When you're thirsty, you go to a bar. And lately, I'm pretty thirsty.

I worked my way through the crowd. It was a pretty busy night. I got hi-fives or loud hellos from the regulars, a few amazed glances from the new customers. Yeah--it's me. The great and glorious former me.

The barkeep saw me coming. He had my beers ready. With his huge hands and arms the size of pigs, he slammed down a great and glorious Lion stout and a crappy old High Life. He grunted a recognition at me, then his squinty eyes moved down the bar to drinkers less predictable.

When you're thirsty, you're thirsty, and a Lion is nothing to chug. A High Life...Okay, I admit it. I want the buzz started quicker than the time it would take me to savor a Lion. I'm here to get pleasantly and forgetfully drunk, while I pretend that I'm here for the ahm-bee-ahnce.

I flipped up the faceplate of my racing helmet. I used to always leave the helmet on because I never knew when I'd need it. Then I left it on because it gave me severe helmet hair when I took it off. Now I don't want people to know that I don't have enough hair left to get a helmet. I grabbed the High Life by its long neck and started chugging.

And them some wise-ass said it.

Wise-asses are only half that. If you were WISE, you'd get it into your thick drunken head that maybe, yeah maybe, just MAYBE, this guy's heard the joke before. Maybe a million times before. And maybe he stopped laughing a long time ago. Maybe he never even laughed the first time.

But he says it anyway, as the beer slides down my throat.

"GO, Speed Racer! Go Speed Racer! Go, Speed Racer, GOOO!"

Silence. Every regular in the bar stopped talking after the second "Go." By the end of his little witticism, every half-sober person in the bar is wondering why it got so damned quiet.

I finish the beer while I locate the guy behind me. By hearsight. Yeah, wear a helmet long enough, and you can still locate an asshole just by hearing him mouth off.

He's low. Like 2 feet tall low. Weird in most bars, but not in this one.

I spin in my barstool. In the next second, the asshole smiles while I spin towards him, then opens his fool eyes wide as the High Life bottle leaves my hand, then his eeny-weeny jaw drops as the bottle rockets straight towards his head.

KONK.

He drops cold to the floor. The bottle lands in his lap.

"He shoots! He SCORES!" screamed Thundarr the Barbarian.

"DAMN YOU, SPEED!" yelled Bluto the barkeep, as his massive hands slammed the counter. Every bottle and glass jumped a foot into the air, their liquid goodness jumps an inch higher, then they all fell perfectly to the counter intact. My Lion stout I grabbed in mid-air, watched the beer flow back inside the bottle, and smirked.

"STOP CLOCKING THE CUSTOMERS!" Bluto roared. "That was Brainy Smurf!"

"Brain DEADY now!" I said to general drunken yells of approval. I turned to the bar and raised the Lion to my mouth, and Bluto and I exchanged a wink and a look of mutual gratitude. His "outrage" is for the new customers, the ones who don't know what a prick Brainy always was, or know how far back Bluto and I go. I mean, who was there for him when a certain Sailor Man came into his bar wanting a spinach martini? And who replaced one ingredient with green food coloring? Man, that was funny. Bluto mopped the floor with him. Literally. Left a nice shine, too. The Sailor Man came back and kicked both our asses the next day, but Bluto still has the photos from the night before on the wall.

The Sailor Man--TOOT TOOT!--say that to him the next time you see him, he HATES it. He was doing coke that night. And it was Brainy that sold it to him.

Thundarr helped Brainy to his tiny blue feet and helped him to the door, and helped him into the gutter. Thundarr the Bar-barian, as we call him. I bought him a beer, and he chugged it out of some defeated enemy's skull.

"HMM." grunted Bluto, squinting over my shoulder. "Well, look who's here."

I didn't look. Given his tone, someone else I'm going to have to fight, I suppose. "Have you ever seen a dream walkin'," he hummed, "well, I have..." That's all he ever hums. He needs a new songwriter.

There were catcalls and whistles behind me. Ahh. Her.

A porcelain hand touched my arm. It pushed my beer away, but I pulled it right back.

"Speed." she said in That Tone of Voice.

I stared at the wall in front of me. "I just got here."

"I can see. There's only one empty bottle."

I will not look. I will not look into those eyes.

I swirled the full bottle. "Maybe you should come back in a hour. Then there might be hundreds." Expect the sigh, I thought.

She sighed. "Speed. We have a problem."

It was my turn to sigh. And take a swig of beer. "Oh, yes, WE have a problem. And what is 'our' problem? This time?"

Daphne melted into the seat next to me. Damn, all these years, and she still looks the same as she did when she was cruising in the Mystery Mobile. And like an idiot, I looked. Still those same legs in that same miniskirt. Still that waterfall of red hair, still those eyes. The eyes that ran with tears until they were red, when she found out that it wasn't Velma but Freddy who was the Gay One.

And how many times had I warned her about that damned ascot he always wore? Exactly how much more gay can you get?

The eyes were different. There was a coldness in them. Determination.

Like an idiot, I was looking in those eyes again. Those eyes had talked me into doing things that I wished I'd hadn't more than once before.

I took a long, hard swallow. Just in case. In case of...Okay, I don't know "in case of" what anymore. "In case I can't drink until whatever she talks me into now is over," I guess.

"What's 'our problem,' Mr. Racer? Still don't watch the news much, do you? Bluto, could you change the station?"

"HMMPH!" growled Bluto, rubbing his bristling beard. "With the Laff-A-Lympics going on?! People are gonna wanna know if Dick Dastardley and Muttley win the figure skating competition."

"Allow me," said Daphne, climbing on to the bar and changing the TV's channel. At first, there was some yelling in protest. But then it was yelling of approval. I guess it was the miniskirt.

"Yeah, BITCH!" shrieked a high-pitched voice. "I may be three apples tall, but I've got something in my PANTS three cucumbers LONG! Show it ALL! Show me your PUS--"

KONK. Another expertly-thrown beer bottle, another blue forehead. Black and blue.

Fucking Smurfs. Don't know why Bluto keeps letting them in here.

"Hey!" yelled some little blue bastard, as his gang of Smurfs moved up on me as menacingly as Smurfs can't. "That was Papa Smurf!"

"Would he talk about Smurfette that way?" I said to Dipshit Smurf, and kicked his big FOUR-apples-tall enforcer in the general direction of the toilets.

The Smurfs started crying. Smurfette. Their one girl Smurf. That's why they've all got blue balls. And that's why every stripper in town has learned how to dance in really tiny laps.

Daphne started to give me her "Oh, so now you've stooped to kicking SMURF ass" look, but I gave her my "Oh, look who used to run away from JANITORS WEARING ZOMBIE MASKS" look. Then we both stopped, and we looked in silence at the TV. We've had this fucking argument so many times that we can now have it in our heads. And she gave up years ago. I mean, I had a race through a fucking volcano that killed 98 out of 100 racers! SHE ran away from MASKED JANITORS. And then SHE would always bring up me and Trix--
Never mind.
Forget about the past. No more thinking about the past.
Or...her.

Blue helicopters exploded and little blue men parachuted away. "Wow, boy, Daphne, this sure is news. COBRA getting its ass handed to them by the GI Joe Team. What's on Action News 8, Shredder losing to the Turtles?"

A little pink brain used its tiny arms to wash glasses, and squeaked, "Shre-e-e-dderrr was a re-e-eta-a-a-arrrd! He never listened to me-e-e-e!"
"Shut the hell up and get back to woik!" Bluto barked to Krang. "If he listened to YOU, Shredder'd be doin' the dishes, too!"
Krang mumbled something about reve-e-ennnge, then reached for the Joy Anti-Bacterial Dishwashing Formula.

"Wanna 'nother beer, Speed? Hmm?"
"No, he doesn't, thank you, Bluto."
"No, let me thank you, Daphne. Bluto, another Lion, pl--"

"Hmmm?" growled Bluto, following my eyes to the TV.

The President, James Norcross, was giving an address. But...He was wearing...that suit...that suit worn by...No! It couldn't be!

"My fellow Americans.
"The recent events that have happened recently were very much events. The Axles of Evil that are COBRA, Shredder, and the Legion of Doom is with Evil. Bad, bad is their evils. I am very somber with this. I will nod my head in my sombers now." He nodded his head somberly. "So now I 'm asking y'all to stand with me as I say--" He fumbled with a yellow hood, then pulled it over his head--"I am really truly, as GOD is my witless, SUPER-PRESIDENT!"

The whole bar said "GASP!" while we leaned back with our mouths open. We all held that pose for a second. Then we all started talking at once.
"The PRESIDENT--is really--SUPER President?!" yelled an amazed Astro-Boy.
"Who could have KNOWN?!" yipped Dodo the Alien Kid in his voice like a fucking chihuahua.
"They don't look anything at all alike! Except when he puts on the hood!" said some random Smurf. I should've kicked him, but I was too astonished to do it.

"There's will be some changes in my administration. These change are necessary. To fight the Evils. And--WE WILL FIGHT! EVILS!
"My first change is from the Vice President. My old vice president, this pitcher of warm spit, is gone. This is now the Vice President of me!"
A short bald man with a permanent sneer on his face walked up the podium. He looked over the White House Press Room with utter hatred and contempt. Then he smiled. A sickly lopsided smirk of a smile.
"EH-heh heh heh! I'M the Vice President now! BIG TIME! CHOKE ON IT! WHOO-HAHAHAHA!"
Super President gave him a nudge. "Um, Simon? The thing? We talked about? Your personality?"
Simon Bar Sinister viciously glared at him. Then he looked to the camera, a devious gleam in his beady eyes. "Yesss...You fools! There is nothing to worry about! Until I TELL you to worry! Heh heh heh! SIMON SAYS--DON'T WORRY! You're in the safe hands of Simon Bar Sinister. I have only your interests in my heart. Heh heh HAHAHA! That's funny--ME, having a HEART! WHOO-HAHAHAHA! OW, My HEART!! Hmm, my left arm hurts..."

"This vice president is totally wrong!" said Underdog. "America will regret this before too long!" Then he sat down and asked Bluto for another beer.

Super President wiped Simon's spittle off his supersuit. "An' also, there is the new Attorney General of mines. He is the right wing for Amer--what, Ari? What's that? OH. He is RIGHT for America, for his smarts are the stuffing of legend. He is all ready to fight Evil," he squinted at his cue card, "es...pec...i..al...ly...especially! if it threatens our Freedoms! Here is the new Attorney General!"
In his blue robe, he strode to the podium as if he owned it. He pounded his ram-headed staff on the floor. He had no contempt in his eyes like Simon. Hell, he didn't even have EYES!
Skeletor shrieked, "I will DESTROY all that is GOOD! If it is a simple Eternian peasant complaining about Super President's evil, I will CRUSH him! If it is a single scribe decrying our evil acts, I will SMASH him! If even the slightest of you FOOLS works for GOOD, I will KILL YOU MYSELF! DESTROY ALL GOOD! LONG LIVE EVI--What? Oh, crap." Skeletor adjusted his power tie. "Replace 'good' for 'evil' in everything I just said. That was what I meant. Good is Evil. Evil is Good. Now, for my first act as Attorney General--BEAST MAN!"

Beast Man waddled up, wearing a three-piece suit with orange fur sticking out all over it. "Doy?"

Skeletor pointed at a statue behind him. "Cover up those boobies!!"

"Teela!" I yelled. "Do you believe this?! The country's going fucking nuts! Tell He-Man!"
"I'm working right now!" Teela snapped, and continued to lap-dance on Hong Kong Phooey.

Skeletor babbled on about good and evil, or vice-versa. The bar had broken down into small muttering groups of Herculoids, Impossibles, and GI Joes; Rainbow Brites, My Little Ponies, and Care Bears. Everyone was complaining, but no one was doing anything.
And what could Speed Racer do?
I can't do shit.
I became aware that Daphne had put her hand on mine at some point. I turned my palm over and squeezed her hand, then let it go. "Daph, there's nothing I can do about this. Why are you even telling me about it?"
And again I made the mistake of looking into her eyes. "Do you need a better reason to get involved?" she asked.
I can never say no to those eyes. So I said "Yes. Yes, I need a better reason. He's fucking Super President, Daph. Underdog doesn't care. He-Man's off at some marketing seminar or something. The Smurfs smell funny, ever notice that?"

Those Eyes had a look I'd never seen before. Her eyes never show all her emotions, just bits of them. And I saw disappointment in me, anger at somebody else, and more than a bit of "Just you wait and see." She looked back to the TV.

Skeletor's long-winded speech was ending, as Super Prez pushed him away from the podium. "An' given that we are having much problems in the home, and the land, with the security for us, I'm propose that we have this. A new Office of Home Pregnancy Tests! Wait, no--Office of Homeland Securitys!"
The Chief of this made-up office came to the podium. Some Secret Service guy, Birdman I think, put a milk crate on the floor for him to stand on and reach the microphone.
No.
"OH!! It is very exciting to be the head of Homeland Security and I will keep your homes very secure, the doors will be secured, the windows also, they will be secured, so secure that you can leave them unlocked so secure they will be, and also your house, and your kitchen cabinets, I will put locks on them so your babies will not get in and eat any bleach!!!"
NO.
"And there will also be no speaking naughty words against Super President, or clipping your nails on airplanes and also not going pee-pee 25 minutes before the plane lands, and there will be cavity searches because CAVITIES MAKE YOUR TEETH FALL OUT!!" He finally gasped for breath, and said with a beaming face, "Isn't that RIGHT, Chim-Chim?" "EEEEEP!" shrieked Chim-Chim.

"NOOOOOOO!!! No no no, this isn't HAPPENING!!" and I swung my arms and I dimly heard glass breaking and I stopped screaming aloud, just kept screaming in my head NO.

And a second or a month later I was on the floor, with Bluto and Underdog pinning me down, and Trixie was caressing my cheek.
"Trixie!" I sobbed. "You came back!"
"No, Speed," she said in Daphne's voice. "Trixie's not here."
I blinked and Trixie was gone. Then I pushed them all away and leapt to my feet. I forced a smile. "I'm okay! Just--just kidding." No one was buying it.
Daphne helped me to the barstool. "Speed--I didn't think that you'd take it so hard--"
"SPRITLE!" I screamed at the TV, and I swear that when I did everyone jumped a yard into the air. "My own BROTHER! And CHIM-CHIM, my own brother's CHIMP! How could he DO this?!"

"Why do react with such anger and fear?" asked Underdog. "You should be proud of your brother's career!"

"OH!" yipped Spritel. "I have many plans to make our Homeland all safe! Mr Skeletor says we don't need any old bills giving rights to the Bad Men! And I will help by shutting up snoopy reporters like that pesky Sweet Polly Purebred! Arresting her was a good idea I got from Simon!"

"You stupid FUCKS!" screamed Underdog. "This totally SUCKS!"

"And I am not racy profiling when I say that COBRA men all dress in blue, so we will rounding up any suspicious men in blue and detaining them in a big bedroom where they will have to go without supper! I am ordering the detention without charges of all those blue Smurfs!"

"What?!" Bluto barked. "Them mugs ain't dangerous!" He picky up Clumsy Smurf and drop-kicked him into a trash can. "See?"

"'Why'?" I said to Underdog. "Because he's fucking Spritel."

"Now do you understand?"
"Yes, Daph, yes I do. There's something really suspicious about all this. If COBRA, Shredder and the Legion were such big threats, they would've actually won a single battle by now. Why's Norcross announcing he's Super President, and surrounding himself with such utter bastards? And my half-wit brother? What's really going on here?"

She smirked. "I don't know, but I'll bet that they'll get away with it, if not for some meddling kids."

I smiled. "I'm no kid, Daph. I'm a demon on wheels. I'm a demon, and I'm gonna be chasing after someone." I turned. "Dog. Want in?"

"When Polly's Freedom of the Press is in trouble, I am quite fast! It's hip, hip, hip, and let's go kick Simon's ass!"

"Thanks, Shoeshine. You're humble, and lovable.
"Dog's got the muscle, I've got the brains, and you've got the legs. We're almost set."

"The 'legs'?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Okay, you got the brains, I got the car. But we need somebody else. Someone who operates on their level. Some low-down, sneaky, devious, back-stabbing snake-in-the-grass like--"

"Say de name!" sneered a heavily-accented voice.

"--Boris Badenov!"

"Mwu-hahaha! You say you wanna revolution? You came to the right place, buddy! I am lower than snake in grass! I am more like tapeworm in society's intestines!"

"Um, you don't really have that great a track record yourself, shorty." said Daphne.

"What, is Super President moose or squirrel? No, is big blowhard. Don't you worry, honyee-buns!"

"Bluto, you better get those Smurfs out of here before the FBI and Gargamel show up. C'mon, guys. I'm revving up the powerful Mach 5. Next stop--Washington!"

"Shotgun!" yelled Daphne.

"But Mach 5 is two-seater! Where will dog and I sit?"

"Spritel and Chim Chim usually hid in the trunk."

"Hoo boy!" said Boris. "Is deal-breaker if it smells like monkey poop in there."