PIERCING PARTISANS OF POLITICS AND POSTERIORS: THE QUITE ANAL RETENTION OF DANNY O'NEILL
By Quillon42
Thankfully for now, after a series of bombastic booms that would bring a nonillion nocturnal emissions upon Michael Bay, the seat of power in the free world was saved from volatile potables all due to the persistent untiring efforts of a intrepidly heroic yet completely insufferable asshole.
Were it not for the interventions of bomb disposer and boorish dunderhead Danny O'Neill, people would have had to stay away from a very worrying water for a long time. Even a slurp at a Halsey Taylor fountain might have brought swift and decisive deliverance to the point at which said slurper would go the way of the careers of Taylors Kitsch or Lautner at a miserably violent time before Halsey was even born (the latter of which might have been fortunate for said tragic victims anyway).
Yet this instant riotous iteration of said callous chronicle, which this author insists is actually the canonical telling (and as such the other, 1992 narrative is merely revisionist fan fiction of the same), here there had still been, this author concedes, many intuitive MacGyver moments on the part of the federal fighter to put down pistol-packing peckers; here there still had been a verbal vindication against the corruptly-profiting Capitol Hill homeowner's cash stashes emerging all around his invaded estate environs; and here there had still been quite the boom at the Congressman's chateau toward the close of the story once the hateful honcho behind all the evil eruptions of flame all over the city…yet the literal fallout from the last of these incidents had in this rancorous recitation a result at great variance from what the viewer experienced in the early Nineties.
As with the soulless cinematic rendition, the two men jumped/fell from the high perch of the property of the ubiquitous politician Frank Traveres just as the chief antagonist Mikhail Rashid blustered his last breath and went most detonatively to pieces.
In this reality, though, the end result of the perilous plummet went down differently in more ways than one.
[SHNNNTTTTT]
Yea, betwixt Special Agent and Senator At Large there had been a most untoward impaling…
…but this time it was Traveres who still remained whole, albeit still handcuffed, and O'Neill who had become so unceremoniously speared thence; further, the entry wound herein occurred in a much more compromisingly caudal area. For certain, the enterprising operative was anal retentive before this incident; his rear never retained as much material as it so did in this gruesomely gnarly instant, though.
And yet no one there, even awful-American-accented Danny's desire trophy Terry, really bemoaned the fact then…just as no one seemed to even notice that Traveres in the mainstream movie was more stuck-up than usual after the show's climax.
What it was here to make karma come down properly upon O'Neill herein was that, perhaps more openly than the love affair was allegedly publicized in Live Wire, here everyone in the Columbian District knew of the lurid overt dickishness of which this lead action dude was capable. Danny even managed to make the villains who would vaporize the capital itself look more likeable, or at least less unlikeable in stark contrast. Forsooth, for a couple of instances, how endearing was the devious Danster when his extracurricular hobbies including relentlessly researching dirt to get at his opponent in amour, then stalking with unquenchable temper his spouse and the senator on the hourly…then having the gall to gush tears at his wife when she visited him at his separatee loft, lacrimal deposits more cloyingly toxic then any anti-United-States scientist's aquatic catalysts of cataclysm.
Considering as well the assassin Al-Red at the Traveres-helmed charity event, wherein the enemy had been so disguised as a painted children's performer; honestly in this author's estimation, between the malevolent insurgent and the obnoxious O'Neill, one of them was an asshat clown prone to exploding…the other, a terrorist in the evil employ of Mikhail Rashid.
Fortunately for the foppish fool who headlined this vapid yet vicious coil of celluloid, his meh-faced maiden Terry had taken Danny back, leaving Senator Traveres quite unfortunately to his own manual devices at least for a time. Also here, again at least, the latter was fucking alive in this version, though, in place of where he was at end of this work which followed The Last Boy Scout, True Romance, and other films in soulless pursuit of action at expense of dignity of various hapless characters.
(And this author did a story on the latter of those two films as well on this site, also there in particular to mollify the basically X-Rated level of violence that occurred to ease his mind as well as hopefully that of many other readers now).
At any rate herein the overly haughty hero meandered with effort over to his super-sized supervisor, who had an impromptu job for him.
"She asked for you personally. Of course, we made accommodation for what you've got going on out back."
It was that fresh-faced femme from the beginning and end of this most abhorrent tour-de-force, she once again behind the wheel and apparently above a camera placed by a person of somewhat questionable qualities. In order to extricate the extramaritally-angsting princess from her predicament, as before now Danny would have to dally underfoot and again compare the colors of the wires of plastique to the hues of the varieties of panties that the lady was wearing. Because this was acceptable and professional protocol for a virtuous officer of the law such as himself.
Luckily the Feds were fortunate enough to run across an excavation crew en route through the city, after they were commissioned to dig out victims of a recent incident involving detonating Ssips pouches. Certainly this would be the next assignment for this impulsive shitbag of a hero who regularly accomplished such feats of derring-douche.
(Not that this author has a problem with like Pierce Brosnan or anything either, honestly; in fact, having known someone close by who has lacked a father for most of his life, this author appreciates Brosnan's recounting one time of how he met his own father who abandoned him at birth; also this author ordered Season One of Remington Steele recently, and not out of any like man crush on Brosnan and all here so stop).
After then creating a crater into which the devilish Danny could so settle, given the length and enormity of pointy partisan fence still protruding unremovably from his consummately pompous ass, he set down to assisting the young lady regarding this most recent crisis now, he still maintaining his cocky freewheeling attitude all the way even despite being oblivious to the fact that the wayward waif was going on a date with Frank Traveres later on (and that the two of them would be proceed from thence more happily ever after than the onerous O'Neills).
What made the precarious pickle more palatable for the dastard defuser this time around was the incoming news that Terry was to be expecting, and thus to be emitting something into the world that was far healthier than the all-consuming fiery blasts that so many officials in Washington were made to whirl out recently.
Danny couldn't help but crack a smile between glances at his customer's underwear.
"Boy or girl?"
"The doctor said that given your…condition…it's going to be a stegosaurus. He's not kidding about that either."
Managing the leeriest of grimaces then, O'Neill eventually severed the appropriate wire, worked his way out from under the fraught former floozy's automobile and, rather than run up the avenues of the capital as he did at the close of his action-packed opus, hobbled along as quickly as he could with the wrought-iron train still protruding from the aperture in his posterior and trailing in tow against the poor concrete of the national capital.