Instead of celebrating yesterday’s victory, the Psycle Killers went to bed early. Their weary bodies needed some serious rest in preparation for the final showdown with the Corona Virus Queen. The team planned to attack at dawn. Unfortunately, dawn came and went as the Psycle Killers overslept by about three hours.
Actually, they didn’t oversleep so much as they just didn’t want to get up. The night had turned very cold. Then it rained. Ice formed on the trees. The rain turned to snow and a thin blanket of the white flakes covered the earth. The Dude, D-2, Doreen, and Zombie spent the night huddled closely together in order to keep warm and they couldn’t separate themselves from the comfort of each other’s body heat until the sun was high in the sky.
They all felt a little awkward as they arose and shook off the cold — especially D-2, Doreen, and the dude, none of whom had ever spent a night in such close proximity to a bloody, decaying zombie before. Not a word was spoken as the team armed themselves for battle. Off in the distance, they could still see the enemy — the Mistress of Viralistic Evil — lurking in the park.
The alpha-female of Covid-19 wasn’t taken by surprise though. After all, she didn’t get to be the Queen Bee of Filthy Germhood for nothing. As soon as she saw the Psycle Killers advancing, she mobilized her last two underlings with instructions to “invade the lungs of every one of those idiots and then bring me their heads.” Off they went to do the Queen’s bidding.
With the defeat of the underlings completed, it was time for the ultimate conflict, the one which would determine whether human life would ever re-inhabit Minnesota, or whether germs, viruses, rats, cockroaches, Packers, and other forms of pure evil would reign supreme. Without delay, the Psycle Killers attacked the Covid-19 Queen.
“It’s no use,” said D-2, “I don’t think even your Crocodile Dundee knife can get at that murderous virus cell.”
Doreen chimed in, “Our only chance is to somehow remove that f—ing protective helmet of hers.”
“Yeah, but HOW?” questioned Zombie. “Anyone have any ideas?”
“Maybe it could be PRIED off,” added D-2.
“That’s a good idea, D-2,” said Doreen, “but that would require coming into prolonged contact with that dirty scum queen.”
“I’LL do it,” announced the dude, who had remained silent to this point.
“But it would be risking almost certain death,” cried the rest in unison.
The dude gulped, “Yes, but I have a plan. Look — the virus monster has moved over to that tree over there. I think I can sneak up, jump out from behind the tree, and with all the force I can muster, I’ll rip that stinking helmet right off her slimy, disease-infested body with ‘Ol’ Croc’s’ shiny serrated blade.” And before his compatriots had a chance to object, the dude sprang into action.
“Wait! We’ll sneak up to the tree with you,” they whispered in support.
“No, it’s too dangerous. This is something I have to do by myself. Stay back and save yourselves.”
While running and screaming with the monstrous virus attached to his face, the dude remembered something he learned about how Covid-19 was vulnerable to handwashing . . . for at least 20 seconds . . . with soap . . . that’s how he could kill this thing once and for all. Perhaps it was too late for himself, but, with hope and prayer, maybe the rest of humanity would be spared.
So, with the melting of that wicked Corona witch, one might be tempted to think that is the end of the story. One couldn’t be more wrong.
However, rather than dragging this saga on to another boring chapter, let’s just bring an end to my graphic novel in an abbreviated form:
- The dude put an end to the Corona Virus, but he couldn’t stop her nefarious tentacles from invading his body.
- The dude fell ill — coughing, sneezing, fever, respiratory problems.
- The other Psycle Killers kept vigil over him for 48 hours.
- With his last gasping breath, the dude implored D-2 and Doreen to get married, have children, and re-populate Minnesota.
- D-2 and Doreen agreed immediately and requested that the dude officiate at their wedding . . . which he did. “Go forth and multiply,” were his final words.
- On the third day, the dude miraculously rose from his death bed.
- The Cycle Killers partied like there was no tomorrow — which there almost wasn’t.