By F. Larry Badgood
© 1994 World POG Federation
Chapter One – Old POG™, New Tricks
If only Y2K hadn’t devastated civilization as we know it, Rad MegaCool thought to himself, as he was hover-carted off to face almost certain annihilation. Then I wouldn’t be in this proverbial space-pickle.
His eyes were covered with Holo-Blinders, obscuring his vision. All he could do to keep his sanity was to think. To think back to January 1st, 2000 when a simple computer virus threw the world into complete social and economic chaos.
But there was one glimmer of hope in this darkness. Hope in the form of a round cardboard-y disk featuring crudely drawn artwork. People of the 1990s called them POGs™. People of the New Millennium called them ‘Hope.’ (People of the New Millennium still called them POGs™. I’m just trying to reinforce the importance of POGs™ in rebuilding society!)
POG™ became the de facto world currency, rising phoenix-like from the ashes of a global economy in flaming tatters. The popularity of POG™ skyrocketed throughout the globe, replacing such barbaric activities as card games and chess – now regarded as elitist and discriminatory because they require actual skill and strategy. Unlike POG™, the only truly equal and democratic game ever created. Because it requires almost zero aptitude.
That is how POG™ brought about world peace. Nations were too busy playing POG™ to wage war. Around this time the newly founded United World Government popularized the phrase “Make POGs™, not war”. This slogan was later withdrawn as it unintentionally encouraged people to make counterfeit POGs™.
But everyone who went to Hypno-School already knew all that. It was common knowledge.
Rad MegaCool’s knowledge of POG™ went far beyond the common. He was the reigning world POG™ champion. (And therefore could have any woman he wanted. Which he frequently did. But he also used his fame to get chicks for his buddies. He was awesome that way.) He won the first Olympic gold medal in Pogging at the 2004 Summer Games. He won the first Nobel Prize for Pogsmanship in 2006. He was the first man to slam a POG™ on Mars. He was owner of the world’s largest POG™ collection. And therefore the richest man in the world.
There were countless challengers to his prestigious POG™ crown, such as the West Coast rapping-duo-turned-Poggers, Sir Slams-A-Lot and MC Slammer. But none could match Rad’s POG™-slamming prowess. The only rival who came close was the fiercely unstable and cybernetically enhanced Lazer McFistapunch from Neo-Australia.
But those salad days were tossed aside like so much rotten produce when the vile General Bloodgore overthrew the world government in 2009. His first act as Global Grand Master Czar was outlawing POGs™ and executing all those who possessed them. Millions died. But not Rad MegaCool. Faking his death in an orphanage fire (which he himself set) he escaped to the Underground. He now made his living in the life-or-death world of illegal no-rules POG™ tournaments.
It was at one of these tournaments that Rad had been captured. Algorian sleep gas hidden in his opponent’s slammer. Had to have been Global Government Agents (or ‘Globons’ as they were more commonly called), thought Rad as he struggled with the Laser-Cuffs restraining his wrists and legs.
The hover-cart came to an abrupt halt. Rad knew this was the end. This was how it always ended for Poggers. He wouldn’t even get any last words, what with the Electro-Gag shoved in his mouth.
The Holo-Blinders were yanked violently from his head. A piercingly bright white light blinded his eyes. Oh my POG™, thought Rad, This must be heaven. Out of the light emerged an angel. A raven-haired angel wearing red lip-gloss. This was either heaven or a Globon Sex-Torture Cell. Either way Rad MegaCool was game.
“My name is Minx Vixen,” she said in a voice that let Rad know that she was strong and authoritative, but totally willing to let herself be dominated by the right man. Rad knew he was that man.
“I’m second-in-command of the People’s Opposition Group. Or… P.O.G. for short,” she continued.
The anti-Globon global freedom force. So he was going to live after all. Rad would have heaved a sigh of relief if it weren’t for the Electro-Gag. And the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off Minx’s outfit. Or lack of outfit in this case. She was wearing one of those spray-on cat suits. And from the looks of things her spray can was running low. Not that Rad was complaining. He loved the current trend of “leave nothing to the imagination” body art as clothing that was all the rage in women’s fashion, especially when it was applied to a body as exquisitely sexyful as Minx Vixen’s.
Minx removed Rad’s Electro-Gag. His mouth felt numb, like he’d been licking a 9-volt battery. She leaned in to switch off his Laser-Cuffs, She pressed her body against his. He could feel her heartbeat speed up like a Venusian She-Hare. Her ample breasts pressed against his face, heaving and contracting with each breath. She held this position longer than necessary.
The Laser-Cuffs fell to the metaloleum tile floor with a hollow clinking sound. Minx pulled away from Rad, leaving wet patches of black paint on his face and jumpsuit. And bare patches on Minx’s body. The heat from the intense overhead lights caused her fresh paintjob to smear and run and drip off her perfectly proportioned body. As such, Rad couldn’t help but admire her ever-increasing cleavage, her chestly perkiness enhanced by an invisible hover-bra.
She wasn’t modest or embarrassed about it. She knew she could use it to her advantage. And Rad knew it was working on him. He took her in his arms, exploring the geography of her body with his hands.
“Rad MegaCool,” cooed Minx, relishing his caresses, “The world thought you were dead.”
“The world was dead to me,” Rad retorted.
“The world needs you,” she said.
Rad’s grip on her tightened. “Where was the world when I needed it?” he demanded.
“P.O.G. needs you,” she pleaded.
Rad released Minx from his kung-fu grip, tempered by years of POG™ mastery, and turned away from her in melodramatic fashion.
“POGs™ brought me nothing but pain,” he responded. “Sure I got all those awards and legions of sexually-available women, but what’s it done for me lately?”
“I meant the People’s Opposition Group,” corrected Minx, “P-O-G. I can see how you would have gotten that confused. Maybe we should change our name or -”
“No dice, cyber-tits,” interrupted Rad. “Rad MegaCool works for nobody but Rad MegaCool. I’m a loner in this lonely post-Apocalyptic milieu. And I ain’t no stoolie for your revolution either. I remember what happened to Slim ‘Slam-Dat-POG™’ McChutney.” Poggers were still mourning his gruesome death-by-torture in the Sinbadian Chuckle-Chamber.
Rad wasn’t budging. And Minx was running out of ideas. She wondered how many rounds of Clintonian Super-Sex it would take to convince him. “What if I told you,” said Minx, trying a new strategy as she applied more spray paint to her glistening sweaty sexy naked body, “that your former rival, Lazer McFistapunch, helped General Bloodgore hunt down and destroy the Poggers?”
“Then I guess I better thank him for getting rid of the competition,” smirked Rad as he pushed the button to open the transperisteel exit door.
The door slid open with a futuristic whooshing sound. Minx chased Rad down the sparse cold steely-gray plasticrete-lined hallway.
“What if I told you,” she said breathlessly, “that he murdered all your wives and mistresses, your children, family, friends, and loved ones? Just to get back at you.”
Rad MegaCool stopped dead in his stylish-yet-functional space-boot tracks. He turned back to face Minx in a manner even more melodramatic than before.
“I’m in,” he declared.
“Actually,” added Minx, “that whole part about your family being murdered was totally made up. But thanks for agreeing to go along with us.”
Rad thoughtfully lit a Cyber-cigarette with his Laser-Lighter. He took a long drag and blew out a multi-colored holographic smoke ring that hovered over Minx’s head like a halo. After reflecting on the many health benefits of synthetic tobacco over the foolishly deadly and addictive 20th Century cigarettes he asked, “How do I wreak my unholy vengeance on him?”
Minx swiped the Cyber-cigarette from him with her milky-smooth, strong-yet-daintily-feminine hand. She pressed it to her lips with a long and suggestively sexy drag. When she returned the Cyber-cigarette to his mouth, Rad could taste her lip-gloss. Scarboronian Kiwi.
“You can get your revenge at the Venusian Slam-A-Jam,” Minx replied, “the biggest underground POG™ tournament in the galaxy. McFistapunch will be there IDing Poggers for the Globons. We want you to be a double agent. Get yourself hired by the Globons. Somehow. It’ll mostly involve seducing and copulating with several attractive nubile female humanoids.”
“The things I do for my planet,” he mused.
“You’re our key to the blastdoors of freedom,” she declared, kissing him open-mouthed with liberal amounts of tongue. Minx’s mouth tasted even better than her lip-gloss.
But Rad didn’t respond. Brushing her sexy frame aside, he silently and awesomely continued down the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Minx asked.
“To exercise my wrist,” he responded dramatically, “I’ve got some serious slamming to do.”
“I must warn you about Slam-A-Jam,” warned Minx. “They play by Pip Havisham Street Rules.”
“I invented those rules,” chortled Rad, “I was there. I won that match back in ‘06.”
“Then why didn’t they call it ‘Rad MegaCool Street Rules’?” she asked.
Rad replied coolly, “Out of respect for the dead.”
Coming Soon! Chapter Two – The Slammer of Thor
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