I want to apologize for three things. 1) There's not a whole lot you can say to substitute the phrase "The audience laughed," so there is a lot of that throughout the story. Just pull through with me. 2) Near the end there may be some grammatical mistakes. It took forever for me to write this story, and near the end I basically went on one of those, "f**k it" and just kind of plowed my way through it. Again, pull through with me. 3) For those of you who follow me and like my stories, you're probably wondering why the hell I'm writing a "Guardians" fic, when I should be working on "Breaking the Bank."
It's quite simple really. I saw Guardians, it was awesome, and I've always wanted to write a fan fic about it the moment I walked out of the theater.
Plus, I'M IN COLLEGE NOW! It's a little hard to find time to write multiple things; let alone one thing.
Funny, I felt the compulsive need to write out this piece of fan fiction, when mid-terms are next week. LOL. Whatever, let's get on with the show.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you:
Stand Up.
"Ahem," the woman behind him coughed indignantly. "Ahem….ahem."
Rocket growled. There were many things that could make the gunner's blood boil. It really didn't take all that much. But of all the things that could spark his rage, anyone trying to enforce their ways upon him were the absolute worst according to Rocket. There would be no greater satisfaction than to simply tell this female Aakon behind him to buzz off.
The origins of the minor conflict happening before the Guardians of the Galaxy laid directly between the rodent's fingers. Nestled between two digits, was the Bode Galaxy's equivalent of a cigarette, which the residents within the galaxy aptly named…a cigarette.
That's the thing about life sometimes. The simplest things stay the same; no matter what galaxy you're in. Fucking is still called fucking, lying is lying and cigarettes are still cigarettes. Upon first hearing that cigarettes were still called cigarettes no matter what galaxy he was in, this initially shocked Star Lord. He was only a child when he was abducted by Yondu and didn't fully realize what a cigarette actually was when he left earth. All he knew was what his mother, old folks, and anti-smoking ads had told him which blasted it's message straight into his childhood brain. Peter, smoking is bad.
Surprise, Surprise: Peter was the one who supplied Rocket with the cigarette in the bar when the mammalian technician wanted to bum a smoke. In fact, Peter was the one who introduced the concept of smoking to Rocket about 6 months ago. For Peter, being raised on a ship of ravagers apparently wasn't the best place to escape the peer pressures of smoking.
Even though Peter did smoke the occasional cig, Rocket was downright addicted. The night that Rocket took his first smoke would lay in Peter's brain in infamy. After the feisty raccoon was having an apparently terrible time tinkering with a new weapon (in which the gun-man said multiple swear words and variations of the sentence "Peter, your ship sucks! it doesn't even have decent enough scrap metal for me to use") Peter decided that maybe a simple smoke was all the ringtail needed.
As Peter watched the rodent inhale the toxic chemicals, Star Lord instantly knew that Rocket was going to become hooked. Although the raccoon's temper didn't necessarily lower in intensity, there was a strange aurora of calmness that invaded Rocket's mind. Better yet, the effects of tobacco gave Rocket the concentration he needed to finish his project.
That was over a year ago. Now of days, Rocket smoked more than any other living being Peter had ever seen. The Guardians always had to make a pit stop after every mission just so Rocket could get his fix.
And now, his smoking addiction had lead to this moment; being stared down by an Aakon woman, in a bar where The Guardians were enjoying their typical post-mission relaxation.
"Ahem," the alien coughed once more at Rocket; this time not trying to mask the cough with any resemblance of realism at all.
Rocket began to snarl. From the depths of his gut, a growl was beginning to take hold.
But his eyes darted to Peter and the rest of the Guardians. The look that they radiated wasn't subtle to say the least. It was obvious that they would prefer for Rocket to not make a scene. This wasn't the first time something like this happened. The last time Rocket protest his "cosmic given rights," it ended with the whole gang getting thrown out of the bar.
Rocket, in one of his rare moments of possessing a conscious, stubbed out the cigarette in the ash tray provided.
"Thank you," the Aakon replied with a great heap of enthusiasm. See, in her eyes, she wasn't trying to control people. She was protecting the proprietors of the bar and it's customers from the side effects of a nasty habit.
The Aakon walked away with a little bit of pep in her step. Rocket had some pep of his own which he began to expel.
"Fucking bitch," the rodent replied under his breath.
Gamora sighed in annoyance. She couldn't even tell Rocket that he was in the wrong on this argument. He wouldn't listen. He obviously noticed the "do not smoke" sign posted outside the bar, but just didn't give a damn.
But before Star Lord, Gamora, Drax or Groot could reply with an accurate observation of the events that just occurred, the host spoke up.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the voice echoed out from the stage provided. "Welcome to open mic night here at Gin and Jupiter. Please welcome your first performer; MORK!"
The sound of polite applause and a few ample cheers from what appeared to be Mork's friends reverberated throughout the tiny club. The Guardians took part in the polite applause; including rocket, who did so with a new unlit cigarette hanging out his mouth.
Bar hopping became a routine for the Guardians. After every mission, Peter would pilot the Milano to the recently rescued planet's closest available establishment (implying that the establishment was still in tact after The Guardians came into town; or if the planet even had one) and they would drink the night away. Depending on the incredible nature of the mission, and how close each individual member came to dying, each Guardian would be on one of the five levels of drunkenness.
The five levels of drunkenness was a term Peter coined after studying the Ravagers' personalities while plastered. He noticed that depending on how much alcohol they drank, the Ravagers would exhibit different changes in personalities, and all of those changes featured some common behavior. When Peter began to drink, he cross referenced that data with his own experiences on the sauce. It was probably the most scientific thing Peter had done in his entire adult life; but it could be as nerdy as it could possibly be, and as long as it involved beer, Star-Lord gave it his seal of approval.
Level 1 - Buzz. Nothing much would happen during this phase. There was of course the slight tingle, but nothing out of the ordinary. Although Peter didn't advocate it, he felt pretty confident that he could safely pilot the Milano on this phase. No hangover.
Level 2 - Drool. This is where Peter began to not trust his motor skills. There was a slight imbalance but nothing too drastic. What gave the phrase this name was the fact that Drax would begin to spit while he spoke on this level. A minor hangover.
Level 3 - Dizzy. Peter knew that if he or anyone else entered this phase, he would immediately hide the keys to the Milano. NO ONE was fit to drive. They all would stay on the planet's surface and sleep on the Milano instead. Balance? What balance? Why does the room feel like it's spinning? A minor hangover would last until late afternoon.
Lever 4 - "Nah Bro….I'm totsally fitz to DRIEVE!" Things would get really fuzzy at this point. The most notable quality about this phase were the moments of clarity. Peter would remember most things; although they were quite blurry around the edges. There were moments, however, where Peter could push past the clouds blocking his memory, and remember acting like a total fool. Most of these memories would cause him to face palm. It was this phase and the next one where Peter would usually proclaim to himself "Ugghh, why [what] did I do that last night?"
The Guardian's favorite moment of clarity happened several months back. After a long, highly successful and dangerous mission, the gang felt it was appropriate to raid their liquor cascade they had set up on planet Paramatar. Among the liquor, a strange bottle of clear liquid called "Dimethenynol," had found itself into the Guardian's system. What Rocket forgot to mention about Dimethenynol, is that if taken in copious amounts, hallucinations similar to the effects of LSD could occur.
It was on this liquor, at a level 4 amount of drunkenness, that Peter Quill tripped on the sky going by while laying flat on his back on the Milano, and heard himself - The Star Lord - say out loud in utter fear, "HOLY GOD…guy's man….there's a cloud up there…man…that looks like an evil mouse snow-skiing man!"
…..
And the rest of the Guardians were so high that they all got outside to look at it.
At this level, major hangovers were inevitable.
Level 5 - Blackout. Or, as Star-Lord quipped it, "It's as if the brain goes into witness protection program." Everything after a certain moment of clarity would simply be incompressible. The last time Peter experienced a blackout, the final moment of clarity involved him & a Pink Kallusian dwarf female. At that point, Peter could swear that if his consciousness had a voice, it would've said, " Dude…..you're about to fuck a hobbit….I'm out bro. I'll leave the penis on for 3 hours but I'll activate the asshole around the 2 hour 30 minute mark…..of course, that didn't stop you last time so have at it."
Major hangovers were not only expected, but sometimes lasted for 3 days straight.
As Peter watched his friends knock back their drinks one by one, Peter could see that this was going to be a level three night. The mission was good, and the execution was brilliant, but the stakes were not exactly high. It really didn't matter though. They were the Guardians of the frickin' galaxy. Every mission had it's perks. The major perk involving there most recent mission, the one they were celebrating at the moment, was the greenbacks. There was no need to show them the money; they knew that they got it by the dump-truck loads.
The downside of the mission was that there wasn't a decent bar for miles; and when the Guardians had finally found a bar, it just so happened that the night they arrived into the establishment was the same night the bar hosted it's weekly open mic night.
Out of all the Guardians, Drax was the most unforgiving of them all about the open mic comedy. Even if open mic's didn't reek of desperation and failure (which many do) Drax would still be completely oblivious to the "humor," before him. Eventually, 30 minutes into the night, Drax tried leaving the table.
In his own words, Drax responded, "I don't understand what's funny about chickens crossing roads."
Gamora was the one who kept Drax from leaving. She informed him, that while the jokes were not hitting on any level at all, it would be respectful to the performers and would be considered an honorable act to wait until the performer left stage.
Drax didn't seem to understand why he would want to stay. Logically, if he didn't like it, he didn't have to listen to it and had every right to leave. But the minute Gamora mentioned honor, Drax began to understand and sat back down. The warrior spirit in him wouldn't dare cross an honorable act.
Gamora was second to last in total tolerance. Eventually however, she became very forgiving of the open mic comedy; mainly because she was too drunk to care. Although she would never leave the table out of respect, there were several moments where her restraint rested on a razor thin line. Seriously, she thought, a joke about weight? Where's the comedy in that?
She didn't clap for several jokes; opting instead to take a drink. Thankfully, after an hour of heavy drinking, she had finally reached a level 4 level of drunkenness, and was becoming linnet. She even cackled her inebriated cackle that the Guardians took such a delight in hearing every time she got plastered. The sound could best be described as several crows being shot by machine gun fire.
Groot was simply being Groot. Peter caught glimpses of the most the heartfelt member of the group understanding the humor before him. Nothing could hide that grin. He even cheered several performers when they left the stage with his usual "I am Groot." Groot was indeed a charismatic character, and that was saying a lot considering what sort of characters the Guardians possessed. But, Groot, out of all of them, was indeed the heart of the group. Although he didn't understood the comedy, he understood the nature of just….not being a dick; and was very nice (as his usual self was opt to do) for the whole night.
Peter was actually somewhat excited by the whole idea of an open mic. He had fond memories of being 8 years old and listening to Richard Pryor's "That N*gga's Crazy" in his room for several hours. How did such a young boy require such an album that used and abused some very filthy language? That was the same question his grandfather had when he bursted through the door startling the young lad listening to the record on the family's vinyl record player, which Peter had stolen from the living room and placed into his room.
8 year old Peter responded, "The librarian let me check this out."
It was quite a convincing argument, since Peter also brought home a KISS record from the library as well. Peter's grandfather bought it, but said that he had to stop the album and give it to him, and then tomorrow, he would give it back to Peter to take back to the library.
Peter smiled in mischievous memory. His grandfather had no clue that it was actually his school buddy Timmy who loaned him both the KISS and Richard Pryor album. Peter often wondered if his grandfather ever found out about Timmy after Peter left earth. But he then shrugged off this notion. Thinking about the past in retrospect, even if the subject of retrospection was minor, would often lead to dark places in Peter's mind. It was a very slippery slope. Best not to rest on these things; especially within the presence of beer. There was a time to cry in regret, and it wasn't in front of Rocket. The bastard could potentially tease him for weeks.
Speaking of the bastard, Peter was curious as he analyzed Rocket's behavior. There had been three comics on the stage since the first one had left, and Rocket remained only at a phase three level of drunkenness. The coon wasn't slamming them back as he usually did. Instead, as every comic went on, Peter noticed that the frequency of the rodent's drinking actually subsided and it almost looked like Rocket was paying attention to the acts on stage.
After every comic, whether good or bad, Rocket always applauded the comic out of politeness. But then as the host introduced the next act, Rocket would always have some snarky quip or remark he would tell the gang.
And….sonovabitch; some really actually really funny.
For example, there was a female Dropa who got on stage and regaled the audience of her fascination of her husband's fascination with machinery and tools. She then began to describe an account where she unsuccessfully tried to fix the engine on her land-rover.
As she walked off stage, Rocket quipped, "She should've just cut the break line and have it roll over her. Then that would put both her, the rover, and the rest of us out of misery."
Drax gasped. "Rocket, I'm quite certain that inanimate objects such as rovers possess no emotional displays of anguish. Secondly, what has the performer exhibited to make you believe she is in turmoil, and in need of death?"
Rocket shrugged. "A bad sense of humor I suppose."
Drax looked into his mug and slightly cocked his head in agreement. "The woman does indeed cater no ability to initiate laughter, so you could be right." He then smiled at a memory. "Had not that officer in the Terra corps mentioned 'Murder' I might've just taken you up on that offer."
Peter did a spit-take. Gamora laughed in her drunken state causing everyone to groan as the sound flooded their eardrums.
Rocket said a quip every time a performer left the stage. Around the 5th performer, Peter had become quite annoyed and began to suspect that Rocket's behavior, if not stifled immediately, would eventually escalate into heckling. If there was one thing Peter hated, it was hecklers. And if there was one amongst them that Peter could suspect in performing such a terrible crime in Star-Lord's eyes, it was Rocket.
After the fifth comedian left the stage, Rocket leaned over to Peter and whispered, "Want me to tell you why that sucked?"
Peter retorted, "I don't think you could do any better."
"Are you kidding me?" Rocket responded. "If I was on that stage, I would have the whole room gut laughing."
There was a momentary pause as the gears in Peter's head began to work. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off and Peter gained an awfully mischievous idea.
"I'd actually like to see that." Peter responded.
It had been a good thirty seconds of silence before Peter responded, so Rocket couldn't remember what Peter was talking about as the rodent brought the glass of alcohol up to his muzzle. "Pardon?"
"I don't think you could make one single person in this club laugh," Peter exclaimed. "In fact, I'd like to you see you just try and make one person in this entire room laugh. You couldn't hack it. you'll totally bomb."
Rocket lifted an eyebrow. "Care to make this wager interesting."
Peter smiled. "This is not a wager. This is a statement of fact. You - Rocket Raccoon - cannot make one person in this club laugh."
"How much would I receive if I happened to prove you wrong?" Rocket responded.
Peter leaned towards Rocket, slamming his drink down on the table in a level 3 (bordering on level 4) state of drunkenness. "If you can make someone in this room laugh while on stage….I'll be your slave for a week."
Rocket cackled as Groot responded, "I am Groot?!" which translated meant, "Seriously?"
"I don't think he's bluffing," Rocket said between snorts.
Gamora, now experiencing a low in her level 4 drunken state, responded slurry, "Serisouly Peter? A slave? That's so generic."
Drax smiled. "The idea of either one of you becoming the other's slave for a week has been the most humorous anomaly to occur in this club. I personally give this wager my approval." He slammed down another beer.
Peter told Drax, "It's Rocket who will be my slave," Peter exclaimed. "Rocket first has to get on stage for this wager to happen, and we all know he'd never do that." Peter leaned in towards Rocket's face. "He doesn't have the balls."
Rocket leaned forward in retaliation. "Watch me."
And with that, Rocket left the table and went to the host off stage to sign up.
Peter, watching this, turned back to his gang and began to chuckle. "Oh my god! He's actually doing it. Oh, this is going to be great watching him bomb up there." As he reveled in giddy anticipation, he began to think of the many things he could have Rocket do as his slave. Perhaps Rocket could give him a foot massage. Or better yet, Rocket would have to take up dancing. That would be the shit.
A few moments passed before the host took to the stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is an honor to introduce our next guest. We all gotta start somewhere, and folks, tonight is his night. So would you please put your hands together, for one of the Guardians of the Galaxy…."
and it was then the host looked at the name written on the sign-up sheet; the name given to him orally just a few minutes ago. He hoped he had this written down right. "Ballsaqtitbag."
Peter did another spit take at hearing the host announce to a room full of mature beings the words "ball sack tit bag." Not only was it clever, but it actually was funny. Oh lord…. Star-Lord was doomed.
Rocket's presence on stage was…..odd to say the least. When he had first appeared in the spot light, Rocket was filled with confidence. Although sizing up at only 3 feet tall, Rocket's swagger seemed as though it belonged to a being towering 11 feet high.
But then he grabbed the microphone, and all of that changed.
Holy fuck, Rocket thought to himself. There's so many people out there. Why are they staring at me like Groot when Peter shows him a card trick. Oh shit, I haven't said anything. Say something Rocket. C'mon you big idiot. SAY SOMETHING!
Peter began to smile. The raccoon was about to choke. Maybe perhaps he could get Gamora to be Rocket's partner as Peter showed the animal how to do the salsa.
But like a miracle, the light-switch in Rocket's brain turned on. Regaining his composer after the brief 15 seconds of panic, Rocket grabbed a pack of smokes from the breast pocket of his jacket, and began to light up. The audience began to whisper amongst themselves. Does he not know this is a non-smoking establishment?
Oh, Rocket knew all right. It was part of the act. Exhaling, he began.
"I smoke. If this bothers anyone, I ask you politely to look around in the galaxy in which we live in and…..shut your fucking pie-holes."
The audience, much to Peter's horror actually laughed. It was so weird. Rocket straight up attacked this audience with his opening line, and…..how in the world….they all laughed. To be fair though, it was a timid type of laughter. The dialogue and the context of the dialogue was humorous; before the crowd stood a character whose basic inspiration was to get the audience to laugh, and he straight up told the audience to go fuck themselves. That's an uncommon occurrence. But it was the out-of-place nature that made the line humorous, not the content itself.
But that didn't really matter. The audience was now intrigued with what Rocket had to say. What type of comedian tells the audience to shut their fucking pie holes? Although it wasn't necessarily a jaw-dropping line, Rocket now had the floor thanks to his cojones.
The rest of the act, went along like this.
Rocket took a drag and then, lifting his cigarette in a pointing motion, asked, "Oh, real quick; how many smokers do we have in here tonight?"
A few claps, but nothing major happened.
"Wow! Listen to you. You can pump out at will, huh?"
The audience laughed even harder than they did at Rocket's first line. Rocket then began to fake cough and make sounds as though he was out of breath. He egged this on in such an exaggerated manner for so long that the audience not only appreciated the humor, they enjoyed it.
"That's how smokers typically sound when they try to cheer you on. *fake cough and out of breath noises.* Thanks smokers. Valiant effort on your part. Next time, just hack up a chunk of lung for me will you?"
Laughter.
"Just rear back and launch phlegm towards the stage."
More laughter.
"Or get one of those raw oysters going. Ever had a raw oyster phlegm? Fucking terrifying stuff man. You think you just got a little bit of drool backed up in your throat. But then you spit it out the side of your mouth and you're expecting it to crawl away."
Louder laughter. The audience were cackling loudly when Rocket demonstrated in a charade-like manner what phlegm would look like if it started crawling across the floor. In his act, Rocket jumped the fuck back.
"Wait a minute…..phlegm should not have legs. I'm not a doctor, but…."
The audiences laughter continued from the previous line, and eventually died down. Rocket took another drag. Then, holding the cigarette between his two fibers again, he posed another question.
"But listen to this smokers…..how many non-smokers do we have in here tonight? By round of applause how many non-smokers are here tonight?"
A lot of hooting and hollering filled the club. Rocket tossed his hands up in the air in a motion that signified c'mon. Keep the cheering going. Raise the roof you bitches.
Then, once the laughter died down…
"…..what a bunch of whining fucking maggots right?"
The smokers in the room then began to hoot and holler. Some of the non-smokers even laughed. Much chuckling appeared. Rocket took a drag in an almost teasing like manner; as if he were some 8th grader on the playground.
"You guys [non-smokers] are ignorant….self-righteous….slugs." Laughter. "But don't take that the wrong way." Rocket said the last phrase playfully, acting out a glint of innocence in his mannerisms and in his eyes, making the audience laugh even more.
Rocket took a glance at the prop laying between his fingers, and then inspiration stuck. He made a general observation in the way that observation comics would be envious of.
"I think most smokers would quit smoking if we didn't think we'd become non-smokers." Rocket said.
Laughter. Great laughter.
"I'd quit smoking if I didn't think i'd become one of you," Rocket announced to the audience. "I'll keep smoking each last day just to prove how cool I am. I'll keep smoking till my dying breath just so I'm cool each last day I'm here. I'll take that shorten lifespan if it means I'm not a dick."
The audience laughed. A few audience members even cheered; agreeing full heartedly with everything Rocket said.
"You wanna know what the worst type of non-smoker is?" Rocket asked his audience in a rhetorical matter. He then lit his cigarette, took a drag, and answered the question. "The worst type of non-smokers are the ones that come up to coughing. You know….ahem."
Peter's jaw dropped. The balls that this little rodent possessed was unfathomable. Peter was pretty sure that the Aakon woman from before was still in the audience. Rocket just didn't give a fuck.
Peter did have to admit that Rocket's impersonation of the woman was spot on. Although it was just fake coughing, the fake plastered smile hiding all the rage in a passive aggressive like matter was EXACTLY like the Aakon woman's smile from ealier.
"A-h-h-hem," Rocket continued. "A-h-hem,ahem, a-h-h-h-hem." Then Rocket regained his composure, dropping the impression. "I always tell these people, 'Shit man. You're lucky you don't smoke."
…holy crap, Peter thought to himself in awe. That's a pretty damn good punch line. The audience got the joke as well, and they laughed as Rocket Raccoon continued to hold conversation with the metaphorical coughing non-smoker.
"That's a terrible cough you got going there for you buddy," Rocket said his lines while looking upwards, giving off the impression that Rocket was indeed holding conversation with some unseen person. "I mean, I smoke two lighters a day and I don't cough like that."
From off-stage, amongst the laughter, Rocket and the rest of the Guardians could hear an audience member react with a shocked, "shit," to Rocket's smoking tally.
Rocket, with a genuinely warm smile, looked towards the direction he heard the gasp from, and mockingly rubbed his chest while stating sarcastically, "Yeah, I'm starting to feel it."
More laughter. The audience was now hooked. Out of all the comedians that showed up in the club that night, Mork was by far the best. But Rocket had now taken 2nd place, and was steadily approaching first.
Rocket looked back in the air to returned to his conversation routine.
"You might have some bad genetics going with that cough you got there," Rocket consulted. "Perhaps you were born of a weak sperm? Who knows, maybe your father was jacking off and your mom sat on it at the last second?"
The line KILLED! The room went into uproars laughter. Even Peter, who was shocked that Rocket was killing it (and even upset that he lost the bet), felt his abdominals ache from the laughter caused by that line.
Rocket continued his act, breaking away from the conversation routine to address the audience.
"Too much?" he asked the audience sarcastically, but with a warm grin that made his routine flawless. "But you see, in my mind, what I said was justified. I'm the one smoking and they are the ones coughing. I mean good grief; what kind of sadist are they? Do they go up to cripples dancing?!"
Now Rocket was just adding killer line after killer line. But what left the audience truly in stitches, was when Rocket mockingly lifted his legs up to his chest and pretended to be one of the sadist non-smokers.
"C'mon, what's a matter ?" Rocket pronounced in character, lifting his legs higher and higher, almost leaping. "C'mon old Iron Sides; I'll race ya!"
Gamora had to hold on to the table to not fall off it from laughing so hard from the joke. Her drunken state wasn't doing much to help with her balance.
"I mean, the nerve of these people," Rocket continued. The audience was just gasping for air at the moment. Rocket waited a few seconds before continuing.
"Let's cut a deal here non-smokers," Rocket addressed the crowd. "I'll smoke, I'll get the tumors, I'll get the cancer, and I'll die. Deal?"
The smokers in the audience applauded.
"Thank you," Rocket replied jokingly with a salute after the applause died down. There was a few seconds of silence before Rocket continued his stand-up routine.
"But now we come to the situation of second hand smoke," Rocket said. "And, I'll be totally honest, non-smokers do have a valid point with this argument. 'why should our lives be affected by your nasty habit?' That's the basic clause of their argument, and it's a good one."
Rocket took a drag to let his words settle in, before exhaling and releasing the rebuttal/eye-opener.
"But they have two major holes in that argument," Rocket informed the audience. "Number 1, I see many who raised their hands as 'non-smokers,' in here tonight, and what are they doing? Drinking. Now, I do drink. Some say a little, some say a lot - especially if you consult the Guardians."
A small chuckle rippled through the crowd.
"But tonight I'm not drinking, tonight I'm smoking. I had a few drinks earlier-"
"I am Groot?" which translated to "a few?"
"Shut up," Rocket quickly snapped back politely. The audience laughed at the playful banner. With a cocky grin, Rocket shook his head and continued the bit.
"But I'm mostly smoking tonight, and these non-smokers are mostly drinking tonight. You see, in my opinion, we're trading vices." Rocket concluded.
Dead Silence.
"I can already tell that you don't agree with me." Rocket stated sardonically.
The audience chuckled at this gesture.
Rocket then disguised his voice to mock what a non-smoker would say to his argument. "We're not trading vices. It's not fair! It totally isn't. Our habit doesn't affect you-"
-And quickly, Rocket yelled, "wrong! That's 100% bullshit. Know why? I can't remember the last time I put somebody's life in danger just because I was driving a vehicle and smoking a cigarette."
The eyes were now opened. Immediately, someone in the back who agreed wholeheartedly with Rocket's statements shouted "yeah!" This set off a chain reaction in which the whole audience, even the members who didn't agree with Rocket's statements fully, began to clap their hands (or tentacles in some cases) to applaud Rocket.
"It's impossible to kill someone by driving a vehicle and just smoking a cigarette," Rocket reaffirmed his position with a punch-line. "Believe me, I've tried."
The audience chuckled. Rocket continued.
"I get in the Milano, I turn off all the lights, I eventually shut off the engine so I'm just gliding, the fuckers still see the glowing glint of the cigarette."
Rocket demonstrated this by miming himself piloting a ship viciously, while the cigarette he was currently smoking stayed int he middle of his lips; lighting up like crazy.
As par for the course so far in Rocket's act, the audience continued to laugh. They laughed even harder when Rocket acted out what his victims might've said.
"Say….that's a big ass lighting bug coming my way." Large laughter. Rocket's eyes then grew wide as he side stepped quickly in character. "Holy shit it's knocking over shrubs!"
Great uproars laughter. Then he continued.
"The second hole that non-smokers have in their second hand smoke argument," Rocket exclaimed, "is that they don't know, that if I don't smoke, there's going to be secondary bullets coming their way."
Rocket held a vicious gaze after the word bullet, making the laughter stronger. It was simple things like this that were blowing Star-Lord's mind at the moment. The jokes were alright, but it was the facial expressions and mannerism that Rocket was providing with the dialogue that made the bits killer. Just….how was he able to do it? Was there something that Rocket hadn't told his group? Did he live a double life; by day superhero, by nighttime comedian?
"And's theres more to it than just what I said," Rocket remarked. "Because Science has indeed proven that smoking will kill you. But what Science has yet to prove is that a long life is a good thing."
More laughter; mixed in with added applause. This was starting to become very common. Not only was the audience laughing along with what Rocket was saying, but agreeing with it.
"I mean," Rocket continued. "At the end of the day we all die…there was sentence that just constitutes comedy hell."
The audience laughed. Rocket cranked up his sardonic wit to 11 and begin to faux dig a hole on stage, while chatting with the audience.
"Hey guys, you know how weird it is that we all die naked, alone, and empty the day we were when we were born. It all comes back around guys," Rocket exclaimed in his mocking tone of voice while continually "digging" his own comedy grave.
The audience laughed at the physical comedy, but laughed even more when Rocket added with genuine wit, "Don't worry guys, there are dick jokes in my act. Please relax."
The audience was now gasping for air and moaning out of the pain their abdominals exalted during all the laughter. Rocket waited for a second for the calm laughter to ease away, and then he continued.
"My point is," Rocket explained. "Is that non-smokers like to wave that flag around of 'oh, we don't smoke, therefore we live.' But let me address something here," Rocket commanded. "Let me cue you guys in on a little secret. And I love doing this stuff, especially when it concerns the truth. I'm going to tell you non-smokers a secret that you haven't figured out yet."
The audience was intrigued by Rocket's statements. As the rodent leaned his head in and brought his voice lower, the audience brought their heads in as well. Just what exactly was Rocket going to say?
"You ready?" Rocket asked in a whisper. "Drum roll please," and with that, Rocket made a drum roll sound effect using his lips. Things got extremely quiet as Rocket pulled the mic away from his face, and the whole room was swallowed whole in silence.
Rocket brought the microphone back.
"Non smokers…..die…every day. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
Rocket practically shouted his laughter. The immediate shock was so overwhelming, half the audience was caught off-guard and swept away with the laughter of everyone else who got the joke. When they were finally tuned in with the punch line, they laughed greatly too.
Rocket waited for just a few seconds, and then added a nice little cherry on top of his punchline. "Sleep tight ya assholes."
The audience chuckled once more. Rocket took a drag and continued on with his piece.
"You see, I know you non-smokers live this delusional fantasy of eternal life just because you don't smoke," Rocket proclaimed. "Well, let me be the one to POP that fucking bubble and say 'non-smokers…..you're coming with us.'"
The audience was greatly enthralled when Rocket took a short bow. They almost thought his stand up routine was done. Peter was amazed at how many beings he saw getting ready to stand. Sonovabitch Peter thought. They're about to give him a standing ovation.
But it wasn't over. They were coming to the home stretch, and Rocket new it. He just had to have a killer closer. But suddenly….
Panic! Rocket thought in fear. Holy shit! Panic, Panic, Panic! I got nothing. NOTHING! i'm basically going to keep rambling on stage like a lunatic until they drag me off. oh shit! oh shit!
It was in the midst of his fear, that Rocket looked down at his Cigarette pack….and smiled. Inspiration can come from the most unlikely of places.
"And when non-smokers come to the end of their run," Rocket lectured his still cheering audience. "Doctors basically look at them and say 'shit. Sorry. If only you smoked.'"
There was more laughter as Rocket gave them all that oddly charming faux smile.
"You see, when non-smokers get sick, the only thing doctors can give them is a pat on the back and some good advice. ME, when I get down to my rope, I got oxygen tanks, Iron lungs, patches; it's like going Christmas Shopping when I die."
And that is when, while the audience continued to howl in laughter, that Rocket held up his Cigarette pack.
"That is why," Rocket announced. "That is why, as a smoker, I love the fact that every single Cigarette pack comes with a different warning on them."
Silence.
"You didn't know that?" Rocket asked for the first time with genuine interest. The audience mumbled back a positive response. They have, in fact, never heard this before.
Rocket looked back at his pack. "That's right. Every single pack has a different warning on the side. Mine say 'warning: Smoking my cause low birth weight, fetal injury or premature death.'"
Silence all around.
"….fuck it! FOUND MY BRAND!" Rocket exclaimed.
The audience broke into hysterical laughter. This had been the best punch line of the night.
"You know, just make sure not to get the ones that say 'Cancer' on them," Rocket instructed. "You know; just shop around. It's your body."
Everyone, including Peter, were at tears by this point. The Starlord's stomach was on fire. He couldn't take it anymore. He was genuinely surprised by the whole thing. But eventually, his awe gave way into hysterics, and Peter joined the rest of the Guardians (with the exception of Drax who fell asleep out of a mixture of drunkenness and boredom) in rambunctious laughter.
"It's like, 'Give me a carton of them low birth weights,'" Rocket continued. And finally, he ended with this line. "Or like 'Hey Starlord, watchya smoking?' 'I don't know…..something like….throat cancer?' 'Welp, sucks to be you.' 'Why, Rocket, what are you smoking?' 'Me, I got yellow fingernails and teeth.' 'Shit, I can live with that.'"
And with that said, Rocket started reaching towards the very lowered mic stand and placed the mic up with, "You guys were great. Thank you."
And the room erupted!
Standing ovation. STANDING OVATION! It would've shocked Starlord had he not been part of the crowd in standing as well. He had to hand it over to the technician; he KILLED IT!
The Guardians walked over to Rocket as he stepped off stage. There was in fact a few people in the audience that actually came to the side of the stage to congratulate Rocket. The funniest part wasn't the fact that there were members of the audience waiting to speak with Rocket, but the fact that some didn't get cued in on the fake name, and were actually calling him, "Ball Sack Tit Bag." Gamora was practically squealing.
As the Guardians walked up to Rocket, they could over hear the strangers saying, "You should do this more often," or "Are you planning on making this a career?" or even "Are you ever playing shows in the area?"
Coincidentally, just as Starlord walked up to congratulate Rocket, the gunner was answering one of the few questions that was just asked. "Nah, this isn't a career," Rocket explained. "I was just winning a bet…..and speak of the devil," Rocket replied as his eyes locked on Starlord's.
The human frowned.
"Pay up bitch," were the last words Peter heard before becoming a slave.
*Later, in the Milano*
SLLLLLLUUUUUUUUURRRRRRPPPPPPP-PAH….AHHH
The sound of a good Galaxy Quest, (a mix drink containing one part slushy, one part Margarita and one part Centaurian fruit punch (another alcoholic beverage)) going down the straw of Rocket's drink was music to the Rodent's ears. As he leaned back in his chair, he looked at the faces of the rest of the crew. Drax was somewhat amused by the situation, even though he rarely understood humor. However, the warrior's mind was a little too preoccupied with flying the ship.
Gamora held a bag of frozen food to her head; the hangover pretty much killing the sense of humor she had last night. Unlike Drax, her tolerance for Alcohol had not been built up as strongly as his.
Groot was simply sitting in a chair, basking in the warmth of their friendship.
And Peter…..
Rocket smiled.
"Oh Petunia?" Rocket announced loudly, causing Gamora to groan and place the frozen bag harder on her temple.
A few seconds later, footsteps could be heard marching along the metal floor of the Milano. As they began to grow closer and closer, Rocket closed his eyes; just enthralled by the fact that he won. It was always such a blessing to see the site that was about to bestow him.
"Yes master," Rocket he a disgruntled Starlord ask in a monotone.
Rocket opened his eyes and looked upon the Starlord….bursting out in laughter for the 4th time today.
The outfit wasn't even that extravagant. Underneath it all, Peter still wore his typical Starlord suit. But over it, Peter was decked out and lacey, frilly patterns much akin to a French Maid's outfit. AND….he had to hold onto a feather duster for the ENTIRE week. It was too rich for Rocket to handle.
Peter simply pouted as he waited for Rocket to finish his laughter.
After calming down, Rocket laid his glass on a silver platter (which Peter was also instructed to carry for the entire week) and said "Servant. Bring me another."
"Yes master," Starlord groaned, and with that, he was off.
But just before leaving the bridge, Peter felt a gnawing question that just needed to be asked.
"May I ask one question?" Peter inquired.
Rocket held up a finger. "Pardon?" he asked.
Peter held his head low. He's really serious about these "Rules," he thought to himself. "May I ask one question sir?" Peter announced.
Rocket chuckled. "Sure, go ahead."
There was a momentary second of silence, as Peter tried to find the right way to answer the question. He wanted to seem smarter than what the subject of his question was. Sadly, he couldn't put it into words. Sometimes, the simpler the question, the better the response.
"How did you do it?" Peter asked. "How did you get that entire room to laugh?" As Peter continued, his voice showed genuine traces of shock, awe, and puzzlement. "You went up onto a stage, berated an Audience for 5 to 15 minutes, and everyone loved you. Just….i….I-I-I….I don't know how you did it. What's the secret?"
And that's when Rocket looked at you, oh faithful reader, and said, "Sometimes, people love to root for the asshole."