The Toppler was at the gym, because he was running out of people to punch. Jeff was long gone, and everyone else was dead (or, in some cases, double dead). “Right,” said Dave the stuffed giraffe, the Toppler’s best friend, who was acting as his coach, “let’s move on to the 8000000000lb punching bag.” The Toppler hoisted the new bag onto the hook as if it were made out of marshmallows, and started punching away at it. About 3 punches later, he had knocked the bag off of the hook and made a big hole in the fabric of reality.
“Since when could you do that?” inquired Dave.
“I’m the Toppler, for Pete’s sake. What can’t I topple?” replied the Toppler nonchalantly. Since neither of them had anything better to do, they decided to go through the hole in reality. They found themselves in a publix. After grabbing about 700 cans of spinach, they headed off to the till.
“That’ll be $600000000,” said the cashier, who was called Gunathan Guy.
“Dammit,” said the Toppler. “Dave, have you got any cash?”
“Of course not,” replied Dave. “I’m a stuffed giraffe, not Bill Gates!”
“Sorry, sir,” said Gunathan. “I can’t sell you this.”
“Man, this dimension blows,” grumbled Dave. “Let’s go back home.” However, suddenly a fish-faced, black haired teen appeared.
“Oh my god, it’s Jeff the Killer!” cried Gunathan in shock. He started bowing like in that one scene in Wayne’s World.
“Ooh, I like this dimension,” said Jeff. “It’ll be fun to display my elite hacking skills.”
“Since when was Jeff the Killer a hacker?” asked Gunathan, still bowing.
“Since when did Jeff have his whole body back?” inquired the Toppler.
“Well, I guess I’m Demon Jeff, then. I hate all these tags in the different universes,” grumbled Demon Jeff.
“So, you’re not this universe’s Jeff, then?” asked Gunathan, getting up.
“Nah,” replied Demon Jeff in his trademark old voice. “I’m not washed-up celebrity Jeff.”
“Well, in that case,” said Gunathan, pulling out a glock, “you can go to X’s hell dimension!” With that, Gunathan started shooting Demon Jeff.
“I like this guy,” said Dave as the Toppler ran over to Demon Jeff to do his thing. As Gunathan repeatedly shot at Jeff, the Toppler held him in a headlock, punching him in the back of the head over and over and over. As Demon Jeff slumped to the ground, dead, the Toppler released. Gunathan, however, kept on shooting. About 5 minutes and 2345874500 bullets later, Dave shouted, “Alright, alright, he’s dead!”
“It’s OK, I’m done anyway,” replied Gunathan, ceasing his fire and stepping back to admire his work: he had shot the entirety of “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” by Lord Tennyson into Demon Jeff. “Nah, that doesn’t work either,” said Gunathan.
“What?” said the Toppler, with a puzzled expression on his face.
“I’m trying to figure out my catchphrase,” replied Gunathan, pointing to a poster on the wall. The poster was advertising the Jefflympics, a battle royale for self-insert serial killers. “I’m entering in for that,” continued Gunathan. “However, I still need a moniker and catchphrase so that I can enter.”
“Hmmm,” said Dave thoughtfully, stroking his plush chin. “How about ‘Gun Guy?’”
“I’ll consider it,” replied Gunathan.
“Well, we really must be going,” said the Toppler. “See ya!”
“Bye!” replied Gunathan cheerily as Dave and the Toppler departed for their own universe. Maybe I do stand a chance at winning, he thought.
“Oi! Gunathan!” called the manager. “Get back to work!”
Gunathan Guy will return in his own adventures, written by a series of fantastic writers (but not me).