself wider! And the ball goes back in!

***

“Sorry, I just…” Flynn scratches a blindfold around his eyes. “What does this have to do with putt-putt?”

“Trust me, it’ll cum up.” Powers assures, as he runs back a safe distance…

“NOW!”

WHAM! A fist takes Flynn off his feet. Flynn tears the blindfold off… And who’s standing in front of him? But the healthiest 99-year old on God’s Green Earth, Bob Motherfucking Barker.



In one fluid motion, Flynn kips up off the ground, dukes up.

“You wanna piece ‘a me, Barker?”

WHAM! Another Barker haymaker catches Flynn in the face.

“No! I want the whole thing!”

***

Back at the windmill.

Flynn tries to emulate Powers’ hump putt exactly.

The ball rollllllls!

And this time the windmill literally zips in front of the hole to block the ball.

Flynn is outraged! He reels back the putter like a javelin!

…But is stopped by Dick, who shakes his head. He crosses his arms in front of his groin. Then pats his chest.

Seduction doesn’t come from the Dick. it comes from the heart.

***

Flynn and Barker are dueling, swinging putters like master fencers.

Flynn goes for an overhead strike!

Barker side-steps!

“Oooh, sorry, Mark! You went OVER THE LIMIT!”

Barker sparta-kicks Flynn in the chest.

***

Flynn lines up to putt at the windmill.

“...Hey?” He offers to the spinning windmill. “Wanna… tell me about your day?”

…Flynn hits the ball.

The ball rolllllllls!

The windmill… Actually slows down.

Flynn’s balls swoops through the gap and into the hole!

Flynn drops to his knees, “I’M THE GREATEST!”

Powers nods. He’s learning…

***

Flynn is gripping his putter, defensively… As Barker swings over and over downwards on him!

Barker reels back! For the finishing blow!

…But Flynn sweeps the leg!

Barker collapses!

Flynn dives ontop of him!

KNOCKOUT HEADBUTT!

Barker lies on the grass, head busted open.

Flynn spits down on him.

“The Price is WRONG, BITCH.”

***

A ball rolls into the 18th hole.

On both sides of it, under blankets, Powers and Flynn lie ass-naked, each sporting a cigarette.

“Was it good for you, too?”

The flag raises on the hole, affirming, yes.

Oh yes, it was.

Dick delivers a thumbs up.

“You’re ready.”

END MONTAGE

***

Flynn and Irwin close the door to the Honda Fit.

“Sweet. ‘Phase 1: Out Putt-Putt Bourbon’ is complete.”

“Great work, Mister Flynn!” Irwin glances at his watch. “Oh jeez, only 1200 words eight hours to the match.”

“Plenty of time, Irwin. We’ve just gotta figure out a surefire method to beat Bobby at wrestling.”

Irwin nods confidently. “Perfect! So, what’s the plan? To the gym? Or maybe running a thousand simulations in the Kenta Kobayashi Maru?”

Flynn shakes his head.

“Oh no. Nothing that complicated.”

…

“Just gonna make a quick deal-with-the-devil.”

…

“What?”