The Loony Lampoonist

Street War II: Cowadunga

Read the chronicles of the First Street War here :


Street War II

We found ourselves deep within enemy territory. The smell of sulphur was all around us and explosions could be heard in the distance.

Little Goonie had spotted them first. "Hostiles! 3 o'clock!", he screamed and ran for cover. We followed him.

Ducking behind an ice cream cart, I looked up. Goonie was right. They were positioned in the second floor balcony of an apartment.

"Should we make a run for it?" asked Sarge.

"We wouldn't make it," I replied, "They will use their altitude to their advantage."

"We're losing time," he said, "They will be calling in for reinforcements now. We're cornered and they know it. Perhaps I could sneak away, out of their line of sight and get help."

"It's not the time for heroism yet," I replied. I couldn't afford to lose one of my men this early in the battle.

Sarge's eyes glowered, but he nodded.

"I know someone who lives in this street," said Goonie softly, interrupting the silence, "He comes to visit my mother sometimes."

Sarge and I exchanged knowing glances.

"He is quite fond of me," he continued, "I'm sure we can hide over there for a while."

"A safe house! That is exactly what we need. Show us the way, Goonie."

We wheeled the ice cream cart, taking cover behind it and headed towards the safe house. The enemy taunted us, with more appearing on other balconies and terraces. This looked like a group trained in aerial warfare.

"Cowards!" they hooted, guffawing, "Wear skirts instead and tie up your hair in pretty little ponytails."

Sarge stood up, ready to utter a battle cry. He didn't get far before a loud SPLOOSH interrupted him and he fell backwards, drenched and sputtering.

"Holi Water Balloons!" I exclaimed.

"Direct hit!", screamed the assailant and barked out orders asking for more ammunition.

I dragged Sarge behind the cart and wondered if we should make a last stand. Goonie tapped my shoulder and informed me that the safe house was just a little distance ahead. I nodded and carrying Sarge over my shoulders, followed him.


The safe house belonged to a man who called himself a grizzled war veteran. He claimed to have fought many a street war back in his day.

"Do you have a stockpile of weapons now?", I asked him.


"I suppose we are doomed then", I sighed in resignation.

"It's not over until it's over", he replied, "I think I may know of a way to get you out of here. The Cowadunga Manoeuvre."




It was now two hours past nightfall. We had waited in hiding for over four hours and then under the cover of darkness sneaked out to follow the instructions of the grizzled war veteran. By the time we were done, we smelled bad but appeared hopeful.

The enemy was now emerging out with their parents, ready to enjoy the festivities. They were dressed in their finest and the fireworks display was about to begin.

Little did they know that what appeared to be a pile of paper from exploded firecrackers was actually a booby trap.

We watched patiently from behind the faithful old ice cream cart, waiting for the right moment.

I studied the proximity of the enemy from the trap. They had to get closer for an optimum trajectory.

"They aren't coming into the blast radius," I cursed under my breath.

"Perhaps it is time for my heroism, sir", said Sarge.

I looked at him. I knew he was right.

I nodded.

He stood up and uttered the battle cry once again. The taunts that followed one-upped the tame insults of the enemy. They gasped in horror, the parents covering the ears of the younger ones. Quite predictably, they charged for him.

He waited till they came into the blast radius and then lifted his hands up in mock surrender.

I lit the long inconspicuous wick that led right to the booby trap.

The explosion that followed was quite blinding. Cow dung flew everywhere, splattering faces and staining new clothes. The enemy staggered for balance, overpowered by the smell. The revulsion led to chaos. In the midst of it, Sarge walked back to our hideout smiling. He looked unhurt.

"I dived away from it", he said, "Cool guys don't look at explosions."

We waltzed our way out.

posted by foogarky @ 4:25 AM,


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foogarky is the pseudonym of the fictional construct who battles for supremacy with other constructed personas in the mind of a crazed individual. He describes himself as a man living in a non descript house in Rio De Janiero, Brazil with two dogs and a parakeet.

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The Loony Lampoonist serves to parody, spoof and satirize everything that needs to be parodied, spoofed and satirized. Due to the fictional nature of this electronic journal, any anecdotes appearing here ever so often that seem to be personal in nature, would suffer from the effects of conflicting personalities, the creation of fictional events and the inclusion of non existent characters who did not make it to the big league in the author's literary works. Thus, the Loony Lampoonist is also a purgatory for characters and ideas that have missed the limelight.

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