Fuck Knows

Chapter The First: the Fuckening

Captain Lance Fuck leant back in his hot tub with a cigar and seven previous Miss Universe winners. Miss Universe 2013 lit it for him while Miss Universe 2011 passed him a big fuck off bottle of champers (champagne).
"Shall I be mother?", Fuck quipped, pouring the bottle over the supermodels glistening breasts. He paused to consider the peculiar image of his dear old mum canoodling with big-titted babes in a jacuzzi, then carried on pouring the expensive sparkling beverage.
A phone rang, and his butler, who just so happened to be Terry Crews, passed him the receiver. The red plastic casing was cracking under the impressive grip of the former American football player.
"You're through to Hot Tub #3, Fuck speaking, how can I solve the shit out of everything today?"
"Fuck, this is the president, sorry, Frank, speaking."
Fuck took a swig of champagne and enjoyed the fizzy sensation at the back of his throat before responding.
"Frank. Good to see you again." (They were speaking on a video phone, so this totally makes sense.)
"Can I be frank with you?"
Fuck laughed, but inside his head, as he knew Frank hated that joke.
"Always."
"Fuck, America needs you, like a helpless child needs the nourishing milk of its mother to sustain it's young life." He actually stopped after "needs you", but Fuck always added words in his mind to heighten the drama of the situation.
"It's all kicking off again, I'm afraid."
Fuck sighed the sigh of a man who's seen so much he walks around with his eyes shut just to give them a rest.
"Can I be frank with you, Frank?" He couldn't resist it. "Need I remind you that as of 11:17 this very morning, I am retired. That means, I don't work anymore. Find some other schmuck to do your doity woik. Sorry, I turned slightly mafia at the end there. I wasn't really concentrating."
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose, a redundant gesture as he wore a prosthetic schnozz. His real one had been shot off, or lost or something.
"Listen Fuck, I wouldn't have called you unless we were in a real bind. Someone has to stand up to these bully boys, pardon my French."
"Maybe you should start from the beginning, Frank. Let me turn off the bubbles so I can hear you better."
He nodded at Miss Universe 2010, and she flicked a small switch located near the base of the hot tub. Instantly, the soothing miniature geysers stopped and the water calmed like at the end of The Perfect Storm. I'm guessing, by the way, I've never actually sat down and watched it all the way through.
Fuck sprung from the jacuzzi like a muscular Tigger and was thrown a towel which he caught in a really cool way. He then proceeded through to the den, where the Miss Universes (universei?) towelled him dry, even though he'd just caught his own towel and it would have been far quicker for him to do it.
"Fuck, you still there? It's been nearly 40 minutes."
"You'll have to bear with me, Frank, this is by no means a quick process. My monolithic penis takes up the majority of the drying time."
Fuck was exaggerating. Even though his member resembled a fleshy pink shotgun, it could hardly be described as 'monolithic'.
"It all started about a week ago. Some anonymous group broke into Buckingham Palace and managed to kidnap Her Majesty."
Fuck put a pack of bacon under the grill. The Miss Universes were now off the clock.
"They held her captive for approximately 48 hours before releasing her, apparently without any demands whatsoever."
Lance listened intently, watching the pig flesh begin to cook.
"Everything was fine until yesterday, when she made an address unannounced on live TV. She started talking about how we're all doomed as a species. I remember thinking if that was a sneak preview of her Christmas speech, I'll probably watch channel 4 instead. Anyway, after she'd finished, she tore her own face off and she was a robot! An honest to goodness bionic monarch. A bionarch, if you will."
Fuck transferred the bacon from oven to bread and slathered it with ketchup.
"Now, this same group who kidnapped her have started making all sorts of demands, saying they can make exact cyborg replicas of any heads of state and are willing to kidnap them should they not get what they want."
Fuck spoke with his mouth full.
"And what is it they want?" On the last syllable, a piece of bacon rind was propelled from his mouth and hit the screen. It made it look as though the president was wearing a badly made wig.
"They want to establish a new colony on Mars. Something about how we're destroying the planet."
"What a crock of horseshit", Fuck said, wondering which of his 12 humvees he was going to drive to the book burning later.
Frank leant back in his seat and sighed with his hands behind his head.
"Well, either way, they've got a bee in their bonnet about something. Maybe it's to do with bees. Anyway, we need you, Fuck, to infiltrate their underground base and rescue the Queen from a fate equal to or greater than death. What do you say?"
"I'm gonna need more information, Frank. Jesus, talk about a need to know basis."
Frank held up his hands in a 'you got me' gesture.
"Don't sweat it, Fuck, the private chopper's on its way right now. I'll tell them to look out for the penis-shaped swimming pool."
He saluted, and Lance returned it.
"Godspeed Fuck, you patriotic son of a bitch."
Fuck smirked.
"Right back atcha, Franky boy."
Fuck ended the call and stared out of the window. It was an impressive view of his estate, all 750 acres of it.
It included a beach, a forest, an active volcano and a theme park called FuckWorld. Yes, he was content. But he was never happier than when he was mercilessly gunning down scores of faceless baddies, and deep down, he knew that only too well. In truth, he was glad that Frank called him when he did. He may have been older, slower, ever so slightly incontinent when it was cold out, but he was still the same old Fuck who'd slaughtered all those Colombian pimps with a butter knife in 1983. It was time for Fuck to ride once again. He had to, if only for Martha.