Who Saves Canada

Little Short Story Comedy

The alarm squeaks out an awful version of twinkle twinkle little star. He rolls out of bed and slips on his Star Wars slippers. They match the Star Wars pajamas he is wearing. With a hazy view he fumbles around on his desk locating his glasses. Without them he is practically blind. Next stop is the bathroom. His black Batman electric toothbrush bristles his teeth for exactly ninety seconds. Once the blue foam is done dripping from his mouth, he looks in the mirror. It appears as if his hair is on fire. It poofs in all directions. Some might call it bed head, but that’s always how it looks. The rest of his body looks dull in comparison to his brilliant hair. Standing at 5 foot 4 inches and 90 pounds, his stature is miniature. In fact, he hasn’t grown since the 3^rd grade. He was most likely the biggest 3^rd grader in all of Canada. The whole school had a crush on him, even the dudes. But time moved on and he became shorter and shorter in comparison to his classmates, and the girls became less and less interested in him. By the time senior year rolled around he was the smallest kid in the school. All at once he flexes his poor excuse for muscles and screams, “My names is Skippy Mcskips!”

            The Black Keys rage across the newly equipped Bose Sound System. He rolls out of bed and slips on a pair of underwear. He stumbles across the room still a little drunk from the night before. There is a movement in his bed. He looks in confusion as a beautiful naked girl looks up at him. She moves her long blonde hair out of her face and says, “Good morning Brock Steele.” He ignores her. In order to prevent the hangover, he opens up a Dos Equis. The most interesting man in the world does not impress him because honestly, Brock Steele could kick his a*s. In a country full of sissies, Brock Steele is no sissy. His modernized house is too big. After 5 minutes of walking, he reaches the bathroom. An escalator would be nice he thinks to himself. The beer pours down the tiny bristles of his toothbrush. He then proceeds to brush his teeth. What Brock Steele lacks in smarts, he makes up for in pure strength. His muscles seem as if they’ll explode out of his skin any second now. Shotgun shells wrap around his right bicep. Each shell represents a kill. There are 25 total. A loud obnoxious beeping comes over the sound system. As he taps the button on the wall a women’s voice booms through his house. “Your next mission has begun, check your blackberry for details.” Then her voice disappears as fast as it came.

            Skippy pours himself a bowl of his favorite cereal, cheerios. Without milk of course because he’s lactose intolerant. He turns on the news while his mouth is stuffed with food. Only about half of the little brown loops make it into his mouth. The rest end up on the already dirtied carpet. “Pick up your mess Skippy,” yells his mother. He wonders why he still lives with his parents, but where else would he live. Skippy has no job and no money but he wants so badly to do something with his life. Luckily for him, he has a job interview in 15 minutes at Canadabank. He hops on his baby blue moped and slowly skitters into downtown Toronto. He’s in awe as he pulls into the bank. Canadabank is the largest building in Toronto towering 200 stories over the city. He has always wondered what the top floor consists of. His guess is it’s a huge vault. Successful looking men speed in and out of the revolving door. Their expensive black suits make Skippy feel underdressed in his faded brown suit. He walks shyly into the main lobby and the receptionist tells him to sit and wait. While waiting he notices an all black escalade with heavily tinted windows pull up outside. One window slightly rolls down and Skippy sees a man with a black mask. “Sir, proceed to the conference room on the 175^th floor for your interview,” says the receptionist. She’s cute. He wanted to acknowledge this fact but was far too scared. Flirting was for the confident kind, not Skippy. He slides into the elevator still thinking about the man in the mask. He wonders if that was real or just his imagination playing tricks on him. As he gets lost in his thoughts he realizes he still has to press the 175 button. The elevator begins to move upwards. It hums along smoothly for what seems like forever. Then suddenly it slams to a halt. The red emergency button flashes signaling an emergency stop. As Skippy ponders what the emergency could be it hits him, the black masks weren’t his imagination. The bank is being robbed. He spots a small door on the ceiling of the elevator. Luckily it automatically opens during emergencies. Unfortunately for Skippy, he is not tall enough to reach it. After several embarrassing jumps towards the ceiling he comes up with a better idea. He quickly takes his belt off. As he leaps toward the ceiling his belt extends over the exit door and hooks on a miscellaneous object. After checking to make sure the belt was taut, Skippy begins to climb the belt. He attacks the rope with surprising ease. The belt snaps and falls right. His fingers however, are already clenched to the ceiling door. A fiery of hair burst through the opening and onto the roof of the elevator. It’s dark but something doesn’t feel right. A look of embarrassment crosses Skippy’s face as he realizes that whitey tighties are the only thing covering his man parts. He peers down the gaping elevator hole and spots his ugly brown trousers along with his broken belt. It’s too late now. Skippy must go on without them. The elevator stopped right below the 170^th floor. With a simple jump he exits the gloomy shaft and enters the bright hallway.

            Brock Steele scrolls through his blackberry with anger. A bank robbery is taking place in Toronto. He hates missions like this. Bank robberies are for the police, not the best agent in Canada. He throws his blackberry down and smacks his huge veiny hand on a blue scanner. The door opens and Brock lets out a sly smile. This is his favorite room. The walls are hung with all sorts of weapons and equipment. He proceeds to slip on a bulletproof vest and black tactical apparel. He slides his eyes across the weapons feeling for the right one. The second his eyes meet the Barrett REC7 he smiles once again. This is his favorite gun. His hand rubs up against the cold aluminum until he feels the bump. The small dent next to the trigger is from a bullet. This was the closet a bullet had ever come to him. As he slings the gun over his shoulder, he changes his mind. This mission is too easy. He slams the powerful Barrett REC7 down and picks up a small Browning Combat Knife.  He reaches the helicopter on the roof and hops in. The trees wave as the blade spins with precision and speed.  As the helicopter rises, Brock looks over the beautiful Canadian country and hocks a loogie onto the ground.

            Standing in front of the elevator shaft in his underwear, Skippy feels pretty exposed. Luckily for him it seems that nobody really works this high in the building. He looks around and assesses the situation. What are the robbers trying to get at? Obviously they want money. Where are they going to get it? Suddenly the elevator shoots downwards. Skippy looks at the monitor above the door. It says the elevator is going to the first floor. Once it arrives there is a long hold. With concentration Skippy keeps his eyes on the monitor. Then it reads one number, 200. Thoughts go flying through his head. Then it all makes sense. The robbers are going to floor 200 for a reason. Off he goes, racing down the hall towards the emergency stairs.

            Brock flies out of the helicopter before it lands. He hits the roof then rolls. Now he’s back to his feet and sprinting towards the door on the roof. When he hits the door it’s ripped right off its hinges. To Brock’s surprise the door lands on top a man. He then plows through four more men on his way to the staircase. Brock’s mission is to get to the lobby, stop the robbers, and save the civilians. Now he’s sprinting down the stairs. After every flight there is a new number. Now he’s at 190. He had to get to floor 170 quick. He only had enough rope to repel from there. A red blur flies past him. Brock turns around and yells, “What are you doing?” The scrawny red head replied with one word, “Up.” Brock whispers under is breathe, “F*****g loser.” Then he proceeds to trample down the stairs skipping five steps each time. The number 150 flashes in front of his eyes. He ties a black rope to the stairs and jumps.

            Skippy reaches floor 200 and topples to the ground. Fighting through his struggling breaths, Skippy reaches into his pocket for an inhaler. He feels relieved after the cool air rushes into his lungs. There are four men lying on the ground. That is not including the man underneath the door. His eyes are wide with horror. Are these dead men? He then spots two more things. A huge hole is carved into the wall with money pouring out. Next to the green pile of money is the receptionist with her hands tied behind her back and a blindfold over her eyes. Skippy sprints to her side and unties her hands. She tears off her blindfold to reveal tears with mascara dripping down her face. She throws herself around Skippy with gratitude. He looks confused but goes along with it not knowing what else to do. “You saved my life,” she cries. Then there lips collide with power leaving lipstick smudges all over his freckly face.