Buttcoin: 420,69.
“I-Impossible!” the Demon Lord breathed. “The hallowed number! The number of the Gods! Who, no, what, are you!?”
“I am Dick Junior the White,” said Dick Junior the White.
Greg was unconvinced. “Wait, I don’t get it. How is that bigger than the [Demon Lord]’s Buttcoin? That was literally the limit of the Number Go Up system.”
“The Number Go Up System has a limit?” Senior Dick asked. “What happens when you get there?”
“Number Go Up becomes Number No Go Up No Mo’, or NNGUNM.”
“Isn’t that sad, though?”
“It’s very sad, Dick. Tragic. Most people who get there commit suicide, knowing the dopamine drip has run out.”
“That’s… a bit rough, isn’t it?”
“Oh, naw. They just reincarnate as a level one in some other world and start all over again. Never gets old. Apparently.”
“Weird,” Senior Dick replied sagely.
“Sorry to interrupt your philosophical conversation, but Greg, you’ve erred,” Junior Dick chided. “A common mistake among plebians. That is no number. That is 420,69. It stands for 420 followers and 69 favorites. The most basedest combination ever.”
“Ah yes. That explains everything,” Greg replied, making the roll eyes emoji with his eyes.
“It does. By my power as an [Upper Class American Attorney], I invoke [Class Action Lawsuit]!” Dick Junior the White proclaimed proudly, but the [Demon Lord] was confused.
“I don’t understand. What does that mean?” the [Demon Lord] asked, pointing a Freedom Fry appendage at the [Upper Class American].
“It means I get to set the rules of this Dickoff. And I choose the most honorable tradition. The very same method our Founding Fathers used to revolt against their Bri’ish oppressors.”
“Firearms?” asked Greg.
“Ice Skating.”
The audience’s reactions ran the gamut. Greg gasped. God popped an anxious dorito in his mouth. Magnus slurped his EXTRA BIGASS Gulp, and Demon God Vaak said ‘Impressive. Most Impressive in a Darth Vader voice.’
The readers laughed, because that’s what they’re supposed to do. The readers didn’t laugh, but that’s okay. I expected this. God pressed his sitcom applause button, and there was laughter.
“Dick, this is bad news,” Greg said, addressing Senior Dick. “Ice Skating is the most ancient of ways to fight a [Demon Lord], and in your case, the hardest. Your Danciness stat’s at 1. You have no chance, Dick.”
Dick cracked his neck. “I’ll manage.”
God pressed a button on his remote, and the ocean slid back like a swimming pool cover to reveal an ice rink.
Donning 80’s style roller blades on its freedom fry legs, the [Demon Lord] skated out onto the ice like John Travolta on a disco floor.
Senior Dick… just walked. In his leather cowboy boots. And promptly fell over.
“The fuck?”
“HA HA HA! Your overconfidence is your weakness, Dick! Victory is mine!”
Dick wiped the blood from his lip. “Your faith in your fries is yours.”
“Damn, that’s pathetic,” Greg said.
“It would seem Dick has a tall mountain to climb,” Vaak said.
God whistled.
SLUUUURP. Magnus slurped on his EXTRA BIGASS Gulp drink.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“If only Dick had something from chapter twenty-four that could help here,” said Greg.
God stroked his beard. “Hmm, yes, a way to instantly max out his [Danciness] Stat would be quite helpful, but of course, nothing so convenient could possibly exist. That would be Deus ex Machina. I know I’m God, but even I don’t pull that kind of shit. The readers hate it.”
“Nono, God,” Greg replied, “it’s not Deus Ex Machina if ole’ Vowron foreshadows it. Like in chapter twenty-four.”
“Ah yes… wait. What happened in chapter twenty-four?”
“I choose Johnny Cash!” Dick shouted. A stereotypical magical girl transformation cutscene played out. Dick’s clothes flew off and a set of stylish disco clothes replaced them.
“You fool! I’ll send you to your grave!” the [Demon Lord] burger shouted.
“Ain’t no grave can keep me down. God Bless America.”
“Damn. Now that’s a badass voice if I ever heard one,” Magnus commented.
Beside him, Vaak crossed his arms and nodded in agreement. “Such pure, raw, emotion. A glorious voice indeed. Look, even God is swayed.”
“I bless America, I guess,” God said lazily, waving a miniature American flag while playing a game called sdnegel wodahs: DIAR. “Tf’s with all these microtransactions, anyway?”
Dick danced out onto the ice skating rink with his 80’s rollerblades, the stobe-lit wheels carrying him effortlessly across the ice.
“Behold my triple solid axel!” the [Demon Lord] roared, launching into an elegant triple spin.
MUNCH.
“OW! HEY! THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, DICK!?” the [Demon Lord] roared as patty juice went flying.
Dick had just taken his first bite.
“Burgers are for eatin’. Wasting a bigass burger like you’s heresy. God wouldn’t approve. Mr. Washington wouldn’t approve.”
God pointed upward with his hand and said, “He’s right, u no?”
“Help! I’m being eaten! Burgercide has to be against the rules!”
“I make the rules,” the [Upper Class American Attorney] said. “Can’t let plebs like you out of the miserable little hole you live in, amirite?”
“You are correct.” Senior Dick stated, taking another bite out of the [Demon Lord]’s freedom fry hand.
“Good fries.”
“THAT’S MY ARM, CANNIBAL!”
Dick was relentless, dancing around the [Demon Lord]. While the first two bites did only peripheral damage, it was the third bite—the burger’s fry leg, that did the evil beast in.
CHOMP.
Without a leg to stand on, the [Demon Lord] fell hard.
“Winner! Dick Senior!” Junior Dick the White proclaimed.
“Wait, you’ve been calling him Senior Dick. Why’d you just change it around?”
“Because I can.”
Congratulations! You have acquired the skill [Burgerslayer]. You are the bane of burgers. You don’t just vanquish them. You ‘eat’ them. Disgusting.
Burgerslayer has leveled up! [Burgerslayer] lvl 1—> lvl MAX +69,420,00 EXP
Congratulations! You have Number Go Up’d! Welcome to Number Go Up:65.
Congratulations! You have Number Go Up’d! Welcome to Number Go Up:66.
Congratulations! You have Number Go Up’d! Welcome to Number Go Up:67.
Congratulations! You have Number Go Up’d! Welcome to Number Go Up:68.
Congratulations! You have Number Go Up’d! Welcome to Number Go Up:69.
Congratulations! You have – — ERROR. SUPREMELY BASED NUMBER DETECTED. UNABLE TO NUMBER GO UP.
“God! You never fixed that bug?” Greg asked.
“Oh, huh. Must’ve forgot. It’s fine, isn’t it? 69 is a based number.”
“You have a point.”
“That was well played,” Vaak commented from the peanut gallery. “Senior Dick bided his time, hiding his power until readers forgot about it, then brought it out at the perfect moment to secure an upset victory against his overconfident opponent.”
“That’s right. It’s the most masterful execution of foreshadowing I’ve ever seen from any writer. Vowron has truly outdone himself. With such amazing execution such as this, it’s a wonder why Big Dick Energy doesn’t have more followers.”
“I concur,” Vaak replied. “Even my own story ought to have many more followers, but the world simply isn’t ready for Vowron’s genius.”
“Wait. Did the author seriously just call himself a genius?”
“No, I said it,” Vaak said. “I am my own person, so it does not count as self-praise. Not at all.”
“True.”
Dick Senior had laid into the [Demon Lord], taking bite after bite, staining his shirt with ketchup and mustard, until the evil sloppy joe was vanquished.
The audience applaused. The readers laughed so hard they cried.
Using his cartoonishly big hands, Greg drew the curtains on the final act of this gigachad series.
After the curtains closed, Junior Dick the White approached Senior. “How’d you know? How could you possibly have known that it’d take three bites?”
“Well, God Emperor George Washington said it best.”
“He did?” Greg asked. “Also, wasn’t Washington specifically against taking power for himself? Wasn’t that the whole point of the revolution?”
“He did,” Dick replied, ignoring Greg’s second question.
Dick cleared his throat.
“It takes two wipes to know you need three, but three wipes to know you only needed two.”
~THE END~