Soul Plane 2: There Will Be Blood
"Thank you, Mr. Landry, for everything you've done for me." Richard Hanma shook hands with the Texan as the pair parted at the airport, "Once I've finished with the Fists and the Furious World Martial Arts Tournament, I'll come back to Dallas and play American Football for you."
"Give 'em hell, son." Tom Landry grinned with a clenched fist.
Richard nodded then joined the line boarding the plane. A more careful person might have noticed that all the other people boarding the plane were jacked honkys that looked tougher than shoe leather and like they brush their teeth every day with bad intentions, but to the youth such details hardly matter.
On top of purchasing a plane ticket to Boston, Tom Landry not only purchased a new set of clothes for the young hero - another set of jeans and matching jacket with a red y-shirt, cowboy boots, a bull engraved belt buckle, and a ten gallon hat - he'd also purchased him a suitcase and replacement outfits to go with it. Richard understood that the white devil was tempting him with free stuff, and he was a-okay with that.
Richard boarded the plane and once in his assigned aisle seat settled in for a wonderous in-flight nap. Oddly enough, when sleeping Richard is more aware of his surroundings than when on auto-pilot, and thus, when a man reached for his pockets, his hand snatched it up like a praying mantis strike.
Opening his dark and lazy eyes, the youth spied a distinct change in the people on this plane. Where once, there was a pack of harder than nails honkys in civilian clothes, there were now a pack of harder than nails honkys in gray camouflage fatigues and blue and yellow ceramic body armor.
"Le sigh, another gang of honkys playing paramilitary dress up." Richard sighed before he roared 'WUGA!' and snapped the arm he had a grip on like glass hit by carbide.
"For Yomi!" someone in the line up of paramilitary honkys shouted and the rest charged in to dog pile Richard Hanma.
"Fuck Yomi!" Richard yelled and defended himself.
Richard's hands and feet lashed out like blades of a blender, turning men into meat, but the men fighting him leapt though the airborne viscera of their comrades as if born anew in the gore. One such man got a hold of Richard's arm and attempted to drag Richard down into a grappling exchange. This cause the youth's mind to flashback to the past.
Eight year old Richard Hanma looked almost exactly like thirteen year old Richard Hanma, almost like this flashback had put his grown head on a younger body. He was at a dinner with Black Dynamite and Dynamite's friends, and he'd asked a question that received nothing up uproarious head thrown back laughter.
The question: Black Dynamite, why don't you teach me to grapple?
The laughter continued until Black Dynamite abruptly brought his head back down and fixed Little Richie with an intense stare.
"Wait, you're serious?" Black Dynamite inquired and Little Richard nodded his head.
Black Dynamite got up from the table and walked off, returning soon with a black board. He quickly erased the days specials of waffles, eggs, and fried chicken and and turned to the table.
"As we all know, Zodialogical Astronomy was invented by the Greeks…" Black Dynamite began.
"In 785 BC!" the whole table, including Little Richie, responded together.
"And in that same century the Greeks also instituted wrestling as an event in the 18th Olympic Games." Black Dynamite continued the thread, "In fact, wrestling became the preeminent event in the Olympic games. Wrestling was so important to the Greeks that even their brightest minds, Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates all competed in wrestling, and it is commonly depicted in Grecian Art. What is also depicted in Greek art?"
Black Dynamite's friends considered for a few seconds while Little Richard abandoned all hope of keeping up with the brilliance of these learned men.
Finally, Chocolate Giddy Up nodded as he found the answer, "Butt fucking."
A few snaps and calls of 'that's it' resounded around the table in acknowledgement of Chocolate Giddy Up's correct answer.
"That's right. Butt fucking." Black Dynamite confirmed, "Known well for their depictions of sex in their works of art, butt fucking, appears far more often than vaginal penetration, and is often found in the form of homosexuality. Now, to the Greeks, homosexuality was not a matter of love, or fun, but predatory, a matter of masculine domination and prowess. What else was a matter of masculine domination and prowess?"
"Wrestling!" shouted Cream Corn, "In modern times, wrestling is often called crotch sniffing."
"And the Greeks did their crotch sniffing, all naked and spiffing." Added Bull Horn.
"That's right, and with all those commonalities we can conclude…" Black Dynamite led the meeting of the minds.
"That wrestling is gay!" the men around the table followed.
"And that is why we don't grapple." Black Dynamite put the nail in the coffin of this flashback.
Richard Hanma's mind played this all out faster than sparks striking off flint, and he realized a horrible truth. These honkys wanted to fuck Richard Hanma!
Losing all possible cool, Richard's shirt and jacket tightened as his muscles bulged with power and a hidden demon-face appeared on his back.
"WUGA!" he cried as he twisted his arm and pistoned his fingers into the eye sockets of the man grabbing his arm.
Unobstructed by squishy brains, Richard hooked his fingers behind the maxilla bone of the skull and yanked, pulling everything from the top of his mouth to his eye sockets out of the man's head.
"Aaaaahhhhhh!" Richard shouted as the next man he punched exploded into red chunks as his military grade uniform burst apart.
"Euaauaauahhh!" he shouted as he snatched an incoming kick and whipped the man around as an improvised nunchuck.
A nunchuck that screamed and cried a lot until his meat gave out and all that was left of him un-pulped was the shin and foot still in Richard's hand. Taking that shank he slammed it into the open mouth of wailing man staring at his broken and twisted arms.
"You won't fuck me, honkys!" Richard screamed as he punted that man into another oncoming enemy.
Somehow, one of the soldiers, a white haired teenager, made it through the maelstrom of body parts and snuck up on the terror and rage filled youth. He wrapped his arms around the youth's neck and drove his knees into his back. The pair slipped on all the blood, and this gave the white haired teenager even greater advantage in this grappling exchange, he completed his favored move, the Death God's Ring!
Was this to be the end of the new greatest black karate man of all time? Richard, having avoided all forms of gayness, and thus all forms of grappling, had no idea the correct defense for his kind of maneuver, and had to rely on the unyielding muscles of his neck to stave off asphyxiation as his hands clamped onto the other boy's fore arm.
Unable to call upon his skill to win the fight, Richard Hanma fell back upon the one thing that could never fail him, his godly body! With just the strength of his hands and the power of his lats and rear delts, Richard tore the muscles right off the white haired teen's forearm.
"Aaaaggghhhhh!" the Russian teen screamed as he gazed in horror on the ruin of his arm.
Freed from the hold, Richard spun around and clapped his hands on the screaming teen's skull, splattering it all over the pair of them.
Richard spat out a tooth as he got up and gagged a bit as he spat out more blood and brain matter. Despite this opening the remaining honkys didn't attack, in fact, they all pressed themselves to the sides of the plane as far away from him as possible.
"No one gets to fuck Richard Hanma's butt!" he shouted in a delirious haze at the remaining survivors, "NO ONE!"
"We don't want to fuck your butt!" a man squealed as tears and snot ran down his blood soaked face, "We just wanted the invitation to the Fists and the Furious World Martial Arts Tournament!"
Richard looked around at the destruction of seats and the destruction of men splattered and splintered across the interior of this passenger airplane and began laughing, softly at first, but then into full blown hysterics.
"Sheeit, honky." Richard announced as he regained control of himself, "If this is all it took to make you shit yourselves, then you should thank me for saving your punk asses from Skull Island. So… THANK ME ALREADY!"
Richard's scream caused the men still standing to collapse as they cried out 'Thank you, sir!' over and over again while twitching where they fell.
With his work done, Richard squelched back to a free seat and mentally thanked Tom Landry for providing him the funs to have his affects professionally cleaned in the future. The man may be a white devil, but he certainly knew what was coming in the future for all those who face Richard Hanma in battle.
There will be blood.
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