Still a little hoarse from last week’s exercise in shouting and gunplay, the Power Ranking return with some mindbending metaphysics and borderline fan fiction for Breaking Bad’s harrowing pre penultimate episode.
Let’s get cooking.
Jack enters the great, dimly lit warehouse unarmed and uncertain. His men carefully place each barrel down, steady it, then retreat nervously into the shadows behind him. In front of Jack is a desk. A silhouette waits there, preying amidst the anonymity of the glare emanating from a spotlight somewhere behind him. Jack gulps, hiding his nerves.
“Step forward” the commanding voice orders. Jack complies.
“You have it” it’s not a question, it’s a statement. Jack very well understands that his life depends on having it.
“Y, Yeah we got it. Loaded it up and took it straight here. Nephew is keeping the Pinkman kid out of the way. Walter still has his barrel like you asked.”
A bracing silence fills the room after Jack finishes. The ominous shadow has no response for him. Jack feels an intense pressure now, through the sheer force of personality he’s faced with. The swastika on his hand quivers along with the rest of him.
“Every damn dollar’s nice and safe in its barrel. All 61 million of them. We didn’t touch the money.”
“We didn’t touch the money, I swear! We wouldn’t even think of trying it…”
Ken Wins leans forward, revealing himself.
“You’re God Damn RIGHT”
Rolls last remnants of his crumbling empire through the arid desert, sweating through his clothes, panting, feeling the pain of the metastasising evil within him stir in his heaving breast.
Passes a pair of stained, weather ravaged khaki trousers. Contemplates for a moment.
No. That was still more demeaning.
Continues rolling his shame; whistles horse with no name as he goes.
In memory of: Hank Schrader
Hank, your endgame was stupid and you feel stupid. Ideally, you would have arrested Walter, been fired, decimated your entire family who would have then watched Walter die before seeing a trial and have to live in the wreckage of his fallen empire, penniless and traumatised.
Instead, you were executed in the desert by Neo Nazis while your monster brother in law makes off with 10 million dollars and an infant and your disabled surrogate son fumbles the celebratory Schraderbrau six pack you had been saving and ends up with musty suds spraying all over him like a magnum of piss.
When your best case scenario is only marginally better than your worst case scenario: YOU HAVE FUCKED UP.
Jesse calls this kata… The Cow House. #PinkmanVines
In memory of: Steve Gomez
Stevie, you died with the dignity with which you lived. By that I mean you were shot to little Mexican bits offscreen then dumped in a hole beside the borderline racist jock asshole you’ve been taking shit from for the past 5 seasons. Should have stayed in El Paso.
* A dingy motel room, somewhere in Albuquerque, one year in the future.
A large black man paces toward a window obscured by closed blinds. He prods one chunky finger between the slits and peers his stark, blootshot eyes out at a world he has only gazed upon for he doesn’t quite know how long.
Could it be safe yet? He’s asked this question every da !
Suddenly a loud cracking noise from behind startles him. At first it sounds like crackling lightning, then static, then a deep bass noise.
A tear in the fabric of space and time itself opens in the tiny motel hovel, a large screaming palette of vivid, undulating colour. Huell’s high pitched nasal breathing is just barely audible over the chaos. Out from the portal steps Saul Goodman, young, confident with a thick head of hair and clad in a suit which itself is a screaming palette of vivid, undulating colour. Goodman is joined by a bearded Kuby, who appears to be dressed as a Boston beat cop.
“What the hell!” Huell exclaims.
“Huell baby! I know you don’t know who I am because we haven’t met yet, and if things go to plan we never will.”
“WHAT IS GOIN ON HERE GOODMAN!?” Huell spits in a high, bemused tone.
“What’s going on is wasted potential. You my friend are supposed to be the star power forward for the Detroit Pistons in a slimmer, meaner timeline. Now take this card, and if I ever meet you in say, a strip club where you’re the bouncer and I try to hire you, call this number immediately“.
“But we’ve alread” Saul cuts the protestation short with a hand gesture.
” Listen Poppin’ Fresh. I’m trying to manoeuvre all the right pieces into place to make sure I remain Miami’s most successful and most stylish criminal lawyer slash novelty tie designer. It requires a lot of moving parts to pull off and you’re just one of the… larger uh… slower moving parts.
So! Unless you want to stay in this crappy timeline and die of sleep apnoea in a crummy motel room and keep Kuby from his true calling as a stand up comedian and podcaster, I suggest you get with the program!”
Huell looks between the two familiar unfamiliar faces trying to gain some semblance of reality. He must have died already, been poisoned by Heisenberg maybe…
“Now if you’ll excuse me I have to stop myself from blowing the biggest case of my career with cocaine and hook… distracting masseuses.”
A beeping noise. 80’s Saul glances at his pager. Kuby preempts Huells questions.
“We’d better get cracking if we’re gonna save this Vince Gilligan character from Comic Con 2015, there’s no second season if we don’t”.
“Right you are. See you in Belize Baby! Say hi to Ben Wallace from me”.
And with that, Saul and Kuby exit as they came in and the portal closes.
A baffled Huell stows the card away in his jacket with surprising dexterity and seats his ample frame on the fold out motel bed.
Rivers flowing with cash
Rivers looks out at the land, seeing the spent shell casings, the husks of destroyed cars, the mound where the murdered corpses of the DEA men desecrate the ground he and his forefathers have lived on for generations and wipes away a lone tear.
Rivers pumps his sweet new quad bike into fourth gear and accelerates; taking more care not to get desert sand in his eye this time.
It was an up and down episode for the Breakfast Prince. He debuted his swag as fuck denim jacket, which combined with his sweet Dodge Challenger just about makes him the Ryan Gosling of New Mexico. On the other hand he realised his entire reality has been a web of ever deeper and more disgraceful lies, his father is a ruthless fratricidal meth tyrant (and a prominent donor to the Albequerque supremacist stormtrooper squad), local celebrity and massage enthusiast Saul Goodman is less wholesome than his TV spots might have implied and he’s never going to get another chance to watch Heat with his dear old Uncle Hank. Like I said, swings and roundabouts for Flynn this time out.
All of this really calls everything into question does it not?
“So you’re saying… YOU’RE A LIAR! You just admitted it. So, were you lying then? Or are you lying now? Which lie is it? Did I have Cocoa Pops this morning or was it that store brand bullshit that has the stupid college aged Garfield on the box instead of Coco the monkey! Was it all just a big bowl of lies!?”
“Alright Mr Beneke don’t pout, you know it’s time for your sponge bath. If you don’t get it done and out of the way those bedsore will start to sm AAAAHH!”
The home nurse drops her basin and sponge out of pure shock. They clatter to the floor, releasing a small torrent of water that splashes against her shins. The nurse claps her hand to her open mouth, unable to cope with the sight before her.
Ted Beneke stands triumphantly in front of her naked as the day he first fucked Skyler White in this very house, his newly formed paunch protruding in front of him. The only thing more astonishing than Ted standing up is Ted’s penis, which also stands up, equally brazen and confident.
Teds toes flex wilfully, exploring the warm bathroom tiles beneath them. Ted whips a monogrammed “TB” bathrobe around himself and cinches it at the waist. He runs a hand through his inexplicably newly grown mane of silver hair and smirks.
Not Ranked: Erections, Kuby, Skyler, The Albuquerque Fire Department, Hoover Man, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 80’s Goodman, Present Goodman, Infinite Crisis Timeline Goodman, Larry Sanders Goodman, sleep apnoea, Todd, Todd’s Taste in Motivational Posters, Lydia, The Ghost of Gus Fring.
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