bSki Free/b
John McClane took a sip of his manly black coffee and wrapped up his paperwork. His last job left him with a hefty reward. The president had been captured by ninjas and he was a bad enough dude to save the president. The two enjoyed a nice hamburger but once the president realized how totally ripped McClane was, he gave McClane $200 million for his services. McClane retired from the NYPD, knowing that his talents to totally own would be wasted but would be called upon if necessary, and set up his own ski resort in scenic South Bend, Indiana. (Note: There were no ski resorts in South Bend but Jesus was like, "Dude, McClane, you rock. You're gonna get a mountain so you can start a ski resort.")
McClane finished what he had to do and heard a loud thump not too far from the cabin. Then he saw the assailant run as he glanced out the window. McClane was mad, dude. He got up and threw his chair through the window. He stepped outside and rolled a totally badass snowball. McClane threw the snowball at his slow hitman. "Yippie-kay-yay, mothafucka," he shouted as his snowball struck the dude right in the temple, sending the guy down in a bloody mess. He walked over to the guy and would have beat him more, but he knocked his left eye out. And the guy was just a 7 year old kid. McClane kicked the kid in the ribs, sending him down a slope. It was just another badass day in the life of John McClane. He checked on his inflatable Santa decoration, which took the kid's snowball. It was fine and dandy.
McClane went back inside, grabbed himself a great tasting Coors Lite and watched some Spongebob Squarepants, the greatest cartoon of the cable era. But his cartoon viewing was interrupted. "What the hell is this?" he asked as he noticed some loiters on one of his security cameras. "Eurotrash?" He noticed some other loiters on another security camera. "'X-treme' snowboarders? Holy shit, they've created x-treme eurotrash." McClane wasn't going to take it. He took his shotgun and put some skis on. It was time to kick some x-treme ass.
McClane skied down the South Bend slopes, shooting up the occasional cute bunny on the way. He had the snowboarders in his sight. While they were busy trying to perform some "radical" stunts, McClane was gaining fast. Then it was the point of no return. He threw his ski poles at two of the snowboarders. One impaled the skier through the gut and the other went through and totally exploded the guy's head. McClane slid to a stop and took his skis off as this was all going on. Satisfied with his work, he was going to finish the job. McClane cocked his shotgun, which he had held onto the entire way, and went out to finish the job.
bSki Free Part 2: Ski Freer/i
McClane walked over to the other snowboarders and shoved his shotgun into the face of the one with the most facial mutilations. "So, you think you're a badass?" The punk began to talk but McClane interrupted him. "It doesn't matter what you think! You want a real badass, watch some Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. They wouldn't tolerate eurotrash on their ski resorts and neither will I." McClane gave the punk some sweet chin music with his ski boots on, knocking the kid out. "Merry Christmas," he said as he shot the other three down.
As he laughed at his delightful carnage, a terrorist plane landed itself in his ski resort, right in front of him. "You've gotta be shittin' me," he said as he put some more shells into his shotgun. He took a pocket knife out of his pocket and threw it into the eye socket of the first terrorist to exit the plane. He raided the plane and threw a grenade down the hall. Two terrorists jumped out of the bathrooms to try to get rid of the thing, but they were blown to pieces, which earned a "Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker."
McClane opened the baggage compartments until he saw what he wanted. More eurotrash. He shot the terrorist he knew would be cowering like a sissy in the baggage compartment and kicked the terrorist trying to hide under the seat. Then being the compassionate mofo he is, John McClane took the terrorist out of his misery. After all, he messed that dude up pretty badly, even after just one kick. McClane took the machine guns from the two terrorists then shot up every possible hiding place for other terrorists, ninjas, other assorted bad guys. He counted up to 15 terrorists fearing his wrath and up to 3 wannabe ninjas after emptying the cartridges.
McClane knew it was time to bust some kingpin ass. He kicked the cabin door down and shot the co-pilot in the face. He didn't need to take any shit from the right-hand man. Then he saw it was the classic Bond bad guy, Blofelt. "What the hell? Listen to me, pops," he said as he pointed his shotgun in Blofelt's face and cocked the thing. "Only one guy is enough of a badass to land a plane in scenic South Bend, Indiana. And that badass is me, John McClane. Dude, this is an insult. I don't even get some nerd with a gun? I just get some bald, pasty white geezer? Man, you aren't even worth killing. Get out of my sight." Blofelt ran out of the cabin crying like a sissy but didn't make it out. He was impaled on a set of skis as he made it to the door.
bPart 3: Ski Free With a Vengeance/b
"Who the hell is this mofo?" Samuel L. Jackson asked. "You gettin' so bored you gotta beat up on gramps now?"
"Hey, I just beat on him," McClane responded. "You killed the dude."
Samuel L. Jackson did his cool SLJ chuckle thing then gave McClane a manly hug. "Well, looks like you still got it, dude."
"You too man, nice job with the skis. Any reason you showed up unexpectedly?"
"You bet your ass there is. I was in the middle of kicking Yoda's ass when Obi Won came in bitching about some Yeti. So I put two and two together and figured that there might be a Yeti in South Bend."
"Well, then let's give that Sasquatch some good old American hospitality," McClane said, cocking his shotgun. They stepped outside, getting into SLJ's transportation of choice. "Dude, this is badass," McClane said as he got into the taxi. "Just like old times."
"Yeah, I figured it would be fitting," Samuel L. Jackson said as he turned the ignition on. They only went for a couple of minutes when a big white pissed off ball of fur came crashing through the windshield.
"SLJ!" McClane shouted as the Yeti went headfirst onto Samuel L. Jackson. "SLJ, you ok?!"
Samuel L. Jackson pulled the Yeti into the cab then threw the thing out the passenger side window. "You bet your ass I am. You really think a pussy like that could take out this bad mofo?"
"It was big, that's all. After all, it did totally wreck your taxi."
"And now I'm gonna wreck him." Samuel L. Jackson kicked the door open, cracking the Yeti's skull with the impact. He took out his totally badass purple lightsaber and sliced off the Yeti's sticks for arms. "Take care of the legs, McClane. Can't take it all for myself."
"Will do, cap'n." McClane shot the Yeti in the thighs, taking its sticks for legs cleanly off. He looked around for a while then went over to the cab.
"You gonna try some crazy shit, aren't you?"
"You bet your ass I am."
"Then I'll get a head start." Samuel L. Jackson started to go over to McClane's cabin while McClane ripped the gas tank out of the cab. He shoved the gas tank into the mouth of the semi-conscious Yeti. "Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker," he said as he shot the gas tank, blowing up any proof of the Yeti. The explosion sent him to his cabin, where he knocked back some brewskis with Samuel L. Jackson.
FIN
John McClane took a sip of his manly black coffee and wrapped up his paperwork. His last job left him with a hefty reward. The president had been captured by ninjas and he was a bad enough dude to save the president. The two enjoyed a nice hamburger but once the president realized how totally ripped McClane was, he gave McClane $200 million for his services. McClane retired from the NYPD, knowing that his talents to totally own would be wasted but would be called upon if necessary, and set up his own ski resort in scenic South Bend, Indiana. (Note: There were no ski resorts in South Bend but Jesus was like, "Dude, McClane, you rock. You're gonna get a mountain so you can start a ski resort.")
McClane finished what he had to do and heard a loud thump not too far from the cabin. Then he saw the assailant run as he glanced out the window. McClane was mad, dude. He got up and threw his chair through the window. He stepped outside and rolled a totally badass snowball. McClane threw the snowball at his slow hitman. "Yippie-kay-yay, mothafucka," he shouted as his snowball struck the dude right in the temple, sending the guy down in a bloody mess. He walked over to the guy and would have beat him more, but he knocked his left eye out. And the guy was just a 7 year old kid. McClane kicked the kid in the ribs, sending him down a slope. It was just another badass day in the life of John McClane. He checked on his inflatable Santa decoration, which took the kid's snowball. It was fine and dandy.
McClane went back inside, grabbed himself a great tasting Coors Lite and watched some Spongebob Squarepants, the greatest cartoon of the cable era. But his cartoon viewing was interrupted. "What the hell is this?" he asked as he noticed some loiters on one of his security cameras. "Eurotrash?" He noticed some other loiters on another security camera. "'X-treme' snowboarders? Holy shit, they've created x-treme eurotrash." McClane wasn't going to take it. He took his shotgun and put some skis on. It was time to kick some x-treme ass.
McClane skied down the South Bend slopes, shooting up the occasional cute bunny on the way. He had the snowboarders in his sight. While they were busy trying to perform some "radical" stunts, McClane was gaining fast. Then it was the point of no return. He threw his ski poles at two of the snowboarders. One impaled the skier through the gut and the other went through and totally exploded the guy's head. McClane slid to a stop and took his skis off as this was all going on. Satisfied with his work, he was going to finish the job. McClane cocked his shotgun, which he had held onto the entire way, and went out to finish the job.
bSki Free Part 2: Ski Freer/i
McClane walked over to the other snowboarders and shoved his shotgun into the face of the one with the most facial mutilations. "So, you think you're a badass?" The punk began to talk but McClane interrupted him. "It doesn't matter what you think! You want a real badass, watch some Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. They wouldn't tolerate eurotrash on their ski resorts and neither will I." McClane gave the punk some sweet chin music with his ski boots on, knocking the kid out. "Merry Christmas," he said as he shot the other three down.
As he laughed at his delightful carnage, a terrorist plane landed itself in his ski resort, right in front of him. "You've gotta be shittin' me," he said as he put some more shells into his shotgun. He took a pocket knife out of his pocket and threw it into the eye socket of the first terrorist to exit the plane. He raided the plane and threw a grenade down the hall. Two terrorists jumped out of the bathrooms to try to get rid of the thing, but they were blown to pieces, which earned a "Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker."
McClane opened the baggage compartments until he saw what he wanted. More eurotrash. He shot the terrorist he knew would be cowering like a sissy in the baggage compartment and kicked the terrorist trying to hide under the seat. Then being the compassionate mofo he is, John McClane took the terrorist out of his misery. After all, he messed that dude up pretty badly, even after just one kick. McClane took the machine guns from the two terrorists then shot up every possible hiding place for other terrorists, ninjas, other assorted bad guys. He counted up to 15 terrorists fearing his wrath and up to 3 wannabe ninjas after emptying the cartridges.
McClane knew it was time to bust some kingpin ass. He kicked the cabin door down and shot the co-pilot in the face. He didn't need to take any shit from the right-hand man. Then he saw it was the classic Bond bad guy, Blofelt. "What the hell? Listen to me, pops," he said as he pointed his shotgun in Blofelt's face and cocked the thing. "Only one guy is enough of a badass to land a plane in scenic South Bend, Indiana. And that badass is me, John McClane. Dude, this is an insult. I don't even get some nerd with a gun? I just get some bald, pasty white geezer? Man, you aren't even worth killing. Get out of my sight." Blofelt ran out of the cabin crying like a sissy but didn't make it out. He was impaled on a set of skis as he made it to the door.
bPart 3: Ski Free With a Vengeance/b
"Who the hell is this mofo?" Samuel L. Jackson asked. "You gettin' so bored you gotta beat up on gramps now?"
"Hey, I just beat on him," McClane responded. "You killed the dude."
Samuel L. Jackson did his cool SLJ chuckle thing then gave McClane a manly hug. "Well, looks like you still got it, dude."
"You too man, nice job with the skis. Any reason you showed up unexpectedly?"
"You bet your ass there is. I was in the middle of kicking Yoda's ass when Obi Won came in bitching about some Yeti. So I put two and two together and figured that there might be a Yeti in South Bend."
"Well, then let's give that Sasquatch some good old American hospitality," McClane said, cocking his shotgun. They stepped outside, getting into SLJ's transportation of choice. "Dude, this is badass," McClane said as he got into the taxi. "Just like old times."
"Yeah, I figured it would be fitting," Samuel L. Jackson said as he turned the ignition on. They only went for a couple of minutes when a big white pissed off ball of fur came crashing through the windshield.
"SLJ!" McClane shouted as the Yeti went headfirst onto Samuel L. Jackson. "SLJ, you ok?!"
Samuel L. Jackson pulled the Yeti into the cab then threw the thing out the passenger side window. "You bet your ass I am. You really think a pussy like that could take out this bad mofo?"
"It was big, that's all. After all, it did totally wreck your taxi."
"And now I'm gonna wreck him." Samuel L. Jackson kicked the door open, cracking the Yeti's skull with the impact. He took out his totally badass purple lightsaber and sliced off the Yeti's sticks for arms. "Take care of the legs, McClane. Can't take it all for myself."
"Will do, cap'n." McClane shot the Yeti in the thighs, taking its sticks for legs cleanly off. He looked around for a while then went over to the cab.
"You gonna try some crazy shit, aren't you?"
"You bet your ass I am."
"Then I'll get a head start." Samuel L. Jackson started to go over to McClane's cabin while McClane ripped the gas tank out of the cab. He shoved the gas tank into the mouth of the semi-conscious Yeti. "Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker," he said as he shot the gas tank, blowing up any proof of the Yeti. The explosion sent him to his cabin, where he knocked back some brewskis with Samuel L. Jackson.
FIN