My righteous battle

So there I was, in my Mercedes CLK, on my way up to see WetWired's evil twin brother Rob. Well, I had to stop at this hick town called Barnaby for some gas and pulled over into a Texaco to fill up. The first thing I noticed was that there was not a single blessed soul within a 10 mile radius except the gas station clerk. I then made the decision to go in and investigate, wondering why it was so desolate.

I go inside to talk with the clerk, seeing that he's behind a reinforced concrete wall with bulletproof gas. I mosey on up, buying myself a Diet Coke and a Snickers bar, hoping I can use this as a rouse to get information.

"That'll be $2.35 sir." the pimply faced man said.

"Where is everyone?" I respond like a sly fox.

"Uh, well..." he stutters

"Out with it before I drive my Mercedes into your pizza face!" I say with a coo.

The trick obviously worked, as he was quick to respond in a jubilant "Mecha Steven Segal is killing them all!"

That was all I had to know. I run back into my Mercedes and go on the prowl looking for Mecha Steven Segal. I had heard about him before, how when the real Steven Segal was involved in a terrible acting tragedy that took his life some scientists went back to revive him with cyborg and metal parts and a giant fucking laser cannon for an eyeball. I was the only one who could stop him.

I drive throughout all of Barnaby, looking every which way for a sign of his whereabouts, not finding much luck, only charred and mutilated bodies. Sometimes they were both and shaped like delicious shish-kebab with a light sauce. But enough about that as I soon found his hiding spot.

I hop out of my car with my vorpal sword in hand, ready to take on the almighty Mechal Segal.

"MECHA SEGAL! WE MUST DO BATTLE! I WILL DESTROY YOU FOR YOUR EVILS AGAINST MANKIND!" I yell, sword raised.

Mecha Segal was eager to come out at me, his metal claws and fangs bared and ready to tear my flesh away.

I dodge the first few swings, managing to block the next few with my sword, angry and unintelligible words coming from his mouth. Something about how he wants to stop being in B-movies. I cannot make out a damn thing. All I do know is I have to keep blocking his swings.

I start my offense, swinging here and there, hitherto and thitherto, snickering snackering with my vorpal blade. I plan to down him like he's a Jabberwock and I'm some cocky little bastard from a Lewis Carrol story. The first attacks are blocked, but that's okay as the next one easily slices off his hand. He howls angrily, letting out a few blasts from his giant eye cannon.

I block each blast until it goes back and takes out the eye cannon. I grin and begin to charge at him until something stops us both.

There was Pam Anderson, growling angrily about how she should be the one to kill the both of us, her giant tits dislodging themselves from her body, trying to blast us with milk rays. Mecha Segal and I quickly put aside out differences and work to fight off the giant milk shooting mammeries coming at us. I manage to dodgeroll a giant blast from the left mammery and charge at it, driving my blade deep into it, deflating it so that it bleeds its silicone filled mess everywhere.

Mecha Segal does me one better and flies right into it, headbutting it so hard that it just explodes into tiny breast chunks. I applaud him and we both turn to Pam, who is a weepy, boobless mess. She charges at the both of us and we double clothesline her into the ground, his working arm driving into her stomach while I drive my blade into her heart, effectively defeating the former Baywatch starlet.

Then Mecha Segal and I go back into battle, though it ends quickly as he slips on a bit of mammery chunk and I go to dodge, accidentally slicing off his head. Nonetheless I grab his head and put it in a clear, plastic container and place it into my passenger's seat, driving off to the Texaco store clerk to show him the head. He rejoices and calls what survivors are left to let them know that Mecha Segal is dead.

I bid him a fond farewell and warn him to watch out for Jean Claude van Damme, who was last spotted heading to this area after a plummeting movie career, and drive off, ready to go to Rob's house for a night of fun. Until I find out when I get there Rob didn't exist and WetWired was really a midget named Bridget.