I awoke with the familiar sound of my phone alarm echoing throughout the empty room. The ringtone was that “Peanut Butter Jelly Time” song from the internet. You know the one. It goes “PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME, PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!” It was my ringtone because I really liked the internet, and it always got me to smile when I woke up in the mornings. But today was not like other morning days… it was a Sunday

I said earlier that the ringtone echoed through the empty room, and that’s because the room was large and empty, and that made it pretty echo-ey. I slung my legs off to the side of my bed, which is shaped like a racecar because I am a young man who likes racecars. As my feet touched the ground I felt a stinging sensation in my brain, and that happened because I abruptly remembered that today was the ten year anniversary of the most devastating thing to have ever happened to me

You see my name is Jeff Gordman. And if that name stands out to you it’s because it is my name. And the name of my brother was not Jeff Gordman, it was horse riding legend Tuff Gordman. I’m his younger brother and it was on this day a mere ten years ago that he won the Race of Death, and lost the race of life. I mean he died. He died because of Richard Petty, who is our father

I remember when I heard about my brother (Tuff Gordman, horse riding legend, who died by Richard Petty) like it was yesterday. But it wasn’t. It was ten years ago to this day. My boisterous uncle, Uncle Pennycodsworthmanshire, had rang me up on the phone. “My boy!” said Uncle Pennycodsworthmanshire, my boisterous British uncle. “My boy I’ve got a terrible spot of news to share with you!”

“It appears your dashing and talented brother, horse riding legend Tuff Gordman, has died!” I let out an audible gasp from my mouth. An uncomfortable silence wafted through the air. Finally Uncle Pennycodsworthmanshire chimed in “Welp. Sorry about that, lad. See you at Christmas!”

It wasn’t until much later in the afternoon that I learned the circumstances of my brother’s death. I too had grown up thinking our father was dead, and was also not NASCAR legend Richard Petty, but the news only confirmed the tale. I was sad and upset. I never again heard from my British and boisterous uncle, Uncle Pennycodsworthmanshire

That is until this day

It was now… now. And if you remember I had put my feet on the ground after getting out of bed in my empty room (and my bed was a racecar). I rubbed the sleep from my eyes furiously and swatted at my still screeching phone. But it was then that I discovered it wasn’t my alarm ringtone, it was my phone ringtone which was for a phone call! I used the same Peanut Butter Jelly Time ringtone for all my alerts because I like Peanut Butter Jelly Time

I didn’t recognize the number and it was like an hour before I usually got up, so I just went back to sleep

I awoke with the familiar sound of my phone alarm echoing throughout the empty room. It was that “Peanut Butter Jelly Time” song from the internet. As I pawed at my phone I noticed I had a voicemail message. “That’s odd…” I said loudly into my empty room. It’s not totally empty that is, there’s a bed shaped like a racecar in there

I pressed play and was met with the sound of a voice I hadn’t heard in years. The sound of my uncle, Uncle Pennycodsworthmanshire. Only he didn’t have his trademark British accent. Well he did, but it was layered underneath a Russian accent so it just sounded like a British man doing a Russian accent. He said “Comrade Jeff. I reach you on zis day to remind you of our meeting at ze horse stables on 5^th avenue in noted Russian stronghold Bartlett, Tennessee. It is imperative that you bring your… vat is zis? Egads! Nooooo!!!!!!!” The sound of gunshots and knife stabs resonated through my phone

I thought to myself, “I wonder if my uncle has been shot and stabbed?” It was unclear but I knew something was amiss. I decided there was probably a reason my uncle said that particular stable in Bartlett, Tennessee, so I packed a small lunch and decided to take the bus there. I mean I lived in Bartlett, Tennessee so it wasn’t far. In fact I was on 2^nd avenue so I probably should have just walked but I wasn’t feeling it. After all, I had been woken up a little bit before my alarm and that kind of makes the whole day feel just a little off anyway

Upon arriving at the stables I was met by an old crone with an eerie accent. She seemed to speak only in riddles saying “when is a door not a door?” which by all accounts was a riddle. I sat down on the stable floor unable to come up with the answer so instead I decided to eat my lunch. I had packed a ham and crackers Lunchable, and was absolutely going to town on the stack of cheese when she impatiently repeated the same riddle

I told her I didn’t know and anyway leave me alone while I try different stacked combinations of meat, cheese, and crackers, but she persisted in questioning me. “WHEN is a door not a door?!” she shouted eerily

Just then a figure stepped out of the shadow. He was wearing a long cloak, his shaggy head of dark hair flecked with grey. In his pale, stern face a pair of keen, grey eyes. The tall, lean figure approached the eerie woman and said “When it is… ajar…”

At that the woman’s face began to twist and contort into a writhing mass of skin, her features becoming indistinguishable from one another. A frightening moan bellowed from deep within the woman, and in a bright flash her entire being dissipated into the aether leaving behind a smoky mist where flesh and bone once stood. I watched in awe as I scarfed down the single Oreo cookie that comes standard with every Lunchable

The shadowy figure approached me placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “Who are you?” I asked

“I am but a whisper in the wind… a passing shadow, a wandering soul without a home. I am known by your kind as Strider, a Ranger from a land long gone. But what is important is that I know who YOU are, Jeff Gordman”

With the taste of salted ham, American style cheese, and buttery crackers on my tongue I was perhaps all too eager to accept help from this wistful spirit. But I also knew I wanted to get home and play Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 tonight with my guild and if this cloaked figure could make that happen then I would gladly accept his help

“OK” I said

Strider looked me in the eyes and said “It is but fate that you and I meet on this eve. You see there are things set in motion long ago which threaten to destroy everything that you and I hold dear. For a malevolent power rises in the East and I believe you are the key to stopping this evil and restoring order and reason to our World.”

“You see,” he continued. “I was there the day your brother was killed!”

A look crossed my face. “You were at Port Arena during the Race of Death?!” I couldn’t believe it. So I asked him that question

Strider’s expression sank. “I wasn’t just there… I finished in fourth place”

It was then that I knew for sure Strider had been at the Race of Death, because he said he was. But what did this mean? Was he responsible for my brother’s death? Did he get any prize money for finishing out of the top three? I was so taken aback I farted a little bit

“There is much for you to learn, my young friend.” Strider said. “But first, I have a gift sent directly from the heavens.” The tall man moved to a blanket that was covering something suspiciously horse shaped in the horse stables where I was standing. He whipped the blanket back to reveal something I never thought I would see again

“Dreamfucker!” I shouted with glee. I had assumed that when my father, who is also Richard Petty, killed my brother, horse riding legend Tuff Gordman, he had also eliminated the life out of his prized horse, the fifth fastest in all of the land. But here he stood in front of me covered in hair and chewing on anything his mouth could reach

Strider reached out a hand to brush a whole bunch of ants off of Dreamfucker. “That’s right. When your father stole the life from your brother, horse riding legend Tuff Gordman, I spirited his steed away in the dead of the night. I had hoped that one day I could see this mighty stallion returned to his true master”

By then ants were all over Dreamfucker. He didn’t seem to mind a whole lot though, which was a bit weird but my mind had already wandered to thoughts of using my fully upgraded and ‘pack-a-punched’  M4A1 Carbine machine gun to mow down kids with gamer tags like “BUTTGUZZLER69” and “1999SH1TB00GERzz”

Strider saw my eyes gloss over thinking about my next round of CoD with my friends Cody and Kenji. Kenji wasn’t really Asian, he was just really into the character Kenji in Overwatch so he started calling himself that. Sure giving yourself a nickname is pretty lame but Kenji’s mom told me he has some sort of brain disorder that makes him stupid so I decided it would be ok to call him that. But then there’s also that time I wanted to be called “Shadow” and he told me it was a stupid name and broke my XBOX1, so maybe I should start calling him Ben (his real name)

Anyway strider told me it was time to prepare for my final challenge, but to do so we needed to travel all the way to Butt Point, Texas. I opened my mouth to complain about how far away that is from here but Strider stuck his whole ant covered hand in my mouth and told me not to worry, he’ll be able to get us there, and FAST

We got there, and fast, because Strider had a helicopter outside that had a shark face painted on the front of it. We had a hard time getting Dreamfucker tied to it but eventually Strider gave him a bunch of Benadryl and the horse fell asleep. Along the way Strider explained to me a bunch of important stuff or whatever

He told me I have to avenge my brother and if I don’t a great power can take over the world, and blah, blah, blah. By that time I had quit listening and remembered I still had my Capri Sun from my Lunchable in my bag. Only my bag was in the cargo hold and I couldn’t get to it. Strider offered water and some orange juice but it’s just not the same

It was a short walk to Port Arena from the Helicopter landing field where everyone parks their helicopters, but I asked Strider if we could wait for the shuttle. He reminded me we have a horse and need to get him there but I nagged a bunch and eventually wore him down so I took the shuttle and made him ride a now antless Dreamfucker to the arena

We stopped at the registration desk for the Race of Death 2XXX edition and Strider kept saying “you remember how there’s a $25 registration fee?” but I just pretended I couldn’t hear him and looked straight up at the sky for a while and eventually he caved and paid the fee. I had succeeded in getting everything I wanted up to this point, so what’s a lousy race to the death?

I stopped to root through the garbage and see if there were any McDonald’s Monopoly pieces that people forgot to pull off of their cups but Strider got mad and grabbed me by the shoulders forcing me to look into his eyes. With a stern expression on his face he shouted into my mouth “This is no mere game, boy! The fate of the universe hangs in the balance!”

He calmed down and continued. “The prophecies foretold of a great warrior engaging in a glorious battle. He stood atop the mound of bodies of many fallen warriors, his mighty axe held aloft. I was told the beauty of the light shining off of the shimmering blade was greater than thrice that of the fairest elf-maiden. I can still see the glint in my grandfather’s eye as he told me my part to play in these events”

By this point I had grown bored so coughed into Strider’s face. He recoiled in surprise and disgust and I told him then and there that I fully understood my mission, and my role. And then I reminded him that I’m horse riding legend Jeff Gordman, and atop the valiant Dreamfucker, the fifth fastest horse in all the land, so I was sure to win

Strider smiled at me and led me to the gates of the racetrack but by then I’d decided to wander off in search of some island vibes. I found them in a neat little Caribbean inspired bar located next to the track. It was the kind of place where they definitely hire white people for the staff but they still dress them up in the gaudy Hawaiian shirts and make them learn to play the steel drum. I approached the bartender, a Jamaican man with a delightful accent, and asked him to fill my whole mouth up with Grenadine

He agreed and I laid down on the bar countertop. As he poured the syrupy drink into my open mouth he said something… strange. Something that stuck with me even though I wasn’t sure what it meant. His exact words were “Boy, ain’tcha be needin’ ta run dat racetrack soon? I can’t be-a givin’ you da hard stuff when you be drivin’! Anyway you probably gonna get got from someone you know… Imma be sayin’ betrayal ya know?”

I had Grenadine comin’ out my ears I was so full, but I knew this mysterious stranger was right. I DID have to race just then! Besides I remembered that I did have a whole bunch of horse racing trophies and awards. And I’d won a ton of prize money on last year’s Virginia Slims North American Horse Racing Circuit. I could definitely rely on my quick reflexes and inherent skill, but I knew I better get going. I quickly put my socks back on and rushed out the door towards the stall where Dreamfucker was waiting

The good news is I made it there before the race. The bad news is I overestimated my years and years of training because it turns out I forgot which way horses face. I couldn’t remember if the butt ran first or the head because it would be really cool to see the butt go first which made me think I’ve seen that before. And anyway I also don’t remember what button starts the thing anyway

Strider arrived and helped me out though, picking me up by my hips and placing me right on the horse. Strider was pretty strong! He told me he knew I was struggling so he put some magic inside the horse and all I had to do was sit there and not throw up at the end because it would be embarrassing. I told him “nice shirt, does it come in MEN’S???!!!” that got him so good because all he did was sigh a bunch

It was a bit before the Race of Death would begin because they still had to do the National Anthem, so I took the time to scout out my opponents. I made mental notes to myself so that I would remember which ones are in the race and which ones are fans watching in the stands. That way it wouldn’t be so confusing

The first racer said his name was impossible to pronounce by a human face so I should just call him “Shadow.” This made me think about Kenji again and I got mad. I made sure to say that I thought shadows were stupid and I had to yell it so he could for sure hear it down at the end. For good measure I said it six times so that way everyone knows how dumb Shadow is

Next to him was a man who kept insisting he was just here to watch the race but I didn’t believe him. I kept asking his name until he finally got up and left to complain to the ushers. But before they could make it back I quickly ran back to my horse and pretended not to be able to hear anyone who tried to talk to me. Eventually the usher shrugged and left me alone

There was also this curious, bug-shaped fellow in the stall next to mine. His horse was metal, and almost looked like it was like an insect “pod” with two engines strapped to it. This “pod” racer was apparently the fastest in the land and his whole body was just his face, so I knew he could be trouble

I won the race!

In the winner’s circle I managed to keep the grenadine from coming up so I pointed and laughed at my belly saying “I’ve beaten you! I’ve beaten you!” Everyone kind of backed away from me a little bit but then Strider showed up and leaned in really close…

He said “I am not Strider! I’m NASCAR legend Richard Petty! And also your father!” He reached up to his neck peeling off his mask to reveal the distinct mustache and sunglasses of Richard Petty. He also had one of those cowboy hats with a feather in it like Richard Petty wears! I saw the flash of the blade as he pulled it from his pocket intent on plunging it deep into my chest. It was as if I saw it all in slow motion because I had time to flash all the way back to ten years ago when I first found out my brother had been killed

A memory I had suppressed came crashing back to my mind. It was mere minutes before I received the call from my boisterous British uncle Uncle Pennycodsworthmanshire. I saw a blurry face suddenly become clear to me. It was of my mother, Rickie Petty. She said to me in her trademark sensual, sultry, and yet high pitched ladies voice with a Canadian accent, “You will soon become the chosen one, my dear Jeff Gordman. Train your mind, train your body, and train your soul. Someday you’ll come face to face with your father, and you must know that deceit and betrayal is in his heart. So fuck him up for me, would ya?”

Mere inches from plunging deep into my forehead the shining dagger suddenly reversed course as a loud “oomph!” was barked out by my father. Now safe from death I did the only thing I could think, I started waving my arms wildly above my head and shouting nonsense

Just then I realized what happened. Dreamfucker had sprung forward after sensing danger and gave my dad Richard Petty a really good chomping from his chompers. But the majestic horse didn’t stop there. In a flash of teeth and hair and ants Dreamfucker gobbled up almost all of my father, leaving behind a shiny belt buckle that had an arrow pointing down and said “Good Time Dispenser”

I had saved the galaxy and then Dreamfucker had saved me. I stopped swinging my arms for just a moment and approached the powerful stallion. I reached in to pet his big horse nose but I didn’t see the glint of the blade this time. The horse snickered a mean snicker and leaned in close to me. It took all of my energy to bewilderingly utter the words “Et tu Dreamfucker?”

I died then, and that’s a shame because I didn’t get to play Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2

By Van Lee