In the last episode of Video Game Rejects, the gang met Buddy “Big Boy” Steele, a cowboy… sorry, “saddlebum” that couldn’t pay for his own drinks with his antiquated currency.
Buddy’s antics caught the attention of Duccio and Lonk Jr., however, who are accompanying him to the desert to help him wrangle a wild horse mount:
They cut the trail to Desiccant Desert before noon the next day. Beneath a sun that hung like a fat egg yolk over the painted mesas, through folds of amber sunlight that stenciled the shadow of the Party Wagon along the canyon rock walls.
*flips down the sun visor*
Woah. Gnarly sun, bros.
*listening to the Gerudo Valley theme on his headphones, humming, head bobbing to the beat*
Buddy “Big Boy” Steele
Hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night out here and I’m drivin’ around with a bunch of loonies who didn’t have the foresight to pack an ounce of water. Or grub.
Just cranked the A.C. for ya, bro. Don’t worry, we’re almost there.
Thanks for nothin’. Lucky for me I packed trusty ol’ boilermaker and his helper.
*tilts metal flask to his lips several times in succession*
No offense, guys, but why are we driving out here in the first place? I thought this was supposed to be an adventure? My dad’s not gonna be impressed when he hears we drove in the comfort of an air conditioned van that’s excellent on gas mileage and didn’t hoof it out into the desert with only our wits and an old wooden sword like he did.
… Oh, and if you’re hungry, my mom packed us some grilled chicken and bacon ranch pizza. And a gallon of Lon Lon Milk. She, uh… wouldn’t let me come with you guys unless I brought them.
No offense to your fairy lookin’ ass, but not everyone cares what your daddy did or you amountin’ to jack squat in his eyes neither. You want to “hoof it” so bad, door’s right there.
*points to the giant turtle shell door on the right side of the van*
Whoa, come on Buddy — lighten up. I’ll take a slice of that ‘za, little bro.
*face boiling red with rage, tears welling in his eyes*
You shut your mouth! You’ll never be half the man my father is. I hope that wild horse you try to wrangle tramples you dead and then drags your limp carcass around in the dirt for several hours afterwards until not even your own family can recognize your bedraggled remnants. Not that they’d care anyways.
*opens the door and jumps out*
Buddy and Duccio stare at each other for a few moments.
Bro, did that really just happen?
Well got damn, that kid’s got one shoddy lil’ mouth on him, now don’t he?
You didn’t need to put him down like that. He’s just a kid. Besides, he had all the ‘zas with him!
Oh, hobble that beak ‘a yers. You think he’ll grow up to be anything but a hard case with everyone treatin’ him like he’s between hay and grass all the time? He needed to hear that. Toughen ‘em up a little.
The little dude’s pa dukes makes him feel like a worthless little turd enough as it is. All he needs is some guidance. I’m turning around to get him…
*three-fingered hands furiously working the wheel, the van groaning and fishtailing in the desert sand*
Oh, don’t you lie. All you want is some of that yeasty flat-bread swill, ya pig. Forget about the damn kid, he’s buzzard food.
What the -?! Those weren’t there a second ago.
A group of tree-sized cacti suddenly looms all around the van, like enormous, barbed sentinels charged with the sentry of that barren terrain.
What are you stopping for? Just drive around them prickly sons of bitches.
A sharp hissing sound as the van begins to lean to either side and then sink down into the sand.
I… I can’t, dude. We’ve got four flats.
*pokes his head out the driver’s window*
There’s… crazy amounts of cacti thorns sticking out of every tire. Master Splinty’s gonna kill me, bro. This thing’s on a lease!
One of the cacti’s uppermost segments swivels around, revealing a set of eyes all agoggle and a grinning mouth. It speaks.
That’s because we shot your tires full of all those thorns. Kinda like we’re gonna do to you. A-hyuk hyuk hyahhhhhhhh.
Pricky lets off a series of goofy, uneven laughs which the rest of the cacti imitate one by one in sequence until they’re all shaking in a chorus of haunting laughter that echoes about the canyon walls.
*produces Colt Single Action Army Revolver from his hip holster*
Not if Ol’ Scuttlebutt and I have anything to say about it. Come on, Duccio ya overgrown Koopa Troopa you. Get my back. I’ve been spoilin’ for a good fight.
*head receding into his shell*
So not radical, bro..