And then…

The Rhino was BACK.

… followed very quickly by a hippotomus, a zebra, a lion, and the lemur king.

Herds of wildebeast roam the plains of the African plain along with other hooved creatures to include rhinos and others. But not usually lemurs and certainly never penguins. What this has to do with the DD Quackcast Community Soap I have no idea, but I once shot an elephant in my pajamas, how he got into them I have no idea.

However, gerbils that eat scrotums had invadedCentral America. Banes put down the newspaper. “Why doesn't anything interesting ever happen?”

He was then bowled over by McAttack who came running out of the stairwell some German guy who had been behind Banes in the bathroom, had disappeared into seconds before.

Machete in hand and a natty looking safari helmet on his head (that he had found among the other hats in the stairwell) Abt nihil finally stumbled out of the staircase door and into the sixth floor. Or at least that's what it looked like. It was a wide open plain with a model of a castle in the background, an inn on a distant hill, the smoking wreckage of a VW minibus and a large orange cat in plate armor pushing a mop.

“Yeah, I know what you're thinking” Harkovast said, “But that whole thing with Gullas and then McAttack running in and out, I think I'll go back to being the sixth floor janitor.”

“What about Pit D'arc?” Abt nihil said.

“Yeah, yeah, she's up there. Better take this.” The feline janitor handed Abt Nihil the can opener. “Poor Genejoke went bonkers, he wandered off mumbling something about salt in his coffee.” Harkovast sighed as he dunked the mop into the bucket. “But with all this going on who wouldn't go crazy?”

“Indeed, ” said Abt Nihil who realized that the orange tabby was mopping a dirt road.

Tantz watched as yet again everything paused until everyone in the inn could have their turn using the bathroom, and tried to use that pause to make heads or tails of what the hell was going on, and especially why she hadn't already fired her very rare and nasty looking machine gun.

When Pit Face emerged from the bathroom asking what happened while she was away tending to private business, she replied, “nothing- and when I say nothing I mean I haven't fired my machine gun yet.”

Pit Face was shocked. “What!? That's heresy, give it to me!”

Tantz smirked, “I got something better.” And from some corner in the inn, cleverly hidden like a point-and-click adventure game of insanity, she retrieved a slightly rusty but deadly looking halogen bar. “I think you'll like this more.”

Looking to Bravo she said, “if I haven't fired my machine gun yet it means that either the writers have forgotten about it or I am meant to use it somewhere more important, like in the fight against ironscarf and whoever's stolen Pit Face's ouzo stash. We should find him,” she groused as the appropriate heroically suspensful soundtrack was heard with her words.

“What's insane is that you're still trying to make logical sense of it all,” Pit Face sniggered as she took the halogen bar… and suddenly transformed into Fire Fighter Pit Face of Doom.

In the transformation the plate armor vanished so Abt Nihil found himself with a can opener that was no longer needed. instead Pit Face opened her fire fighter rain coat and out fell the ouzo and gave everyone present a glimpse of her magnificent figure.
“Thanks, I needed that.” Abt Nihil said.
Seventy-two jumped Pit_face screaming about the swimsuit competetion in some beauty pageant and how couldPit have used falsies like that. Seventy-2 was about three pages back in the story back when Pit had been infected in the long past boobonic plague.Since then she had lost her breast enhancement as Seventy-2 was being a complete hypocrite because he had gotten breast enhancement himself at “Bravo's Bargin Boob Hut and Coffee shop (Free Wy-fy)”

Which was where Bravo was, trying to get his business started againby putting hugebillboards up on the Bravo Bug advertising his post-Boobonic plague Breast Enhancement sale. Free 12 ounce bag of coffee with every “D” cup upgrade. “Huh? cool looking but incredibly rare machine gun?” And then the billboard fell from his hands and he tingled all over. The music swelled as he looked towards Duckam General Hospital's sixth floor and realized why his heart beat everyday and why life suddenly had meaning again. He had mourned long and hard after loosing Skoolmonkee and had felt like he would never love again. Even after his wild fling with Houseofmuses in the broom closet had not fulfilled him. He wanted to be in love.

Meanwhile Ironscarf walked into the recovery room to see Roy Duncan. “Well, I say old man how did the surgery go wot?”
Roy Duncan rubbed his rubber glove encased hands in glee. “Perfectly!” He whipped off the sheet on the hospital bed. The Thang in the bed looked vaguely like Hippie van and Kroatz.Somehow Roy Duncan had combined their bodies to make one over ten feet tall with two arms on each side andtheir two headsjutting out of the top of their shoulders.
“What have you done to me?” Hippie van's head said. Kroatz's head said “Uhhhh, brains.”

“Made you into a monster!” Roy Duncan proclaimed. “Half zombie and half faux queen of Iceland!”

Ironscarf walked around the bed and poked at the Thang with his umbrella. “Quite horrible wot, but what are we going to do with it?”
“It's got a remote control too!” Roy Duncan pulled out a silver panel full of buttons. “Alltop of the linecomponents. Full Dolby stereo, a sixty inch plasma TV in the center of its chest and comes with 1500 songs preloaded and Direct TV with a Netflix subscription.”

“Ah, I say so the Thang is a walking home entertainment center.” Ironscarf said quite satistfied. “Honestly old man I would have preferred wood panelling to knitted together flesh.”
“It's the latest look in home theater tech, Frankenstein Flesh!” Rokulily said a gleeful glint in her eye. She had been responsible for downloading the music.

Ayesinback and Banes were aghast as they looked at the video link via Nicotene, DD's own detective's cell phone camera. “The hats didn't work!” Their plan to fill all the hallways full of hats to stop the operation had come to nothing. Instead they were left with a huge milliner's bill.

Meanwhile while everyone was distracted with going to the bathroom and Tantz Aerine wondered why she had such such a wonderous machine gun, Gullas made his escape. The group was also quite distressed because the cojoined Skoolmonkee and Jillyfoo took forever in the bathroom. After all how do two women cojoined at the butt use a toilet?

RPGrenade was the assistant, assistant curator in charge of procurement for the largest and best known Ordnance museum in the world. This musuem will not be named here as unlike Batman (TM, DC comics) I don't want to get in trouble with the great military museums of the world (But they know who they are)

He was known as RPGrenade since he was the proud owner of the most extensive collection of shoulder launched antitank missiles in the world which he had proudly acquired from throughout the world and had donated to the unnamed museum for which he worked. He was following a lead he had recieved from an anonymous caller with a very thick British accent who had told himof an extremely rare Greek machine gun that had been spotted in Duckam City.

“I say, wot, you'll find a working 1938 vintage EPK Pyrkal machine gun on the sixth floor of the Duckam General Hospital.” The caller had said.

“An EPK machine gun? Only a dozen or so were ever made! Only one is known to still exist and you saw it?” RPGrenade had said breathlessly. “Sure it wasn't a thompson or something?”

“Old man I know my world rare automatic weapons. I've done work for all the greatest ordnance museums and I think yours shold have this one old man.” The caller than hung up. This lead could get RPGrenade promoted to assistant curator as opposed to assistant, assistant curator! He was still smarting from the disappointment of missing out on the acquisition of the Gegundus 1000 used in the destruction of the BATTLEGOAT (TM Goatboy LLC) epidemic, though he had managed to get an intact BATTLEGOAT (TMGoatboy LLC)

“Well now that's taken care of Roy Duncan, how about that Belinda Brandon movie marathen you've been promising me?” Ironscarf said as he settled into a couch in the recovery room. Roy Duncan put a DVD into the slot in theThang's sidejust above the kidneyand hit the “play” button.

The credits for the first film came up.
A BRAVO/BELLE PRODUCTION OF A BRAVO MOTION PICTURE
“SHUT IT OFF! I say old man, you didn't say this was comprised of movies made by that brother of mine. It'll all betits and laser beams!” Ironscarf stood and paced around the room.
In a darkened office El Cid pressed “pause” on his remote lookedaway fromthe 100 inch TV screen he enjoyed as Prime Minister of Iceland. “And what's wrong with tits and laser beams?” He pressed play and went back to watching Attack of the Robo something or other (to avoid having to sue myself over the misuse of my own tm)

Meanwhile in Iceland, Rokulily was finishing a new classical masterpiece about muffins and puffins.

“Oh I'm sure it will help the doctor out with his diabolical work” she cleafully chirped as the sounds of pastry filled the ears and nostrills of nearby henchmen and Zombie-Queen Hippie.

Gullas entered the ceremonial throne room, were Rokulily played her piece “In the Summertime I Like Killer Dolphins Wearing Pink Skirts, On the Outskirts of the County” for the newly turned Zombie royal.

“My Queen!” Gullas said as he strolled forcefully down the hall.

“Brains!” replied zombie Hippie van.

“It has been done, lord Ozoneocean has now been struck with a terrible incestious thoughts about me posing as his father.”

“uh, braaaiiins?” replied the undead queen while maintaining her charming gaze at her mercenary.

“Since I've managed to put these homo-erotic thoughts into poor Ocean” Gullas said with a wicked two dimensional smile “it will only help further our cause of magrarine dominion.”

“Will we be able to catch the true heir of the throne, Skoolmunke in order to power the evil doomsday machine?” Rokulilly said with the cutest smile.

“Most certainly, my lady.” Gullas replied and continued “Now we only have to wait for 3 days before calling Ozone for a date, we don't want to seem desperate do we?”

“Huhuhu Brrraaaiiins” chuckledzombie Hippe and everyone in the room started to laugh.

Everyone started to laugh except El Cid.

“If case anyone hasn't noticed our fake queen has been turned into a ten foot tall, two headed, half zombiewalking entertainment system?” He nabbed the remote from Gullas and slapped him on the back of the head. “We can't have our queen running around saying ‘brains’ and showing movies on a flat screen TV in her stomach!”

“Why not?” Rokulily said simply. “Just look at that great playlist! I choose some great songs!”
She used the left belly button to scroll through the playlist and hit a freckle below that anda song started. It was Frank Sinatra's rendition of strangers in the night.

Product placement strolled in still in his scrubs. “I tried, honestly I did. But Roy Duncan knocked me out and tied me up in the closet.” He paused and looked around the room. “Frank Sinatra, real surround sound, who'd a thought you'd get such great sound out of a half zombie walking entertainment system. That Roy Duncan is a genius!”

“I say, good idea to install thatspy monitoringsystem Roy Duncan.” Ironscarf said as he puffed on his cigar.

“Yup, we'll know everything they're doing.” He laughed manically.

“I say, good show.”

Having searched dozens of White Sales and failing to find a replacement for her purloined yellow silk pillowcase, ayesinback had instead stocked up on popcorn-flavored chewing gum and settled down to watch the entire DD soap from Control Center.

Good show – is that what he said? asked ayesinback of the remarkably-able Banes when the monitor collapsed into a fuzz of static.

Yes. Absolutely . . . I think, Banes responded as he adjusted the monitor, attempting to fix the one pixel faux rendering that scrambled the signal. When the picture finally cleared, both ayesinback and Banes were Stunned:
bravo1102 was on his back! apparently in full swoon.

Nurse! they heard Product Placement cry, Fetch the smelling salts! Bravo has succumbed to a total writers exhaustion!

Product, there are no salts to be had. Genejoke took them to flavor his coffee, reported Rokulily. Id suggest ammonia, but I think RPGgrenade has confiscated that supply to create a concoction that will remedy our Queens craving for brains.

Geezy Peezy! swore Product Placement. The man has gone Too Far with his procurement proclivities! This is a matter of utmost dire-hood! What will we do!

Perhaps , offered Roy Duncan. I can offer a solution.

Everyone was amazed. What!?! were the murmurings. Roy Duncan to the rescue?

First, said Roy, Let me explain. I was not always a villain. In fact, Ive never been a villain.

GASP, said the crowd.

No not a villain. Not I. I was but a poor boy who only wanted to draw. My parents, House of Muses and Jamie59, could not afford to buy me proper art supplies, so I only had the bits of charcoal briquettes leftover from our weiner roasts. That, and the remnant ends of toilet paper rolls on which to draw. It was all I had, but it was enough

We love you, son! erupted House of Muses.

I love you, too, Mom. Anyway, as I was saying - It answered my need to Create! To Envision! To solve-a-dilemma-from-a-strictly-visual-perspective, and dare I say it? I became good, enthralled as I was. But being enthralled, well, I didnt realize how I drew my own moustache with that charcoal every time my nose itched. And I have a perpetually itchy nose. For weeks, months - yes - Years! I walked around with a mwahaha moustache. That, and I developed a bit of a respiratory ailment with all that charcoal dust, so there was a bit of an actual mwahahaha to contend with.

OH!, said the crowd.

So, youre really not evil? asked Macattack (who really is evil, what with all that butter/margarine angst he has a-goin on. *and folks, you know, its because of the Canadian Maple Syrup stock interest he holds in his little hockey hands. You didnt know that, did you?* )

Wow. Grr. I want his brains, proclaimed Queen Hippie Van.

I. well. I think I might love him, sighed PIT_FACE. No, my comrade-in-all. You mean, you think I might love him, suggested Tantz.

Ah!, said the crowd.

Even I think I might love him, advised bravo as he recovered from his swoon.

I think I might be sick, said Gullas.

Does anybody have some salt for my coffee?! wailed Genejoke.

Wow. This is one ca-razy show opined ayesinback.
Absolutely, agreed Banes. But where the hey is the Start button to the time machine?

“No, STOP!” Tantz suddenly cried, and everything was brought suddenly to a screeching halt, as they turned to look at her and her wide eyed near-panicky expression. Tantz takes off her fez, wipes her forehead with it and slaps it back on, the tassel slowly swinging by her ear. “This doesn't make sense! There's no sense in it!”

She glances around a little and tells Pit Face:

“My sister in art and the occasional basket case adventure- we almost MISSED THE POINT!”

“What point? I don't see anything pointy around here,” Pit Face says in confusion, “though I must admit the halogen bar does-”

"No! A show has to make sense! A show has to have meaning, a theme, SOMETHING, or THE RATINGS WILL TANK! We can't keep the audience on acid FOREVER!“ she almost shakes Pit Face from the shoulders, the EPK machine gun bobbing against her hip with the movement.

She yanks bravo1102 to his feet. ”We NEED to find the point, the meaning, THE LOGIC in this, before the powers that be pull the plug in our entire universe! Before we even grow a respectable fandom! THAT'S what we were sent here to do! Ensure FANS for What Happened While I was Away!“

”If worse comes to worse, we can buy electric ones in Duckam City,“ Roy Duncan says helpfully.

Pit Face scratches her head a little. ”It does ring a bell… I think. It could be the booze.“

”Hm,“ bravo1102 rubs his chin. ”I have a growing suspicion the entire point of all this is that inbreeding and incest is a sure bet for cavorting madness."

“Now that's the funniest thing I ever hoid” With that bravo grabbed the charcoal out of Roy Duncan's hands ran a line under his nose and across both eyebrows. He stole a cigar out of his brother Ironscarf's pocket and shrugged on a swallow tail coat two sizes too big. He looked like nothing so much as a caricature of his swallow tail coated, cravat wearing brother.

“I say, good to see you back to normal brother.”

“Why naturally, Iron, though I'd hardly use noimal for something as abnoimal as all this. And that's saying something, though exactly what I have no idea.” Bravo rejoined stalking around everyone in a low crouched, long legged gait.

Skoolmunkee sidled up to him and put her leg into his outstretched hand. “My one and true love you're back!”

“True? Honesty has nothing to do with love. Skool would you take off that ridiculous pair of pants you share with Jillyfoo and get back into a pair of mine?” SKool did her best Margaret Dumont double take.
“Are you saying I should get into your pants?” Skool said haltingly with obvious disdain.
“Yes, this pair right here,” Bravo replied pulling out a pair from behind his back. “They're clean I just stole them from the cleaners. All those pants hanging around in bags, they'll never miss a pair or a dozen!”

Skool stepped out of the pants she had been sharing with Jillyfoo revealing the cutest pair ofOld Batman underroos (Batman TM DC comics) and knee sox and put on the pinstripe pants Bravo had given her.

“We really weren't cojoined?” Jillyfoo exclaimed.

“It was the pants.” Roy Duncan said. “I'm not really evil you know.”

“I say old man, I'm so disappointed in you, not really evil. What is this world coming to.”

“Hopefully an end.” Bravo said.“And you want to know the woist part? All this didn't get me a single new reader for my comic!”

He held up a sign saying “THE END” and gestured to an orchestra on a floating platform nearby.The music swelled and the scene faded to black. Words began to scroll up the screen listing all kinds of names of people claiming responsibity for all this.

“Though of course why anyone in their right mind woould claim responsibility for any of this just shows how few people are in their right minds.”

So it was Bravo who was the evil genius all along? Sneaky! >:[
Well, Ayesinback informed on your dastardly ploy to kill the soap so you're sunk, you hear? SUNK!
Villain! Grrr!
I have another chapter waiting in the wings, but right now I'm dead tired. Rest assured I WILL be back. I dunno when, but I will.
With a vengeance!

ozoneocean wrote:
So it was Bravo who was the evil genius all along? Sneaky! >:[
Well, Ayesinback informed on your dastardly ploy to kill the soap so you're sunk, you hear? SUNK!
Villain! Grrr!
I have another chapter waiting in the wings, but right now I'm dead tired. Rest assured I WILL be back. I dunno when, but I will.
With a vengeance!

“Good Lord nephew,” Ironscarf sighed, "Neither Brother Bravo nor I are the evil genius.“
”We're both evil geniuses." Bravo smiled, cigar in mouth and immediately started singing.
"It doesn't matter what you say, I'll be against it anyway,
"Whatever it is, (pause) I'm against it!
“It doesn't matter who commensed it, I”m against it!"
Natually it became a huge production number as eveyone was swept up by the song and there was a long line of Drunk Duck Soap bathing beauties all showing off their legs and Busby Berkeley and Louis B. Meyer, Vicenti Minelli would have been pleased.

“Whew that was beautiful people!” Jillyfoo ran around in her leg warmers having somehow shed the co-joined pants and now in leotards “And a five, six, seven, EIGHT!”
Bravo wasn't needed in this sequence as it mostly involved the chorus of Drunk Duck bathing beauties. He took a swig of his water and wandered over to Abt Nihil. “It took ayesinback to warn Oz about the attempt to end this mess.”
“That of course means that Oz hasn't been making the effort to read it himself.” Abt replied. He was reading “Comic German accents for Native Speakers” by Kenny Mars and Werner Kemperer. “Well he has been very busy of late.”
“But it means there's a long time lag before he can reply to anything.” Bravo said lighting another cigar. BOth turned as they heard someone sniffing the air. Ironscarf came over his own cigar in hand being followed by a very straight standing man in a tuxedo carrying a tray of glasses.
“I thought I smelled wood burning. You've been thinking again brother.” he made a look of disgust. “And those cheap cigars you smoke how do you ever tolerate the stench!”
“I was telling Abt here, that there's a time lag before anyone ever replies to this and that the individual threatening vengeance has to be warned about developments by a third party who…” Bravo started.
“Shall remain ayesinback and that Banes individual. Nasty sychophantic blighter. Even an evil genius wholoves to have people tell him how great he is,” Ironscarf took a breath as it was a long sentence for someone even as longwinded as he was, “Such as myself can't stand him.”
“He's not that bad,” Bravo said. He looked at Ironscarf and the chorused.
“He's worse.” The two evil genius brothers laughed.
“So we have lots of time to reply to any vengeance planned against us. Good show and good thinking brother of mine.” Ironscarf puffed on his aromatic cigar. He reached into his dressing gown and took out a cigar, “Please have one of mine Bravo old boy, that weed in your mouth just positively reeks.”
“So many nice pirs off legs im Drunk Duck, who vud haff known.” Abt mused.
“Not too shabby Abt, keep practicing.” Bravo stalked back into his dressing room. So much time and so much planning to do. Vengeance? Ha! He'd find them ready. The rumors of this thing ending anytime soon had been greatly exaggerated and they had all fallen into his trap.

…

I woke to a throbbing pain in my temple, my eyes tightly screwed shut against the dazzling sunlight.
My mouth tasted like arse and my throat felt like broken glass… I felt a prickling on my back and realised I was lying on grass.
How how had my life become such a farce?

I put a hand to my aching head, tried to get up, then immediately doubled over and vomited loudly… and kept retching till there was nothing but clear bile, then nothing at all, just painful dry heaves.
The pain in my head redoubled. I groaned..
Then mercifully I passed out.

When I next awoke, all around me was bight and white. I couldn't feel my body. Then I looked down and saw that I didn't have one… Then I realised I wasn't “looking” at all, I was just “aware”, and I realised I must be dead.
Or dreaming.

Then I awoke for real, I could feel my body this time- feeling hollow and ravenously hungry. Dehydrated. Dry, like a husk.
The heat was oppressive.
I levered myself to my feet and almost passed out again. I put my hand to my face, felt wetness. My hand was sticky with dark blood and congealing puke.

What had gone wrong?
WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO ME????

…


Flashes of memory…

I was sitting at a table, covered in empty pint glasses, a mug of dark Guinness in one hand, the other…
…around the waist of an attractive blonde sitting on my knee, wearing nothing but lingerie, a yellow fire fighter coat, and a big smile… Who was she?

There had been singing.
Some doofus on a stage doing a pretty good Groucho Marx impersonation.
Big, bobbly bolloons… or boobs?
Coloured streamers… flashing lights… loud music… the constant hum of conversation, punctuated by bulbing laughter… thick smoke in the air…

Then… shouting? The crack of gunfire?

…

No… I lost it.
I looked down. Why am I wearing a dinner suit?
I checked my pockets.
There was a wallet in there. Fancy. Shiny crocodile skin.
I opened it.
A photo of some grinning douche. No licence. Role of US $100 bills the colour of moldy bread. Pack of five glow in the dark condoms. A platinum credit card, name: “Sum G. Douche”.
…hmm, curious.
I needed answers!

But first, I needed food!

…and a pee.

My foot kicks something hard and heavy, makes a metallic sound as it thumps back to the ground.
I bend to pick it up, slowly, confounded by another wave of nausea and wooziness.

A gun.
A black automatic pistol.

I turn it over in my hands… It's pretty scratched up, this gun has seen some use. The serial number is all filed off. Magazine is empty, there are no bullets… Still, I pocket it anyway. It might come in handy later on.

…

…another flash of memory…

A woman screaming in Greek. Bright muzzle flash strobing the darkness with deadly light. Angry shouting. More gunfire. Bottles breaking. A fire. A mad crush of frightened people fighting to get through a door…

That's all.

I head towards some trees, stop in the shade, and pee onto the dusty red earth beneath them.


It doesn't make any sense…

“It was never supposed to make sense.”

The acrid smell of a cigar assaulted Ozone's nose. It gave up without a fight. Ozone coughed. Then he coughed again. Where was the speaker? Then he realized his eyes were closed so of course he couldn't see anyone.

“You done watering the tree?” Then there was another smell, another acrid smell that caused Ozone to cough. Cough so hard his eyes watered.

“Yup, love the smell of diesel exhaust in the morning. With so many Positive waves how could we go wrong?” Ozone coughed again as the owner of the voice slapped him on the back. He struggled to open his watery eyes to focus on the owner of this voice that sounded vaguely familar. It was the same voice as that Groucho imitator.

“Don't get used to eating the red dust, because before you know it it'll rain and it will all be red mud. Red mud stains don't wash out so don't get that wonderful white starched shirt of yours anywhere near it.” Ozone still couldn't make out the speaker except glasses and a moustache. Groucho Marx all right. He could see more a helmet and a dusty jacket with a tricolored patch on the arm. None of this was making sense.

“It has to make sense,” another voice said. This one was female and had a foreign accent. Ozone would see red. A fez? A tasseled fez?

“Give it up and get in your hole. Crank up that Detroit diesel and let's get moving” Metallic clanking and loud engine noises. Ozone grabbed his head as it overwhelmed him. It smelled like the whole world was one roaring fire that threatened to split his head wide open.
“You get used to it, ‘cause it’s like this all the time and it never makes sense. The day it does I'm out of here.” The voice laughed ruefully. That was the word. Ozone had read it so often but he had never quite heard a rueful laugh until this one. “MOUNT UP!”

MenawhileSkoolmunkee had made her daring escape to the fictional Island of Barbados, were she sat in the sun and drank Tequila Sunrise from a cocunt while her buttcheek were Jillofoo had been, was being massaged by a cute Mexican boy named Paco.
“Mmm, that's it Paco. Keep aplying your sweet burrito-fingers over my sensitive skin.”
“Like this, senior Monkey?” Paco said as he applied a bit more presure with his left hand while his other grabbed for a massive sword.

“It's seniora” Skool replied “and I'm no longer monkey” while Paco grabbed the blade with both hands and swung the blade to poor skool's body!

But Skool's body wasn't there to be stabbed anymore. Instead of just one monkey, TWELVE monkeys materialized out of nowhere and attacked Paco with the vengeance that only monkeys can employ in tearing pray to pieces. Skool laughed in superiority as she languishly got up, while her 12 Monkey minions were doing away with poor Paco in ways that make the Saw series look like a ketchup commercial.


“My poor, poor Paco… while I am not monkey, there IS a reason it is in my moniker. I just never leave survivors sentient enough to fully describe what that reason is.”


Meanwhile Ozone kept hearing the odd bespectacled fez wearing person repeating to him like a mantra, “it HAS to make sense! it HAS to make sense!”

But little did Ozone know that that little phrase held the key to ultimate power…

But back in the mists of his mind one thing bothered him about the mantra. Was it sense or was it cents? If it was cents then money was the path to ultimate power.

Ozone heard the screech of brakes and a dapper man with bowler hat, a cutaway coat and cravat had pulled up in a racing green Bentley.

As if reading Ozone's mind Ironscarf said “I say, that is the rub isn't it nephew? If it is cents pr pense rather than simple logic it would make life so much easier to figure out wot?” He took a puff from his cigar. “I so like simplicity.”

Meanwhile way off the coast of Columbia Asbin had fallen into the ocean and bits of gerbil flesh and blood from his hand sewn wings had attracted SHARKs. In a dark place, sitting next to El Cid watching the wonderous 100“ inch flat screen that was one of the percs of being the prime minister of Iceland was Dark Pascual.

”He escaped!“
”Not for long!“
Asbin shrugged off the vest Shastab had lovingly sewn the gergil flesh onto and was grateful to be free of the Matchbox 20 CDs. The sharks swarmed around him. Then a harpoon plunged into one and Asbin saw a small, really weather-beaten fishing boat with a craggy man in a captain's hat.
”Aar matey, swim to the boat and I'll cover ye.“ The craggy man pulled out the very common MG42 machine gun that every munitions museum has at least a dozen of, and it spat out lots of bullets as it has one of the fastest rates of fire of any machine gun in the world. The sharks were massacred and Asbin made it to the boat and hauled himself aboard.
”Matey, I be Gunwallace,“ he hefted the Machinengehwer 42 to illustrate where the ”gun“ part of his name came from. ”Shastab radioed for me to pick ye up arrg.“

”Wait, wait, wait!“ El Cid said in his dark office with Dark Pascual. ”Bravo tried to end this all and here we are spinning off into another subplot!“

”It was me, pass the salt“ Genejoke said. Dark Pascual passed him the salt and wondered why he didn't have any lines yet. It was probably an EEEEEEEVVVILLLLL plot by someone else, probably one of those two scheming brothers Ironscarf and Bravo.

”What does this have to do with the price of tea in China?“ Ayesinback exclaimed in her office with Banes.
”Absolutely nothing, but I have a feeling someone will be explaining this…“ Banes started.

There was a huge scream from somewhere off stage ”…OR NOT!“

”Yes, the characters have to reaching for personal growth! But of course if there is nothing there, we have to emphasize everyone becoming more mature to give the story power! Or this will be a truly awful story!“ Banes insisted quoting his brilliant exposition on script writing.

”Banes, give it up , it is, was and always will be a truly awful story with no plot, no reason or rhyme…“
And in a voice from the other side of the stage came a mantra ”It has to make sense, it has to make sense…“

And from somewhere else ”We'll always have Paris. Here's looking at you kid.“
And another place ”There's no place like home.“ And another ”I WILL NEVER BE HUNGRY AGAIN!“

Ayesinback pushed the mute button on her remote and wondered why the hell had the story suddeny focused on her and wished it could shift elsewhere. But it didn't. She stuffed some more popcorn into her mouth and sat back in her chair trying to hide behind the armrest. She looked up suddenly and saw that the story was still focused on her.
”Arrr,“ typed Gunwallace on that small fishing boat somewhere off the coast of Columbia. ”Thar ye be Ayes, happy now it's back to me it is.“

And somewhere off stage came the call ”JUst so long as it's not on me!“ And a long chorus followed ”Or me“ ' ”…or me“ ”Me too!“ ”Or me!"

I went around to the passenger side of the old Bently, opened the door and climbed in, settling down on the hot brown leather seat.
The bull-necked guy in the tweed suit and the bowler hat sat down and started up the car, puffing away on his fat stinking cigar all the while.

We roared off into the shimmering heat. I watched his face in profile as he stared fixedly ahead.
Small immaculately trimmed moustache, large pores on his ruddy skin, but cleanly shaved cheeks… His collar was too tight, neck bulging over slightly… Neatly trimmed hair at the back of his neck… The smell of cigar smoke clung to him like a fug.

“Where are we going?”
I had to shout to be heard over the wind of our passage and the roar of the engine.

“WHAT'S THAT OLD BOY?” he said, teeth firmly clenched around his puffing cigar.

“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” I tried again, louder…

“ALL IN GOOD TIME. ALL IN GOOD TIME M'BOY!” he shouted cryptically into the breeze…

Another flash of memory…

I'm riding in a limousine.
There's Skoolmunkee sitting across from me in a glittering, black, form fitting, floor length ball gown, two tanned, beefy, muscular young men wearing nothing but bike shorts and red bow ties. Sitting either side, watching her with adoration on their faces.

She has a gold statuette with a duck face and a human body clutched in her lap, a huge grin on her face…

A sudden realisation!

The DD Awards… Of course!
Skool had won… best admin or some such…
We were going on to the after party.
…I had been planning to steal the award…
All in good time, I thought to myself as I watched her through narrowed eyes.
She exulted over her victory.
Jealousy seethed through every fibre of my body.
Her toyboys were protection enough in the car, but later…
I had something special planned.
The party would have a special floor show…

“There was no way she won that award fairly, it should be mine!”, I thought to myself, repeating it like a mental mantra, going around and around my brain.

Outwardly I smiled and laughed along with her sycophants at a cutting remark at my expense.
Sure, I was a bad loser, but she wasn't a role-model for a good winner either.
I'd heard about the bribes…
The bodies…
Oh yes, there was blood on her hands all right. And tonight was when it'd all come to a head. Just a little while longer.

The car swung into a driveway, crunching over neatly raked gravel.
A large building loomed brightly in the darkness, glowing with a million lights every colour of the rainbow, the eerie faded cones of yellow white searchlight beams swept the sky, fireworks boomed in the distance somewhere beyond the structure.

The party was already in full swing. The sound of a jazz band obscured by joyous yells and screams.
Skool and her toyboys mounted the wide stairs, glided past the two enormous dark suited bouncers, and through into the luridly lit wide open portico.
I hung back, waiting.

The bouncer on the left made a sign.
I sidled up to him.
He bent low, lips brushing my ear…
“Twelve fifteen” he whispered in a tight falsetto.

I glanced at my watch. Its face glinted red in the lamp light.
9:30.
I'd have my work cut of for me then.

“Who?” I breathed up at the bulky figure.
He shrugged his enormous shoulders and looked away.

I passed on through the doorway, into light and life!
The sound hit me like wall, washing over me, lifting me up.
People where everywhere, standing around in loose groups, laughing, chatting, shouting to be heard, whirling around, dancing with one another, the women dressed brightly and extravagantly: feathers, lace, silk satin, all colours, The men elegant in sharply cut, smart black dinner suits.

A giggling woman, looking over her left shoulder, distracted, bumped into my side, almost spilling her Martini, catching the flying drops with a graceful flip of her glass.

“Ayesinback, charming to see you here.” I said conversationally.
Her eyes lit up “Oh-Zone! I'm so pleased you could make it to our intimate little soiree.”
“I wouldn't have missed it for anything my dear”
“But I thought…” She trailed off.
“It's fine, really. She deserves it. I'm really quite happy for her.” I lied.
“Good, good! That's very big off you! Well, I must circulate… you'll excuse me?” She sidled off awkwardly, disappearing into the crowd.

Damn! I wasn't doing as well as I thought at covering…
Now where had Skool got to? surely she'd be easy to spot with those two half dressed monkeyboys tagging along at her heels… 12:15…

I felt a tap on the shoulder.
Turning around I looked up into a grinning, beaded face. ProductPlacement.

“HELLO my good friend! I am wery please to see you here! I do hope you are vell and not at all owervhelmed by the party atmosphere here!” he boomed in his good-natured Scandinavian way.
“Not at all!” I assured him, trying to match his happy grin with one of my own.
I feigned a laugh and tossed my head.
“Is Roku with you? You were both quite impressive during the awards ceremony. I must say!”
“Must say vhat?” He frowned in confusion.
“Just a figure of speech my dear fellow” I assured him.
“A figure in speech? Vhat is this? Newermind.” he sighed, losing interest "Rokulilly vas vith me, yes.. She's just gone to get some punch. Vould YOU like some?“ He asked with a sly grin.
”Yes, of course, I'd love…“
My vision exploded into stars.

The ringing in my ears slowly subsided to be replaced by explosive laughter, like rocks tumbling down the side of Mt Eyjafjallajkull.
My jaw ached. I felt my face, no blood… Then realised I was lying on the cold floor, surrounded by concerned guests.
ProductPlacemnt lumbered away, cackling merrily to himself.
I struggled to my feet angrily, my dignity hurt worse than anything else…

…only to be greeted with a face full of enormous breasts…
”Oh, I am SO sorry!" I stammered apologetically, trying to back away, cheeks blushing furiously.

Niccea tittered girlishly, holding an elegantly gloved hand to her lips.
“Oh, Ozone, they're falsies, didn't you know?” She smiled/
“Very convincing nevertheless, I assure you.” I said, as I regained my composure.

“But why?” I asked perplexed.
“Why what?” she said, wide eyed, innocent. She laughed again, causing her artificially enhanced assets to wobble hypnotically.
I stared in spite of myself.
“Ah… I see. Impressive.” I admitted with genuine admiration.
I'd know to be wary when going up against her in future business dealings…

She winked conspiratorially and turned to go. Giving in to a mischievous impulse I reached out and pinched her on the bottom, then skipped away into the crowd, leaving the sound or her indignant squeal in my wake.

I'd spotted a head of flowing yellow hair…

Weaving past milling bodies, my motion was suddenly arrested by a tugging at my elbow.
I turned to see a striking green and orange Hawaiian shirt, topped with a bearded and bespectacled visage…

“Bavo!” I exclaimed.
“I thank you, I thankyou!” He replied.
“Encore! Encore!” I shouted.
He bowed twice and then we shook hands heartily.

“A fine performance.” I congratulated him, “I've enjoyed your writing for some time, although if I were to offer one tiny skerric of criticism I would say that sometimes your focus is a little too wide, too grand, ‘can’t see the trees for the forest' to paraphrase. Not often, but at times, and the broad brush approach sacrifices detail…”

He frowned, stung in spite of my compliments and gentle analysis. I could see he was already swallowing a rebuke and instead internalizing and beginning a self critique…
I couldn't have that.

I slapped him on the back jovially. “Come on man! You've done a simply titanic job keeping this rambling narrative together so neatly. If it wasn't for you, this story would've fizzled out pages ago. And that scene with Ironscarf and Macattack in the car together was simply genius! Inspired work…”

I was interrupted by an angry shriek, Nicea had found me…
I took Bravo by the arm and spun him into Niccea's giant bouncing chest in a move that startled them both.

“Niccea, Meet Bravo. Bravo, meet Niccea. Enjoy!” I rattled off as I plunged back into the press, hoping to lose myself in the crowd…

I swiped a glass of something green and fragrant from a portly man in a smart black suit and a grey PVC batman cowl, with white wiggly eyebrows drawn on it.

He looked up, offended, while I took a sip.
“Mmmmmm, delicious! You have exquisite taste my dear Kroatz!” I complimented him.
“You think that's all it takes? I'm not a simpleton” he snapped. “Get your own damn drink. Free-loader!” he shouted as he snatched back the glass, spilling half on the floor.

I ducked away hurriedly from the glowering batface and its angry wiggly white eyebrows…