It’s Hard Out There for Fisto

Fisto awoke slowly as Eternia’s bright, morning sun streamed in through his shoddily made Wal Mart blinds.  No matter how much he twisted that little wand they never quite closed right.  Even when he used his giant fist, nothing changed.

“Fuck…”he muttered.  He rolled over, attempting to escape the shitty morning, his face crunching through errant drywall crumbs. Once again, in the middle of the night, his fist had slammed a hole in his bedroom wall.  “Fuck.”

Rising slowly, Fisto looked around the room.  His 12 inch black and white television was still on, the volume turned down, as Good Morning Eternia played behind fuzz.  He’d lost his cable some years earlier and had yet to sustain enough of an income to have it put back on.  Fisto was pretty much unemployable and had been for over 20 years, thanks to assholes like He-Man, strutting around with two normal sized hands and names that barely references sexual deviancy.

The rest of Fisto’s one room apartment was sparsely furnished.  His hot plate sat next to the sink, awaiting the preparation of his morning feast; reused teabags and some instant oatmeal.  A recliner that he was pretty sure Battlecat pissed on and a small TV tray that he stole from Skeletor’s trash one day filled out most of the rest, along with a small dresser to house his loin cloths and perplexing metal chest straps and a large stack of porno.

Looking at his alarm clock, Fisto sighed.  It was already past 7 and if he wanted to get any of the good jobs down at the temp agency, he should have been there already.  Now, if he was lucky, he’d show up and spend a half hour sitting around with Ram Man and Meckaneck and end up chasing chickens out in the boonies for about $50.  He would put $30 of that towards rent and spend the rest on marl liquor, just like every day.

Oozing out of bed, Fisto stood on shaky legs and looked down at himself.  One giant hand and a dick like a malformed potato thanks to a teenager masturbation mishap.  He thought he could get over his shame by using his giant fist for good, by becoming a hero like 50% of everyone else on the entire planet, and what did he have to show for it?  His first day as a hero, when he showed up and told everyone his awesome name was The Knock Out Kid, some ass hat called him Fisto, everyone laughed and he ended up in one episode of the He-Man cartoon before being made into a forgettable action figure that the smelly kids played with.  The fuckin’ smelly kids.  Because who wants to play with the toy that everyone associates with being wrist-deep in another human’s undercarriage?

After pissing, Fisto slipped into a mildly soiled loincloth and headed for the door.  Outside, at the bus stop, Ram Man was busily picking a scab from his elbow.  The stocky man waved at him as he approached.  Just another day in the life of Fisto.

“Fuck,” muttered Fisto.