Chapter 5: In which Morty discovers his secret power.

Morty had an indestructible face.


Morty fell 6 feet and 8 inches from the ceiling to the ground and moved to a swan dive when his arms cleared the window. Morty landed face first and the rest of his body stood rigid while his face absorbed the impact. There was a water like ripple across his figure, as his frame relaxed and fell splayed against the wall.


Morty stood up, smiled and put on his fancy suit.


“I love it when there is the goodness of an activated idea which is properly executed!”


Morty was utterly unaware of the fact that he had just smashed into the ground like a pasty javelin. He didn't even have a nosebleed.


To explain this, we should rely on that hallowed device of good writing: the flashback of a flashback!


The time: Earlier.

The place: Morty's childhood.


Morty was an unpleasantly plain child, a rural school boy with an utterly contemptable love for potato chips and pumpkin pie. One day, when he was a school boy walking home, he accidentally ran into a power hammer which smashed him in the face. Like all other weakling children, he screamed in terror, but unlike the puny mini-humans, he didn't cry. The hammer had collided with the ample cartilidge in his nose and his baby human bones being soft, they shaped his sinus cavities into perfect resonance with the shape of Morty's body being smashed. In an even unlikelier coincidence, the resonance was so perfect that it would match Morty no matter what happened to him, be it young, old, fat, skinny, or ... oh, maybe dismembered.


After running into the power hammer, Morty was dazed and discombobulated. He stumbled errantly for a few frantic seconds, and all of his criminal contractor roofer neighbors came running up with pre-forged accident wavers.


“Hey kid, are you legal, I dont see you on the time sheet, you're names Timmy, right? We have your waiver right here, we aren't liable.”


Thats really what contractors are like.


“Gee Mister! Im Alright! What do you mean?” Morty said innocently with a shining smile that reminded the contractor why he hit Morty in the face with the power hammer to begin with.


“Ah, you're OK, good. Well, don't come back, but if I see you later I still have your waiver on fire”.


He was foreign. He meant “file”.


Morty turned and ran towards his unpleasantly plain home, sinuses a whistlin away with their indestructability. As he rounded the corner of Margot and Sevillion, an enormous furry claw gripped his shirt striped with alternating red and crimson 114 pico width stripes.


The face was a rotting furry blue visage, it was an eleven point three foot werewolf zombie.


“Young one, hear me now! I am the representative of the fifth house of Solbars who gather on the fourth duction of Trimont. We, of the Carosel, We of the Meat Cart, We of the Disicples of the Combine have been seeking you. We are the ones who errod the beckoning of the Haunted Gypsies, We of the Turbulent Cornfold, We, alone, the keepers of the Lone Shard of the Wolverhamptonians, the Almighty Bearers of the Crest of the Vaunted Shiirens of His Most Exaltedly Prone Mightiness of the Temple of Larent. We come to you.”


“We, the Harbingers of Doom, the Alchemists of Genocide, the Bloodfists of Eternal Whorehouse Abortions, Drinkers of the Soulless Orphans, Relentless Batterer of the Helpless. We have come for you!”


“Gee Mister! I'm alright! What do you mean?”


The werewolf bared its zombie teeth, and would have blinked its glowing yellow eyes, if they hadn't rotted off on account of him being a zombie. He tightened his grip around Morty such that his claws were closing in and sharpening themselves. He drew the passively alert Morty to his clenched teeth blocking the hardcore fucking bad breath that a fucking zombie werewolf has. Seriously? I mean, people live in shit, dogs eat shit, werewolves are somewhere in-between, and zombies are like that combined with a rat that died in your walls 3 weeks ago.


“You could be the one to open the gates of darkness on humanity, your malleability, your demeanor, your indestructible face. With our help, you could rule the world!”


(more capitalization follows)


“Gosh Mister, You Sure Seem Nice. What Do You Mean?”


“You Could Rule the World?”


“Whats That?”


“What We're Standing On.”


“Dog Shit?”


The zombie werewolf looked down. He was apparently incontinent from being too recent a zombie.


“Besides That! Everything?”


“What Do You Mean?”


“Anything! Havn't You Ever Wanted Anything?”


“Well,” little Morty thought “I Always Wanted A Big Picture Of Jesus On My Window.”


The zombie werewolf clutched a little harder. A small drop of werewolf venom oozed between his front canines. All werewolf teeth are canines, in case you didn't know.




“A Big Picture. Big Enough To Cover A Big Window, Mister. The Bigger The Better. I Want People To Cry When They See It Because It Is Bigger Than Their Window Jesus. I Also Want Success.”


“We Can Do That. Anything Else?”


“I Have To Do Right, Mister Werewolf.”


“Do Right? What About the Giant Picture of Jesus?”


“Thats Different. That's For the Window.”


Then the werewolf zombie punched him in the face. But his face was already indestructible from the power hammer.


“Ahhhh The Power!” screamed the zombie werewolf, “Now I Must Retreat From The Twilight Until The Guy Writing This Runs Out Of Ideas Again!”


Morty landed feet-first on the ground. Dazed, but unphased. he smiled shinily and made his way home.


To the egress:

The Time: The Last Flashback

The Place: The Last Flashback


Morty found himself resettled in his fancy suit. He picked up his keys from his nicely crocheted counter key holder, and re-locked the door on his way out. On the way to his mailbox, passed his two struggler neighbors discussing their future fortune in movie making:


“.. it ends at the clown head store. They walk in and the old lady behind the counter is just eyeing them, she just gives off a low groan any time they come close to touching something. Then they go to the counter and see that she's had her vocal cords ripped out, she pulls out a scrap of paper and writes down “EXEUNT”, and goes into an asthma attack ...”



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