THE DEATH OF BLUTO BY Mark (Marknew742@aol.com) Popeye learns that spinach isn't always on his side. 1 Bluto held Popeye over the edge of Dead Man's Cliff. He shook Popeye, and grinned when Popeye's can of spinach fell out of his shirt and plummeted below. "I have you this time, you interfering do-gooder. And when I'm done with you, I've got a few plans for Olive too." "No, you villain, ya can'ts hurt Olive! "Heh-heh. I'm sure it won't hurt much -- the second time! Just then, Popeye slipped through Bluto's fingers and began to fall. He arched his hands into a swan dive to speed his descent, and swiftly caught up to the can of spinach, opened it and ate it, and then turned himself around in mid-air so that when he hit the ground, his legs flexed and propelled him back to the ledge where Bluto was confidently watching the demise of his foe. "Yev gone too far this time Bluto!" Popeye yelled from behind him. "Hey! How did you -- Popeye slugged him so that Bluto sailed into the air and landed hard on his ass. Then Popeye picked him up and threw him like a spear straight at a tree, where Bluto's head became encased in the trunk as the closing strains of the episode's music began. "Let's hear your laugh," came a hoarse whisper from offstage. Popeye glared at it. "I ain't finished with him yet! "But Popeye -- "Shaddup. Nobody threatens me girl like that!" He advanced toward the tree, where Bluto was slowly withdrawing his head, and grabbed him by the belt buckle. "Hey, Popeye, what gives? Work's over for the day! "Ya wents too far this time. "Hey. It was in the script. New network. Late time slot. Remember? Popeye stared at him. "I don't read them things." He walked to the cliff, Bluto struggling futilely to get away. "Popeye, no! "Yer a bully and a brute. I just can't stands it no more! "He's gonna kill me! Hellllllp!" came the yell, as Bluto plummeted down the ravine to his death. Popeye wiped the dirt from his hands and walked away, alone. 2 Olive was waiting at the door when he got home. "Popeye! The police were here. Is it true? "Yup! I took care of Bluto once and fer all. "But Popeye! You killed him! That's murder!! "Ahhk, ak, ak, ak, ak," he chortled. "Don't be a sap, Olive. It's show business! They'll bring him back when they're ready. "I'm afraid not Popeye," a serious man wearing sunglasses said, stepping out of the house. "The cameras stopped. We didn't have the cartoon safeties on. "Whaddya mean? "We all saw it, Popeye. You killed Bluto. Popeye's jaw dropped. "Whoa! Mebbe I should get me a lawyer! The man shook his head. "We've taken care of that already. There'll be no charges. Bluto was a bad egg and we got you off on self-defense. But the show's canceled. Bad publicity. And it took a lot of money to pay off the family. Sorry Popeye. You better find another line of work. No one will touch you now." He nodded to Olive. "So long ma'am. Thanks for the coffee. "Popeye! What are you going to do? "I'm Popeye the sailor man! Whaddya think I'm gonna do? I'm gonna get meself on a ship and sail! 3 Two years passed. A tired Popeye trudged up the steps to Olive's house and rang the bell. He heard music from inside. The door opened and a man peered outside. "Uh oh, he's here. Olive! "Who are you 'n what're you doin' here? "I am Wentworth Gould, sir. And I live here. "What!!!? Olive appeared at the door. "I'm sorry Popeye. I would have told you, but you never answered my letters. I thought I didn't matter to you anymore." "Olive, I can't write letters. The guys 'd think I'm a sissy. Olive sniffed. "Wentworth writes beautifully. Poetry, love notes, Valentine's Day cards. He's rich and he doesn't have to travel. We spend our days walking through the park, our nights at the theater or in fine restaurants. And best of all, no fighting. "'E sounds like a wuss and a wimp to me! "I assure you sir, that while I am not a pugilist, my attorney is one of the best of his trade. And now, I will ask you to leave our property, or I will be forced to call the police. You are a known troublemaker, and they will have little hesitation to charge you. And this time, the studio would not trouble to bail you out! Popeye reached into his shirt and fingered his can of spinach, then, realizing this was one battle spinach couldn't win, put his hand down and sadly left. 4 It was late at the Hamburger Local. Popeye was nursing yet another beer when he noticed a girl sitting next to him, staring. She was slender, but she had broad shoulders and a wide chest. Her hair was jet black, and she had a small, pug nose and freckles. "Hey! What're you doin' here?" he mumbled. "I've been watching you. Aren't you Popeye, the sailor man? "That's me, alright," he said sadly. "But how did you know? I didn't think they put me on TV any more. "Oh they don't," she agreed. "Mostly new cartoons, like Captain Planet, about saving the Earth from pollution. Your shows are too violent for little kids and," she added, looking down at the table, "not sexy enough for the bigger ones. Like me. "Hey, who taught you to use words like that!" He sighed. "I don't even get royalties no more. I'm just a tired old sailor." He stood up. "I better go. "Oh? Where? Popeye stopped. "I dunno. I was goin' to Olive's, but she's married to some jerk now. Guess I'll have find some flophouse. "Come to my place. Popeye raised his eyebrow. "Aren't you a little young to be invitin' sailors home? What'll yer folks say? "I'm not so young, I'm seventeen. Besides, I don't have any folks," she added, with an edge in her voice. "My Dad's dead. And I don't see my Mom. "I can't afford no trouble. "I can take care of myself. And anyway. seventeen's legal, you know. "Ok then. Lead the way. The girl stood up and Popeye followed her out the door to her car. "Nice car fer a girl." She nodded and peeled out of the lot, tires squealing. "Hey! Who taught you how to drive? "My Dad. Before he died," she said, staring straight ahead. They drove far out of town to a large house in a deserted area. "Whoa! Is this yer place? She nodded. "I got paid a lot when Dad died. "I useta have plenty of dough. The studio took it after my last show. She pulled into the garage. "You can stay downstairs," she said, pointing to a room off the entrance. "There's some scotch in the liquor cabinet over there. It's left from Dad, so I don't know if it's any good. Popeye looked over to the elaborate bar. "A little scotch'd be real fine. "Now, I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning." She climbed the stairs, looking back just once to watch Popeye pour himself a drink and down it in one gulp. 5 "Hello-o! Popeye touched his head. It felt as if a dozen sledgehammers were pounding on one small part above his left eye. "Rise and shine! He tried to stand up, but he felt so woozy that he immediately slumped back onto the bed. "I'll bet you feel bad. You finished that whole bottle. Popeye remembered. It was the best whiskey he'd ever tasted. Sure was better than the stuff the studio execs used to give him when he used to go down there to sign their damn contracts. She put a cup of hot coffee in his hand and he drank it down. His eyes bulged. "What was that?! "Oh, just something Dad used to make on his day afters. He wasn't so grumpy after he drank it. Popeye nodded. "What's in it? "Family secret," she smiled. "Oh, nothing fancy really. Pepper, hot sauce, lots of coffee, and a bit of scotch. "It sure woiks." He took another hit. "Yer a nice kid. "I'm not a kid. I'm seventeen. "Oh yeah. Ya told me. Well, thanks fer everything. "It's my pleasure. Do you want to see the rest of the house before you go?" Popeye nodded. She took him on a tour of the kitchen, living room with cathedral ceiling, six bedrooms, a great room with a fireplace and more cathedral ceilings, and then downstairs to the recreation room, indoor swimming pool, gymnastics room and weight room. "Wow!! You got a lotta stuff here. "It's a hobby. I spend most of my days down here, swimming, dancing, working out. In fact, I'm ready for my morning session. Want to join me?" She stripped off her clothes, leaving only cotton shorts and a lycra halter top that fit tightly around her small but firm and round breasts. Popeye eyed her up and down, appraising her narrow waist and shapely legs. She smiled and blushed slightly. "You sure have a piercing look. "Well, yer makin' me feel like a dirty ol' man, undressing like that. She walked away into the weight room, her firm ass wagging through her shorts. Popeye could feel himself getting hard and followed her. She stood at the curling station and started lifting, the motion making the biceps rise in her arms. Popeye eyed them, surprised. "Yer, uh, good at that. "Uh-huh," she grunted, finishing off a set of twenty. "I work hard at it. Want to try? "Sure." He moved to her position and started pulling up on the bar. "Whoa! Yer liftin' a lotta weight fer a girl, aren't ya? "A hundred pounds. Is it too much for you? I can make it lighter. "Don't touch it. I kin do it." Popeye grunted, pulling the weight upwards more and more slowly, but finishing the twenty with a great effort. "You did it! It took me months to work up to that weight." Popeye staggered away. "We don't have one a these on the ship ya know. 'Least, I don't think so. "Oh, of course." She stepped over to the bench press and pounded out another twenty repetitions. "Want to try this one? Popeye was torn. He hated to have her show him up, but he couldn't see clearly how much weight she was lifting and he thought it might be over 200 pounds. "I dunno. I had a late night, you know. "You need something to get your blood going. Want to spar? "You mean fight? But yer a girl! "Of course I am, silly! But I don't mind if you don't. It'll be good competition for me. "But I -- "You're not afraid, are you? "Afraid of you. Come on! "Well ok then. Let's do it." She stretched, pulling her arms in back of her and thrusting out her chest, her smallish breasts pointy and defined against her halter. "All right. But I'm not gonna go easy on ya. "It wouldn't be fun if you did," she said, smiling. She opened a cabinet and took out boxing gloves, and a helmet and mouth guards. "What's all that stuff? She threw him a pair of gloves. "To protect my pretty face. "Well, I don't want 'em. "Suit yourself." She danced around, shadow boxing to warm up, while Popeye stretched and hit a punching bag a couple of times. They climbed into a ring and the girl set a timer. "Ready?" Popeye nodded and a bell sounded. She came out slowly, circling Popeye, moving quickly. Popeye tried to get a fix on her, but she was fast, bobbing in and out, dancing on her feet. He let loose with a few easy blows, but she ducked them, then, as Popeye was getting bored, she came in with a one, two that connected solidly on his cheek and his chin, dazing him. He stepped backwards, but she followed with another to his chin and then one to his stomach. Now Popeye was against the ropes. He swung hard at her face, but she turned her head and drew back so that he hit the head guard with just a glancing blow, then she connected solidly with his shoulder, stinging it. The bell sounded. "My round," she sang, and skipped away. "Want another? "I'm just gittin' warmed up," he declared, more determined. He sat on the stool, breathing hard, trying to clear his head. All too soon the bell sounded and she charged out of the corner, dancing lightly again. He measured the distance and hit hard at her head, but she blocked him partially with her arm and absorbed the rest of the blow, then came inside with an uppercut to Popeye's temple that made him see stars, followed by a fierce blow to his abdomen and another to his chin that staggered him. Woozy, he put his arms up weakly to protect himself while she set, then reached back and powered a shot to Popeye's head. He fell backwards, knocked completely out. 6 It was quite a while before Popeye came to. His head was pounding now, his left eye was swollen shut. He groaned. "What hit me? The girl walked in, dressed in a sheer, white silk blouse with a pink ribbon tied in front, and a short pink cotton skirt. "I did. I knocked you flat out, Popeye!" she said, and mockingly made like she was going to hit him again. He flinched, putting up his arms. "Ha! Are you afraid of me now?" She balled her hands into fists and drilled a punch into his gut. "Ooof! Hey, whaddya doin'? "Fight back! Defend yourself, if you can." She reached back and hit him again. "You're nothing, a total wimp. And I'm going to destroy you! "I'm warnin' you. I've had all I can stands and I can't stands no more! She smoothed her skirt down and put her hands on her hips, mocking him. "Oh I know what's coming next. You're going to eat your spinach, aren't you? You need spinach to defend yourself against a seventeen year old girl. What a joke you are!" She lashed out with her foot, kicking high into his chest and knocking him a couple of inches off the ground and onto his back. She smoothed her skirt down again, then turned around and lifted the television set sitting on the dresser behind her high above her head, her sleek biceps bunching with the effort, and tossed it at Popeye's head. Popeye quickly rolled over, the set missing his head by inches, the screen shattering on the floor. "Yer tryin' to kill me!" Heart pounding, he pulled his can of spinach out of his suit, and swallowed it down. Then quickly spit it out. "Pyuff, yuck! What is that stuff? The girl smiled, brushing the dust from the television off her hands. "It's kale. Looks just like spinach, doesn't it?" She opened a dresser drawer, reached in and pulled out a large handful of spinach leaves. "I switched cans last night. And if you thought I was being tough on you before, well the time for real fun is just coming!" She stuffed the leaves into her mouth as Popeye looked on, horrified. Frantically, he felt around his suit. "Looking for your spare? I got that one too!" She pulled out another bag and emptied it into her mouth, flicking a few stray flecks from the leaves off her collar and back into the drawer. "NO!" cried Popeye, struggling to sit up. "Oh yes!" replied the girl, sweetly, but firmly. She stood between Popeye and the door, as her chest rapidly swelled, waves of muscle rolling out from her torso, breaking over her arms and legs, each wave building on the one before, until her chest extended a full eighteen inches in front of her narrow waist, stretching the thin, silky material of her feminine blouse to transparency before her growing breasts burst through, thrusting themselves out toward Popeye like coiled snakes, while her thighs bulged powerfully outward in massive disregard of the normal limitations of human anatomy. She lifted her arms and flexed her mighty biceps, which expanded outrageously, tearing through the remains of the arms of her blouse, and cutting off from Popeye's view anything but the sight of his hugely powerful tormentress. She looked over at her biceps with glee, smugly watching as a picture of a mallet pounded a carnival strength test and sent the ball crashing through the bell and flying into space like a rocket until it exploded into the sun. She advanced until she stood over him, then sent the full weight of her breasts and powerful chest muscles bounding down onto Popeye's head, again and again, like two large bowling balls crushing his body lower and lower down to the floor to the rhythmic, flexing beat of her mighty pecs. "Ha! You're not even a match for my sweet little breasts! And what about a little arm power?" She picked the limp sailor up by the neck of his suit and hurled him speeding through the open door like he was a dart, drilling his body halfway through the plaster wall across the hallway. "Bullseye!" she shouted. Popeye kicked and wriggled his body, trying to extract himself, but he was solidly wedged in. The girl walked around to the recreation room, where his shoulders stuck out, then punched him squarely on his head, sending him flying out the other side and sliding along the floor to the end of the hall. She slapped her hands together, brushing off the plaster dust, and reached inside a cupboard at the base of the stairs, pulling out an oversized t-shirt which fit snugly around her powerful chest, her large firm breasts jutting straight outward, the iron-hard tips of her nipples darkening the light fabric while the sleeves of the t-shirt were fighting a losing battle against her melon-sized biceps. "Ohhh," he moaned, moving his head slowly from side to side as the stars circled him. He dazedly reached down to his shoe and slowly pulled out a long flat pouch from under the sole. Looking on with interest, the girl flew down the hallway in no time and watched Popeye's trembling hands fumble with the seal. Just as he broke it, she reached down and snatched it out of his hand. "What could this be?" she smiled. She pushed the bag open and sniffed inside. "Dried spinach concentrate? You sly man, you. I missed this one!" Popeye's eyes grew wide as she picked him up with one hand and pinned him against the wall, where he was immobilized inches from her face. "Hey! Ya' look familiar somehow. But I can't figger it," he mumbled. "Well, you'll just have to look more closely, won't you? I'm sure you don't have any trouble seeing me from here," she giggled, as he remained suspended against the wall. "Why don't you just keep a close eye on me then?" She looked down at the bag. "What is this stuff anyway? "I dunno. Some guy in Rio gave it to me. Said he used to watch my show and thought it would help me if I got in a jam sometime. But that was years ago. It's been in my shoe all this time. It's really old. Uh, I wouldn't eat it if I were you." She held the pouch under her nose and smelled it. "Oh no? Doesn't seem too old to me." She held it over her head and emptied it into her mouth, chewing vigorously and swallowing it down hard with a visible lump passing down her throat. "Wow! I'll say it's concentrated! Like eating a bag full of leather! Popeye watched her closely, but could not see any evidence that it was having an effect on her. He breathed a sigh of relief, which the girl observed with a twinkle in her eye, which then turned into a frown, as her arms started trembling. Popeye saw that as a sign of weakness and started struggling again, but she just pushed him more tightly against the wall and soon recovered her composure. "Pshew! That's some strong stuff!" She smiled and put her finger under Popeye's chin, tickling him lightly. Popeye kicked and bucked his body. He hated being tickled, but he was caught as tightly as a fly in a web. "Thought you had me going, did you?" She closed her eyes blissfully then opened them. "I don't know, but this may call for a little change of plans. I feel so good!" She looked down at her chest, her breasts pushing hard against her t- shirt, straining to get out, then quickly looked back up to Popeye, catching him staring at them. "What ever are you looking at, Popeye, you dirty old man. I don't suppose you've ever seen breasts like these, have you? Not hanging around Olive Oyl all those years!" She cast her eyes downward slightly to observe Popeye's erection straining hard against his sailor's suit. "I bet it's even harder to fight me with that little stick bouncing around between your legs." She fingered it lightly through the cloth, while Popeye squirmed. "Oh don't worry, I won't make you stain those nice white pants. I'd rather it stay good and hard, and uncomfortable. Does it drive you crazy, not being able to do anything about it? Being so turned on by a girl who is destroying you? Well let me give you something else to look at." She stretched her arms out slightly, her breasts swelling more tightly against her shirt, her dark nipples like screw tips pressing toward Popeye, until suddenly they burst through the fabric as easily as the points of a scissors slicing through cheesecloth, tearing a hole as large as her areola while Popeye jaw gaped open, his erection pounding with the beat of his heart. Her nipples, almost two inches long, gleamed as if they were covered with dew. "Do they look soft and inviting, Popeye?" she asked, her finger tracing a line across his chest, then resting on the wall next to him. "Well, hardly!" She curled her finger and effortlessly dug a three inch gash out of the plaster wall. "My, my these nails are sharp. What do you think they would do to your face?" She held her nail up to Popeye's cheek as he tried desperately to move away, his head trapped against the wall. "Why, you can't seem to get away, can you? Is the wall really that hard? Let's see." She hit the wall with a quick jab, shattering it. "Well, I don't know. It just took one little punch. Now, how many of those do you think you can take? "NO. Please! You'll kill me. "Do you think I might? Am I that strong? I'd rather not rush things. Well, maybe you'd rather just feel my muscles? Would you prefer that to one of my punches?" Popeye nodded vigorously. "Good then!" She pulled him around the opposite wall, made of brick, and set him down opposite her. She held out her arms, pointing her biceps up at him, then flexed them, sending two hard globes of muscle hurtling into Popeye's chest, lifting him off the ground and pinning him once again to the wall. "Nnngh! Can't breath. "Oh but Popeye, they're not even fully pumped yet! And I just know you do want to feel how hard they've gotten!" She tightened her fists and the globes of power, now easily the size of beachballs but with the mass and density of lead weights, crushed harder into Popeye, shattering his ribs and crushing his shoulders. His head flopped down limply, his eyes glazed over with pain. "Oh my, have I crushed you so soon? I wasn't ready." He slumped down, and she caught him and held the beaten man tightly against her body, flexing each of her muscles with her new power, and letting each prodigious new eruption of muscle explode against him like a thousand fists pummeling the battered remains of his frame. Then she loosened her grip and thrust her chest out, the force of her firm breasts hurling Popeye against the wall, which cracked, sending plaster from the ceiling crashing onto his head. "Wow! My chest must be over eighty inches around now! What a feeling! But you won't last too much longer, Popeye. It's time to go. Popeye raised his head weakly, unable to reply, while she grabbed his belt and dragged him like an old blanket across the floor, up the stairs and out to the driveway where she dumped him into the back of her car. She drove quickly and expertly to a large clearing outside of town, then tossed the broken down bag of bones that used to be a proud sailor over her shoulder and strode quickly to the edge of Dead Man's Cliff. She lifted him up with one hand, staring at him with complete satisfaction. "Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?" he mouthed softly, his eyes half shut. She smiled. "The name's Bluella. I'm Bluto's daughter." She breathed deeply, expanding her chest to huge proportions, and tossed Popeye skyward. Popeye's eyes opened wide. "Well blow me down," he exclaimed for one last time, as she exhaled a hurricane force wind directly at him, driving the flying sailor over the edge of the cliff, and sending him hurtling to his death.