01-26-2016, 09:33 PM
"Well Jim, what you see here is a beautiful specimen, about ten inches long, and just look at the shine on those scales!"
"Ayup, definitely a keeper, I'm real glad I used the spinner jig to reel this one in..."
"Fishin' The Bayou will be right back, after these messages...."
-click-
Grundy raised the remote in his oversized hand and muted the television, getting up off the couch and clomping over to the gleaming chrome kitchenette that took up one corner of the rather large room. He'd been watching TV for about three hours now, sitting on the already broken in couch in the corner as opposed to the smaller chairs and loveseats scattered around the large plasma screen. Toeknee had been very clear about sticking to the one couch that Grundy's big green friend usually sat on, and the zombie was more than happy to comply. Especially since the goatee'd businessman had shown him how to tune to the fishing shows that reminded him of his swamp. As he rustled through the restaurant sized fridge, he thought back about how he'd been able to land such a nice spot to live.
He'd been stomping his way delightedly through downtown, breaking things like cars and signposts, when the Angry Green Man had jumped out of the sky and landed a solid punch right on his jaw. They'd had quite the fight until Hulk, as Grundy learned he was called later, managed to knock the undead revenant on his back with a tremendous kick. After he'd calmed down somewhat, Hulk's friends had arrived and managed to convince him that fighting bad people and breaking bad things was ultimately more rewarding than just breaking things. To that end, Grundy had been given a small (for him) room in the tower, and "honorary avenger" status. Not to mention access to the lounge where he was currently vegging out.
Leaning his large head deeper into the fridge, he spotted a bulky, paper wrapped object that smelled tantalizingly good. Taking it out and knocking over a few boxes and tupperwares, his large clumsy fingers stripped off a piece of paper that had "NO TOUCH- HULK FOOD" written on it in a barely legible scrawl. Unwrapping his pilfered prize, Grundy revealed a large smoked ham shank, studded with peppercorns, chunks of yellow fat, and bacon wrapped around the entire thing like edible stripes. Leaving the butcher paper on the floor where it had fallen, he started chomping on the delicious, seasoned prize before stomping back over to his seat. Picking up the remote with his free hand, he plopped back down into comfortable oblivion and unmuted the TV, chomping on the ham shank as he watched the screen light up with garish colors and zooming words. Commercials.
Suddenly, the picture cut out and was replaced by a flashing red "A" and the words SECURITY ALERT
At the same time, the speaker in the corner of the room crackled to life.
Tilting his head, the swamp denizen took a few more bites of his ham, then got up, leaving the rest on the armrest. "HOORAY. GRUNDY GET TO SMASH BAD GUY NOW." He lumbered over to the far wall, squeezing through the door into the next hallway corridor that led to his room. Just outside was a large cabinet with a mannequin inside of it, large enough to model armor. Which it had. Grundy opened the cabinet and donned his "armor" which was painted red and yellow with a crude stylization of muscles on the torso, along with big floppy shoulderpads. It was also probably important that the "armor" was in fact made of cardboard, a fact made readily apparent by its shoddy appearance.
The hammer that Grundy took out of the cabinet next was not as cheaply made, however. A massive cement head with three long pieces of rebar coming out of it, with a grip made of discarded scrap leather wrap. The zombie hefted the hammer onto his shoulder easily and stomped back out of the hallway and through the rec lounge, pausing in front of the doorway out. "GRUNDY CRUSH THEE, EVILDOER." Well, not quite exactly like the pretty man, but close enough. Exiting the rec room, Grundy stabbed the button for the freight elevator down. The top of the building, and the portal above it, was only a few floors above this one. The pale behemoth had a job to do, and one he would do gladly, smacking the concrete head of his scrap "Mjolnir" against his palm as the freight elevator descended downwards with him inside,ready to find the green man.
"Ayup, definitely a keeper, I'm real glad I used the spinner jig to reel this one in..."
"Fishin' The Bayou will be right back, after these messages...."
-click-
Grundy raised the remote in his oversized hand and muted the television, getting up off the couch and clomping over to the gleaming chrome kitchenette that took up one corner of the rather large room. He'd been watching TV for about three hours now, sitting on the already broken in couch in the corner as opposed to the smaller chairs and loveseats scattered around the large plasma screen. Toeknee had been very clear about sticking to the one couch that Grundy's big green friend usually sat on, and the zombie was more than happy to comply. Especially since the goatee'd businessman had shown him how to tune to the fishing shows that reminded him of his swamp. As he rustled through the restaurant sized fridge, he thought back about how he'd been able to land such a nice spot to live.
He'd been stomping his way delightedly through downtown, breaking things like cars and signposts, when the Angry Green Man had jumped out of the sky and landed a solid punch right on his jaw. They'd had quite the fight until Hulk, as Grundy learned he was called later, managed to knock the undead revenant on his back with a tremendous kick. After he'd calmed down somewhat, Hulk's friends had arrived and managed to convince him that fighting bad people and breaking bad things was ultimately more rewarding than just breaking things. To that end, Grundy had been given a small (for him) room in the tower, and "honorary avenger" status. Not to mention access to the lounge where he was currently vegging out.
Leaning his large head deeper into the fridge, he spotted a bulky, paper wrapped object that smelled tantalizingly good. Taking it out and knocking over a few boxes and tupperwares, his large clumsy fingers stripped off a piece of paper that had "NO TOUCH- HULK FOOD" written on it in a barely legible scrawl. Unwrapping his pilfered prize, Grundy revealed a large smoked ham shank, studded with peppercorns, chunks of yellow fat, and bacon wrapped around the entire thing like edible stripes. Leaving the butcher paper on the floor where it had fallen, he started chomping on the delicious, seasoned prize before stomping back over to his seat. Picking up the remote with his free hand, he plopped back down into comfortable oblivion and unmuted the TV, chomping on the ham shank as he watched the screen light up with garish colors and zooming words. Commercials.
Suddenly, the picture cut out and was replaced by a flashing red "A" and the words SECURITY ALERT
At the same time, the speaker in the corner of the room crackled to life.
Quote:“All security personnel, we have a class A intruder on Floor 83! That means highly dangerous for the noobs here. I want everything SEALED OFF. NO ONE GETS UP TO THE TOP FLOOR, UNDERSTAND? Suspect is wearing green and is armed to the teeth. If possible, take him alive, but if at all impossible, SHOOT TO KILL.”
Tilting his head, the swamp denizen took a few more bites of his ham, then got up, leaving the rest on the armrest. "HOORAY. GRUNDY GET TO SMASH BAD GUY NOW." He lumbered over to the far wall, squeezing through the door into the next hallway corridor that led to his room. Just outside was a large cabinet with a mannequin inside of it, large enough to model armor. Which it had. Grundy opened the cabinet and donned his "armor" which was painted red and yellow with a crude stylization of muscles on the torso, along with big floppy shoulderpads. It was also probably important that the "armor" was in fact made of cardboard, a fact made readily apparent by its shoddy appearance.
The hammer that Grundy took out of the cabinet next was not as cheaply made, however. A massive cement head with three long pieces of rebar coming out of it, with a grip made of discarded scrap leather wrap. The zombie hefted the hammer onto his shoulder easily and stomped back out of the hallway and through the rec lounge, pausing in front of the doorway out. "GRUNDY CRUSH THEE, EVILDOER." Well, not quite exactly like the pretty man, but close enough. Exiting the rec room, Grundy stabbed the button for the freight elevator down. The top of the building, and the portal above it, was only a few floors above this one. The pale behemoth had a job to do, and one he would do gladly, smacking the concrete head of his scrap "Mjolnir" against his palm as the freight elevator descended downwards with him inside,ready to find the green man.
Quote:837 words, wordcounter.net
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”