TWO WEEKS AGO

“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Russell said, and hell if he didn’t mean it.

Buzz just laughed — that loud, reckless laugh that told Russell he didn’t have a chance.

“That’s what they say about all the greats,” Buzz said.

They were standing on the dock, looking out at the massive sailing yacht that, according to Buzz, was going to be his home for the next six months. And what a home it would be — the boat was a stunner. The kind of yacht that screamed wealth and whispered promises of champagne sunsets. It looked like something straight out of a high-end watch commercial, where the action hero sails off with a supermodel draped over his arm, and by nightfall, she’s bent over the polished chrome rails. Must have been 75 feet of pure luxury, before Spazz’s unhinged marketing team had gotten hold of it.

The giant sail was obnoxiously purple, emblazoned with “SPAZZ: JOLT YOUR INSIDES” in bold, lightning-like letters that could be read from space. Whatever dignity the yacht might’ve had was long gone, sunk by bad branding and, to Russell's dismay, the absence of supermodels.

Russell scratched at his beard, trying to piece together how, in the name of all that was sane, he’d let himself get roped into this. Buzz said he had a job for Russell, but he still didn’t have a damn clue what it was.

“Run it by me again,” Russell said. “Slower this time. You were talking so fast on the phone, I barely caught a word.”

Buzz clapped his hands together with a monumental force. He’d always been a high-energy guy, but Spazz had taken him to a whole new stratosphere.

“Here’s the deal, pal: The bigwigs at Spazz want me to sail this beauty all the way around the goddamn world.”

The words tumbled out of him, fast and manic. Russell raised a hand to stop the runaway train before it derailed completely.

“Why?” he asked, skeptical from the get-go. Buzz considered for a half-second, as if he’d never really considered it before.

“Because that’s what Spazz does, man!” Buzz said, pointing to the ridiculous sail. “They sponsor all kinds of wild shit to move their product. F1 racing, train-hopping hobo speedruns, something called competitive gooning. If it’s extreme, Spazz wants a piece. And now? Now it’s time for long-haul sailing. Across the goddamn globe, baby.”

“I’ve seen the videos, it’s always some crazy shit. But the people in those videos doing the crazy shit, they’re professionals. Whatever their weird thing is, they’ve been doing it for years. No offense man, but what do you bring to the table?”

Buzz snapped his fingers, pointing at Russell with electric pride. “Exactly! That’s why this works. I’m the salty old dog, the advisor, the guy behind the scenes. What Spazz needs now is new blood. A fresh face of the brand, you dig?”

He paused, letting it sink in, before dropping his brilliant bomb. “That’s where you come in, partner. I’m saying I want you to join me. My first mate, my protégé, the new face of Spazz Energy.”

Russell blinked. “So, I’d be like a… brand ambassador?”

“Sure, call it what you want!” Buzz clapped him on the shoulder. “Face of the brand, my man! I’ll be your Jedi Master, helping you refine your craft — but you’ll be front and center. We’ll film as much as we can while we sail — promo videos, behind-the-scenes stuff, the works. This isn’t just a stunt, buddy. It’s the viral marketing campaign that’s gonna blow all their other bullshit outta the water.”

Russell cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’ve seen those highlights of the professional gooners. Talk about endurance.”

Buzz grinned, he’d been waiting for this. He reached into his pocket and tossed a packet of Spazz Energy Russell’s way. Russell juggled it for a second before catching it, saving it from a swim.

“That’s the beauty of it, pal,” Buzz said, his grin stretching wider. “We’ve got the same leg-up all them other crazy bastards did. The powder. We’ll be running on the stuff the whole trip.” He paused, then quickly added, “You know, as per our contract.”

“What?” Russell said, but Buzz continued, practically vibrating with enthusiasm as he poked at the packet in Russell’s hand.

“This boat’s stocked with enough of this shit to fuel a Berlin fuck-club for a decade. They say the trip will take six months, but I say we crush it in three. Legends, man. That’s what we’re gonna be. Fucking legends.”

Russell eyed the packet of Spazz like it might grow fangs and go for his throat. Truth was, Buzz picking him for this wild-ass scheme hit a nerve he didn’t like to admit existed. Made him feel wanted, maybe even valued. But while Buzz wasn’t the type to screw him over, he also wasn’t the type to read a label. Russell had done some digging on Spazz, and what he had found under all that purple powder was a fine print they didn’t want people to read.

He flipped the Spazz packet around, pointing to the ingredient list for Buzz to see. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. You know what’s in this shit, right? If Adderall hooked up with trucker pills and shat out a baby, it’d be purple.

“Aw, come on,” Buzz said. He plucked the packet from Russell’s hand and shook it like it was magic dust. “This is pixie sticks for grown-ups. Harmless as apple pie. I mean, I’ve been on this stuff for a month, and look at me.”

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He thrust out one of his meat-hook hands, the fingers jittering out of their knuckles. He’d probably look more relaxed sticking a fork in an electrical socket. “See? Alert! Focused! Like a goddamn spider monkey!”

Russell was inching towards the part of the conversation he really didn’t want to have.

“It’s just, with your heart condition, you may wanna talk to a doctor about this stuff.”

Buzz threw his arms wide, opening up his chest. “You think the Spazz suits would pay for two months of sailing lessons if they didn’t have a doc look me over first? I jumped on a video chat with some white-coat from Croatia or something. He didn’t speak a lick of English, but he watched me do a few jumping jacks and gave me the thumbs-up. I’m fine, buddy.”

Russell rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. Fuck it, he thought. Just say it.

“Look, maybe it ain’t my place Buzz, but what with you being in recovery—”

“Stop right there,” Buzz said, gripping Russell’s shoulders. His voice softened — this was not the Buzz ever shown on the infomercials. “This isn’t a relapse, man. This is a comeback. What we have right here, right in front of our goddamn hands, is a comeback.”

Buzz walked a few steps down the dock, holding his hands out in front of the boat as if to say can you believe it?

“You know I’ve had it rough,” Buzz said. “Hell, the whole world knows I’ve had it rough, but I know you have too. But if we — no, when we pull off a stunt like this, the gates’ll open wide. Job offers coming in from every direction. Forget Dinger the Bear. Forget Jack-Off the Pirate. You’ll be Russell Murphy. Just you.”

Russell felt himself being tugged forward, not by Buzz’s arm but by his sheer gravitational pull. Was Buzz offering him a chance at something real? Like a cartoon character sniffing out a pie on a windowsill, Russell drifted closer until they were both standing in the shadow of that absurd purple sail.

Buzz threw an arm around his shoulders, the grin locked in like it was going to seal the deal. “Look at it, Russ. It’s all there. All you gotta do is grab it. Take the wheel with me, and we’ll sail straight into the future. No looking back.”

Russell let his eyes wander over the yacht again — the sleek lines, the polished deck, the promise of something bigger than the mess he’d been calling a life. Buzz wasn’t wrong. It was a hell of a pitch.

And yeah, it was one hell of a boat. Even with that obnoxious sail screaming SPAZZ: JOLT YOUR INSIDES. If they got lost at sea, the coast guard wouldn’t need a distress signal — they’d just fire up a satellite and zero in on the purple assholes.

“And we get paid up-front?” Russell asked.

“Money hits your account the day we set sail.”

Russell sighed, shaking his head like he was already regretting it. Buzz leaned in, hand extended, his eyes practically popping out of his skull — part excitement, part Spazz-fueled mania. Russell hesitated, his gut screaming no, but his hand moved anyway. He clasped Buzz’s big paw, and that was all it took.

“Oh baby! What a ride this is gonna be! We’re headed for glory, my boy!” He clapped Russell on the back so hard, he nearly knocked him into the water. “Now, there’s just one last thing we need to talk about.”

Russell’s eyebrows raised a notch. “What’s that?”

“Well, let’s talk onboard. My protégé’s gotta see his digs.”

----------------------------------------

"Hot damn. Not bad, man," Russell said, stepping onto the yacht. “Not bad.” The yacht was even more impressive with Russell’s feet firmly planted on its polished deck.

"Not bad?" Buzz said, sweeping his hands across the top deck. "Buddy, this isn’t just a boat. This is paradise on the water! Hey, you see the camera?"

Russell’s eyes followed Buzz’s nod to a shiny new camera mounted on a tripod, aimed at the main deck.

"That bad boy? Straight off the lots of Hollywood. We’re gonna use it for those marketing videos I mentioned. Raw. Real. Viral content. The kind of shit people share with captions like, ‘You gotta see this!’ or “Those Spazz fellas are INSANE!’" Buzz grinned like he was already counting the views.

Russell chewed on his gums, trying to keep his grin from getting too wide. Over the past few months, he’d worked hard to drag the old dog into the digital age, setting up accounts, teaching him the tricks, even showing him how to wipe his browser clean of any lingering porn tabs. And Buzz, to his credit, soaked it all up like a pro, ready to sell to a whole new generation of schmucks.

Russell’s grin finally broke loose.

It felt like Buzz was paying the favor back, taking a leap of faith on him. Inviting him into something big. Dangerous as shit, but big. Buzz was betting on Russell when most people had long since folded, and for the first time in years, he felt like he had something to prove — not to the world, but to the guy who believed he could pull this off.

“You know, maybe I should shave before we kick this off,” Russell said, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Pretty sure the ‘face of the brand’ shouldn’t look like they just crawled out of a week-long bender.”

Buzz laughed, big and booming, the kind of laugh you throw out when your buddy cracks a bad joke, more for their sake than yours. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Buzz said, waving him off with a grin.

Russell shrugged, though the thought lingered. He’d meant it. If he was gonna be standing in front of a camera, maybe he ought to clean up his act a little. But Buzz didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

“Come on,” Buzz said. He motioned Russell toward the stairs. “Wait till you see the rest.”

The galley was massive, built for a crew of ten but converted into a shrine to Spazz. T-shirts, stickers, branded junk piled everywhere. In the kitchen area, Buzz threw open the fridge, showing off an endless lineup of snacks and drinks.

“Check this out,” he said, grabbing a bottle of water and tearing open a packet of Spazz. He dumped in the purple powder, gave it a few shakes, and the liquid lit up like neon. “Take boring ol’ water, toss in some Spazz, shake it up, and BAM! Instant energy drink. Pure fuckin’ magic.”

Russell tried to match Buzz’ excitement about purple water, but his eyes had wandered to a special cooler below the fridge, spotting a trove of beer bottles, the condensation dripping down like temptation itself.

“Don’t get excited,” Buzz said with a chuckle, catching the glance. “Non-alcoholic. By special request.”

Russell swallowed his disappointment. He needed to dry out anyway, but still. He stepped back, letting the space soak in. He could see himself calling this place home for a few months, easy. Even buried under all the Spazz swag, it was the nicest boat he’d ever stepped foot on — hands down. Then again, the competition wasn’t exactly stiff. Russell wasn’t a yacht guy. He was a city bus guy, maybe a stolen scooter guy on a good day.

“All this, just for us?”

Buzz leaned back against the countertop, a smirk of pure satisfaction spreading across his face. “When you’re the face of the company, you ride in style.” He let the moment hang, both of them soaking in the luxury around them, before he pushed off and clapped his hands. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

The hallway ran the length of the yacht, lined with doors on each side and one at the very end that was a little fancier than the rest. Buzz pointed toward it. “That’s me, down there. Most of the other cabins, well…” He gestured to the others with a little flourish. “They’re for storage.”

He popped one open, and Russell saw why Buzz had said the word ‘storage’ like he was speaking of ancient treasure. Inside the cabin was a wall of boxes labeled SPAZZ in bold purple letters. The sheer amount of it was staggering. Metric tons of purple powder.

“They want us slinging this at every port. Gettin’ the world hooked on Spazz, that’s our game, baby.” Buzz said, giving the boxes a proud slap. He moved on, but Russell lingered a moment, staring at the mountain of purple poison.

If it meant sailing with Buzz, soaking up every trick of the trade from the master himself, Russell figured he could live with turning the whole damn world into jittery Spazz junkies.

Oh captain, my fucking captain.

Buzz reached for the next door, “This one’s all you,” he said.

But before Buzz could push the door open, Russell reached out, putting a hand on his arm. It wasn’t planned — just something that bubbled up inside him, something he felt he needed to say.

“Buzz, listen,” Russell said, his voice steadier than usual. “I just gotta say it — thank you. Ten minutes ago, I thought you were out of your mind. But now? I’m in, man. All the way. You letting me be a part of this whole thing, learning from you, a master — it could change everything for me. And for once, I won’t have to jump around in a damn suit, acting like a fool for laughs. Like you said, I’ll finally get to be me.”

Even with Spazz pumping through his veins, Buzz had the good sense to realize there’d been a misfire somewhere between them. His grin softened, and his tone turned almost apologetic.

“Russ, buddy… maybe I didn’t lay it out quite right.”

Buzz pushed open the door to Russell’s room. Sensing something was wrong, Russell’s eyes darted into the room, locking onto the bed, and the stupid-looking bastard sprawled out on it.

It was a mascot costume — or at least an unholy parody of one — scattered across the bed in five ridiculously purple pieces: mangy fur leggings, a fuzzy torso with molded plastic nipples, foam paws the size of boxing gloves, a tail decked out in lightning bolt stripes, and a raccoon head with bloodshot eyes and a foaming smile so deranged it could easily be the villain in a B-movie slasher flick. The thing didn’t just look deranged — it looked like it had freebased an entire factory’s worth of Spazz and was moments away from suplexing a preschool teacher.

“Meet Blitz,” Buzz said sheepishly. “The face of Spazz Energy.”

Russell let out a groan so deep it felt like it started in his soul. He wasn’t the face of the brand, he was the guy behind the face. The idiot in the furry suit, all along.