“What was all that about?” Bravo crossed his legs and leaned on nothing as if it was a wall.

“You do realize you're leaning on nothing?”Nicea said jiggling her falsies trying to get Bravo's attention.

“Since this is all nonsensical I can do pretty much anything I want.” Bravo tugged on his mustache revealing a zipper, then undid the zipper down his entire body, then Bravo stepped out of the unzipped shell, folded it up and put it in the pocket of his tuxedo.

Niccea reached down the front of her dress and pulled out two falsies which were revealed to be cupcakes. She offered one to Bravo. “They're cream filled.”

“There's a dirty joke there somewhere but I'll let someone else come up with it.” Bravo offered Niccea his arm “I'm off to the buffet to get some more eats. We have to move fast before Magna Carta.”

“Right, 12:15”

“By the way have I sufficently expressed my gratitude yet for everything yet?” Bravo asked as they weaved in and out of the crowd towards the glamourous and awesome spread of food ahead.

“Yes but you could tell me all about the wonderful job I did on the awards some more.”

Bravo glanced over his shoulder at the audience because as always there is no fourth wall in this thing. “It's fun to flatter the person you're talking to and once you're done talking to them, you turn around and tell everyone else what a big jerk they are.”

Niccea smiled broadly, “Remind me later to address the audience I have a lot of people to call big jerks.”

With distress Bravo replied, “Not me I hope.”

“Especially you dear Bravo, but that's for the audience's ears, not for yours.” She surveyed the various dishes, “I didn't see the seseme chicken before. Is it any good?”

“Ask the audience,” Bravo grumbled.

Just then a tall green faced man dressed all in black brandishing a matching black handled double bladed green hued lightsaber, crashed through a window followed by a hoard of super sith ninja squirrels each with their own tiny lightsabers identical to his own! Why, is a supposed Sith Lord using green instead of red, you ask? Simply because red really isn't his color. Anyway, the man said, “I am Darth Paul, and I heard that remark about super sith ninja squirrels being a silly idea, and I find your lack of faith disturbing! Execute Order 66!”

The army of sith ninja squirrels lept into action with a blinding squeak and incredible cuteness.
And prompty cut off all their tails, fell to the ground writhing in pain. Rokulily, Hippie van and all the other animals lovers among the Drunkduckers present rushed to their aid. There really are too many of them to list. Bravo took no notice because he was busy stuffing pulled pork into his mouth.

“Weelwee gweb sauce” He glanced over at the table again where he noticed they had replenished the ribs “RIBS! YUM! Gimme that thar bar-bee-que!”

Ironscarf glanced in to the room holding a glass of champaigne in one hand and his cigar in the other and looking debonair as only an Englishman can. “Told you so old chap. It's not so much lack of faith you know, I say, faith is what kept the British Empire going all those years. You see it's a simple matter that rodents in general and squirrels in particular can't be trusted with sharp objects.”

A turtle had wandered in and was busy helping to bandage up the wounded squirrels. Hammy shrugged as only he can with such cute innosense that you just want to kill him. But no one could because he was a copyright protected crossover character from another comic strip. R.J. the raccoon and Bravo were fighting over the ribs.

Darth_paul realizing no one was paying any attention to him anymore noticed the buffet himself, and engaged in an epic three-way duel with R.J. the raccoon and Bravo for the last BBQ rib. (R.J. Racoon, Hammy and Vern are (C) M. Fry and T. Lewis and no, noone ever asked them for any permission to include their characters in this, we just haven't been doing that have we, first Batman, then BATTLEGOATs, yeah we're just stomping all over creation stealing copyrights)

Having won the battle for the last rib darth_paul sat down to eat, but alas there was nothing to wipe his hands with. “I find the lack of napkins disturbing,” he said while pointing at Ironscarf and yanking his scarf from his neck with a quick use of The Force and proceeded to wipe hands and face.

“Dear me, my cravat!” Ironscarf said. “Quite rude, just not done old man!” He pointed to the straight backed man who followed him everywhere.

“Jenkins, take care of the jedi.” The gentleman's gentleman rolled up his sleeves and reached into a nearby covered dish and pulled out a large machine gun.

“No Jenkins, warm towels.” Ironscarf chided as he adjusted a replacement cravat his other body servant had handed him.

“So sorry milord.” Jenkins put back the Bren gun and pulled out the tongs and warm towels and handed several to Darth_paul.

“I say, old bean, you just had to ask, not all of us are barbarians.” Darth_paul only nodded in reply with his best jedi stoicism.

Ayesinback had come over alarmed at the rucous at the buffet table, “Quickly more napkins!” She gushed apologies. “I am so sorry Ironscarf, your trademarK scarf!”

“Is all well milord?” Jenkins held up the tongs and offered Ironscarf a warm towel.

“Milord?” Ayesinback scrunched up her eyes.

“Of course madam, you didn't think I behaved in this manner and not have a seat in the House of Lords?”

darth_paul wrote:
Having won the battle for the last rib darth_paul sat down to eat, but alas there was nothing to wipe his hands with. “I find the lack of napkins disturbing,” he said while pointing at Ironscarf and yanking his scarf from his neck with a quick use of The Force and proceeded to wipe hands and face.

I almost expected an order of “Execute Force 69!”

Or is that too “Bill and Ted”? XD

In a dark and dreary room, which looked somehwat like a prison cell, behind a greenish yellow glaring computer screen, a former giant from the past, subcultured sat and thought to himsef outloud

“How did it come to this?” as he took a moment to stare into the darkness.
“I know it must be in here” he said to himself “I've spent so much time, digging through this pile.” Subcultured sighed and took a deep breath, but then his face glared with a smile of sudden realization.

“What a fool I've been” he said, grabed the computer mouse and started clicking furiously, navigating himself through some of the oldest posts of the DD forums “It was here, all this time” because there it was, the holy grail of the Duck!

Meanwhile back in Iceland, Gullas was mentally preparing himself for the upcoming phone call with his date while profesor doctor ProductPlacement sat down nearby with their Zombie ruler Hippie Van and Rokulily the royal composer-nurse-pastrie specialist for a cup of tea biscuits, more specifically in Hippie Van's case tea and brains…

“I do believe that I've found a temporal cure for your zombiefication” Product said wile munching on custard creams “which would make your public apperances a little bit less…bloody.”

“Will your cure invovle brains?” Zombie hippie said, her stomach displaying scenes from Rob Zombie's “House of 1000 corpses”.

“Not really” ProductPlacement said scratching it's chin “and luckily we will not have to resort to local delicacies.”

“Good, I hate cooking puffins and stuffing bloody haggis” said Rokulily.

“Though you have to admit” Gullas added from across the room, trying to pick a suitable bow tie for himself “the smell of rotting sheep testicles and the aroma of sharks, washed down with some second grade grain schnapps would beat the smell of our beloved Queen. No offense ofcourse my lady.”

“Well” Product said leaning in closer, signaling the others to do so “ it involves this….”

Meanwhile, back at the awards banquet, ayesinback's cool was well-challenged.

"Not only is there an insufficient number of moistened toilettes for all those face-in-the-food, B-B-Q eaters, but Where is the Icelandic haggis? It's the final straw! Last time we have RPGgrenade cater an event, even though his cocktails are Magnificent.“

”Genejoke! Dammit! That rock salt is for the margueritas!"

“And where did Product placment go, he was just…” Ayes stammered

NickyP as the DDiverse's official narrator stepped up to the task of explaining where Product placement had gone. “After decking Ozoneocean, Product Placement realized he had forgotten the Icelandic haggis so he hopped on board his official Iceland instantaneous transmat device to fetch it.”

“Excuse me NickyP, but better usage would be ‘aboard the’ as it belongs to the Icelandic government not to him personally. Secondly I question the use of the word ‘fetch’ Who is writing this narration?” Product placement had stepped out of a doorway labeled “Offical Icelandic Government Use Only” with a coterie of servants bearing covered chafing dishes.

Bravo shook his head. He was old enough to know not to duel a Jedi over BBQ and yet he had. And now he hurt. Darth_paul had tossed him around like a rag doll and he had ended up behind the hat and coat check counter. He reached under his rear wondering who stored ice in their hat. It was Ozone's oversized top hat but it felt so cold.

He looked inside and his breath steamed. The hat was haunted. “Yo ghost in the hat! Listen up, stop hanging around and go to the light!”

There was the usual whispering, ghosts couldn't talk very well they just whispered. “No, there aren't any naked girls here, now go to the light and you'll find more nudity than you can stand”

Kroatz's spirit jerked out of the hat in a flash. “Really?” It gasped.

“Yes, just ask for the Muslim Martyr Paradise special, prize code BTR” Bravo replied, “Gotta say BTR or else you'll get the raisins rather than the virgins.”

“Raisins, virgins?”

“Yeah, 72 virgins in paradise. It turns out that phrase also means sweet raisins so you gotta say BTR, for Big Tits R and you'll get a bevy of buxom ladies who will treat you wonderfully because Paradise can be an eternal orgasm if you just know what to ask for.”

“Thanks” and with that Kroatz's disembodied spirit flew off to the light and the temperature of the hat returned to normal.

The contradiction of Kroatz also wandering around the party quite alive,jealously protecting his drink from a free-loading Ozone just moments before did not bother Bravo in the slightest.

“Not supposed to make sense.” He mumbled as he put all the hats back on the shelves. He couldn't just leave it all messed up like that. He picked up a machine gun and cleared the action. Bravo clicked his tongue, can't leave weapons around with rounds in the chamber, he made a mental note to talk to Tantz about that later. It was probably Pit though, she's the type who would leave a firearm around with rounds in the chamber hoping some careless twit would pick it up and shoot his face off. Gotta love that one, Bravo mused.

He glanced at his watch, time was ticking down to Magna Carta, 12:15 and from the tenor of the voices he figured Product Placement had returned with the Icelandic Haggis. All the parts were falling into place, as if he knew what any of it meant or what any of the results would be, all he knew was that when everything happened he would have a great time.

After learning some of what happened while I was away, I promptly left again.
Six months later, when the memories had faded I returned to find…
That El cid had abdicated as prime minister/king/queen whatever of iceland and had retreated to a quiet shack on Ibiza. Ozoneoceans brain had melted and dribbled out of his ears, making a wet dripping sounds as it splattered on the concrete after he discovered that Gunwallace was his real father and the whole plot involving ironscarf, bravo was a memory implant courtesy of Rekall. he discovered this on an ill fated trip to mars. moving on to less plagurised stories Tantz drank herself into on ouzo fueled coma, something that dr Abt Nihil was unawre of when he fitted her drip feed. the combination of ouzo and the drip perpetuated the coma, and still do. Asbin and Gunwallace journeyed together and meet up with the so called professor genejoke, a broken man gibbering on about coffee and salt. They pressed on together in search of the elusive El cid in hope he could fulfill their wishes. Asbin wished for a heart, Gunwallace wished for a lady friend and Genejoke merely wished to be his old self. It was in deepest darkest Canada they learned from a starnge fellow named Banes that El cid was last seen in the canary islands. they stole a pedalo and began to peddle their way to find the mysteriosu el cid.
Pit d'arc changed her name to Magnum to try and distance herself from the silly plots only to learn that no amount of distance would save her from herself. Upon realising this she knew she had to atone for her part in the whole sorry affair by embarking on another, far mnore outrageous one. To do it she would need help, it was time to save Tantz from the ouzo.

However Pit_face was to discover that the Ouzo drip actually was a plot by Ironscarf through Abt Nihil to keep Tantz in a coma so she could not influence events in Greece regarding the EU.

Abt Nihil belonged to the eminently dangerous EUS (European Union Security, pronounced “us” sworn the fight Those Harming European Magnificence “THEM”) Ironscarf really was a member of the House of Lords and so it turned out was yet another British secret agent who drove a racing green Bentley. So Pit would find herself against the forces of the UK and the EU who were coniving to keep the Greek Patriot unconscious in an Ouzo induced haze.

Fortunately the hospital Tantz was in was part of the Royal Health Service and full of competent employees. One of them realized that Ouzo drip was not appropriate for someone in a coma even if they were Greek and changed it for the recommended Saline/Glucose drip.

“Ouch! I would've never guessed that not being coinjonted with another person was such a duck” Jillyfoo said as she crashed into the wall for the sixteenth time.
“I'm unable to walk properly” she said as she crashed into chainmail bikini wearing orange cat.
“READ HARKO- oh what's the use?” Harkovast said as Jillyfoo felt into his feline arms. “No matter how many times I shout it, wether it's the elderly or the children… no one listens.” poor old ‘Vast said, moisture forming under his eyes.
“But I’m listening”
“What?” said harkovast still holding Jillifoo in his arms “who you?”
“Yes and I actually enjoy reading Harkovast” a devious smile formed on Jillyfoo's face “and I can help you attracting bigger crowd!”
“And how would you exactly do that?” the orange knight said tugging his whiskers.
“We need to see a blacksmith…”

Sadly though Jillyfoo was mistaken. A blacksmith could not help them as a blacksmith works iron and steel to make utensils and tools. They needed someone who could manufacture a specialized set of armor for a large orange cat.

They needed an armorer. Good armor smiths are not easy to find especially in this day of kevlar and ceramic body armor. But with the internet they found the guy who had manufactured the armor for any number of movies and TV shows and was in the midst of recreating the old craft of Medieval armor smithing. However, he wanted nothing to do with an ex-cojoined twin who kept bumping into and upsetting everythingin his shop and a six foot tall cat especially one hawking a anthropomorphic fantasy webcomic.

“Does it got boobs?”
“No”
“Not interested. Now if it was about aliens kidnapping bodacious women and turning them into topless laser wielding robots I'd help you. But cats and lizards and birds playing at Lord of the Rings? Not interested.”

Jillyfoo and Harkavast were not about to tell him that there was a comic like he described as they were part of the webcomic conspriacy of silence regarding comics by any guy named after a letter in the phonetic alphabet. Afterall no one was to know about Alpha3102's Strike of the Fembots or Delta5102's Assault of the Mind-controlled Topless Babes. But READ HARKOVAST! was emblazoned on the very wall outside the armor smith's shop and everyone did and tirelessly but no one ever dared speak of anything about topless female androids wielding beam weapons let alone actually suggesting that anyone in their right mind would ever want to red anything about them.

Jillyfoo and Harovast thanked each other for keeping the secret and guranteeing the total absence of readers for any comic featuring aliens and topless women would continue.

With that Harkovast wondered into the wastelands never to be seen again. However, rumour has it that if you say “READ HARKOVAST!” with the correct intonation and sacrifice a furry whilst wearing a tutu then Hark will return.
After hearing this rumour Skoolmunkee made it her mission to make Harkovast return. First she bought a tutu, then she stole a furry from fur affinity's basement. In this case it was a dog boy called roland. Skoolmunkee took the sacrificial dagger that she purchased on ebay and pressed it to poor rolands neck, he looked at her with puppy dog eyes…
“I can't he's just too cute!” she said as he let poor roland run off.
A few days later she managed to capture another furry, in this case a psychotic cow called Cudora (Cudora appears courtesy of Machinehead and his comic Cowtoon). This time Skoolmunkee didn't need to steel herself, it was clearf that she was doing the would a favour. Also as an added bonus she wuld be having steak for dinner.
Skoolmunkee prepared the sacrifice perfedct and shouted the words with an attempt at a northern english accent she heard once.
“REEEAAAAD HAAAAARRKOOOVAAAAAAAAAAAASSST!” she cried as she slashed the psychotic cows juggular. Blood sprayed and Cudora expired but there was no sign of harkovast.
Disheartened Skoolmonkee found a pub and proceeded in drinking herself into a stupor. Staggering home many hours later, still wearing the blood splattered tutu she was stopped by the police.
“well, well, well, what's going on here then?” Asked a rotund police officer.
“I'm minding my own business wassit look like!” replied the inebriated skoolmunkee.
“I think she's resisting arrest.” Said the slightly less rotund police officer.
“Bugger off pigs! Skoolmunkee shouted. As the words fell from her mouth the words lit a lightbulb above her head. She pulled her sacrificial dagger and stabed the first officer through the heart with a battle cry that went a little like this.
”READ HARKOVAST!“
The other officer tried to run but his podgy little legs were not enough and soon skoolmunkee pounced on his back and with a brutal slice she opened his neck from ear to ear wnilts shouted (yep, you guessed it)
”READ HARKOVAST!“
Suddenly tired and strangely sober from the nights events Skoolmunkee broke down and cried.
”what have I become!“
”What you needed to become.“ said a voice.
”who?“ skoolmunkee asked as she spun around trying to see who spoke. A man stood there dressed in heavy steel plated armour.
”It's me, Harkovast!“
”But Harkovast is a cat!“
”uuummm, okay it's me, Kev, aka Ifelldownthestairs, hark couldn't make it so he sent me in his stead.“
”So what do we do now?“ Asked skoolmunkee apprehensively.
”I can think of a few things" repliad Ifelldownthestairs with a seedy grin.

… And the first one that needed to be done would involve a trip back in time some six months, to the buffet after the Drunk Duck awards and the numbers 1215…

With a time machine all things are possible and even though much of the time travel nonsense had been a dream some of it wasn't. And besides don't you want to know exactly how Ozone's brain came to liquify and dribble out his ears?

“I already know” SAid professor genejoke, “Once time travel was introduced to events things got REALLY confusing and Ozone made the mistake of trying to understand the exact chronology.”
It all began in 1985 when the elderly professor genejokehaveing travelled back in time, (hang on that is NOT the beginning…), posing as a random old scientist showed his younger self his allegedly new invention. A time machine!
“It's a reliant robin! how is THAT going to travel through time?” Asked the young Genejoke.
“the car must reach the correct velocity to breach time and space and travel INTO THE PAST!”
exclaimed the decrepit and hunchbacked older genejoke.
“and what's the correct velocity?” Asked the young genejoke
“88 miles per hour!” Replied the random old man posing old genejoke.
“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” laughed the young genejoke, tears streaming from his eyes “That heap of crap will never reach 88 miles an hour!”
“It will, you'll see.”
At that moment there is a hideous screech! A young machinebun weilding Ayesinback comes from somewhere and shouts
“Give me back my hair dryer you dirty old wizard!”
“Quick genejoke, into the car.” said the old genejoke, posing as a random old man.
Yound genejoke jumps in the car and stalls it as his future self is gunned down by the machinegun weilding ayesinback. As ayesinback stands over the dying old man he speaks but his words are lost to the sound of the engne starting. young genejoke tries to make his escape and the reliant robins top speed of 30 miles an hour. Knowing it wouldn't be enough he started flicking switches desperately, he see a red switch labelled turbo and flicks that. Suddenly ayesinbacks hair dryer sparks into life and gives the reliant robin a tremendous burst of speed. 12 Minutes later it reaches 88 miles per hour whilst going down a very steep hill. In a flash of 80s style lighting the youbng genejoke is hurled into the past in the reliant robin.
As the bad lighting fades genejoke finds himself in the year… 1963!!!!!!!!

And finds himself in a London junkyard around the corner from a curly haired girl talking to a white haired man in a frock coat in front of a blue police box around the corner from a dark haired man in a straw hat and striped jacket with another girl warning her not to bump into the other couple while standing in front of yet another blue police box.

Young Genejoke was trapped between two Doctor Who episodes and he shook his head and thought that too much of this and he'd start putting salt in his coffee. If only he had listened.

But then how can one listen when there is nothing to listen to? When the only sound that reaches one's ears is the sound of silence?

And I don't mean Simon and Garfunkel.

All content had vanished, along with all sense, all dollars and whatever I once had in my pocket.

Everything had become a vast empty wasteland, nearly as empty as the readership of oneof Bravo's comics or the number of people who don't read Harkovast. But even in the midst of nothing was there anything or just some random vaguely Taoist ramblings? No one knew for certain but then there wasn't anyone around to know anything.

Over two weeks later and it was all as empty as it had been. There had been no one to step forward and instead it was entirely possible that everyone else had taken a step back. Many steps back.

Several giant leaps back.

There wasn't even a tumbleweed in sight and certainly no indians or debates about same. No one wanted to play Cowboys and Indians unless they were playing the “lost wanderer in the desert who dies of thirst while vultures circle overhead” version. Had they all been driven away or merely snuck away on their own?

Had there been too many distractions, too many complications or was it just the bad smell? Had someone been an annoying ass and not let anyone get a word in edgewise without then grabbing center stage back and holding it close. Was there entirely too much introspection going on? Did so many just wish someone would shut up and go away.

One can escape when someone else bothers them, but how does one set about running away from oneself? After all you are who you wake up to everyday and if you can't stand yourself how can anyone else tolerate you?

But everyone had run away and had done their best to stay away and there was nothing. No bang, no whimper, just nothing. And nothing faded away because after all there was nothing to fade because it all just … stopped.