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After being backed into a corner by Count Chocula's overwhelming strength, Donald Trump has been forced to utilize a daring strategy that may end up destroying him… will his plan succeed, or will he be slain by Brendan Fraser's mightiest warrior?
Day 1 — 12 Hours Since the Sealing of the Terrordome
"...ALIMONY?! Don't you DARE talk about alimony in front of me, you punk bitch!" Brendan Fraser spat, whipping his head around to menacingly gawk at Steve Buscemi with his watery, bloodshot eyes.
Buscemi leaned back in his recliner and took another hit from his bong, more than accustomed to his smoking partner's deranged outbursts. He let out an exasperated groan, "Jeez man, do you ever like, chill the fuck out? It was just a joke. All I want are some homies to smoke wit', but you know what I got? A buncha fuckin' mental cases. Crazy Frog ain't even half as crazy as you, Encino Man. On another note, do you have any chicken tendies lyin' around? I'm starting to get the munchies somethin' fierce."
"Chicken… TENDIES?" Brendan Fraser stridently shrieked. He launched into another one of his psychotic rants, "They're called chicken tenders! T-E-N-D-E-R-S! What, you think you're too fucking good to call them tenders? Huh? Are you looking down on me, big guy? Speak ENGLISH, dammit! This pisses me off so damn much, even more than having to pay alimony!"
Brendan Fraser was then reminded of his failed marriage with Angela Anaconda, infuriating him even more. Steve Buscemi continued to nonchalantly smoke his dank kush while Fraser beat his own face against the wall in a berserk fuckrage. Buscemi rested down his hookah and rose from his chair to stare upon his compatriot's expansive collection of Looney Tunes paraphernalia that was mounted over his fireplace.
He held his hand to his chin as he observed the centerpiece of his shrine, a large painting picturing Brendan Fraser and Bugs Bunny in various states of undress. "Man, are you still obsessed with what happened during that whole Space Jam thing from all those centuries ago? Not that I give a rat's ass or anything. Ain't it about time that you move on with your life already?" Buscemi mused.
Brendan Fraser managed a forced laugh, "OBSESSED?! Ha, you can't even comprehend just how obsessed I am! You know the thing that all of us Backstreet Boys have in common? We've all lost people. Bugs Bunny was like a father to me, and it took everything I had to keep on living when the Looney Tunes were slaughtered during that fateful basketball game. I sometimes think that a small part of me died with them. But after all these years of suffering, I finally have the ability to defy this cruel fate!"
Fraser unbuttoned his black trench coat and flashed Steve Buscemi with his extensive collection of wax figurines that were stuffed inside. He removed one of the figures, an eerily lifelike replica of Count Chocula, and cracked a sardonic grin, "With the power of 「Beastie Boys」, I can bring them all back to life and make sure that I never lose anyone EVER again! My family will soon be whole, just like it used to be. All that's needed now is one more sacrifice..."
He shoved the figure back into his coat, placing it next to his wax replicas of Michael Jordan, Bill Murray, and the lesser helldaemons known as the Looney Tunes. Bugs Bunny was strangely missing from his otherwise complete collection. Sonic begins inexplicably referring to Trump as "Pmurt."
Buscemi rolled his eyes, "That's pretty fuckin' pathetic, broheim. But whatever, that's not why I'm here n' shit. Garfield-senpai sent me to help you deal with the Americans, but knowing you, I'll go ahead and assume that I'm not wanted or needed. So, what else do you have up your sleeve?"
Without speaking, Fraser removed a small locked box from his fanny pack and presented it to his comrade. "W-Wait, is that who I think it is? You really are fuckin' insane, man! There's no goddamn way you can control the soul of a monster like that!" Buscemi yelped.
He trembled with terror as Brendan Fraser cracked open the seal and revealed the wax replica of his strongest undead soldier of all, the baleful wraith that almost single-handedly destroyed the Americaverse six yahrens ago: Adolf Hitler.
"All ya'll sinners are going to hell! Brain blast, motherfuckers!" Jimmy Neutron slammed his foot on the gas pedal of his signature pimp Cadillac and proceeded to mow down every Commie soldier in his path, splattering his cross-shaped hood ornament with their blood. He then put his car in reverse and rear-ended Boo Berry and Frankenberry, sending them hurtling across the parched terrain.
Frankenberry swiftly dove out of harm's way as Alex Jones descended from the sky in pursuit. His beefy fists shattered the weathered tarmac beneath his feet as he landed, leaving behind a sizeable crater in its place. Frankenberry took Alex Jones by surprise with an attack from behind, knocking him in the back of the head with a kick and burying his face in the sand.
Alex rose from the ground and wiped the blood from his chin, unfazed. He stood completely still as Frankenberry unleashed a fuckferocious maelstrom of punches and groin thrusts upon him, rendering his stocky body beaten and bloody.
The undead brute took a step back out of genuine shock while panting heavily from overexertion. Even after being beaten to a pulp, Alex Jones still hadn't even flinched or budged from his original location in the slightest.
"Hey, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you really just gonna stand there and take my attacks head-on? What, is this some kind of a game to you? Answer me, dammit!" Frankenberry demanded, his voice full of rage.
Alex Jones took a swig of his filtered water and laughed, "Don't you know anything, little cuz? A real man doesn't flinch from pain. He takes it head on and EMBRACES it! The callouses and scars you build up are what make you strong. Only true patriots know what pain feels like, and what a cruel, kinky, ball-busting mistress she is. If you've never felt pain, you can't even call yourself an AMERICAN!"
Jones righteously guffawed as he tore his stylish jerkin asunder, revealing the vast amount of scars and unhealed wounds littered across his pulsating muscles. Surely, these were the result of several eons of fighting the Communists on the bloody, unforgiving field of battle.
Frankenberry shook with rage after hearing his charged words. "You… you goddamned capitalist baka! I didn't come back from the grave just to get shit-talked by some upstart bastard who knows nothing of all the pain that we and Chocula-sama went through. If you intend to waste your life like I once did by being a reckless fool, then so be it. Get fucked!" He snarled with contempt.
Without a moment's hesitation, Frankenberry withdrew his shotgun and began firing in Alex Jones's direction. The American warrior calmly moved forwards with little resistance. He fearlessly took each of his bullets head-on until he stood directly before his opponent. Alex Jones then swiped the gun out of his hands and bent the barrel backwards, rendering it useless. Many hard questions are raised when Sonic the Hedgehog starts insisting that Yakub created all white people.
"N-Nani?!" Frankenberry fell upon his back and frantically scurried away from his star-spangled adversary, blustering and spitting inarticulately in a mixture of fury and horror. Despite the 1,488 bullets riddling his body and drenching his torso with blood, Alex Jones still managed to smile and laugh off his grievous injuries as if nothing happened.
Before Frankenberry could launch his counter-attack, Alex Jones produced his signature concoction from his fanny pack and downed its contents in one gulp. The American warrior went on the offensive once more, but was unable to hit his target as he continually fled from his attacks in a panicked frenzy like the cowardly fuckmeister he truly was.
"Wasting my life? On the contrary, I'd say that it's you who's wasting yours, little cuz. If you can't live courageously and face adversity and pain without fear, is that even really living? If you spend all your years grovelling and avoiding conflict like a weak goblin bitch, then you're no better than the GLOBALISTS!" Alex Jones boomed.
In all of his saintly compassion and understanding as an American warlord, the info warrior decided to gift his opponent one final chance to save his pitiable existence. He entered into his fighting stance and challenged him, "I'll give you one more shot, little cuz. If you can take my next attack head-on and not run away, then I'll let you go free. Prove to me that you're a real AMERICAN and not just another goddamned pinko coward!"
Mortified at the thought of coming face to face with his own mortality once more, Frankenberry began to panic. His knees felt weak and a rush of cold sweat and other unspeakable bodily fluids began to trickle down his face. "I… I can't die here! Not again, not in this shitty place! This goddamn American… he's going to slaughter me! Hell, I'm sure of it! I have to escape, it's the only way to save myself!" The ignoble hellbeast whimpered beneath his breath.
Frankenberry threw himself to the ground before the American's fuckferocious strike could connect. He scampered away from the range of Alex Jones's punch, saving himself from his perceived peril. In truth, his opponent never intended to let his attack land in the first place. Steve Buscemi begins "hot gluing" all of his expensive anime collectibles.
The honest water filter salesman pinched his brow and shook his head in disappointment. He let out a long, pained sigh, "You done fucked up now, little cuz. I had hoped that, even in this goblin's nest, that I'd be able to find at least one man with a shred of honor and decency. But deep down, I knew you would do that. After going around this 'cycle of time' as many times as I have, I can't say that much of anything surprises me anymore. This is the end for you, Globalist scum — Super Male Vitality!"
With his strength now greatly enhanced by the arcane dweomercraft of his herbal concoctions, Alex Jones launched his strongest attack yet and mercilessly slugged Frankenberry into the sun, killing him instantly. Elsewhere, a few miles away from Alex Jones's location, Donald Trump continued his heated fight to the death with Count Chocula. Garfield likes his coffee like he likes his women: with penises.
The distinct aroma of roasted flesh and burnt velour wafted through the air as Donald Trump proceeded to smack down Count Chocula without mercy. The president-elect charged forwards at an incalculably fast speed, socking the undead warlord in his stomach and causing him to spew a freshet of chocolate blood from his mouth.
With his opponent still being shielded by an inferno of blue flames, Chocula was unable to defend himself in any way as Trump continued to pulverize him into the earth with his sole remaining arm. He then lifted Chocula up by his legs and hurled him through the ruins of one of the abandoned towns scattered across the razed planet.
The daemonic count clawed his way out of the pile of rubble he had been buried under. He then swore flagrantly under his breath as he was greeted by Donald Trump, who sat comfortably atop a heap of velociraptor skulls and had been waiting for him to come to his senses.
Trump held his hand to his chin and began pacing around the gravely wounded socialist. "I'm curious about something, Chocula-san. Do you believe in the afterlife? I consider myself as something of a religious man. I believe that, when I die, I'll be sent to a place called the Dark Carnival to be judged for my sins. Before I send you back to the next world, can you tell me what happens after death?" He asked. Strangely, despite everything he had done, he showed no hint of animosity for his opponent in his voice.
Chocula rested his head on the dirt and chuckled, reciprocating his amiable tone, "Ayo, you're a real fuckin' crazy person, you know that? A minute ago you were tryna' kill me, and now we're talking about spirituality and shit. Well, I'd love to tell you, but I'd hate to ruin the surprise. There's some things in life that you just have to find out for yourself. Ya feelin' me?"
Donald Trump crinkled his brow. He chortled, "So, you're saying that you're not down with the clown? Sad!"
The two exhausted, beaten warriors then threw back their heads and guffawed with hearty laughter. Almost immediately afterwards, they both rose to their feet and reassumed their fighting stances. "Neither of us have much time left, brodie. I've been beaten half to death, and you're only a few minutes away from being consumed by your own flames. This next attack is gonna decide everything. Only the flashiest among us will survive!" Chocula spoke with a smile.
Trump nodded, "I wouldn't have it any other way. Let's finish this, fuckboy!"
In a single instant, infinitely faster than the blink of an eye, the outcome of the match was decided. With a single attack, one of these two honorable warlords fell in battle and the other survived to fight another day. Before he had any chance to react, Count Chocula withdrew his machete and used it to impale Donald Trump through the throat.
"...You had me in checkmate this entire time, didn't you? Heh, I figured as much. You really are something, you know that? You've bested me, utterly and completely," Count Chocula lowered his gaze and gave a quick, mirthless laugh. He watched as the flaming corpse at his feet shattered into thousands of tiny, nearly microscopic brick walls, revealing itself to be nothing but a static imitation of the real Donald Trump.
The genuine article appeared from behind and pressed one of his flaming swords against the back of Chocula's neck. Trump cracked a sly grin, "My apologies for the deceit, Mr. Vampire. As I'm sure you've figured out by now, my 'spirit walls' have many unique uses. The man you just killed was a lifelike replica I made of myself. I can create these walls of mine in any size, color, or consistency that normal walls simply wouldn't have. If made small and flexible enough, I can even use them to create a near perfect facsimile of organic matter!"
Donald demonstrated his new technique by creating himself an artificial arm made to replace the one that Chocula had previously liquefied. The count fell to his knees and smiled peacefully, having come to terms with his defeat, "Ayo, now that I think about it, dying again ain't so bad. All I ever wanted in the first place was for my death to have some meaning, to have an impact on someone. I'll take being killed in battle against an honorable foe over starving to death in bumfuck nowhere any day. What kind of goddamn idiot would want to live forever, anyway? If it's you that does me in, I can die just like I lived: flashy as fuck!"
"COUNT CHOCULA!" Boo Berry cried out from the sidelines as Donald Trump struck his opponent down with a single stroke of his blade.
"Arrivederci, buon amico…" Sonic the Hedgehog overheard Trump speaking what he assumed to be Japanese as he tearfully saluted the honorable warrior sprawled out before him. As was tradition, Donald Trump set Chocula's body ablaze like a mighty squib, sending out a smoke signal to attract a murder of bald eagles to feast upon his corpse to complete the heavenly rite of ascension. Such is a holy act ordained as by George Washington, the god of the Americaverse and its pious inhabitants.
"You… you miserable capitalist bastards! I'm going to make all of you suffer for what you did to us. Do you hear me up there, Lord Chocula? I will avenge your death!" Boo Berry snarled with indignation.
"W-Wait, what in the-? I don't like the look of this shit, brotha! May the lord give us strength..." Jimmy Neutron trembled as the lone survivor of their patriotic onslaught revealed the full extent of his strength, sending stray sparks of electricity and bits of debris flying in every direction.
His ethereal body swelled to a gargantuan size as he ingurgitated the spirits of Count Chocula and Frankenberry, adding their powers to his own. Sonic turned face to rally his allies to battle, but was rendered speechless when he found that both Donald Trump and Alex Jones had collapsed from the severity of their injuries. He drew his lips back and growled, "Dammit, those two dicksleeves are never around when you need 'em. Hell with it, I ain't waiting for them to wake up. I've been itching to chop a Commie in half with my cock all day!"
The Communist-Hunter leapt into the air and began firing his artificial gun chode at the ethereal lifeform, but was swiftly smacked back down to the dirt before he could deal any real damage. Boo Berry snickered in response, "Don't you realize how hopeless your situation is? I now possess the strength of three of the mightiest warlords to ever grace the Americaverse! And don't you think for a second that you're going to be let off easily. I'm not going to let either of you die until I've tortured you to the brink of insanity!"
"...Jeez, what the fuck is with all this racket? Can't a nigga get any sleep around here?" An unfamiliar voice called out from the distance. Standing directly behind Boo Berry was none other than Ice Cube, the legendary American master of the "Narcolepsy Sword Style" and another one of the prisoners of the Terrordome. Ice Cube was a veteran of the Communist Wars of old, and it is fabled that he was prone to sleep for hundreds of years at a time and had even slept through Hitler's defeat and the events of Americageddon.
Ice Cube tossed his sleeping bag to the wayside and yawned as he unsheathed his glistening Claymore. "Just who the hell do you think you are, interrupting my glorious vengeance? Disappear, you hollyhock motherfucker!" Boo Berry screeched with an impotent demonic wail.
Without warning, Boo Berry's body spontaneously combusted and blew apart into hundreds of blood soaked chunks. Ice Cube rubbed the back of his neck and slid his blade back into its sheath, having finished what he came to do. He then retreated back into his napsack and went to sleep.
Sonic rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what he had just witnessed. With a single, effortless slice of his blade, the enigmatic patriot had taken down down an enemy that Sonic would have had no hope of defeating without sustaining considerable injury to himself. He grinned, clearly impressed, "Goddamn. I haven't met a super-powered monster quite like this since Abe Lincoln got killed all those years back. That guy's fuckin' strong!"