Shamrock Open: Boondock Saints (1640 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 0.8 on 18 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Chronic (View user info) at 2006-02-22 04:15:54 EST
Since their first spree of executions on the most corrupt citizens of South Boston, the Saints had become a household name in both the United States and abroad as the vengeful striking hammer of God. The controversy surrounding their actions never attached to them so much as it did embed itself between those that feared their vigilantism and those that adored their heroism. With a seemingly just cause, half of any crowd in any location, and more than half in many, would lend shelter and protection and sustenance to The Saints without a second thought. How could they refuse the incarnated trio of veritas, aequitas, and the Lord's own fist? Truth, justice, and The Duke.
But even with minimal public outcry to be heard, the police investigation remained seemingly ever present. Many cops secretly praised the Saints and likely wouldn't arrest them given the chance, but with each new city the would-be heroes entrenched themselves in, the presence of law enforcement seemed to double almost overnight. These three vigilantes were undoubtedly not law abiding, at least not man's law, and under pressure from City Halls around the country, the police had to at least put up a guise of passion in the hunt. Special Agent Smecker was still leading up the FBI investigation with less than stellar results when the Sin City Massacre took place. Secretly, Smecker was puzzled by the event because he hadn't leaked the information to the Saints on this one, but it reeked of the MacManus brothers nonetheless.
Sure, copycats had appeared occasionally but none had the success or charm or blessing from above that Il Duce and the MacManus brothers enjoyed. They spoke in tongues and became masters of the spy game to skillfully wriggle their way through society and the criminal underworld on a warpath against murder, rape, and thievery, three things which all good men of all good faiths can classify as wrong. Their luck seemed boundless, always a step ahead or behind but never close enough to be snatched out by The Man. Smecker had their backs, as did God, and the risks were essentially negligible. "Luck of the Irish," people would joke when The Saints would narrowly escape the law, or a blade in the shape of a Celtic cross would be found jammed between the fourth and fifth ribs of a Crip or Blood or Yakuza Triad or a treacherous con-man of little old ladies.
It was late February in the third year of the Saints' saga when their oldest brother, Shane, finally found the motivation to track down his two rogue siblings and their companion, Il Duce. Shane had been a bit different from Connor and Murphy as a boy and was initially opposed to their rampage against the filth of the world. He truly believed that vigilantism was the right of no man. As a young lad, he put all of his emphasis on his studies, received a scholarship to UPenn Business School, and graduated from Wharton towards the top of his class. In the years since graduation, he had lost his faith directly in proportion to his growing wealth, probably from brokering multi-million dollar deals with mercilessly cut throat businessmen for the better part of a decade. He knew that his associates were less than honorable and he knew that the men above him bordered on despicable, but it was not his place to change the world.
However, the Boondock example of his brothers on the news each night began to clarify his disgust with the terrible corruption of upper finance. The deceit and exploitation he oversaw each day played on his mind for months until a sign came to him and granted him the courage to bring about change and a new age. It was late on a stormy night at his penthouse in New York City. The glass skylight above his bed shattered without warning, dropping glass upon the bed and allowing rain to pour down upon his body and cleanse his soul. A great wind tore through the house, inexplicably tearing his paintings off the walls and shattering windows at will. Amidst the roar of rushing air, an almost inaudible whisper could just barely be heard. Though he struggled at first, the words eventually became clear. It was his family's prayer...
He needed to find the brothers, the killers, The Saints.
---
A knock came at the hotel room door behind which the Saints were residing for a weekend romp through Sin City. For the right amount of money to the right people, almost anyone can be found.
"Who is it?" The nickel plated 9mm rose from Connor's belt to the peephole and whoever happened to stand beyond it. Murphy's magnum was drawn from beneath the mattress.
"Connor, is that you? It's Shane."
"...Shane? Murphy! It's fuckin' Shane, the old boy!"
"Well open the fuckin' door for our brother!"
After hugs and laughter and a reunion and an apology for being virtually absent from their lives for the last 15 years, Shane explained himself, explained the corruption he saw every day of his life and how tragically this corruption pillaged the bank accounts of hardworking men. He told his brothers of a conference in a banquet hall on the Strip with 20 corporate CEOs drawing up the blueprints for an illegal monopoly to run up prices and magnify profits and exploit consumers. All of these men deserved death as much as any east coast mafia boss or west coast gangbanger.
Finally, a Saint spoke. "Thou shalt not steal."
"Bring the rope." Both Connor and Murphy laughed. It had become their joke, and turned out useful more times than not.
The Saints, with a fourth in tow, entered the conference hall, spoke not a word to any single soul, and began to claim the corrupt as they had sworn to do in that courtroom 3 years earlier. With "Confero" now inked on the hand of Shane, for responsibility, a hailstorm of gunfire tore through the tangible sleaze, fraud, and bribery that hung in the air like a stench of immorality.
When the smoke had cleared, nearly 2 dozen of America's most powerful businessmen, most of which were already billionaires in their own right, lay dead and bullet-ridden across white tablecloths and hardwood floors. Shell casings littered the entryway to the hall and a sense of accomplishment derived from the smile of God washed over The Saints and mellowed the ringing in their ears.
A cowering foursome of waitresses in the corner of the room looked on in horror and absolute fear. Il Duce and Murphy removed their masks and approached the girls tentatively. The Saints enjoyed being recognized because as I said before, half of the world loved them, 49.5% feared them, and a half percent was chasing them. There was usually very little to lose from being recognized, and often much to be gained.
"I'm sorry to have frightened you pretty young lasses," said Il Duce in a calming tone.
"Yes, our apologies for all the commotion," continued Murphy with a wink and a smile.
One of the girls found the fortitude to speak. "Are...are you Murphy MacManus?"
"Hear that, brothers? I just been recognized!"
The other girls began to whisper and giggle about the Saints, who had become a bit of a sex symbol to young ladies across the nation during the last few years.
The four "performance gymnasts," who only did waitress work to supplement a life of trying to make it as Vegas performers, made for some of the wildest lovers that the Saints had yet come across. Furthermore, these four girls had grown hostile towards the sleaze and deceit they saw each day in the aptly named Sin City. The road to success would have required such significant compromises of their dignity. They were still young, idealistic, full of fire, and incredibly athletically gifted.
The Saints had a vision for the girls, but it wasn't until after the ninja training was completed that the Lady Saints, armed with katanas, throwing stars, and poisonous blow darts, embraced their true destiny. They became an ideal compliment to the gun-toting Irish boys from Southy on their God-granted rampage to rid the world of scum.
The band of vigilante Saints, armed with a bottomless bankroll, four persuasive ninja supermodels, two young men of vision, three with tongues of fire, a wise old executioner, and the oversight of God Himself, were essentially unstoppable. They marched through the world for more than 20 years, assassinated ruthless gun traffickers in North Africa, South American druglords, Ex-KGB informants to Middle Eastern Terrorists, Underground black market financiers of central Europe, and always kept an eye on crime in Southy. And then one day, they were gone.
Young boys dreamed of The Saints for a generation or two. They became a legend for good fathers to tell their sons. "Don't cut corners in this life or the Saints will come back just for you." The world had surely become a safer place via the bullet and blade.
Smecker was uncovered and arrested for his crimes about a year after the Sin City Massacre, though he said he wasn't sorry for a single one of the death sentences he essentially signed. Besides, prison served his sexual tendencies well.
Cuddling is for fags anyway.
User Reviews
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-02-26 22:45:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
http://www.ubersite.com/m/77443
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-02-26 21:59:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
It seemed...a bit off.
I don't have the heart to give this anything less than +1.
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-02-23 00:58:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
You just explained how I really felt about the first half, and why I figured "eh, fuck it." for the second.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-02-23 00:25:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
The first half sounded almost narrated. Like it should have been a lengthy voiceover before a TV dramam or something.
Written well, but not particularly compelling. It was almost too sterile to completely draw you in, you know?
The second half.....well, you know about the second half.
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-02-22 23:38:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-02-22 15:19:28 (#)
Ranking: 0
Whatever. I didn't really know where to go from the beginning and when I realized I wasn't even thrilled with Shane and Confero and my whole point (and that I wasn't going to write something else because this is the Internet), I figured I'd just go ninja supermodel on everybody.
Because who wouldn't like to see 4 hot ninjas and 4 Irish boys armed to the nines executing gunrunners?
---
If I had thought people would actually like the story, I might not have tried to pander to the least common denominator of hot ninjas.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-02-22 23:09:10 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
Wait, what just happened there?
Ninja performance gymnasts?
Submitted by ConorJS (user info) at 2006-02-22 19:30:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
"The Saints had a vision for the girls, but it wasn't until after the ninja training was completed that the Lady Saints, armed with katanas, throwing stars, and poisonous blow darts, embraced their true destiny."
AAAAAAWWWW you FUCKING killed it...
You bastard. You sick son of a bitch!
And it's South-IE! not South-Y.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-02-22 19:14:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
auto +0 for Boondock Saints
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-02-22 15:19:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Whatever. I didn't really know where to go from the beginning and when I realized I wasn't even thrilled with Shane and Confero and my whole point, I figured I'd just go ninja supermodel on everybody.
Because who wouldn't like to see 4 hot ninjas and 4 Irish boys armed to the nines executing gunrunners?
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-02-22 14:51:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
holy debacle, batman!
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2006-02-22 12:34:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
The first part was pretty good, and would have gotten a better rating from me if you had just expanded on that part of the story.
From Ninja training for the performance gymnasts on, it blew.
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2006-02-22 12:00:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
The first section was good. A good idea, but about half way through shit started to just turn sour.
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-02-22 11:58:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good stuff.
and NINJAS!
the only thing I like better than a good ninja story is a good pirate story.
But this had prison sex mentioned, which I guess counts as ass-piratry (is that a word? probably not)
so here ya go
+2
Submitted by mtgn37 (user info) at 2006-02-22 10:55:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
dont get me wrong, ninja super model chicks are great, but they didnt seem to fit here.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-02-22 07:13:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
i wasn't really a huge fan of this.
not the movie, i was a huge fan of that,
but this, not so much
Submitted by BadAssJulie (user info) at 2006-02-22 05:37:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Chron, I always love the stuff you write. You rock but I think you could've done better with this whole thing. It's still way better than anything I could've come up with though so +2.
Submitted by phuzzygish (user info) at 2006-02-22 05:17:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
It was all going pretty well, and then came the ninja supermodels who moonlit as waitresses. WTF?
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-02-22 04:59:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
see what you get for posting this tripe right above mine?