Tiny Shorts Revamped (Part 2): Frat Boy’s Salvation

Okay, where did I leave those shorts? Ugh! The gym!

Mark walked all the way to the gym. It was only two blocks away, and because it was so nice out, he didn’t mind the walk.

When he got to the gym though, he saw this sign.

                  Gym closed due to clogged pipes.
                 (That's why we have the 'Please do 
                  not shave pubes' rule.)
                      Back next week!
                                 -Management

Next week! Frat Boy doesn’t have that long! Who knows what Baggy Pants is doing to him! Wow, maybe I should call him by his name, Frat Boy sounds weird. What is it again? Steve? God, that’s worse than Frat Boy.

He decided the best way into the gym was through a window in the locker room. Mostly because, it was open.

He found it easy to slide through the small opening. It must be all the fat burning he was doing.

I’ve going to thank Jessica for those Zumba classes. He thought as he feel face-first through the window. He landed on a bench in the locker room. He groaned loudly.

He slowly got to his feet and hobbled to his locker, very sore from the fall. He put in his combination: 0, 6, 9, and giggled as he did it.

He opened the locker and tears filled his eyes.

“Hello beautiful.”

It had been so long since he felt the freedom of the shorts. But it felt like being home again.

He stretched a little bit before leaving out the window again. It was easier than coming inside with the help of the shorts.

“Time to do some rescuing again!” He exclaimed triumphantly.

He ran like the wind to the factory that started it all. As he ran, his shorts started to glow. Everything felt right again. The shorts haven’t glowed like this in almost a year. He ran and ran, with the speed of something very fast, with only the glow of his shorts to light his way.

There it was, Pants Unlimited. So many terrible and great memories there. He defeated Baggy Pants there once, and now he would do it again.

His plan was simple, be confident. Baggy Pants is expecting some washed up idiot. That’s exactly what he wouldn’t be.

Great plan, Mark. You really are a genius.

“Thanks Mark!” he replied in Superman-stance.

He approached the factory slowly, looking for the best entrance. The main entrance seemed to be good enough.

He started with the factory floor, since that is where this all began. But nothing. So he went up to the offices. Still nothing. He checked the bathrooms, still nothing.

Then his pants started to glow brighter as he walked towards his own work station. He walked slowly and starting to hear arguing.

“No, that’s not what he means.”

“So, he doesn’t mean what he says?!”

Frat Boy, I’ve found you! He recognized his voice as soon as he heard it.

“No, he isn’t afraid to say what he thinks! That’s the point.”

“I don’t care, what he thinks is wrong.”

Oh God, Baggy Pants got him talking about Trump. He might kill him to shut him up.

Tiny Shorts decided his best approach would be to let Frat Boy distract him just a bit longer, so he could get into position.

“How can you say that? What about the e-mails?!”

“Oh my God! What about the tax returns?”

“Who cares about his taxes! Taxes don’t matter!”

Tiny Shorts moved so that he was right behind Baggy Pants. Ready to attack.

“You keep that in mind when he raises your taxes and keeps getting breaks for the rich!”

He pulled himself up on a low hanging pipe so he could be just above Baggy Pants. And just before Baggy Pants was going to deliver a comeback to Frat Boy, Tiny Shorts dropped from the pipe, crotch first into Baggy Pants, knocking him out.

“Hi, Frat Boy!” He yelled, then went to untie him.

“Oh dude, thanks so much! I was about to destroy this idiot. Do you know he voted for Trump?!”

“And he kidnapped you.” Tiny Shorts pointed out.

“Oh yeah, that too,” F-Boy said smiling.

“Well, he won’t be out for long. What’s the plan?”

“Dude, what are you wearing?” F-Boy asked looking confused by his shorts.

“I never told you about my shorts?”

“Why are they so small?”

“So my legs have freedom!”

F-Boy shrugged. “Why are they glowing?”

“Because of danger!” He said quickly. “Focus, we need a plan for when he wakes up!”

“Did you bring any booze?”

“No, but I have some in my desk.” Tiny Shorts ran to his desk, opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a bottle of scotch.

“Dude, this is perfect,” he said and finished the bottle.

Baggy Pants started to stand up, groaning as he did.

“He’s getting up!” F-Boy shouted.

The boys sprang into action, like the Avengers would. They were a regular Hawkeye and Blackwidow combo-good, but not that special.

F-Boy would throw him into Tiny Shorts’ powerful legs, sending Baggy Pants flying to a sewing machine again and again.

But, no matter how hard they hit him, his baggy pants always saved him. Because they were so baggy.

After another throw, F-Boy called out, “How do we kill this guy?!”

“I don’t know!”

Baggy Pants started laughing uncontrollably. “You can’t kill me! My Baggy Pants will always protect me!”

Then Tiny Shorts remembered the last time he took down Baggy Pants.

“We need to pants him!” Tiny Shorts called.

“Aren’t they sewn into him?”

“Don’t worry, you are strong enough!” Tiny Shorts called out. Tiny Shorts kicked Baggy Pants into a desk. Then ran up and kneed him until F-Boy was in position.

F-Boy grabbed Baggy Pants by his pockets and pulled down with all of his super strength.

Baggy Pants cried out as the pants were ripped from his body. He stood there for a moment with his pants at his ankles, showing his Spiderman underwear. Then he fell and never got back up.

F-Boy walked over to Tiny Shorts, and they hugged.

“Dude, your shorts!” F-Boy pointed at Tiny Shorts torn shorts.

The shorts had torn so badly, and the only thing left was the waistband.

“I didn’t even feel it!” Tiny Shorts looked up sadly. “Can we fix it?”

“Well, what does that machine do?”

They worked well into the night trying to reattach the shorts. But no matter how hard they worked, the pants wouldn’t glow. He would put them on, but no strength came to his legs.

He looked to F-Boy. “What am I going to do?”

“It’s okay. You don’t need those shorts to fight crime!”

“Then what will my name be? If I’m not Tiny Shorts.”

“You’ll be Mark, and I’ll be Steve!”

 

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