My Writing and Junk

[SERIOUSLY THOUGH*]

Walmart. Hick Ground Zero. I was surrounded by strange creatures clad in neon and camouflage. The females had hair as big as a bus and were communicating in ungodly shrieks. I believe this was a display was a mating ritual designed to attract a male of the species. The males wore hats to hide their waning plumage. They spoke only in short grunts and an unintelligible language. As if answering the female. If only I could understand them!

There wasn't time for that. I was on a mission. It wasn't a "Save the world" type deal. That wasn't until Tuesday. This was more pressing. I was here for one purpose. Hot pockets. I kept my head low and descended into the imminent orgy. This would be the fight of my life.

As I fought of the advances of the shrieking female hickians with my trusty wit and battle axe, I somehow found myself caught up in a tent demonstration. The leader of this particular pack roped my help by sheer flattery. Phrases like "Strapping young man" were used in abundance. Being the kind and gentle soul that I am, I didn't hit him with the axe and agreed to help.

The first words out of his mouth were about my tent pitching skills. Did I know how to pitch a tent? What kind of question was that?! I studied the leader. He was old and, seemingly, frail. No plumage and his communication was in coughs, rather than the grunts of his more youthful pack. He had lived long enough to learn the language of people. I'm surprised. Usually when a male gets too old he gets replaced by a more vibrant leader. Seconds passed and an almost inaudible gasp escaped my lips as it dawned on me. He saw me as a threat to his leadership! He was testing my manhood. I must respond to the challenge like a gentleman of my caliber. I answered by stating his mother always helps my tent pitching process.

I awoke several minutes later in a daze. My nose was bloody, but I was no worse for wear. Axe in hand, I continued on my divine quest. I reached my prize after an hour of battling. They were in my grasp. The last box of Garlic Buttery Pepperoni Pizza Hot Pockets. A true gift from the gods.

I made my way to the front. Beaten, but not broken. I had gone through hell and back. Fought many a hickian. A strange species. But I was victorious. I paid the robot, took my prize, and began the journey home. Until next time.

What your protagonist looks like in my mind.