Space Vikings

Howard Butter-Butts, affectionately known as “butt pats” was hurrying out of his Westwood condo.  It was Saturday so he was dressed casual.  He had on an Abercrombie shirt and shorts that he had bought the other day.  The stores were stocked with summer wear, not a sweater in sight, but it was 55 degrees outside.  Howard stood in the doorway and shuddered, the cold didn’t register in his brain though because he was absorbed in his palm pilot.  He was trying to read the news he had down loaded from the web before stepping out.  He pressed a button, not sure what it did, and deleted the  news.  He shuffled down the walk, his arms held close to his body to keep warm, trying to figure out how to read the news he was sure he had downloaded.  He caught a newspaper between his feet and nearly fell on his face.  He dropped the palmpilot which hit the walk with a “crack”.  He looked about quickly to see if anyone had noticed.  He didn’t see anyone but he gave the newspaper a quick cursing just in case, collected his palmpilot and continued toward his Mercedes.  Howard was a successful marketing man for an e-commerce website, so he stubbornly refused to believe that there was anything electronic that he didn’t understand.  He climbed into his car, a metallic gold convertible with black interior.  Howard gave the buttons on his palmpilot a final desperate pounding, and when the news did not miraculously pop up he tossed the insolent computer into the passenger seat.
                He started the car and began backing out of the driveway.  There was a loud “clunk” and the car jolted.  Howard awoke out of a Quake III day dream he had just started and leaped out of his car in a panic.  He checked the back bumper; no damage.  He looked around to see what had caused the bump.  There was what appeared to be a Viking long boat blocking his driveway.  Howard did not have time for this.  He got out his cell phone to call his mom, but then had a second thought.  He walked around the long boat and made a quick mental calculation of the gap between the boat and the picket fence around his lawn.  If he drove over the flower bed and onto the lawn a little he could get around.  It sounded like a good idea.  He looked about once more, checking  to see if he had overlooked a cleverer solution; Howard was very clever, his mom said so.  That was when he noticed the Vikings.  Three large Scandinavian men were racing towards him from across the road.  The one closest had a barking rowdier over his shoulder, tail end first.  The second was carrying a jewelry box and a bottle of Jack Daniels and the third; a bloody battle axe.  All three men had deeply golden, unkempt hair and wore animal skins.  The last one out the door stopped on the porch and let out a loud animal roar.  Howard stood frozen to his spot.  It was not fear that kept Howard from moving, or even thinking, it was simply that he had no idea what to do.  He decided he best call his parents, maybe his dad had an idea what to in such a situation.
                The Viking with the dog arrived at the boat first, he threw the frothing animal in and bellowed long and loud in its face.  Howard and the rotweiler both paused, Howard’s finger poised over a speed dial button; two sets of beady eyes locked on the Viking.  The second Viking arrived and placed the jewelry box and whisky in the boat.  He looked up at Howard.  The third Viking wiped Mrs. Jones’ blood from his axe onto her lawn, knocking a particularly cute lawn gnome over in the process, then he raced across the street to join his fellows. 
The second Viking wiped his knife on Howard’s spiffy Abercrombie shirt and slid it into it’s sheath.  He stepped over Howard’s already cold body and proceeded up the walk, tripping over a pugnacious newspaper on the way.  Just then, Howard’s mom, feeling that her boy might need a reminder to wear a sweater called him on his cell phone.  The third Viking looked at the small object laying on the driveway, decorated with a recreation of an original painting by John Travolta.  He was immensely annoyed by the shrill rings it emitted and he crushed it under his heel.  The second Viking tried the front door, Howard had remembered to lock it (incidentally he had not remembered to bring the key along; it was sitting on the kitchen table along with three dirty cereal bowls).  He called the third Viking over, who broke the door down with three swift axe chops and a stiff shoulder.  The Vikings entered a hall decorated by Howard’s mom.  They immediately set to forcefully searching for valuables.  The second Viking rather liked the old writing table in the hall that Howard’s mom had given Howard after his grandmom had died, although he didn’t like the coffee stain that Howard had made on it.
The third Viking went straight to the bedroom.  He thrust the glowing computer monitor from Howard’s desk across the room as it chirruped to point out to Howard that his friend Stacey was now on line.  He grabbed the desk and hoisted it up with a grunt.  He paused to stabilize his balance and then proceeded to shake the desk.  The drawers slid out, spilling their contents across the floor, mixing knickknacks with the broken cornchips that were already there.  The Viking tossed the desk onto the bed, and with a tremendous creak the bed flung it against the opposite wall.  With his hide-wrapped foot the Viking poked through the pile of garbage.  He grunted in disgust.
The first Viking was keeping an eye on the dog, stoking it’s head.  He liked the animal, liked how it seemed to dominate Mrs. Jones’ living room; chewing up whatever it liked, imposing it’s dog odor wherever it pleased.  The dog demanded the respect from Mrs. Jones that she was not getting from the dog.  The first Viking chuckled as the dog licked his hand.
The second Viking, after glancing at the miserable living room (Howard’s mom had not got around to decorating it yet) stormed into the kitchen and began rifling through the cabinets.  He found three beers  and some steaks in the refrigerator and grabbed them; the bottles clinking pleasantly.  He looked the kitchen over once more with a scowl and hurried back to the hall.  He yelled to the third Viking who appeared, looking happy and holding a red toothbrush victoriously.  The two ran back to the longboat and climbed in.  The second Viking patted the dog’s head.  Police sirens sounded in the distance.  The third Viking scowled as he fired up the electromagnetic matter manipulator, which they referred to simply as the ‘box’.  The long boat raised into the air as little Danny Gillen threw open his front door, barefoot and pulling on his coat.  His eyes wide, he stopped ten feet from his door, watching the boat defy gravity.  The dog barked and one of the Vikings looked over the edge of the boat, right at Danny.  Danny said the first thing that came to his mind, “Cool!”
Then the boat was gone, hurtling happily through space.