That
afternoon, as Long (and boring) TomHill paid a visit to his friendly wine
merchant to pick up his latest order of Peachy Keen White Zinfandel, the two
thugs waited in ambush outside, whilst "Smoot" watched from his
Strangler SRV in a parking lot across the street. When Long (and boring) TomHill made his way out of the
establishment, Mofo and Jujube leveled blows with what they called their
"ugly sticks" that would have laid low a buffalo, but as was the case
with Bernie Rothschild, their quarry was too fast for them.
He sensed the threat and ducked quickly, even with the case of wine
under his left arm. Like some
slapstick buffoons, Mofo and Jujube took each other out instead of their
intended victim; however, as he dropped like stocks on a bad day at Nasdaq,
Mofo fell hard into the left knee of Long (and boring) TomHill, doing a very
creditable, if unintentional, imitation of a cheap-shot Dallas Cowboys chop
block.
Long
(and boring) TomHill went down with a howl of pain. Within minutes, an ambulance had sped him off to hospital,
leaving "Smoot" Hawley filled with ecstatic jubilation.
He had succeeded! His Nemesis was crippled and removed from the picture for
that evening's competition.
"Smoot"
Hawley drove off howling like an oilrig yahoo in a B Street bordello, secure in
the knowledge that his moment of glory was finally at hand.
That
evening, "Smoot" logged on to Ronin Bowl, supremely confidant that
only three would be competing in what was billed as "The Final Fourplay ®,"
a roll off between the top four Smurf Bowlers in all of Cyberia.
With Long (and boring) TomHill out of action, these other two were
little or no threat to him. Now it
was only a matter of time and technique.
He
looked at his monitor and saw the names of the other two competitors.
From Sonapanoma, there was Billy Bree Bob, who despite suffering serious
neurological damage recently at the hands of a band of insidious Waxy Winged
Shape Shifters, had miraculously developed savant-like Smurf Bowling skills
to compensate. And then, there was Fat Fredo, the cigar-chomping know-it-all
from New York. Both were good,
they were damned good; but neither was a match for "Smoot" Hawley.
Like
any good game program, there is a chat feature included in Smurf Bowling, and
"Smoot" Hawley used it to wish Billy Bree Bob and Fat Fredo the
nearest thing to good luck that he could muster. "Have fun fighting over 2nd, you two," he typed,
"'cause 1st Place is MINE!!!"
"Kiss
my rusty butt," Fredo shot back, putting on a brave face. "Billy Bree
Bob, that's me," was all that B-Cubed had to say. 
The
clock was ticking . . .
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