Chapter 15

Spiderman and Wolverine followed behind the hefty frame of the mysterious Charles Johnson, weaving through stacks of blimp parts and shit.
“C’mon, boys, keep up! Keep up!” Charles called as he leaped gracefully from one step to the next.
“Man, this guy is pretty quick for a fatso!” wheezed Wolverine.
”I heard that! Hehehehe!” giggled Charles Johnson. They continued to bound along trough the blimp boneyard, until Charles suddenly stopped and put a finger over his lip in a gesture meant to urge silence. He slowly peeked around a large wall of old blimp engines, and motioned for Spiderman and Wolverine to join him. “Here they are!” he whispered.
“Who?” asked Spiderman in a hushed tone.
“The hobos!” replied Charles Johnson, his face lit up with excitement. The superheroes looked at each other, shrugged, and then walked over to peek around the corner with Charles. Sure enough, when the poked their heads out, they saw a small group of hobos standing about 30 feet away.
“Oh, wow, a bunch of hobos. This sure is important,” said Wolverine sarcastically.
“You sass, but perhaps if you look closer, my friend, you’ll notice something strange about these hobos,” replied Charles Johnson.
“He’s right…” whispered Spiderman, “These hobos aren’t acting right…they should be talking to themselves, or laying in a pile of garbage, or eating rotten sandwiches…but they’re not. Instead, they’re just standing there motionless, staring off into space.”
“Quite right,” smiled Charles Johnson, “You see, these are no ordinary hobos…these are zombie hobos…from Africa.”
“That’s bizarre!” moaned Wolverine. “Now I see why they call it the Dark Continent.”
“Indeed,” said Charles Johnson, “But I’m afraid there’s more! You see, these hobos weren’t always zombies…long ago they were just your average transients, running free and riding on the wild trains of the African savannah. But one day, they were unfortunate enough to run across a shady character known as…Mr. Crazy.”
“Mr. Crazy! Damn, I knew he must’ve had something to do with this,” growled Wolverine.
“Oh, he had everything to do with this,” replied Charles Johnson, “Everything and more! You see, when these poor souls met Mr. Crazy, they assumed that he was just another man of few attachments; a bum, if you will; Lord knows he looks the part. But, of course, they assumed wrong! Mr. Crazy, though mentally unstable, knows how to craft a cunning plan, and this plan was diabolical.”
“What’d he do to those poor hobos?” sobbed Spiderman.
“He offered them the one thing they couldn’t resist: booze.”
“Well that doesn’t sound so bad, booze is fun,” noted Wolverine.
“Ah, yes it is! But what these hobos didn’t know is that Mr. Crazy had spit in the booze! He had spit in it a bunch. Now, don’t get me wrong, the hobos probably wouldn’t have cared about that anyway, but the there’s something more to the story…it turns out that Mr. Crazy’s spit is full of a violently infectious bacteria that causes zombieism in any who swallow it!”
“That’s nasty,” gagged Wolverine. “And the hobos drank the spit-booze?”
“Fuck yeah they drank it, hobos like to get fucked up!” exclaimed Charles Johnson, just a little bit too loud. When the African zombie hobos heard his vehement affirmation, they immediately stirred and turned their zombie heads right towards its source: Charles Johnson’s mouth.
“Oh shit, I think they’ve spotted us!” gasped Spiderman.
“Booooooooze!” moaned one zombie, sticking his arms out in front of him and starting to walk towards Spiderman and his pals. “Boooooooooooze!” the hobos began to wail in unison as they hobbled towards our heroes.
“I don’t know about you,” mumbled Wolverine, “But I’m about ready to flip the fuck out.”
“BOooooOOOOOoooooOOOoooze!”
“Shits yeah dude, this shit is fucked,” related Spiderman.
“Should we jack these fools up, boys?” queried Charles Johnson.
“Nigga you best believe it’s about time to tear shit to shit,” replied Wolverine. The blue-and-yellow bandit further clarified his immediate intentions as he once again zipped out his claws with a *shink* noise.
“Moooortal Kombaaat!!!!” roared Charles Johnson, and, with that, the three crazy guys all charged forward at the approaching zombies. Wolverine quickly dispatched with one zombie by stabbing his big knives into its brain, and then chopping its face off. Spiderman took a more subtle approach, punching and kicking two zombies who looked kind of like little hobos versions Vlade Divac and Peja Stojakovic.
“Arrrrgh,” they gurgled, “Spiderman baaaad! Booooooze goooood!” Spiderman continued to punch and kick the zombies and then finally he used his webs and shot them and tied their faces together. “Grgrgrgrbbnbnnbooozeesoosjfsgsg,” they growled, unable to free themselves from their web-face prison.
Charles Johnson was also punching a zombie and then he shot lightning bolts out of his eyes and cooked the zombie to a crisp right where it stood.
“Four down, four to go!” sang Charles. Spiderman, in a surge of excitement, grabbed a nearby sharp metal rod and then shoved it right through the face and head of a hobo zombie who had gotten a little too close to comfort. For a second the zombie simply stood there, the rod sticking out of it head in both the front and back. The undead vagabond then stumbled around comically for a second and proceeded to collapse on the ground in a humorous slump. “Make that three to go,” quipped Spiderman.
“Nice one, Spidey,” complimented Wolverine. But Spiderman didn’t have to savor his victory because his spider-sense began to tingle and Spiderman quickly ducked. And it’s a good thing too, because right over his head swooped a garbage bag filled with dozen of aluminum cans. “Oh, shit!” shouted Spiderman, who quickly flipped around to find a wobbly hobo zombie awkwardly trying to regain his balance after a heaving swing of his can collection. Spiderman used the zombie’s momentary discombobulation to launch an all-out assault on his pale, rotting face; he quickly threw out his wrists and released a blast of his potent webbing. It only took the blink of an eye for the streams of Spiderman’s goop to reach the zombie’s head, knocking him backward upon impact. The zombie stumbled rearwise for a few steps before Spiderman yanked violently on his web line, ripping the zombie’s face off and sending him to ground howling.
“Stupid zombie motherfucker,” grunted Spiderman. Of course, what none of us could know is that Spiderman was actually just acting out some deep-seeded aggression. It turns out that Spiderman’s dad was a zombie; he was a hobo as well, but never both at the same time. Spiderman has carried a burden of shame over his father's zombie and hobo statuses ever since his childhood, which would explain his massive resentment towards the housing-challenged and the non-zombieism-impaired.
Spiderman stood over the zombie whose face he had just ripped off, and spit on him.
“I hope you burn in hell, you undead son of a bitch.” The hobos zombie just looked up at Spiderman with his cold, faceless eyes and moaned,
“Whhhhyyyyyy? Whyyyyy muuuussst weeeee haaaaaaaate? Booooooooooze!” A tear came to Spiderman’s left eye. Though it was quickly absorbed by his mask, this tear reminded Spiderman that deep down, we’re all human…even hobos. This intense moment of realization was washed away when Spiderman realized he was thinking like a pussy. To make up for that, he began to stomp on the zombie’s face with his boot, crushing it’s head into a mush of bones and muscles.
“Ha! Showed that fag who’s boss,” gloated Spiderman, shaking his foot around to remove the bits of flesh attached to it.
”Oh, snap!” shouted Wolverine, who began to crack up. But then he noticed a rapidly approaching zombie, so he used his claws to chop it up a bunch. Charles Johnson was like,
“Hell yeah!” and then he pulled out a gun and shot the last zombie in the face. “Nice! I do believe we’ve dispatched them all.”
“Yay, we kicked their zombie butts!” cheered Spiderman.
“That was well-fought indeed,” agreed Wolverine with Spiderman.
“I guess we’ve foiled Mr. Crazy’s plans yet again! Ha!” laughed Spiderman.
“Oh no,” replied Charles Johnson, taking on a serious tone of voice, “I’m afraid this is just the beginning of our troubles. Though we defeated those hobo zombies handily, we must remember that they were created by Mr. Crazy’s spit…as long as Mr. Crazy still has a mouth, nobody is safe. He can simply trick more hobos into drinking his spit, and we’ll have to do this all over again.”
“You make good point,” said Spiderman. “We can’t get comfortable as long as Mr. Crazy is still out there, dreaming his crazy dreams and eating inedible objects.”
“Yes, and I’m afraid it gets worse,” sighed Charles Johnson, “Mr. Crazy wants to take his spit-zombie operation into the big leagues; he’s not just satisfied with turning street urchins into his wacky zombie servants. You see, somewhere in the back of his mind, Mr. Crazy gets off on spitting in people’s drinks, and he’ll get off the most by spitting in everyone’s drinks. That’s why, listen closely now boys, Mr. Crazy is currently crafting a plan that will put a small amount of his spit into every single bottle of Safeway Select Refreshe water sold in the United States!”
“What?” gasped Wovlerine. “Not only is that gross, it will mean that millions of Safeway customers, which is basically everybody, will be turned into Zombies when they drink Refreshe!”
“And that’s not very refreshing at all!” added Spiderman.
“I’m afraid it gets even worse than that, boys! You see, not only does he intend to spit in every bottle of Refreshe, but the cunning bastard also has schemes to contaminate every Popsicle-brand popsicle with his feces!”
“What?” gasped Wolverine. “Sick!”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Charles Johnson, “So you can see now how dire this situation is. While Mr. Crazy may have started out as a two bit criminal, I’m afraid he’s quickly grown to become the greatest threat humanity has ever faced...and only you two can stop him!”
“This is a great burden which has been placed on our shoulders,” stated Spiderman. “How can you be sure that we are ready for this challenge, Charles Johnson?”
“Oh, I just have a feeling!” winked Charles Johnson.
“Hey, speaking of feelings, what’s the deal with your new body? What happened to the old Charles Johnson who we knew so long ago?”
“I’m sorry boys, it’s not time to explain that yet…let’s just say it has something to do with the events of September 11th, 2001!”
“Okay, well let me ask you just one question, Charles Johnson…” said Spiderman.
“Shoot.”
“Do you suck dick on the first date?”
“I don’t get it…” replied Charles Johnson, “…but it’s funny!”
“Okay, thanks!” smiled Spiderman, though you couldn’t see it because of his mask.
“Well boys, I’ll afraid the time has come for me to go!” chuckled Charles Johnson, “But if you turn your eyes to the skies, I think you’re in for a surprise!”
“What?” asked Spiderman, but before he could finish his brief sentence, Charles Johnson had disappeared in a flash, leaving only a thin wisp of smoke that smelled like Albany.
“Jesus Christ that guy is intense,” crooned Wolverine. “What do you think he meant by that ‘look to the skies’ comment?”
“Over there!” shouted Spiderman, pointing his finger behind Wolverine’s head and indirectly answering his question. Wolverine whipped around quickly.
“Oh my God!” W shouted, facing the imposing sight of a large, mostly-white blimp rising up from the blimp boneyard. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a blimp!” squealed Spiderman. “A big blimp!”
“And…oh my God, look who’s in the gondola!”
“Nigger piss!” yowled Spiderman, “It’s Mr. Crazy, and he’s getting away!”
“Hello there, Bladderman and Slaverine!” cackled Mr. Crazy. “I see you’ve defeated my hobo minions…well done. However, mark my words: I promise things will not be so easy for you next time.”
“Whatever! Come down here and fight, you pussy!” snarled an enraged Wolverine.
“Wa-ha!” replied Mr. Crazy, “And fight we shall, but not today! I’m afraid I’ve got a date with the clouds, boys, and if I’m late then they won’t give me a blowjob…PENIS!”
“Oh god, don’t remind me,” groaned Spiderman.
“See you later, fags!” shouted Mr. Crazy as he floated off into the sky. “Watch out for snakes!”
“Damn him. Damn that Mr. Crazy,” cursed Wolverine.
“Don’t worry,” comforted Spiderman, putting a hand on Wolverine’s shoulder in a not-gay way, “We’ll get him next time. C’mon, let’s go to Dairy Cream for a cone of that good, good soft serve.”
“Well…okay,” replied Wolverine, who retracted his claws for maybe the 3rd time and let his head slump down.
“Hey, buck up chap,” commanded Spiderman, “This isn’t a moping convention; it’s a blimp boneyard.”