“Looks like I win this round, boy,” Dick said to the [Rizzenator] terminator that pretended to be a girl, showing off the Rizz he’d accumulated. It was Sir Rizznatchulous’ idea to charge customers not only in Buttcoin, but in Rizz as well. Dick was skeptical, but people were only too happy to pay extra for his burgers. In just a few short hours, he’d accumulated a vast amount of Rizz.

  “Sixty-nine thousand Rizz!?” the [Rizzenator] exclaimed, blushing in rage, but with its skeletal chrome face, it just looked downright creepy. “That’s impossible! It’s unfair!”

  She—it—only had 69,069 Rizz.

  “Life’s unfair, kid,” Dick said. “Just ask O.J.”

  “I’m not a kid!” The skeletal-framed murder machine replied.

  “You literally said you were a ten year old.”

  “Y-yeah? Well, talk to the hand!” the terminator said, holding a palm out.

  “So do I get the Falling Turtle?”

  “Tortoise. Falling Tortoise,” the cross-dressing [Rizzenator] said.

  “Same thing. Conspiracy theorists keep insisting there’s something different about ‘em, but there isn’t,” Dick said smugly.

  “Uh, Dick? I’m pretty sure one lives underwater and the other’s primarily terrestrial,” Greg corrected.

  “Wrong. That’s what the conspiracy theorists want you to think. Just like the moon landing. How can you land on the moon when the earth is flat? Trust me, I’m a pro.”

  “Riiiight. Yeah. Okay. Gotcha.” Greg said slowly edging away from Dick.

  “What’s wrong? You look like I’ve got BROVID-69. Bro.”

  “Hey! I’m still here! Don’t ignore me!” the murder machine governer said, pointing a hand accusingly at Dick.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “So? What’ll it take to win this [Falling Tortoise]?”

  “One punch.”

  “What?”

  “We punch each other at the same time. Whoever dies is the loser.”

  “Kay,” Dick replied, stretching his arm. “But don’t blame me for hitting a little girl.”

  “I’m not a little girl!” the machine replied.

  “Well, good.”

  Tumbleweeds blew across the road between them as the classic western dueling song suddenly started playing. Dick looked up to see a [Cryptobro] with an eighties japanese boombox on the second floor of a building, though he couldn’t say when he’d arrived.

  Dick nodded to the [Cryptobro] with respect. The [Cryptobro] flashed a peace sign back.

  “Now hang on just a minute,” Greg exclaimed. “You’re fighting to the death! To the death! Didn’t you hear it? Her. Whatever.”

  “I must concur,” their [Rizzly Bear] guide said.

  “You’re still here?” Dick asked. “Totally forgot about you.”

  “Yeah, same,” Greg said. “Why’s this guy even here? He seems like a totally unnecessary character the author added to the party—oh. Right. That’s a trope, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed, it is, I’m afraid,” Ser Rizznatchulous replied.

  “So?” Dick asked, addressing his new mortal enemy. “I ain’t got all day. We doin’ this or not? Gotta warn you, I throw a mean jab.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry, I can take whatever you’re about to dish out. You can’t possibly hope to defeat the likes of me, who has ended more challengers than you could possibly rizzmagine. I, who am the fairest Rizzgainer in town! Me! The gloriously beautiful [Rizzenator]—!?”

  Dick didn’t wait. He moved in and threw a light jab. Several things happened at once. For one, a shockwave formed from the compressed air of Dick’s punch. The compressed air superheated, triggering a spontaneous combustion explosion. Detonating at point-blank range, the blast traveled from its epicenter, leveling the nearby buildings.

  But none felt the force of his punch more than the cross-dressing Skynet-built murder machine, which was sent flying all the way to outer space, disappearing with a “Kyaaaaaaaaa.”

  “Huh,” Dick said, shaking off the impact. “Didn’t expect her to be so weak. Gotta make sure I don’t punch any more little girls in the future.”

  Greg held his starry head in his hands. “There’s so much wrong with this, I don’t even know where to begin.”