Johnny Panic: That One Time I Blew That Place Up

One day back in, like, 2011 I was hanging out with Zazz who happens to be my health deficit best friend. We were stuck in traffic on Wilshire Boulevard sitting in The Beast which is my monstrous, black SUV. Zazz said it brought too much attention to him then got his feelings hurt when I told him that he couldn't draw attention if I gave him a pencil and sketchpad. Then I wrote that line down because it was too good to not. He was mad that I wanted a theme song. I told him that every superhero has a theme song. He said that they weren't real. I poked him in the belly and told him that I was real as well as our feelings towards one another.

By the way, I'm Johnny Panic.

Hello. You look great. You smell great, too. Is that a new shirt? Looks great on you! I'm serious! Anyway, bringing it back to me. I'm a superhero. I can fly, lift stuff, and, like, shout loud. I'm also Mr. Steal Yo Chick. I'm kidding! I have a girl. Her name is Ronica and chances are she'd never date you. I'm sorry, but she just doesn't feel that way about you. Don't make this awkward. Don't be mad! Come here. Please? Come here. There ya go. Bring it in for a hug. Yeah. Feels good, right? Almost...too good?

“Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and even the X Men to a certain extent have their own songs” I told him. “Wouldn't it be cool if when I showed up to wreck shit a song was playing?” Zazz sighed and stared at the top of the car in front of us. The Beast was so damned high up we couldn't see anything else.

“Whatever song you played would have to be loud enough to be heard over the sound of you landing and destroying everything” he said because he's a hater. “Why would you want danger knowing that you were arriving? That seems counterproductive.”

“Your face is counterproductive” I said. He was always trying to stop fun things from being fun. “Have you ever heard of waxy flexibility?”

“Waxy what?” he asked.

“Waxy. Flexibility.” Zazz sighs so that means he doesn't know. He can't just ever say that he doesn't know something. “It's a thing where people are all up in a coma and you can bend them however you want.” I waited for Zazz to be impressed.

“That isn't an actual thing” he says. “And don't say that I'm not an actual thing.”

“Curses!” I shout and shake my fist in his face.

“Don't do that, you jackass!” he says. “I'm driving!”

“We've been sitting here for ten minutes and haven't moved three feet” I tell him. The car ahead moves and we inch forward.

“Happy?” Zazz asks. I ignore him and continue talking.

“So I was thinking of maybe that Donovan song. I love that song. 'Thrown like a star in my vast sleep
I opened my eyes to take a peek. To find that I was by the sea gazing with tranquility. 'Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man came singing songs of love. Then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man came singing songs...of love...'”

“Please stop.”

“'Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang. Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy he sang. Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy' he sang.'”

“Sure. Fine” Zazz said throwing his hands up.

“Hands on the wheel, you madman!” I say to him. “How could you not like a song about a man singing songs of love? Anyway, you probably want me to show up blasting 'My Heart Will Go On' or something?”

“Sing one Celine song and I'll never live it down” he tells me. “Do you smell that?”

“Did you fart?”

“No” he says sounding all guilty.

“If you farted I'm launching your into the atmosphere” I remind him.

“Something smells like its burning.”

“That's just my love for you” I say and rub his arm. He smacks my hand away like he doesn't like it. Who wouldn't want me rubbing on them? I'm Johnny Panic! See? That would've been the perfect time for me to have a song played! But I think something is actually burning for real.

“Don't you have super smell or something?” Zazz asks me.

“If I did I doubt our friendship would've lasted this long” I say. Call me butter because I am on a roll! I should have said that out loud. “Call me butter because I'm...”

“There!” Zazz shouts cutting off my perfect response. “I see smoke!”

“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine” I moan. I get out of The Beast and see smoke about half a mile ahead. I fly off and people start cheering and taking pictures. I pause for a few seconds and pose for them. I'm a man of the people, for the people, uh...to the people. I speed off and see that a truck is one fire and police are surrounding it slowly. Ooh, action!

I land nearby and someone fires a shot at my dome piece. It doesn't hurt but it could've messed up my hair. I mosey over to the cops and shake a few of their hands. I grab a chunk of concrete and toss it at the shooter. It hits his flaming truck and he screams.

“Who is this dick?” I ask.

“Multiple offender” fat cop says.

“Burglary, assault, everything you can think of” Latino cop says. Latino is a safe word. I once called a guy from Nicaragua Mexican and he lost all of his shit. After that Zazz and Ronica told me to cut that out and stick with safe words like Caucasian, Latino, African American, and Asian. Never for any reason say Oriental unless I'm talking about a rug. 

“So how can I help?” I ask them. Listen to me being all adult an' shit!

“If you can bring him in alive that would be good” fat cop says.

“But don't be afraid to break a bone or two” hot lady cop says. I look at her and she winks. I'm this close to breaking and entering her pants when a bullet whizzes past us. I walk towards this assclown and he is unloading into me. My shirt is ruined so I take hot lady cop's advice and break his trigger finger. He starts screaming so I thump his head with my finger knocking him out. It's a thing I like doing. 

“Gas!” fat cop shouts and all the cars start reversing. A few police tell everyone to back their cars away from the intersection. I launch this guy onto the hood of a police car and rush over to the gas leak. Oops. Right where I ripped the ground up.

“How do I, uh, you know, stop this?” I ask no one in particular. Zazz appears out of fat air gasping like he just ran Tough Mudder.

“What...did...you do...this time?” he asks me.

“Gas leak” I tell him. “You should probably run.” He makes a face like I just told him that kittens are the 12% of burgers from McDonald's that isn't beef. “Oh, how can I resist you when you make that face?” I say and fly off with him.

Then the street exploded.

That's all.

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