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One of Three
Topic Started: Aug 10 2010, 10:32 AM (6,522 Views)
MK Kilmarnock
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Behold, in a world where those with their ribs showing are plagued by muscled villainy! Woe betide the hungry and the famished, unable to put up a struggle to feed themselves! This world holds but ONE hero...

Look, up there, in the sky! Is it a cumulonimus cloud?

It is a sumo wrestler launced by a trebuchet?

Is it the Hindenburg, back from the Zeppelin graveyard?

Is it a total solar eclipse?

No... it is none of those things, for it is... LARDASS MAN! Fighting for adipose tissue and the right to be well fed to the point of severe obesity, no health food or exercise gurus are a match for him! He's slower than a speeding glacier, softer than a pile of jelly donuts, and able to leap several blades of grass in a single bound! Rejoice, for... Lardass man is HERE!


With a choking, gurgling cough, Craig Hoyle woke up from his dream to hear a shattering of glass.

Craig Hoyle, Male Student no. 083 Start

The sun... it was way too bright. Waaaaaaay too bright. Craig squinted his eyes shut as he struggled to sit up, putting a tremendous strain on his chest. This wasn't anything too unusual, though. It was with a great deal of shame that Craig was never able to bend very much, as his chest literally would end up getting blocked by his belly. Yeah, touching his toes in gym class was always a nightmare. At least the gym teachers always stood his story of having a glandular problem.

Unfortunately, the lack of this ability was coming back to bite Craig in the ass. If he were any more coherent, he might have mumbled 'I'm falling and I can't get up!'. It came out as something more along the lines of 'grbbph... beeeghaaa!', his grunts and groans coinciding with his efforts to roll onto this side and push himself up that way. His arms screamed at him, for the sake of all that was holy and even moderately in shape, for him to stop. Craig was notortiously stubborn in his waking moments, though, and manged to at least get his knees under him. Good. That was a good first step.

Craig tried to take in where he was, but his vision was blurred, still. Where were his glasses? Still on his hands and knees, he pawed and groped all over the ground, looking for them. He couldn't see anything with his glasses, and he knew it. A few minutes later, there were still no glasses, and Craig groaned again at the revelation that he might be stuck with just sitting in the front today at school. But if he was in the front, then everybody could look at his rolls, and how much of him hung over the chair and desk. If that happened...

Craig brought his hands to his face in anguish, only to feel two things. First, his wrist pressed against some drool, partially dried and caked around his mouth. Gross. More importantly, however, he felt a bit of cold metal, unmistakable rims...

His glasses had been on his face the whole time.

Feeling a little sheepish, Craig wiped away at his mouth to rid himself of the irritating drool, and began the careful process of standing up. Slowly, sloooowly... he nearly got off of one of his knees before a wave of wooziness, bordering on nausea, set in. Shit... that wasn't good. Craig slammed his hands back down to grip at the dirt, and he began to cough and hack. He aimed to feel like Superman, but was feeling a bit more like Professor X after a beatdown by the Juggernaut. A few moments later, however, the waves passed, and Craig finally found himself on his feet, though he wobbled a bit.

He now had to figure out just where the hell he was. He wasn't nearly awake enough to comprehend the current situation, much less worry about it. There were... some piles of dirt around him, and once he managed to crane his neck down, a duffle-bag looking thing with 'B083' stenciled into it. Looked kind of homely, but something in Craig's mind told him that this was his. Or, if it wasn't his, he could at least hold on to it. Kneeling down and putting all of his strength into the one leg that poised to push off, Craig grabbed the back, took a deep breath, and stood up.

Shit, this thing's heavy! ... No... I'm the juggernaut, I can do this... come on, come on!

Craig muttered more incoherent babble that was supposed to match up with his mental mantra, and he slowly began to walk forward. He didn't really know where he was going at the moment, but his vision was clearing up, and that building nearby looked promising. He could finish waking up in there, where it wasn't so bright. And itchy. But mostly bright.

After getting his goal in mind, he lowered his head, averting his eyes away from the sun. As he navigated through the torn up terrain, he found a body on the ground. Even in his half-awake state, his legs got a bit weak at first. Was he... dead?

No... no, he's breathing. Silly! Why would there be a dead body out here?

Craig took a moment to carefully observe the boy, watching the telltale signs of life. Yeah, his back was definitely rising and falling a little. Not dead, but sort of looked it... about as beat as he was just a few moments ago. Oh... w-wait, that's Trent! Ha... Trent's passed out... don't wanna wake him, though... Craig thought to himself, figuring waking anybody up at any time was usually a bad idea. Taking another deep breath to concentrate, he lifted a foot up, leaned forward, and stepped over the sleeping boy. His other foot was close to follow, and he was free to continue walking to the strange, cabin-like-building just a hop, skip, and sleepy, lurching walk away.
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Craig had finally managed to lumber all the way to the strange building, but things still weren't right. Maybe it was because he couldn't find a door, or maybe it was the whole 'the world is still spinning deal'. Oh yeah, it was spinning, and spinning something fierce. The overweight boy teetered to the left and to the right before directing his heft over to the wall. He intended to lean on an outretched arm, but his quivering limb couldn't hold even standing weight, and his shoulder crashed into the wooden structure.

"Ugh..." Craig moaned, turning himself so his back was resting square against the buidling. The world still seemed to want to spin and blur like a bad piece of modern art (he never really was a fan of that). To combat the swirling, Giygas-esque trip, Craig simply closed his eyes.

Wait... if you do that, then you can't see the people that are here with you.

You know. The kids trying to kill you.


Craig's eyes shot open. Of course something was wrong, this wasn't home! This definitely wasn't St. Paul, and it probably wasn't even Minnesota! Those men... those men had... oh man, Stan Lee couldn't come up with ANYTHING as fucked up as this!

Craig might have voice those words aloud just to hear himself talk, but once he opened his mouth, he felt the tell-tale bump in his throat. Instinct forced him to turn his side from the building and use the wall as suppport as he puked all over the ground. The initial stream of vomit was pumped out with enough force to at least not get all over himself. As it began to slow down, Craig tilted his head out a bit more, gagging. The goopy, smelly substance had formed a small puddle at Craig's feet, luckily having missed the daypack he had dropped just a short ways away.

The show hadn't quite reached its dryheaving finale, however, and this was something Craig had to learn the hard way. Just when he was about to lift his head back up, he was forced back into leaning over, squeezing out a smaller stream of vomit. His throat then locked up a few times in a series of painful spasms until his belly decided that it was empty enough, and the boy was allowed to stand.

Ooooh man... seen better days, that's for sure. So... so this is seriously it, huh? That meeting... Craig tried to look around, and was happy to see that the world was more receptive to being gazed at. He reached out and down to try and snatch up his daypack, averting his eyes from the gross, lumpy and orange pile of sludge on the ground (what the hell did he eat?). It was still sort of heavy, and despite his massive size, Craig sucked at that... but at least most of the wooziness wore off. Leaning into the wall to sling the pack onto his shoulder, Craig was about to try and look for a way in when his ear, pressed clear to the wall, received something.

A voice? It was really difficult to make out, but... a female voice.
Craig stayed put, listening to it, and only it.
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The words coming from inside the building were too faint to actually discern, but they were there, that was for sure. As unpleasant as his session of solid, technicolor yawning had just been, it did at least serve one positive function (besides possibly repelling those who dared come near), and Craig was rapidly becoming aware of it. In fact, it was his alertness itself that he could credit to his puking, since hurling your guts out does wonders to wake somebody up. He gave a quick look to the orange-ish puddle before deciding that staring at it too long could make him gag (and it smelled raunchy to boot), so Craig leveled his head once more, leaning himself against the building.

The voices were a reminder of the life that was on the island. In a certain way, this really was as though his class was on a field trip. A very, very dark field trip, but he hadn't seen any violence yet. Craig had faith in his classmates; they made fun of people, sure, and they had heckled him a lot. They could do some pretty low things. However, even understanding all of this, he just couldn't see any one of them killing another, because that's just not something kids do. It's something supervillains do, it's stuff that even a few of the nuttier superheroes do, but generally not kids. He knew he couldn't do it... he just knew.

Seeing as he hadn't encounted a single concious student yet, Craig decided that he'd have to figure out a way to enter the 'house' that he was leaning against and converse with whoever was inside. He was sure they weren't playing, maybe they were chatting it up and discussing survival! Yeah, sounded pretty cool! But the door wasn't on this side, so he'd have to walk around and find it. With his alertness and ability to think coherently once more, however, Craig was stuck with the recurring memories of what had happened not so long ago...

He had to repress it for now. Craig may not have been the sharpest set of cleats on the field, but he was always able to either shrug little things off or, in the event of trauma that was far too deep to just ignore, he could soak it up and keep it deep inside. If he wanted to have any chance of keeping it together and not imagining a bunch of little yellow text boxes whenever he thought (if that happened, there was a definite problem), Craig would have to do what JJ Sturn taught him to do so well during football practice: Suck it up.

"Suck it up, Hoyle!"

"SUCK IT UP!"


Craig winced when he imagined his captain barking at him so... so vividly. He pulled his ear away from the cabin to go searching for the door when the crunches of feet on dirt alerted him to somebody coming towards the building from the same way Craig had just come from. The large boy turned to put his back against the exterior wall of the cabin, seeing... Trent!

Well, damn, he had nearly forgotten about him!

"Hey, bud... you have a nice nap?" Craig said, still slurring his speech a little. His mind was awake, but his mouth had yet to catch up.
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"... Trent? Bud?"

Craig could only stare, dumbfounded, at the boy that had passed out right in his arms. For lack of a better term, the situation was terribly awkward. Trent had woken up from his little nap, and that was a good thing. The blood all over his face was something of a bad sign, though (and now it was getting all over Craig's shirt. Yuck. It was hard to find shirts in this size!). "What are we doing here..." Craig groaned, allowing the cabin behind him to support his and Trent's weight, because he sure as hell didn't feel like doing it at the moment. There was too much to think about for something as difficult as standing.

The boy waded through the thick pool of sludge in his mind, separating reality from the drug that had yet to completely disappear from his veins. Unless the school trip involved waking up somewhere random and then meeting up with the rest of the class to party, this wasn't the school trip. "Where are we..." Craig muttered to Trent, who he hoped wasn't suffocating against the pile of dough he dared call a chest. He hoped Trent could wake up and miraculously offer some sort of all-knowing answer, but wasn't that wishful thinking at its finest?

Last time Craig was awake, what happened?

There was a gunshot. A lot of gunshots actually. Craig had the misfortune of being taller than nearly all of the students of Bayview (minus that Imraan guy; Craig wished he could have that sort of height without being morbidly obese). There was nothing obstructing his vision from watching what had happened, even though he was closer to the back. He had looked away, though, before the deed was done.

People had died, hadn't they? They were really dead. It was one thing to see Superman die, to watch Gwen Stacy's neck snap, to witness Deadpool's numerous 'deaths', to watch Magneto be ripped apart in that one issue of Marvel Zombies. Craig's teachers weren't characters in a comic book. They were all people he genuinely cared about.

The lump in his throat returned with full force, and Craig dry heaved a little, but there was nothing left in his belly to puke up, luckily for Trent. "I'm not... no, no no... I'm not..." The realization had finally begun to set in, but Craig did all he could not to fall to rock bottom. "I'm not doing this. This is stupid, this... so stupid..." He looked down to the smaller boy once more. It would be so easy to just push Trent down, and... who knows, maybe jump up and down on him a little. The idea of murder was just so alienating, and... that's all it was. Murder. Killing Trent would be murder. Killing captain Sturn would be murder. Killing Reika - Craig momentarily smiled as he remembered her pretty face - that would be murder. It didn't matter how mean they were to him, even Rachel and Meredith... killing was killing.

It was impossible. Abhorrent. Craig wasn't a villain.

"Let's... let's get you inside, buddy!" Craig wondered how the hell he was going to do accomplish this mission, with both his daypack and Trent to carry, but he had to do it. If he managed to find the door to this place and get Trent inside, he could set him down, maybe find some food. Craig's stomach growled a little. Ugh... typical fat kid, Craig. Don't worry, once we get him inside, maybe... oh man, they... if those jerks took my cakes, they're gonna pay! His mind immediately flew to the stash of peanut butter bars, ring-dings, twinkies, and cupcakes that he had taken with him in his backpack, just in case the food he was served on the trip happened to suck. He hadn't even looked in the daypack he had been given, but it was alien to him. It could have a year's supply of little debbies and hostess snacks, or probably just bread and water... wouldn't that be cruel.

"O.. Okay!" Craig grunted, pushing off of the wall. He set Trent against the wall where he was leaning, letting him slide into a sitting position (unless he happened to wake up), and stretched his arm out for the ugly daypack on the ground. His fingers fumbled and groped, just inches from the strap, until they managed to reach the strip of plastic. Okay, so now he had both Trent and the daypack... so far, so good. Craig grunted and pulled in his arm, reeling in the bag until he could resituate his grip, slinging it onto his shoulder. It was just as heavy as always.

Yeah, this is going to SUCK.

Craig brought the strap to the other side of his neck so it wouldn't come off, then put both of his arms around Trent's body, looping under the boy's underarms so he could carry him that way; he couldn't really think of a better way to do it. Step by agonizingly stressful step, Craig lifted and dragged the boy around the station. Thankfully, it didn't seem that big, and he rounded the first corner fairly quickly. He looked... no door. Cursing under his breath, Craig continued dragging Trent along the length of the wall, hoping that the next one had a door.

Whatever god happened to be watching his plight (Craig hoped it was Thor) had taken a liking to the boy's struggles. Trent was little, at least compared to himself, but he had grown so goddamn heavy between where Craig had started and his trip to the second corner, but at least this wall had a door. Scooting and shuffling over to it, Craig pressed Trent against him with one arm and tried the handle. It seemed to turn, but pushing on the door didn't do anything. He slammed against it, trying again... nothing.

"Hey... hey, is anybody in there?" Craig shouted, using both hands to hold Trent again. He was sure he remembered hearing voices inside the building before. "Open up, it's Craig! Is anybody in there!?"
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"Huh? What the-"

Craig's face was struck by the words of the girl on the other side of that door. Particularly striking was the mention of his own name, which made the harsh refusal all the more personal. Sure, with so much stress pouring down on him at the moment what with the situation as a whole, plus Trent's weight leaning on him (as if Craig didn't have enough weight on his own), it was easy to be offended. But just... the bitterness in which the girl had said it, in that particular voice of hers...

Wait. That voice. Craig couldn't fail to recognize that even if he wanted to.

"Rosa? Come on, let us in, please!?" Craig whined. "I've got Trent here, and h-he's busted up good!" Everybody in the school should've known Rosa, at least as far as Craig was concerned. Some might've known her a little... well, a little more intimately than others, but he knew what it was like to be rumored about and teased, so he wasn't going to go there. Then again, it wasn't like Rosa was throwing flower petals and chocolate kisses at his feet, either. Hell, she was probably the kind of person that wouldn't even crack a smile when reading The Tick.

He hoped that his pleading would have some effect as he held the semi-concious boy in his arms, or against his flab; it was sort of hard to tell which one was actually doing more of the work, much to Craig's irritation. He was looking forward to that surgery following this school year, the thing that would finally fix that damned gland so he could work off the pounds. So much for that. This wasn't Survival of the Fattest, after all. But he wanted to live so bad...

"Rosa, please, I don't know how bad it is, but... b-but it looks really, really bad! Like, he's unconcious and everything!"
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For a while, Craig's heart was being crushed by the weight of his anxiety. He was sure that Rosa wasn't going to let her in. As safe as it was to expect, everybody was too afraid, hiding from everybody else and making sure that they survived. That was fine... it meant nobody would die, and nobody dying would be a very good thing. Still, Craig was out there in front of this building, the whole world standing at his back while he made himself a helpless target by holding Trent. It wouldn't be too hard for somebody to stab him in the back, maybe shoot him... and maybe Rosa thought that he'd do the same thing. It really was understandable, seeing as he was huge, but why couldn't anybody see past that?

So, it was with a great deal of released pressure, that Craig heard Rosa shifting around and then telling him that he could enter, but... she still sounded angry. She sounded threatening, dangerous even! Craig trembled a little; he trembled partially from the weight of the boy he still held in his arms, and from the tone in Rosa's voice that told him just how much she could hurt him. He didn't question that fact with the notion that he was far bigger; she could probably still hurt him solely through his hesitation to fight back. Girls could be very, very scary in that regard.

Craig nudged at the door a bit with his head, but that didn't do much to open it... obviously. He hoisted up on Trent, trying to keep the boy's slipping form in an easier-to-carry position while he used one hand to fumble for the doorknob, and pushed with his hand, but it was still stuck a little. Craig released the knob and slowly turned his shoulder (the one that didn't have the pack hanging from it) towards the door, wondering if he really could summon just a teeny, tiny bit of the Juggernaut's power of Cyttorak just to get this goddamned door open.

With a heave and a large step, the boy's shoulder took the impact of him crashing against the door, and shoved it open. It didn't open extremely far, but it was enough for Craig to sort of squash his way through sideways, then turn halfway through so he could pull Trent in. "Thank you... th-thank you!" He stammered without even looking at whoever else may have been in the cabin until he had Trent set safely on his back on the floor, and the door shut. He then turned around, and saw Rosa. Rosa had a gun in her hands.

"Oh man, don't shoot!" He raised his arms up high above his head, trembling.
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Craig had scooted back a bit away from Rosa, and towards an area that looked to be a small kitchen of some sort. Somewhere in his subconcious, the view of the kitchen hung a reminder on the wall to tell Craig that he was hungry, but the gun in his 'benefactor's hands told him that if he wasn't careful, he wouldn't live to see another meal.

Rosa's actions had, for the few seconds Craig had been graced with her presence, gone from somewhat agitated to full-out imitation of a caged lion faced with a fat kid covered in bacon and cheese. Her posture, everything from her eyes to her teeth to her hands... had Craig done something wrong? His mind spazzed out and fluttered back and forth between reason and flight, and his body had decided to take the third route of staring at her in some cross of being spaced out and being ready to completely evacuate his bowels.

There was a quick blur of movement, but it went way too fast for Craig to really register with the way his mind was still overloaded and stressed. Then, following the movement, there was an unsettlingly loud 'clack' noise, and Craig threw up his hands to protect his face as the only reaction that came natural. By the time he had looked back up to see that nobody had been shot (most importantly, him), Rosa was coming back in from some other back room, a bag slung over her shoulder. A few quick, sweeping glances would show the boy that the gun had been thrown rather unceremoniously to the floor, where it lay - far away from him.

The thing was, why would Rosa throw her gun to the floor? Just like Trent, her actions did little to explain any of what was going on, but at least Trent had the excuse of being unconcious, while Rosa... she was just terrifying. Craig decided that his best manner of survival was to make himself appear a bit less threatening, which he did for each girl by easing himself into a sitting position. Maybe tucking himself away with his back against the kitchen counter would help, too. Or maybe it'd just make him look pathetic.

If Rosa was leaving, then that would leave Craig with the other girl. He concentrated on slowing his breath and fighting his urges to hyperventilate while his imagination went wild with what might happen... most realistically, would she grab the gun and then shoot him without provocation? Craig didn't have any manner of defense except for the possibility of a weapon inside his bag, which he hadn't checked, and was still a few feet away by Trent's sleeping form. It pretty much looked like he was at their mercy.

And... what the HELL was that noise!?

Craig's gaze shot towards the sound of breaking glass as well, only he didn't hold the dark confidence Rosa seemed to be displaying. He was thinking more along the lines of 'somebody was now ready to come out of nowhere and completely ruin his day'.
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Oh yeah, he had definitely read this comic before. The ending and, in particular, its details escaped him, but he was pretty sure it didn't end well for the heroes. Craig wasn't sure how to react when the shovel was brought close to Trent in an obviously threatening gesture, because it was Kevin Harding that was doing it. Kevin fucking Harding, one of his former teammates. Maybe he was stretching his faith in the parallels between real life and comics a little thin, but Craig was pretty sure that teammates weren't supposed to be pulling weapons on each other. Well, okay, so he was threatening Trent directly, but this still wasn't exactly the most kosher thing ever.

Then there was Vera... she didn't seem to like Craig so much, but she had accepted himself and Trent, and Rosa had even allowed them in. This was something powerful to the large boy, really. In such a trying time where tensions were running through the roof, the two girls had tolerated Craig's presence, even though he was a boy that neither of them knew particularly well. Kevin, however, had barged in. He knew Craig, and yet he was being a supreme dick by threatening to kill Trent. Craig wanted to ask him if any of it was really worth whatever the hell his goal was, but the towering linebacker was far too busy cowering at the head of his friend, over in the corner with his back to the wall.

Hardly a page in time had turned before many things happened. Way too many things for Craig to keep track of happened, but he made his best effort to try and absorb it all, and try not to tuck his head away in scream in fear. Rosa was getting the hell out, Kevin was heading forward, then Vera pulled some real talented moves, something in terms of agility and insanity that would make Deadpool proud. Craig let out an unwarranted (at least, he HOPED it was unwarranted), swine-like squeal of fear when Vera slammed the gun full of what had to be a clip of ammo. If there were any doubts about the gun being used because it may or may not have been loaded, those doubts were unfortunately a thing of the past. The gun was loaded, the gun was able to kill things, and Vera was pointing it at Kevin.

Well, things could be worse, and Craig was more than just a little aware of this, since the gun could be pointed at Trent or himself. Trent could have already been beaten to death with that shovel. However, things could also be a lot better... Craig could have some manner to protect himself and his friend. He looked to the two daypacks, his and Trent's, but quickly looked back to Vera as he didn't want to call attention to himself and the fact that he'd like to be equipped. No... for now, now that Vera was in control, being harmless was the best way to go about stuff. Craig had two options, but both of them involved interaction, and neither of these people really seemed like the sort that really wanted to converse at the moment.
Option one was to try his hand at talking to Kevin, but Craig found that to be a bust. Kevin had been the guy to senselessly threaten to attack his own teammate and his friend. Even if he COULD be reasoned with, frankly, Craig was a little hurt and not in the mood to talk back, so... that left Vera. Finally, the large boy spoke up with his mello, timid voice, trying once again to be as unthreatening as possible.

"Um... Vera, maybe a good start would be getting him to put the shovel down? Yeah... ask him to do that. I don't wanna hurt anybody, I know Kevin doesn't want to either... Don't you, Kevin?"
Edited by MK Kilmarnock, Sep 25 2010, 10:35 PM.
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Craig had awaited a response from Vera, or Kevin, or anybody, really. Rosa had already given him the response of running away from the whole situation, and Craig honestly wished he could do the same. There were two things that kept him from doing exactly that, however, and the both of them were big problems. Trent still didn't seem like he was going to be able to go anywhere, which served as the main problem at the moment. After all that work to help him out, Craig couldn't just leave him here. Vera could possibly shoot him, but more likely, Kevin would just be a dick and hit him in the head with that shovel.

Speaking of Kevin, Craig wasn't sure why everybody was acting up. Yeah, some terrorists had told them to kill everybody, but the boy was still absolutely convinced that nobody was actually up to do the deed. No... it just wasn't right. They were all normal people, just kids. Besides, everybody he saw so far was alive, so... surely, nobody had died. It was impossible. Kevin sure was being an asshat, but that was Kevin. Vera was also being suspcious, but that was because Kevin was being such a ridiculous... well, asshat. Then there was Craig's girth. The boy inwardly sighed as problem number two brought itself up in this seperate train of thought. Not only would it keep him from running, probably, but it always made everybody think he was threatening. Normally, that wasn't much of a problem but if girls like Vera were going to freak out every time they saw him, what if-

Craig's worries were interrupted when, against all expectations, Trent sat up. Then, Trent stood up.

...
...

Then Trent began to walk out the door, daypack in hand.

Craig was stunned for a little bit, but the period passed when he realized... holy shit, Trent was leaving! Without even thinking of anybody's reactions, Craig grabbed his own daypack and powered out for the door after Trent, not caring if he had to push by Kevin to do it. What was the kid gonna do, hit him with the shovel when there was a gun pointed at him? Even he wasn't that stupid, even if he was a typical football player of the non-artistic variety.

At least, Craig hoped that.

((Craig Hoyle, continued in Laurel and Hardy Got NOTHIN' on Us))
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