A Guy in an Alien Suit Extinguishing a Flaming Alien Robot

Purportedly the first element of the universe, Claspy rang the doorbell at the Hong Saloon and sat back to catch on fire. Man Slave rang the doorbell again, hoping Claspy would see the penguins racing for the bar for the sushi shots. I don’t know why both felt the need to catch fire or reboot the Hong Intranet from the server’s point of view. The event log showed no fires scheduled for that week, nor showed a backup of the doorbell login data for Claspy or Man Slave. The duel started. Pistol shots sang tunes pinging around the mirror face; fires roared through the stalls in the server room bathroom. I hit the ceiling. Nice to see you again, I said to Claspy. His pistol popped open and the charge connected via USB. His downloads resumed at faster speeds than Man Slave’s. Claspy was stumbling on fire; the next time we had him planted in the yard for the feast of Moses; this wasn’t the foggiest hour that night. Piles of Blu-rays were set for the mobiles; junk files aren’t anyone in the Hong’s specialty. The shotgun came out; Man Slave whipped it from my hands, showing teeth he’d found in the corner stuck with goo to the modem. I lunged for the plug; the drive ejected but the burn had failed. We ran for more discs and caught several patrons fleeing with sushi shots. That wasn’t part of the deal, Claspy said, falling over finally hot. Man Slave felt around in his pocket for the Holy Water. It was gone!  I fished around and found eight dripping Unagi Maki; it was enough! I threw on my Jetto suit from the purse pack and got ready. Claspy bellowed, “Alrighteeee!” We knew his mom was coming. The Maki splattered everywhere, but Claspy went out. That was the first time I decided to join up. A year later, I rang at the Hong again; it had gone entirely bourgeois.