Day 3: Frankie Rides Again

It's the third day of his quest for blood and Frankie’s resolve has hardened as he pieces together the broken remnants of his previous failures.

The battered Dyson in one hand, a mutilated Fleshlight in the other, he whispered, “Today, I’ll get them.”

With that, he unleashed his most audacious plan yet: full-blown automotive domination.

Phase 1: Enter the AdrenaMoo 3000

Frankie’s workshop was a frenzy of duct tape, welding sparks, flat earth documentaries, and maniacal laughter.

By noon, Frankie unveiled his masterpiece: The AdrenaMoo 3000. A pimped out lawnmower covered with spikes, cattle prods, and a freshly mounted Dyson. He even painted flames on its sides for intimidation, and installed exhausts that belch smoke like a fiery steed from hell.

Strapped into his patched cow suit, now a Frankensteinian mix of duct tape and rage, Frankie revved the engine. “Time for blood,” he declared, his voice thick with overconfidence.

Out in the field, the herd noticed. Daisy shuffled uneasily, but Big Tom stood his ground, his snort an acknowledgement: This c*nt!

Phase 2: The Thundering

Frankie roared into the pasture, the AdrenaMoo 3000 tearing through grass and debris. He cackled like a girl scout on crack as the cows scattered, their adrenaline spiking with every thundering hoofbeat. “Run, you plant-fed peasents!” he shouted, his machine slurping up dirt and—occasionally—cow poo.

For a moment, Frankie basked in his victory. But then, from the shadows of the barn, Big Tom emerged.

Phase 3: The Moo-tiny

This was no ordinary retaliation. Big Tom led a tactical strike, his hooves pounding the ground with purpose. Daisy, ever the resourceful one, hooked a rope over her neck, looking like she was ready to hog-tie a barn. Behind them, a ragtag cavalry of cows followed, biting on whatever they could find: crooked sticks, broken buckets, and one overly ambitious cow carefully nuzzling a pitchfork along the ground like it was a weapon of mass destruction.

Frankie’s confidence wavered. “What the fuck?!”

Big Tom let out a commanding “aauuugghh,” and the herd charged.

Phase 4: The Fall of AdrenaMoo

Frankie slammed the mower’s throttle, sending the AdrenaMoo 3000 into overdrive. The monstrous machine tore through shrubs and hay bales, but the herd pursued with relentless precision. As Frankie smashed through the fences a thick rope got caught around the mower’s rear axle, the knot tightening with a satisfying *thwack*. Frankie tried to turn around, but it was too late.

“Ah my balls!” Frankie screamed as the rope yanked the mower to a halt from behind, sending him thrusting forward into a world of demasculating pain.

Phase 5: The Great Flippening

Big Tom barreled into the mower with the force of a running bull, flipping it onto its side and catapulting Frankie straight into a steaming wet pile of butt-fudge.

Before Frankie could recover, Daisy snatched the Dyson between her teeth, throwing it triumphantly above her head like a battle trophy. The rest of the herd circled over him, their low, rumbling moos suspiciously resembling a mocking laughter.

“You crafty fucks!” Frankie yelled, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Keep your adrenaline! I’ll open a sushi stand or become a yoga instructor or something gay like that!”

Big Tom gave a solid grunt, as if to say, *Good choice, tiny human.* The herd broke ranks, leaving Frankie wallowing in a mix of cow shit, humiliation, and the shattered remains of his latest business.

Phase 6: The Retreat

Later that evening, Frankie sat on his porch, staring out at the pasture. The cows grazed peacefully like a breathing symphony of steak dinners, believing their dominance is restored.

“You may have won the battle,” he thought, flipping his burger. “But I’ll be back.”

In the barn, the remains of the AdrenaMoo 3000 smoldered, while the Dyson is now part of cow folklore.

Frankie might’ve been beaten again, but in his heart, he knew, you don’t win friends with salad.


To Be Continued…