A Letter I'd Like To See From Duke Nukem

So, I write a lot and this surfaced out of nowhere. Nothing to do with it, but I thought someone might find it good for a laugh or a nice “alternate reality” Duke.

Duke Nukem
Taitea Kororia (Paler Glory), The South Pacific

Gearbox Software
Plano, Tx

Dear Gearbox,
Sorry that I let you down. It couldn’t be helped though, not really. If you look at it from far enough away, I guess I should have seen it coming. That’s what happens when you take off your sunglasses; the light might be a bit harsh, but you see clearer.

I was born Leonard Duke Lezowski, as you can imagine I got beat up a lot as a kid. But that’s fine, it teaches you to be tough, it teaches you that the only things in this world worth having are the things you fought for. That’s what I did. I earned respect by fighting for it. I said what I wanted, did what I wanted and as long as I was on the side of the right, everyone was lining up to kiss my ass.

I joined the Army and proved myself to be an ace ass-kicker in a hurry. Let me tell you how high I was on my own crap: I had my name legally changed to Duke Nukem! Think about that for a moment.

Then aliens invaded. F*cking aliens! So they sent me in and I sent them all to hell. I’m the best there is and there’s none better and I proved it. Hundreds of soldiers died, thousands of civilians were either killed or abducted for some reason.

They wanted me to kill as many as I could. It was a suicide mission and I knew it so I demanded the most outrageous ■■■■ I could think of and they signed on the dotted line. No one expected me to make it out, especially me. But the smoke cleared and there I was. You have no idea what it’s like to be proven to be the biggest, baddest mother on the face of the planet.

The military boys had a collective heart attack when I told them I wanted everything they promised me. OK, I let them slide on the Statue of Liberty thing and having my junk made the symbol of the earth, but I took them for everything else. I was a star and they owed me. So there I was, tax free, filthy rich and standing on top of the world. People loved me and let me do whatever I wanted.

That was my life and I loved it.

But the aliens wouldn’t stay dead, they wouldn’t stay gone. They got reinforcements and came back and I was told to go and kill them again. The problem was that I actually thought that I could do it. Let that be a lesson; never believe your own press.

See, something had changed in the world while I was living in my own private universe. When I got done saving the world, they crucified me. They said I was too reckless; I didn’t have any regard for life. I was called a misogynist, a warmonger, a barely-educated racist. I had to look up misogyny, didn’t even know it was a thing. The women deserted me. The money started to dry up and I found myself a has-been.

I guess it didn’t help that I told the UN to lick my sack and pissed on the floor in protest. I’m still getting ■■■■ for that one.

Then my lawyer says I should “go away.” Pull a Brando and just disappear onto my own private island. It sounded a hell of a lot better than letting the world queue up to kick me in the nuts. I sold everything I could and left the world.

You run a lot when you’ve been kicked off the world. I’ve got sixty miles of pristine beach, a hundred and fifteen miles of paved roads, and over two hundred miles of running trails. I started running because it was part of my physical regimen. After a while I realized that I could think clearer and organize my thoughts better when I run. When I’m out pounding the ground and working up a sweat I can think about things and deal with them.

Charlie-that’s my shrink- says that clear thinking and self-examination are important for me. Her real name’s Charlene, but she lets me call her Charlie so long as I keep my language clean and my hands to myself. She’s my shrink and a second generation Cuban American. She doesn’t talk about her growing up days, but they must have been pretty rough because the things she can do with a switchblade aren’t taught in college.

Charlie and her wife, Jordan, live on the island with me. Jordan’s my physical trainer; she used to be a pro body builder and amateur MMA fighter. There’s also a dozen guys who watch after the place and help to keep me in fighting fit. I’ve got a cook and a maid, too, but that’s it. No family, no friends.

I think that’s the saddest part of this whole thing: I used to have friends, but I can’t really remember any of them. I’ve got family, but they wouldn’t return my calls; so, I quit calling.

Now it’s just me and Taitea Kororia. That’s Maori for “Paler Glory.” Fits, don’t it?

I don’t miss much, really. Yeah the non-stop sex was great (though now I understand the importance of the Paternity Account my lawyer set up). But I guess I just wasn’t attached to anything else. Statues, buildings, businesses, all of it was pretty great, but I don’t miss it. You know that old song, “Don’t know what you got till it’s gone?” Yeah, well I know what I had and now that it’s gone I don’t give a ■■■■.

But, you know, it doesn’t matter what you do, the past will come back to chew on your nut sack if you give it half a chance. So, I keep training, keep “working out and working through” as Charlie says.

You should swing by the island sometime, Jordan makes a death-defying mai thai, and I get excellent TV reception unless there’s a storm. I may be out in the middle of nowhere, but I still get the soaps, so it ain’t half bad.



PS: Trump? Really? And I’m STILL the biggest ■■■■■■■?

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